The Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B

19

Across empty midnight cobbles of Dublin. Past the time tolling up in a tower clock. Down a steep street and by an ancient church. Beefy told the taxi to stop. He helped Rebecca alight. And said goodbye.

Balthazar B looking out the back window as the motor drew away. Four caravans on a wasteland site. Tinkers bundled up in sleep. Near an edge of lamplight Beefy stood, his arm around Rebecca. And there he seems to stay.

The taxi crossed the Liffey. White swans floating. Rolling now past the shuttered shops of Capel Street and out along an empty northern strand by a flat deserted park. Clontarf where so many times I sped through, hurrying by Landship to the races at Baldoyle. While little kiddies waved and shouted at me with joy. A flashing beacon of a lighthouse beyond the shadowy floating bumpiness of North Bull Island. Played a cold day of golf out there on those sandy hills. Dreaming far less sporty things as I struck the ball. Of a female I could call my own. To send tulips to. Have somewhere to put my pleasure as I lay my heart down against hers. Breda with her dark little eyes and bony narrow wrists.

"What will they be after doing to you at college."

"Rustication.' "What's that."

"They banish you. Send you down."

"Is that worse than up."

"Yes down's worse than up."

"I guess it doesn't make any difference to that Beefy. With his millions of pounds. Sure he could just laugh."

"Sometimes it's not that easy."

"I can't see what's hard about having all that money."

"Well someone like Beefy has trustees. And they can be troublesome,"

"If money's there what's trouble about that. You could give me all the trustees you like. He's some fellow the likes of him. That I've not come across before. Not that I've been anywhere in my life. I'm just ordinary working class. I've never been in a room like that before. It was like something you'd see on the films. With the carpets on the wall. And shiny things jumping out at you from the plaster. I guess I'm not what you might call educated."

"Education is learning only what you don't have to know."

"Is that a fact."

"I think so."

"You're a very funny person. Not like your friend. You're the quiet type. I guess you don't think much of me."

"Why do you say that."

"Well I won't say now but Rebecca she's my oldest friend because we were reared together down over in Irishtown. We're not exactly princesses. Are we. I don't live far now. You don't have to have the driver go any further. I can walk from here by a short cut. If you stop by the shop on the corner. Ahead there."

"We'll take you all the way."

"No I want to get out now."

"It's raining."

"I don't mind."

"Driver stop. There. By the post."

"Very good sir."

"How much do I owe you."

"Ah let's see now. Forty bob. This time of night. Been a lot of wear and tear on the tires. With the grain of cement lying the wrong way on the road if you understand me sir."

"All right."

"Now if it was another kind of road sir with the surface giving less trouble."

"Goodbye driver."

Balthazar B standing on this grey wet pavement. The rain falling through a halo of lamplight. A post office, butcher, grocer and newsagent. Lonely houses behind high hedges. The wind with a seaweed smell off the sea. This girl thinly standing, clutching her handbag. The rear red light of the taxi still seen after all its sound is gone.

"Sure you're stranded now."

"I'll walk with you home if I may."

"Sure you may and I'm glad of company. But it's an awful wet way and how will you ever get back."

"I'll manage."

"Ah God you'll catch your death of cold just in your suit."

"I'll be alright. You've only got a sweater."

"Ah don't worry about me, I'm used to it but the kind of life you're accustomed to leading. It wouldn't suit you to be wandering out here in the rain."

"You won't mind my coming with you."

"Sure you're welcome. Sure you know that. That you're welcome."

"Thank you."

"That taxi man has made himself a fortune this night, cheating like that after your friend gave him five pounds. That makes me angry."

"You musn't worry."

"It's a fortnight's wages to me."

Out into darkness. The lamplight left behind at the cross roads. All familiar just a short time ago. An afternoon expedition, a class outing looking for fossils. Students standing about in their belted up macintoshes, some in mountain climbing kit, with rucksacks strapped to backs. And I came roaring through in the Landship. Heading for the nags at Baldoyle. To stop awhile in the little gathering. I had not an acid bottle nor hammer, just the racing form. I thought I would be welcomed. That perhaps they had missed me. And all I seemed to see was a laughing Miss Fitzdare as she pedaled someone's bicycle around in a little circle on the road. Then she leaned back on the handle bars. I saw her stretched out legs in her blue stockings and they looked long and handsome. And I was so surprised.

"This is the short cut I'm taking. Up back here. That's the North Bull lighthouse in the bay and the other is the Poolbeg. Rebecca and I when we were only little would ride her bike down the wall all the way to the end. Where the lighthouse is. It was like being out on a ship with water on both sides of you. She's a bit of a wild one. She'd throw rocks at old men. Her father before he got sick himself beat her within an inch of her life night after night. Take her things and throw them out the window down on to the road when she'd try to run away. Sure all she owned was an old chocolate box full of bits of old pens and her Sunday hat for church. She was trying to write a book. She got no further than the title. You might say the book was commercial romantic. It was called The Price Paid For The Pearl of Purity."

'That's a rather good title."

"She scratched it out and wrote another one later, which wouldn't be proper for me to tell you. But she didn't go on long paying the price for purity. She was paid a price is more like it. O God look at you. Rain dripping off your hair. It's very nice of you to walk like this with me. I could have managed on my own. But it's nice. I like walking. I don't ever have much time but when I do there's no one to walk with. I go along the beach out there. And collect shells. Give me your hand now, across through here, it's awfully slippy in the wet and you can't see the path through the bracken. It's only a little ways now."

Mists against the face. A faint fog horn. Her hand small and strong, to feel strangely delicate and warm. Brown slapping fern wetting the knees. A pouring sound of water against the ground.

"What's that noise."

"Ah it's nothing, the sheep, they hear something passing in the night. I don't want to be bold or fresh, but they are peeing in the grass in fear. Now that's where I am. The little bit of extension out on the back. Sure you've got an awful long trip ahead of you."

"Fve done this before. Try my luck again. I'll be guided back by the lighthouses."

"You look chilled. Ah God it's not right. You coming all this way."

