The Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B

21

The days gently flew. Like all the birds passing over the rolling low hills and island dotted loughs of Fermanagh. When rain wet Miss Fitzdare's hair and made little white holly blossoms of moisture there.

On that picnic afternoon we kissed as we walked and walked and kissed again. Up and down meadows to go deep among the haunted trees. To see the gravestones of her mother and little brother. And nannie of nine years faithful service. Under thick yew branches. Where the chiseled words said their names. And here on this hillock and small walled clearing in the wood, her father would be buried. And if never she married she might rest too.

That evening we stood out under the sky when dinner port and billiards were done. A moonlight on the lough. And Miss Fitzdare cupped her hands to her mouth and blew hoots. Which came back answered by owls for miles around. And I watched her go down a candle lit hall, waving back and blowing kisses as I stood at my door. Would she ever tell me where she lived. In all this big house. What turning would I take in the night. In what wing and up what stair would I find her. Which door to open. And step in.

I lay awake for hours. Had brushed my teeth. Looked in the mirror. To see what love had done. It made my eyeballs the purest white. And when we walked by a clear little brook. She reached down and pulled up the green leaves, the trailing roots and stems of watercress. And gave me eat from her hand. As she ate. Without fear of tiny specks of dead leaves or bark debris.

I fell at last to sleep. Passing in a dream into a college dance. At the door a chaperoning member of the faculty asked me where I was going. I said to the college hop. He said are you a member of this university. I was shattered, taken aback and angered by this aspersion. I grabbed him by his black gown. Gathering the cloth tightly in my fist and slamming him back against the wall. He was such an absolutely tiny person, no bigger than a rather small midget. And I was immensely much encouraged. To wrap him up in his great long scarf around his neck and juggle him nicely in my hand. But I might break his very white thin little wrists. And that wouldn't do. I was so amazed when he remained calm. Can't even scare people in dreams. And so I put my fingers in his collar and turned my knuckles in against his throat. Still this professor remained unflappable. And indeed was uppish. So I clouted him a medium blow on the cheek. Really only a finger flick. For the first time a little fear came into his eyes. I was so pleased. I said if you breathe a word of this to anyone and I am sent down from this university I will come back and kill you. By a resounding blow by truncheon across the mandible. And if you're not here I will search you out over the ends of the earth. Including the tourist depths of Killarney. And jump upon you from the dark. I left him there quite a bit disturbed. And I proceeded back from the dance to my college rooms. I had a great white throne for a crapper with frilly tassels about the seat. And a bath steaming with scents shielded with a Chinese lacquered screen. Horace stood in red raiment and white leather gaitors sprinkling perfumed salts from a crystal ladle and then suddenly there stood someone in the rising steam. Seemed a father of some girl I had wronged. Then the figure turned white and faded again till the wronged daughter was standing there. Where her father stood. And the whole wall was moving. And I was sure now I was awake and sitting up. In the streaming moonlight. And there God help me was Fitzdare. Coming right out of the wall. And said across the darkness as I reared in fear. It's me. And that was before I knew it was anything at all. And the wall behind her closed again. And tip toeing now to turn the key and lock my door. Returning smiling to my bed in a black silk dressing gown opened over her lavender gentleman's pyjamas. Her teeth biting into her lower lip, eyes alight with mischief I'd never seen before. I was aghast that this was still a dream. And said tell me is it true. And she came out with a purring laughter.

And said yes. And yes again when her cold foot touched mine. She was trembling now. Balthazar I didn't think you'd mind. That I would come to you. Because I knew you wanted to come to me. I said for God's sake are you real. Yes you can see and feel all you want. This was a king's room before my mother's centuries ago and he had his mistresses visit him. And I don't want to waste any time. So I came too. Before you go. And are gone to London. And may never come back. But now. In just that jiffy we were out of our pyjamas. Her breasts seemed so big and white in all this heartbeating utter reality that I was amazed. So much lay hidden under wool. The muscles of her belly and strength of her legs. I die to do what's expected. Not easy without practice. With someone you think you know becoming someone else all new again.