"It's fine."

"You look to me of delicate constitution. I'm small looking but as strong as an ox. Sure you're just but very wispy. It becomes you, like a saint starved you might say. You know a thing I want to ask you. About your friend. Is it true or all made up what he goes on saying. We're taught a poor opinion of the protestants. But myself I've always found them honest and decent. And my own kind I found would cheat you out of your sight. I've never known the likes of Church of Ireland people to get up to the devil and mischief of your friend. I'm broadminded but Rebecca allows him shocking awful liberties. Then if a fellow can give you a laugh he doesn't cheapen you. We're nearly here. Mind now this fence. There's broken bottle and barbed wire. Listen to that. The wind is getting fierce. North westerly. Always makes me homesick. I know it's blowing across Cavan. Many a night it makes me cry to sleep. I can't think of you out in the likes of this."

"I'll be alright."

"Ah God look at you. You won't be. You're shivering."

"I always do that."

"Ah don't cod me."

"No really."

"I don't know what to say. But. But I don't want you to get the wrong idea. That I'm being bold. It's two by now in the morning. I could be murthered for it."

"What's that."

"You would say in English now, murder. In Ireland we say murthered because it takes us so much longer to do it. And I could be murthered but I mustn't let you go."

"I'm fine."

"Ah I'm no good. No good at all."

"Why."

"I'm just not that's all. What I'm really trying to say to you is I don't want you to go back. But stay. Go ahead you can say no, it won't be then for lack of me trying. Goodnight. If you go out the alley now and be careful of the barrels it will take you into the road and you go left then and keep to the sea.' "I want to say yes."

"O."

"If you're asking me to stay, and it won't be any inconvenience to you."

"It's yes then."

"Yes."

"O."

"What's the matter."

"I don't know. I didn't think you would say yes and now I don't know what to do."

"Do you want me to say no."

"No."

"But if it's upset you."

"No. I'm glad you said yes."

"Yes I said yes."

"I'm scared out of my wits. I could use a bit of your friend Beefy's nerve. O but it's not to worry. That's my room up there."

"I don't want to cause you distress. It's no trouble for me to go. If it's difficult for you."

"You're the most beautiful man I've ever seen in my life. O God. Just give me a moment. I'll collect myself now. I'll be giving you an awful swell head. And mine I may get knocked off me. Now I have got to go in and when I get up to my room. I only have to open the window and you get on that barrel and step to the roof of the gents and it's easy to pull you in off there. You won't mind, my quarters are not grand."

Balthazar B stood in the yard, a cold shadow under the eaves. Fat raindrops landing to flow down between the roots of hair and drip from eyebrows, ear lobes and nose. Water gushing from a broken gutter pipe. Shadows of crates stacked. My wet silk shirt sticking to my ribs. A smell of hay. Somewhere warm and dry. In the sheltered opening of this old cow shed. An unending night. If Miss Fitzdare ever hears. I'll never see her again. Mid fingerbowls, linen and lace. Here now in mud, manure and rain.

"Hey there."

"Hello."

"Mind now very quiet as you go. On to the barrel first. That's it. Put a foot there and I will catch holt of your hand. Grand, there now. Don't be worried, get one hand on the sill. O God hold it there. Hold it."

"I'm sorry I'm not awfully good at this."

"You're doing fine, it's only some old pebbles and bits of cement. Ah now, a little more. This way. There. In you come now."

Balthazar B scrambling across the sill. The sound of pebbles and lumps of cement falling to the yard below. Clattering above the whistling wind. Years since one was in out of inclemency. Or not pulling plaster out of walls. Safe a moment. Up here in this tiny room. Her narrow little bed along the wall under a crazy quilt. In the red electric fire light. Shadows of a tall cupboard, varnished brown. A light green plastic handle to pull it open. Two suitcases bound with belts stacked on top. A dressing table with a dish and broken brush and comb. Two jars of sea shells and a bottle of perfume throw shadows across a cloth in the candle light.

"It won't be long to heat the room. With a bit of the electric fire. Landlords raise a holy terror. Watching the electricity get to me with a microscope over the wire. God love you you're wet through you poor man, a raindrop on your nose. You're the most beautiful man I've ever seen. What kind of mother and father did you have at all. Take this jacket off you now. Put it here over the back of the chair and let the fire shine on it."

Balthazar B sneezing. Bending double as he held hands up to his face. Hair wet. Head dizzy and tight. The room goes round in circles under a naked bulb hanging from the ceiling. Now black and red and light. All those voices are calling me. Locked away in this room. I'm going down now and down.

Balthazar B swayed in his wet shirt sleeves and slumped with a sigh unconscious into Breda's arms. Catching him under the shoulders and lugging him onto the bed. She kissed him on the eyes and lips and put her ear over his heart. To hear. Who goes there with footsteps. Where are you in the world. Walked here through bracken along a little path of slippery clay. Her hair is black. Combed with a broken comb. I saw a movie magazine. An issue I'd read cover to cover. It lay on her bedside box. We've the same taste for stars. Who come and go. As surely as trustees are not supposed to die. London streets turning upside down through all these recent hours. Where I walked swinging with a lightfooted stride. Out my little house. Along Brompton Road. Past the Hyde Park Hotel. Turreted, red bricked and tall. To make down the incline of Piccadilly and up again. A light breeze in the air passing the Ritz. To tea with lemon, squeezed under my tip of spoon. Feel so faint and feverish. Cold moments in school chapel so many years ago. To keel over and wake in bed. And just hear the distant singing. White owls fluttering overhead. A little girl friend looked at me on a Paris street and smiled in her white high shoes and gloves. She told me later in dancing class as I stepped on her toes. You should be ugly and I should be beautiful. My eyes are open. Fm not in Knights-bridge. It hardly matters now. A black head of hair on the pillow. Right by my side.

"You're alright now. You're here."

"What happened."

"You just went down in a heap. I caught you falling. You feel any better."

"O God."

"You're alright now. You've got a bad chill. You won't think it's a liberty I took of removing off your suit. I hope you don't mind my boldness. I left the socks on you."

"I'm sorry to be of so much trouble."

"Sure it's nothing. No trouble. As easy as handling a child. I don't mean like now you were a child. Undressing a gentleman in decency is a funny enough thing. Your ribs show. You don't mind being in bed with me. My ribs show too. But tell me. Is your will power sapped."

"What."

"O God I don't know what I'm asking you at all now you're awake. But would you kiss me."

Take this black haired head. Rolling over on top of me. My own head throbbing. Wind whining around the window. Her mouth strangely sweet. On the eve, the end of my university career. Rain like pebbles against the window. Her breasts round and hard. Sinewy muscles in her arms lock tight in tiny bulges. All these weeks and months dreaming of a naked female body. Staring out silent from my evening rooms. Down on a college street glistening always glistening in the rain.

"Ah God you kiss like a demon. I have to pinch myself I've got you here in bed. It wasn't to save you dying out on the road. That I brought you in. It was to save me dying of loneliness. Your shirt is real silk. And here you are with the likes of me."

"You mustn't say things like that."

"Sure the contrast is fun. I know where I'm at. I'm from Cavan originally. Where I should have stayed. Well out of the allurements of the world. They tell you to keep your tabernacle of purity. The fearful toll you can pay for a moment's thrill. And I can tell you one I paid. In holidays I went back to Cavan. I used to sit thinking at the cottage door looking out to the road. It was my uncle's was the farm. Ah God I'd do chores, sitting on the milking stool pulling away on the teats. When the neighbour's son comes in and says give this here thing a yank. I thought what harm can it be. An innocent lass in my poor flowered shift. Only frock I had from age twelve to sixteen. I yanked it for him like I'd milk any of the cows. And wasn't I later reported to this priest. Up there in the pulpit every Sunday. Shovelling his loads of misery out on the heads of the poor parishioners. Ah God I thought, listen to him and dropping his bits of flattery to the shop keepers before the collection is taken. They washed my mouth out for weeks with soap. Beat me black and blue. Sure this is all Greek to you. It must be a wonderful thing to be an atheist. Or like your friend combining lechery and religion. Do I seem a stranger. I wanted to get you into bed. From the moment I clapped eyes on you back there in Dublin. Standing you were, so nervous. With your long blond silky hair just visible in the light. Then I thought you'd never speak to me walking along the street. I was itching just to put my arms around you. Like this. Listen to the wind. It's getting up a gale."

"What do I do in the morning."

"Don't worry. Well get you out the same

"Don't worry. Well get you out the same way you came. Take a bite of this now. It's the last bit of a bar of chocolate. It was me midnight dinner. When I can't sleep I read and have a piece of chocolate. Do you think purity is a joke. You're a quiet one. What does it all matter. I never thought I'd ever set foot in Trinity. Moving in real society. I did a funny thing. I stood up there at the mirror after I got you to bed. I hope you don't mind, I put your silk striped tie across me bosoms to make me look I was in Tahiti. I guess I'm out of my mind a lot. Keep dreaming I'll meet a sober serious gentleman with a drapery shop and set in his ways. I don't know what to say to you. You might think I'm daft. Would you love me. Before the beautiful likes of you are gone forever. Would you. I want you to love me. Say nothing now. While I put my hand over your mouth. I don't want you to speak. In case you want to tell me to get away. Ah God your thing is as good as that Beefy has any day. The feel of it. It stands up honest and protestant. Life is always travelling to a sorrow. On the way a taste of this will not lead immediately to tears. Warm like cattle we are in here. Ah God entwine me you prince."

Her strong thin arms. Red weals of shoulder straps marked across her skin. Two globes of arse like acorns. She climbs over and closes down on me in bed. Was there ever anywhere milky sunlight. Where great almighty poets sing. To warm her soul and parts of her too cold to touch. Other little weals. Stained on her stone white skin. She breathes and licks with kisses. Wet little lips on my chilled nippled breasts. Tomorrow at three. Can't count the hours away. My brain so tired. Be in the afternoon. Just as it was when we were little boys. Dragged both before Crunch and Slouch. And all grown up now as a woman rides on my pole. Gripping like a hand. That pushed Beefy's away. Who said to Rebecca as he pointed it again I give thee darling this big prick in all its jolly frivolity, amplified by hand, pulled by night through my tender years. When now I think of London so far away. Of women, wan and white faced, sewing over benches in lofts from Whitechapel to Hornchurch. In broken buildings. By weed green bomb sites. Where Pll soon stand and look, chucked out of college. And all will be finished with Fitzdare.

Wind outside dying down. A cow coughs across the fields. Her belly is on my belly. And never left my calling card. Dress her up in finery, bring her back to Paris. Dine on the favoured boulevards. Soften her working hands. Let her smiles blow up in delight. Away from all her tortured harm. But I am not a pushy man. Too shy to say more than hello. We lie together and Breda says we are over the bottling room. Where the stout comes out of barrels. And corked and kept cool till it grows sweet. And foams a brownish cream. You screamed she said. I could feel it shooting into me. Never mind there's no one to hear. Not this time of night when they're snoring.

Now a fog horn mournful. Rain turned to mist and mist to dawn. World grown white and silent out the window. I hold her body as she sleeps. A spider's web in the corner of the ceiling. Her head covered in all its black hair. Without a face. Buried breathing in there. My white skin as white as hers. My temples burning and my eyes hot.

A clip clop of a horse somewhere on a road. In her sleep she moans. Grinds her teeth. Said you don't know anything about me. Then she tosses and turns. Out of sleep and back to sleep. Must get to Trinity at three o'clock. My joints ache and feet shiver down near the window. Reach for my watch. Across her head. To anywhere else in the world. Squeezed for space. With lips to kiss and breasts to feel. And the honey running between her legs.

"What's that, who's that."

"Just me, I'm trying to see the time on my watch."

"Lord save us. A sergeant major in the Legion of Mary was beating me with a thong. The cruelty. Making me give a public confession. Thank God it's only you and morning I have to contend with."