Fitzdare grunted, groaned and growled. Grabbing me fiercely by the perpendicular and a too firm grasp by the balls. That I had to say out a little squeal of agony. And she drew back and said Pm sorry. Put your hand there again, just a little more softly now. To push and press my pole slowly down and down. On top of her here. Is her hole. Seems so small that there is nowhere to go. And now I'm there. Wrapped as she is all around me. And she said no, no one has ever been in me before. So hard to believe I am the first. But she said you are. And if I am. The first. How are you like you are. So unafraid. To give me your body. And just take off your clothes like that. In a jiffy. She said it's all because I wanted to. Over all these months at Trinity. I planned to get you just like this. Right here in this bed. Even on this day of the week and week of the month, with moonlight in the window. I planned it all. Right from the first day I winked at you if you can remember. At chemistry practical. I remember. And I thought if ever I got you here. I'd put you in my mother's room and come as I've come there through the secret door. It's dusty up and down the stairs and cobwebs all along through the walls. And I can't tell you all the hundred nights I dreamt of this, to sneak here from my room. I knew I would never wait for marriage. And I guess my only weakness was. I just had to ask you. To marry me. First. I knew it might frighten you away. But then I'd never let you go. Were you frightened. No. Ha, I know you're not, because Fve got you locked up here in my arms. And do you. Ever think you could marry me. Please don't say what you think I want to hear. Just tell me what you feel. Well I would have to consult my trustees. A little quiver in Fitzdare. At these words. Balthazar tell me. Are you awfully rich. Lizzie it seems so funny. But I don't honestly know. Each time I've ever asked, my trustees, all of them to a man, turn slowly and look out the window. So I've always just gone on requesting drafts and signing checks. And they write that they advise caution in my expenditure. God love me Balthazar. Push it all the way in. Like that. O God please give it to me. Ever inch and every drop. I pushed. To think I may be at stud. A gigantic fee paid for this nomination. In the paddock of Fitzdare. And how she got me here. To love. When all the time in my heart my tongue hung out to the edge of my heels. The blinding flashing explosion when it goes into someone you love. The whole world changes on nearly every turn. And dies in front of you and all the people run. To gather sticks and prayers to burn and pray because it all must start again. Little eyes, little lips, and maybe you can then say please, if all the others die, don't let me. Hold on to you Fitzdare through all the years to come. Till we stroll old and grey. Past perhaps your barn full of cows as we did one day when they turned to look wild eyed. Under the brown smoked rafters. Twitching big oval ears. Standing on nobby legs swishing tails. Their curly hair you rubbed between their horns. And you trod with such dignity in the cow flop on the golden straw. I saw you hug your new born calves. And show me their big long lashed eyes and the new white ivory hooves clean from the womb and you said they're so sweet and milky aren't they, their noses so moist and sniffing. Standing steamy in the hay, licked by a big long tongued mother. The sound of piss, and milk pinging in pails. The barn clanking, cows shaking their chains, jaws full of munching hay. And when I asked could you milk a cow, you did. I was enthralled. With evil thoughts. As you sat there on the little stool so expert with your two handed pistol shots shooting out the white streams. And one which you sent right out on my boot. I laughed. And my perpendicular went down. And went up again motoring to see Celtic crosses in your funny little car. And Fitzdare I ask you. Are you awfully rich. Yes, I think so. My father is in linen, ships and tea. I had an uncle who lived across the lough. When I was a little girl he had whipped cream on his porridge in the morning. He lost his fortune in America and came back to drink himself to death. And always used to tuck me under the chin and say be glad you're rich. And I never was. It always made me sad. So many are so poor. Their troubles come swarming. It gets so hopeless for them because they think the world can't stop. It sometimes helps to think it can. And the skeletons come dancing out of all our closets. As you did Lizzie out of the wall. Like the night air in the window. Then that sound. What was that. A death in the woods. A night time creature meeting doom. Makes one want to live before one dies. Dress up and look nice for the world. The two of us. I must fly to London. Tell my trustees. That we will wed. Have your white fine body always mine. And Beefy best man. To punch anyone who says they know cause or just impediment why we two persons should not be joined together in holy matrimony. Or not lie so happy like this. Third time of orgasm entwined. In the sight of God. Smelling your sweet sweat. In Fermanagh. Satisfied of lusts and appetites. So discreetly ordained by Fitzdare. She rolls her body all over mine. I lie unthinking and still. Hoping not to hear another creature meeting doom out in the wood. And be haunted. On this our honeymoon. She covers my back with her arms. Pushing her fingers through my hair behind my ears. The church bells will ring when we wed. The ruffian might come screaming at the last moment down the aisle. With a cause unjust. Stabbing an impediment between us. That we may not be joined together. That I laid Breda out in the direction of Baldoyle. Not nice the bitter days of judgment. When the secrets of all hearts are dug up. And the stolen gold falls out. Balthazar, will we like each other always. I felt your seed come into me. Way way up inside. I know so much sadness lies outside in the world. And we could bring it something good. It's so honest the way we touch each other. I don't feel I'm sinning. Do you. If we love each other. As I do at least love you. I'll tell Pappy in the morning. Not what we did tonight, my goodness. But what we want to do for always and always. He'll be so pleased. He likes you. But if you've any doubt that you want to marry me, please say. It would be too painful, I know, if I felt because I love you so much that I trapped you. I think I did. But I'll wash and clean and scrub. And manicure your nails. I'll bring you breakfast. And go with you anywhere. Over the whole wide earth. And the tears I cry are tears of love.