"You were talking in your sleep."

"Ah God what did I say. Don't tell me. Just what's the time by your watch."

"Five minutes to six."

"It's fog out the window. Poor man how are you feeling this morning."

"Not so very well."

"Let's feel your forehead. God you're burned to death with the fever."

"I don't feel terribly good."

"O you poor lad you might be dying. What are we going to do for you at all. God I'm in for it now. We can't have the doctor come to you here."

"I'll go."

"You couldn't go out into the fog, you wouldn't get a hundred steps before you'd be lost."

"O no I'm alright, I'll go."

"Your eyes are awful red. Poor lad you could be breathing your last."

"Do you really think so."

"God you could. By the look of you."

"I've not made my will."

"Sure that won't get you well. But I have an old notebook there. Would it do for writing your last wishes."

"Yes. But do you think I should. Do I look that bad."

"Maybe a bit like a man at his wedding. Ah my heart goes out to you. Wait now while I brush back your hair."

"May I call you Breda."

"Sure you better after what's gone between us. We're not exactly strangers now."

"Breda, do you really think I'm dying.' "I can't be sure. But you don't look good."

"I don't have heirs."

"No sure you don't have airs. Who ever said a thing like that. You're a charming humble gentleman."

"I don't mean that kind of airs. I mean heirs who inherit money."

"Ah I know what you mean now, ha ha, that's good gas. I'm sorry to laugh. But you mean you don't have anyone to leave your money to."

"No."

"Don't you have anyone belonging to you."

"No. Except a mother."

"Sure you could leave her a bit of your ready."

"What's ready."

"Ah the ready is money. Wherever you go or whatever you do you've got to have something ready. And it's always money."

"I could leave you some."

"Ah God you don't have to. I wouldn't want a thing. Only maybe to see you again. But sure you'll go on living."

"If you could get me a taxi or something. Have it stop down the road. I'll get back to my rooms."

"God love you now, I couldn't let you go as you are. Your pair of blue eyes in their balls of red. Would you be able to make love to me again. God I fancy you. The fever has brought such colour to your cheeks. If you aren't the most beautiful creature God ever made."

"You mustn't say things like that."

"Why not. God gave me the luck of this night with you. And I want to say it out loud so he can hear it. And this other thing he gave you. I can feel it. Hard as a stone. Would you be able for a frolic. Before the fever kills you."

"I think so."

"Like one of Finn MacCool's Fingers it is."

"What."

"Ah in Cavan there's a row of stone pillars sticking up out of the ground. Near where Myles the Slasher is buried. My landlord here is called Myles but he's no slasher poor man. His wife's the slasher. Ah you boyo. I'll sit up on it. First take me breast in your mouth. Poor lad your lips are hot with the fever. Sure I'm killing you. I'm wild. You've no idea how exciting this is. Been months and months since I had a man."

Winey smell. The mists creep by. Ships sail and hoot. The mail boat arriving from Liverpool. As she tightens tighter round me. Dark headed white bodied. Filling her womb. As she keeps wanting more. Where will I go when I'm well again. Far away from college squares. To walk in tweed with yellow gloves swinging a stick. Part forever from books and rooms, stone halls, and ivied buildings. The black gowns gone. And the carving of fish and frogs. To feel like the midnight homeless. Newsboys wandering empty streets, shouting out Herald and Mail. On their blue ankled bare feet clutching their last papers for sale. By the blind drunk lurching figures reaching out for something to read. I lie here so weary. Yet calmed with sweet ripples of wandering pleasure up my legs. Breda. Nails dig in my neck and scratch down my back and teeth biting blood from my lips. You lie in your linen sheets Fitzdare. I know you do and this could be your head and these your breasts and this I hold your hard pumping twisting little arse. But yours is bigger and you are taller and we may never see each other again. The daylight has come. I'm going to be dead soon. Pulled in a coffin through the streets. By black high prancing horses. Laid in a grave. And while I'm dying. All I have are fears. Golden eyes of Bella. Please look down on me. For years and years and years. Took away your slender fingered hand. You touched me with. Purring laughters broke your lips. You crossed my life on long tanned legs in a Paris sun. Running and running. Hair resting on the wind. Across beaches down dunes. You fly. Our little fellow. Came out of you. Taken from between your legs. He had little hands and cheeks. Ears small like yours. To hear the puffing and whistling trains. Where everywhere across a station I see you. Passing hurried in your dark clothes. Why never did you say. Or tell me I am a father. Of our little son. For both of you to have everything I own. And take you safely to the end of life. Started down in you that night. Where does he walk. That little fellow. Full of fear like me. Stare up at big high faces. All goggle eyed little boy. Shut behind these gates. Which open with a whole flood of tears. I can't stop pouring out of me. Wiped away by this girl of poverty I hardly know.

"O God my lad. What makes you cry."

"I'm dying."

"Ah surely you are."

"And that's so terribly sad."

"Ah not so in the land where everybody does it. The only thing they're good at at all. Come lie now with your head here. A woman's breast is the best place for you feeling like that. What's troubling you."

"I don't know."

"There's something deep is troubling you. The way the tears come welling up. Otherwise dying would be your only worry. I've spent years terrified of my last moments. With the hand of God waiting up there to slap me across the face. And me ready to give back to him a kick in the shins he wouldn't soon forget. One day soon enough my time will come. I won't have energy left to care. Cuddle in close to me. You're like the little boy I had once. In my arms but three short days. My father was a cobbler. Drank us out of hearth and home. When he wasn't doing that he was beating my mother with his fists and us little kids with a razor strop. Or screaming round with the pain of hammering his thumb. There was howling all day long. My uncle kept the farm in Cavan. I was sent out there to fatten up they thought I was going to die. I'd be back and forth to Irishtown. I liked Cavan and the country ways. The little beauties. Tadpoles and toads. Catching eels in the grass. Gave me a fright when I first saw one of them. I was frightened it was a snake. My uncle got me a situation in a hotel away in Kerry. A beautiful young priest on his holidays stopped me in the hall. I was carrying an armful of sheets. He said was I behaving myself. Had I been yet to Lourdes. I said I had not. He says did I hear tell of the talk of the scandal up the coast. A bunch of Americans in a castle raising cain. He says to me was I sure I wasn't up there. Where poor innocents had already been impurely enslaved. I looked at him. He was as serious as they come. Wanted to know of my company keeping, whether I was thinking of getting married or did I think I had a vocation. I said yes, carrying sheets like I am doing this minute. O he was a smarmer. He said how is your immortal soul. I said fine thanks. He asked if my room where I slept was of a hygienic standard. I laughed in his face. But God it wasn't long before he was up there hearing my confession as we sat on the side of the bed. I am telling you my life's story. And maybe you're dying in my arms."

"I'm feeling a little better thank you."

"It's a woman's breast every time. To put a little comfort in a man. A woman's dream, you are. I had my dream ruined soon enough. Dominic was the priest's name. Fie says to me he says blessed are the clean of heart, for they shall see God. Carrying on like your friend Beefy. Giving out the religion before taking out the other thing. I was daft enough. He said have you had a holy familiarity with God my child. I said who do you think you're talking to I said. He said don't be boastful to me. Imagine. Boastful. Says he, God's divine plan is that one day you should be a mother, my child. I told him get out of the room as the housekeeper was coming. That scared him across to the window. He nearly went through only it was four floors up. Left him time enough to tell me not to let self abuse mar my immaculate purity. Or become a ruined temple as he put it. Well he marred it three days later. Busted the door of the temple. And a black car comes collects him away. Leaving me pregnant. And hounded by nuns trying to lynch me with rosary beads. I was away from there. Went by lane-ways, fields and carts all the way to Dublin. Sleeping in the hay at night. Milking a cow I'd catch in the morning. Munching an apple I'd find. Or a turnip out of a field. He put his religion into me. And I said to him to look me up on judgment day and mind not to trip on the last step to heaven. Ah you're cheering up now. That was a smile. For such a sad story. Maybe you're not dying."

"What happened to you in Dublin."

"Ah it was miserable enough. I found I had not a friend in the world. Went from door to door. For any kind of work. But before I left for Dublin at all I went by the castle the priest was telling me about. The scandal was unabated they said, raging within the walls. But the clergy had it watched. The Americans were in there, protected by insurgents. The whole countryside agog with the goings on. With me as scullery maid in a house in Fitzwilliam Square, sure I was destitute. Working seven in the morning till eight at night for twenty seven and six a week. I stole my fare out of the good lady's handbag on the evening I took the boat to England. Ah God I had a little boy. The sweetest little thing. Taken out of my arms. He was gone away from me to a better life I suppose. Missing the love of a mother. They said he was cursed, the son of a priest. I tore at the eyes of the first nun they let near me. Ripped her rosary out of her hands as she was at the bed praying to save my soul. Found a job as a barmaid up the Edgeware Road. Until one day my uncle from Cavan walked in. Nice as you please. Ah poor lad, are you going to sleep on me there."

"No. Listening."

"I couldn't tell a word of this to anyone before. Makes me laugh that I feel at home with a pagan."

"I'm not pagan."

"Ah it doesn't matter. Would you be able for a little breakfast in awhile."

"I think so."

"I'll go down there and use a few of their rashers of bacon and old hen's eggs before they, the two of them, know what hit them."

"What happened when your uncle found you in the Edge-ware Road.'

"You're an interested one. The kind as might write a book. He came in, like I said. Did the uncle. Sat down at the bar and took off his cap and scratched his head. He put the cap back on again and wagged his head from side to side. Like a monkey in a zoo. I said to meself what's this now. Have they come from Cavan to string me up on the cross. I served him without a word, he could have been a wall in Jerusalem. He was having pints of cider. Fd put one before him and he would look straight up at the ceiling staring at one spot. Then he would say out loud with everyone looking at him. It's so. Four times and four pints till I couldn't stand it anymore. Staring up at the ceiling and saying, it's so. I came up to him across the bar and I says what's so. And he looks back up at the ceiling again. I left him to it. Every ten minutes till closing time, up at the ceiling he'd look and say it's so. Well he did that five nights running. I lost my appetite and thought I was dying. The bar was full of Irish like himself. Saying ah your man's behaviour is quite correct you know, what's wrong about saying it's so. If it isn't so, someone else can say so, they said. The stupid eegits. Well on the Saturday night he came in again. I said how would you like to see me selling myself down around the Piccadilly I said. I took the pint of cider and threw it in his face. I said there that's so. It was the first laugh I had for months. And that's exactly what I did, I went down to the Piccadilly. I nearly had my face cut open. And just as I was going to try the Bayswater Road instead, a nice gentleman from Pakistan came along. I was living in a filthy basement hovel in Paddington. He bought me presents and I got a good bed sitter. I nearly landed on my feet. Sure I had a radio bought. It was a miracle lying there listening to the music. I can play some of the programs over in my head now. But one morning I woke up and found myself answering questions to the police. Your man was an embezzler. Known in other circles as the Tricky Turk. Starting companies all over London. He was good to me and I didn't worry. If it wasn't for him I'd be ruined forever as a woman. The kindnesses he gave me brought back my self respect. He had an Irish accomplice educated at Clongowes Wood College. To give the whole fraud a style as you might say. He was a grand man was the accomplice, only decent Irishman I ever met. When he laughed the ceiling would shake. He went by the name of Percy. He had another name of Ferdinand. Ah God you're passing off to sleep. Fll get you breakfast. You poor darling, sure the fever is raging in you by the feel of your cheek."

"May I have some water please."