I lay with Fitzdare till the dawn came up. And never slept a wink. She went to sleep buried under her dark hair. I was nervous and feared of the blood we left staining through the sheet. That someone else outside one's life will come and see and know. And it will go all whispered through the house. To servants and grooms and keepers out to other houses for miles around. I sneezed Fitzdare awake and she scrambled out and crossed to the window. Standing naked silhouetted against the satin drape. I looked at her back and bottom shining by the morning light. Then she went away and came back with clean bedding. And said I'll tell Pappy, maybe you both could meet at ten. And that morning in the little library beyond the drawing room. As I came in. Wiping a moisture from my brow. Eyes tired and limbs ashake. Would he see the desperate satisfaction on my face. And how and what do I ask. I think they say can I have your daughter's hand in marriage please. And he rises to shake mine.

"Good morning. I think I can call you Balthazar.' "Yes. Indeed. Sir."

"Sit down. I'm sure I can help us both a little. By saying I'm extremely pleased."

"Thank you sir. I've never done this before."

"Well, ha ha, I'm sure we both hope it's the first and last time. There's been good word of you from every quarter. You're young but you'll manage. The General particularly spoke highly. As did my brother in Greystones. Who are your principals."

"Bother, Writson, Horn, Pleader and Hoot, sir."

"Good show. I know Horn. I've served with Hoot. My chaps will be in touch. I don't think there's any more we need say. Except I hate to lose Elizabeth. And you may have this place on your head one day. Dry rot, fallen slates, drains, poachers and woodworm. But never mind. You're young. You'll prevail. And I know Lizzie will be very happy. And that's what matters."

The moment of dread. Like nothing at all. And suddenly with a smile and handshake one has the precious Fitzdare. And one rides with her now holding her hand and sitting close together all the way to Dundalk. To catch a train instead of my cancelled plane. And go south to Dublin town through Drogheda and out along the wintry looking shore. We kissed on the station. We would marry in the fall.

And riding on this train. Through Donabate and Malahide. Over the flat stretches and estuary waters. Fitzdare stood high on her toes as she waved goodbye. And last thing we shook hands. Seeing in each other's eyes. And suddenly she wouldn't let me go. And clung as my hand reached down from the window and she ran along the platform tears streaming from her eyes. And the sight of her when I looked back was her head bent down.

The houses grim and tinted red as we dip down into Dublin over the river Tolka. Breda, that little wisp of wiry fighting girl, gone from Cabra somewhere with her jewel. Click clack past buildings tall dark and tattered. Citizens in this summer time go greyly overcoated, black belted through the streets.

How will I ever find Beefy to tell him the news. And at the hotel desk an envelope left. I opened it rising up in the lift cage past the crimson coveredfloors.

My dear Balthazar,

I have had a debacle. Had hoped to catch you back. Will call again this early eve. Believe me when I say a pox upon the elderly. But let us be goodish and deter distress.

Beefy

I bathed in pine scent. Nearly wafting off to sleep. Changed my somewhat seamy underthings. I ordered blue steak, mashed potatoes and peas and Gevrey Chambertin to be served in my room. And as my first succulent slice was put between my lips. Beefy knocked and came in.

"My dear boy, how are you. But let me tell you, before you tell me, how I am. Firstly I am in need of gripe water. Secondly I am bedazzled. Benumbed with befuddlement. Carted off bodily to Unthank. And there pissed on. From a dizzying height. And soon I shall be seen somewhere in Paddington light footed in the rooming house hall wearing sunglasses, wielding squash racket and utterly unclothed. Allow me please to have a spoon full of these peas.' "Beefy sit down."

"Thank you I actually will."

"I have the most wonderful news. I am betrothed to Fitzdare."

"O isn't that splendid. I'm quite cheered up. A solemn moment. O yes. Very solemn moment indeed. Ah. I am most happy for you. I mean that Balthazar. From the bottom of my heart. That is indeed such good news that mine I fear deserves not to be told. I have been utterly disinherited. Dispossessed. I have only my deed box full of fivers left. I know I shall raise rebuttals. But my God how. Aubergine's my colour. Nobility my demeanour. I am not yet stripped of all privilege. One's been to a good school and has the right if slightly tarnished background. And at least I have never stooped so low as to vulgarize myself with a carnation in the buttonhole. No matter whatever other humiliating deeds I was enthusiastically engaged in. There shall be fight. Count on it."

"I am awfully sorry to hear of this, Beefy."