"I'll get you anything you need. I'll slip to make the fires below or there'll be murther. The two should be still asleep. Last Friday I had a little peek of them through a crack in the door. He was up on her. I was gripped with such fascination I couldn't tear my eyes from the sight. There he was going away strong and she has her arms out either side holding open the Evening Mail and reading it over his shoulder. I laughed so loud I was nearly caught. But the two of them have an awful way of leaping out at you in the morning. Snooping and looking for cigarettes they hide from each other around the house. Now don't do a thing if you hear any strange sounds. You poor lad. God love you lying there. Aren't you trembling now. Sure wait. I'll have the breakfast and water to you."

Knobs of vertebrae down her back. Phylum chordata. Two pointed pink tipped little breasts. The white slender legs that went twinkling from her dress. Blue veins behind her knees. She twists up her hair. And pins it high on her head.

"I feel no shame standing in front of you. Would never let the poor old Pakistani see my body. It would give him fits. He'd kick his turban round the room. If you really go for someone. You don't mind what they see."

"I have to relieve myself."

"Ah God now wait a minute I knew that must come. I can't let you out to the water closet. But wait now, a second."

Breda going out the door. From the bare walls of this barren room. A film star's face tucked in the corner of the mirror. And death around me. My chest tight, throat sore. The light painful coming in my eyes. Squeezed the night with her on this bed. Escape away to the watering places. As Beefy came roaring out of the Dublin Quays. Wake one more damp morning. And hope as this door opens it's not my last.

"It's the best I could do. Two pint milk bottles."

Balthazar rising up from the bed. Putting legs down from the torn sheets. With each step all pain. Cool airs blow up on the soles of my feet through the cracks between the boards. Drop backwards out the window to the barrel below and crawl. Two feet. Found dead in bracken and broken glass. Student rusticated. Formerly sent fears of the Asian peril through Donnybrook. Take up the bottle. Can hardly hold my prick. Half hearted swollen. As she watches me wee wee all dark yellow and filling it to the top.

"God you're going to need the other."

"Yes."

"Here we're ready now for the flow. I've got you. Sure where does all of it come from. O God you're getting to the brim again. Holy murther it's going to overflow. Don't mind, let it go on the floor. It'll go below. Won't do the stout a mite of harm. I heard a woman out in Mayo was cured with a vial of the pope's pee. Like everything else you hear you wonder. But not long afterwards you could get a vial of pope's pee all over the West. His Holiness would have to be peeing his heart out, poor old gent, to keep up the supply. They'd sell an edge off a fart of Jesus if he were still around. But you're not to mind, get back to bed. That's the way. Ah you beauty sick as you are. Keep the blanket up snug."

Bottles of pee put on the dresser at the side of the door. Breda nodding a smile stepping out into the hall. Just through a corner of the window, a wet gleaming blue slate roof. Rubbed with leaves of a holly tree so oily green. Fog lifting. Patch of blue. Ridges of cloud. Sea gulls sliding down across the wind. And squawking as they do sitting high on college rooftops. Stepped out into life. Holding this naked kindly little creature. Upon whom I laid my head resting in the night Felt her arm come across my ear and pressed my face against her breast. Teasing her nipple in my mouth. Suckle there and eat. Near black little tufts of hair. Smell her sweet and musky sweat. How much did I drink from my mother. When she was my milk. To splash away all the growing up fears and terrors. And sent my Bella away. That day under the high skies of France. White dust on lips. That will never go away. Mine so hot and dry. Breda in this black loose dress, a tear across the backside. Sunday best she said. A creaking in the hallway. The door pushed open. A tray comes in.

"God I hope they are not on to me. She has every grain of sugar counted in the house. It's about time I had two eggs and a bit of bacon once in a blue moon and eat it by myself in the bedroom. Her with the hair up six feet high in curlers. Zombie slave driver. Now. See if that doesn't put life into you. Taken with a bit of sauce."

The tray laid across the bed. Balthazar propped up against the pillow. A brown tea pot. A plate covered with rashers and eggs. Two sausages and halves of two tomatoes. A stack of bread and butter. Warm tinted smells. A big fork curling up at the prongs. A knife with a melted ivory handle and blade from Sheffield.

"I didn't know if you wanted them sunny side up. Don't mind it's hard to find a plate not chipped or cracked. The good delft is locked away."

"This is very kind and it looks awfully good."

"You poor man you can hardly see at all. Here get the hot tea into you first. Sit up a bit more. We'll put this sweater of mine up here round your shoulders. You're not to worry about a thing. You look smashing sitting there in front of your feed."

A creak in the hall. Breda stiffening and turning. The door slowly pushed open. A head in curlers peering round the door.

"What's going on in here. I thought I heard voices and I did."

"Don't you come in here."

"What's this."

"It's my sick big brother from home, he arrived feverish in the night with nowhere to stay. He's not well at all. And I'd be pleased if you got your head out of the door."

"I'll do no such thing in me own house. A likely story. A man lying in the bed. I know your tricks. You dirty little slut. You won't be raising cain in this house I can tell you. Come down like that bare faced and go off with two eggs, six back rashers, half a loaf of bread and quarter pound of butter for breakfast. Whose food do you think it is. And you get whoever that is there out of here in a hurry. And I'll thank you to give that tray back to me now. Keep your dirty habits with your girl friend down there on the Quays. The filth of it."

Breda sprang like a cat from the side of the bed. One bounding swift leap across the room. Her two hands came down flashing across the woman's face. And reached up to plunge a grip in the mountain of curlers. Dragging the landlady's head downwards till she fell face forward on the floor. Her outstretched arms grabbing at Breda's ankles as she stepped backwards kicking at the clutching hands.

"Slut. She's trying to kill me, Myles. Myles. Kicking me is it. Scum. Soon deal with you."

Landlady scrabbling up to her feet. Curlers dangling from streaming hair. Large breasts heaving. A red patch at her throat. She rubs her hands off on her bosoms and belly showing through her dress. As she plunges forward grabbing at Breda's white thin shoulders, pushing her back against the dresser. Bottles of pee falling and crashing and breaking on the floor.

"Filth. It's piss. Drown me in piss will you. Slut."

"Pope's piss you hag."

"Vermin. Godless vermin. Time to remedy you for good."

"I'll rip you to shreds you maggoty old bitch."

Sound of tearing garments, a flashing hand cutting across the woman's huge bosom. The landlady's hands clutching downwards at Breda's throat. And sharp little knees kicking up 236 into the fat belly. They clinch together, spin round, and brushing by the bed, plunge crashing to the floor. Breda buried beneath the great grey bulk. Landlady's mousey scattered hair as her fists pound up and down and suddenly reach upwards spreading fingers as she gives out a blood curdling scream of agony.

"I'm bit. O Myles I'm bit. Myles. Get her chained the dirty thing. Myles hurry. Get her off me. The cat. I'm clawed and bit. Get her off me before Fm kilt. Myles."

Feet pounding up stairs and running down a hall. Dark curly haired man, sleeves rolled to his elbows stopping in the doorway. Blinks his eyes. Surveys the scene. Gives a nod of greeting to Balthazar sitting up thin and feverish in the bed. The two figures on the floor panting, grunting, and their clutching hands buried in each other's hair.

"Myles can't you see Fm kilt by this one, get her off."

Myles putting his hand to his chin and rubbing back and forth. He leans left and leans right. He looks down close. And puts out a finger to tap Breda gently on the shoulder.

"Ah now, what have we here. Have we here a little misunderstanding. Sure we have now. Nothing more. Some cross purposes. Nothing more than that sure. Just a little bit of involvement every house has in its good time. Breda now. That's a good girl now. Let's have a calm analysis. Sure the cock's crowed twice now and we all know it's morning, don't we now. Know it's morning. Sure we do. As why wouldn't it be morning if the cock himself knows it and is crowing. And start the day now afresh. Ah let's go easy here now."

"Myles she has the teeth in me."

"Breda now. Enough now."

"Get her hair will you Myles of this fucking tart. And pull her mouth out of me."

"Ah now I'll hear none of that bad language, if you don't mind. Enough Breda is enough now. And why wouldn't it be. Let go a holt there. Sure if it isn't enough the term has no meaning at all. The language would fall of a sudden into disuse. Let's be decent people here now. It would be war everywhere. Without decency. Why wouldn't we be decent now nearly eight o'clock of a Monday morning. Decent starts the week there now. That's the way. Keep bodies away from fighting with the souls."

Myles holding back the arms of Breda, raising her gently to her feet. Hair down over her face. As she flings back her head and shows two burning dark eyes. The landlady rolling over slowly on her side. Vast belly and breasts shifting fatly. Her face turning upwards towards Breda and hissing coming out between her bared gums.

"I've lost me dentures Myles. That creature's lost me dentures. There. Don't step on them Myles, back of you there. Scum. Do your whoring down on the Quays where you belong. In the pestilence. Dirty filthy priest corrupter, I know all about you. Take in scum off the street and it will go out as garbage."

Breda's sharp toed high heeled foot shooting out. Kicking the landlady's upraised arm. Myles pulling her backwards as she twisted and squirmed. The muscles all tight and white in her arms. A bulging pulsing great blue vein down her thin neck. The strange momentary reflex to tip one's trilby one is not wearing to this civil landlord as he entered the bedroom nodding greeting. Henley Regatta will be soon. The Boatrace on the River. The lawns mowed and rolled smooth for Wimbledon. Strawberries and cream under the parasols. And sit in the big high backed chair between the mirrors and curling balustrades of the Ritz. To take late tea on an April afternoon, quietly reading about country life. Till the menu comes with a bottle of champagne and order escargot, steak tartar and Gevrey Chambertin. While this landlady turns slowly over on her gargantuan side, drawing up her knees, her hand holding out her arm.

"Me wrist. O me wrist. It's broke. Broke it she did. I'm crippled from her. Get her away. As the changeless Christ stands before me, I'll take the kitchen knife to her if she's not out of this house before this day is done."

"Ah you're not hurt, wife, you're not hurt at all. Didn't I see it. It was a light tap of the foot.' "Dirty slut with him there in bed. Look at him will you without even a singlet on him. Myles I'm telling you now to get the garda. I'm in the urine. Pope's pee she says is it. They're both to be charged with indecent wounding and sacrilege."

"Sure all wounding is indecent but the gentleman in the bed is minding his own business. Get holt of yourself now wife. Charges are not in order now with his breakfast getting cold in front of him there on the bed."

"Them's my sheets he's lying in."

"Shut up you stupid old cow."

"Speak to me like that will you vermin. I'll have the knife to you."

"Now ladies please. Do away with the discomposure. The gentleman in the bed is red faced with embarrassment. Barging in here like this. Turning his breakfast into a tumult."

"Barging is it. That vixen tore open the door dragged me into the room by the hair and flew at me throat like a wild animal. With the piss everywhere."

"Ah Breda sure meant no harm."

"You say that when your wife lies here kilt before you."

"Nonsense now. A wee little tumble. Sure we can put a lid on this perplexing drama with a good cup of tea."

"Blood, you see the blood Myles. Me dentures wet in the disgusting urine."

"Ah to be sure, to be sure."

"Her teeth did that. Blood."

"Sure blood is no worry if there's plenty more where that came from."

"You listen to me. If she's not out of this house lock stock and barrel, by noon this day. She'll be in the courts and prison where the likes of her belong. Selling herself on the street, showing her wagging backside around this house. Enticement. And him there too in the bed. Who are you."

"Now woman enough. Sure the gentleman in the bed will think we have no manners at all."

"What do I care what he thinks. Rolling in lust with that trollop."

"Now for the sake of peace and didactics. Have a bit of control of your conversation. Can't you hold your tongue and have some charity. Breda take no mind. A most unfortunate discomposure have we here. Best soon forgotten by all. Wouldn't we be the better for it. In God's holy name. We learn by our mistakes. And who hasn't made a mistake in his time. Sure sometimes the whole of our lives are mistakes. Aren't we trying to mend them. To get from day to day. Can't we now in this room take a page out of the book of Matt Talbot, that saintly man."

Myles imploring his eyes up and down to heaven. The wife struggling to her feet. And suddenly charging like a bull. Breda twisting from Myles' arms. As the lowered head of the wife hit Myles himself mid on in the stomach. Driving him backwards into the corner of the room. Breda leaping on the landlady's back.

"I'm being savaged Myles."

"Ah God you've taken the breath out of me? woman."

Breda's hands tearing open the back of the landlady's dress. Foundation apparel somewhere snapped. Or was it the crushing of plastic teeth. As the cupboard door swung open. And divers garments mixed in the melee. The landlady turned leading with her left hand and in one clawing sweep tore off Breda's dress. And the latter's small fist came crashing smack between the landlady's eyes. She went backwards landing on the breakfast tray, her ample arse spread across the cold greasy eggs and rashers. The pot of tea knocked over. The spout pouring somewhere. The little leaves drying on the blanket. And Balthazar B hiding a withdrawn head against the bed board under his white long arms and long fingered hands pressed up to his face. The landlady's shout near his ears.

"I'm scalded with the tea."

"Didn't I tell you to put a lid on this perplexing drama, didn't I tell you that woman."

"I'll cut her throat, I'll get this fork into her."

Breda one hand up across her breasts. The other holding out the broken top of a milk bottle. The women crouched. Moving forward and back. Bumping the dresser, bumping the bed. A black cat flitted by through their legs and stopped to shake its paws of pee.

"Sure let them men see your tits, go ahead now Myles there you are, there they are to be seen, you've been wanting to see them scrawny things on her long enough and there they are now. See them. Have a good look."

Myles making a swift sign of the cross. And holding up his two hands in the air. The landlady inching a left foot forward. Breda shaking the jagged glass up and down. Balthazar lowering his fingertips beneath his eyes.

"Come and get it you sow. Just take one step. Just one and I'll rip this glass across your throat."

"Myles. Myles. Just keep your eye on the man in the bed behind me. Frightened she is of the knife. Look at her. She's not so sweet and pretty now is she."

"Ah God in God's holy name now stop. It's gone far enough. Before you're both slaughtered. The man's breakfast is ruined. Sure isn't he trying to hide his eyes from this impudicity. As a professional publican I urge a settlement between the two parties. Now sir, in the bed. What do you suggest to that now. A settlement, what."

"I'm sorry, I'm just awfully ill."

"Did you hear that now. Your man here is awfully ill. Have respect now. For a man ill with his breakfast smashed all over him. It's a sickening enough scene already. Now neither of you make a move. I've had enough of this murther. Just stand as you are. Give us the cutlery woman."

"I'll give her the cutlery. In her guts. I'm dripping blood."

"Sure we all are."

"Myles there you. Don't let her get out the door. You taking her side while I'm wounded.' "Ah no one denies duplicity but there's lots of iodine for everybody. I'm moving around here now to bring a halt to hostilities. While any of us are still alive at all."

Myles pushing past the open cupboard door, moving across and slowly down by the side of the bed. His nervous hands opening and closing. A white fleshline around his throat. Groping and feeling. His eyes on the silent antagonists. My God he's hooked somehow into the bedclothes. Pulling down from me. One clings desperately in fever. And like Beefy. To the hope of sunny tinkling terraces of the London season.

"Excuse me."

"What's that sir."

"You're caught in my covers."

"Ah I beg your pardon, sure I didn't know I was pulling the bedcovers off you. I'm so distracted with the trouble. I'm sorry. It's a confused moment we have here. Sure stay there safe now on the sidelines. It's a bit cramped for manoeuvering. But I'll have this over. Please God. Give me the didactics. And we'll have a suitable settlement here. It's the use of weapons has me bothered. What harm a fingernail or a fist but cutlery and jagged glass. There'll be malicious murther. Women will you listen. Neither of you move now. And we'll see if we can't fit some sense in between you. Sure the panic is over. I can't give the infallible remedy here. But it's time for a temporary composure. We've shook ourselves free of hatred now."

"I'll dig this one's eyes out."

"O God woman hasn't enough goodwill been squandered by this reckless hate."

"Look at her. Take your last look of her. Let that excite you now. As it's been over the weeks. Don't think I'm not wise. And then plaguing me to put your thing in."

"That's improper, wife. I'll not allow that talk. In front of a stranger now. Sure lay down the arms and come to a settlement of the grievances."

The two females eye to eye. Weapons held aloft. Breda holding over herself a garment grabbed from the floor. The landlady suddenly quaking. Dropping her knife and pressing her hands up to her face. She turns and rushes out the door with a howling wail. The landlord going to Breda to take the bottle from her hand. She pulls away and flings it crashing through the window.

"Ah that's satisfactory enough. Opens the window a bit. Dry things out. A breath of fresh air coming in will cool it off. Will anyone have a smoke now."

Myles looking from face to face. The packet of Woodbines held out. A cool sweet sea air filling the room. As Breda and Balthazar shook their heads no.

"Do you mind if I have a puff. I'm sorry you've suffered the present interference and interruption. It's the missis' way to get things out of her system."

A crash from downstairs, sound of breaking glass. The watery plop of bottles exploding. Myles putting his head back and perking his ears.

"Ah let the situation run itself out now. Again apologies. I better get down there. From the sound of that last one, it's valuable stock being destroyed. Ah God, there they are. On the floor. Smashed so's you wouldn't know they were teeth at all."

Myles bending and reaching under the cupboard. Picking up the membrane pink and ivory white dentures. Holding them between his hands as he clacked the twisted uppers against the crushed lowers.

"Ah these have had their day. Wouldn't be able to chew the cream off the top of a bottle of milk. And you know, it shows you now. Just to give you folk an example of a case of come uppance. Your woman when she married me had an awful resentment as I was with a full set of me own natural teeth. And she couldn't abide it as she was without real ones of her own. She wasn't satisfied till I went to the dentist down there over the way and had every last one of mine torn out of my head and a set like her own put in. Here are hers now. Just look at that. Sure you never know where justice will strike next."

To bring

A good

Laugh

Where there

Was so much

Maim.