"Sad. But not yet fatal. Never thought she'd do it. Granny. These days folk play foul with their nearest and dearest. Without a murmur of conscience. A man came to my grandfather when he was in a hotel in China. To ask if he wanted any delectations of the flesh. A prudent as well as prudish man he said no. And your chap offered then the ultimate. Fished deep from his cubbyhole of delights and soothings of the spirit. He said does the honourable gentleman wish to see an execution. My grandfather said certainly not. The chappie said it was at the honourable gentleman's convenience and priced at twenty pounds. My grandfather who thought he was on to a splendid piece of magic went off with your man to a chamber to see the brilliant occult mystery unfold. He paid and watched. And a chap was beheaded. Bloocl everywhere. The spectacle of execution was real. Men offered themselves for execution and the money paid would go to their families. There was a long line of applicants my dear Balthazar. And the story has always impressed me. One man of a family would give his all for the rest. But not my dear old granny. She won't die. She won't budge from her flint hearted throne. And she's ninety one. Told my trustees I was a waster. Countenance that. What an awful thing to say about a man destined at one time to take holy orders. Who will not bet on nags not tipped by Zutu. Ah God that dear man, I miss him. Well my path is clear. I must marry a fortune with the utmost dispatch. Before my hair drops out and too much belly fat collects. You are a lucky one with your Fitzdare. She is a treasure. Of such tantalising beauties, it fair makes me weep. God speed you on your way into such dear arms."

"Beefy would you be my best man.' "Nothing in this world would give me more profound pleasure."

"Is there anything I can do for you Beefy."

"Yes. I should adore to quaff a bottle of champagne. In these testing times."

This cozy narrow sitting room. Drapes aflutter with a summer breeze. And Dublin lies out there. For all it's worth. It will speak to you when one is least ready to listen. The 278 champagne comes. A smallish boy enjoying this duty. Making a little cascade and popping the cork across the room.

'To you Balthazar. Fitzdare. And many little Balthazars.' "Thank you Beefy."

"And while my money lasts. I must disport in London. Clutch to my strong breast some moneyed morsel who can barely hobble with the burden of family jewels at Palace parties. First chukka of my life still to be lived. Second chukka shall be winningly played. But you know, with this saddening news came piles. A rather diabolically unfortunate case of same. Not nice. Balancing on one cheek of arse. Waiting always to move to the other. No. Not at all nice. One's income, once large and sure from granny. Will now be miniscule and uncertain. Ground rents, rates, gas and electricity will be paid for, and renewals of fuse wire for the lights. Food, drink, travel, servants, other rents and lecheries, all these have ceased forthwith to be reimbursed. Until such time as granny packs off to heaven. Which I hope is at any moment. Even then she may have done the dirty on me. Meanwhile I fear I may have to take on a mare with legs between which I cannot see the daylight. Having always deeply cherished that exquisite separation of the thighs. Deprived of that I should end up sweating on the upper lip through life. Chucked out of the Church of Ireland. Be banging soon at the doors of the Church of England. Those chaps are so selective. I'm bound to be debarred. Not owning any longer, as I once did, the Hyde Park grazing rights for escargot. Of course there is the piano department of Harrods, if the chaps will have me. Whacking great commissions on those whacking great pianos. And the analogy dear boy is. I am seated playing a soft delicate passage in my life and granny comes sneaking up behind with her pearl studded ebony cane and prises down the piano cover slamming on my fingers. Never mind. At least I can prior to the fifth request for payment still venture to the haberdasher, shout shirt. To the bootmaker, shout shoe. To the hatter, shout hat. And stride dignified up St. James. You know of course it is not done to walk down St. James. Approach always from Pall Mall. I'm drunk you know. Just in case you did not. Know. Still hope I have the temerity at my club to raise a finger for whisky and wipe out members at bridge and bezique."

"I do wish Beefy I could say something to cheer you."

"Make me your factor when you and Fitzdare are possessed of your delightfully situated period residence of great character and charm, sheltered from the north, approached by a long drive in a completely secluded setting, yet incorporating every modern amenity, crawling distance from a good hunt, stabling for forty and other useful outbuildings, deer park, o God to think I have come down into penury with piles. Me the purest voiced of all. Sorry to behave like this. But I have my little seizures of self pity. Invariably disappear in a few months. But you know when one talks with one's inner spirit, it's always up to giving rumblings of a sexual or financial nature. Disheartening for the goodishness I think I still retain. In my thumb tips and toes. I'll find some little detour around this nightmare. But for the moment I feel like a freelance archbishop to a group of Siberian atheists who are manufacturing religious artifacts with a word of mouth option for distribution inside the arctic circle. Destined as I may now be to do deeds foreign to my character. Unless I marry rich. And soon."

"I'm sure Beefy things will turn out quite properly for you."

"Civil of you to suggest. Really is. I suppose in London one shall spread it about that one is of the Dublin Social Register. One can hear it said already, is that agricultural dear boy, so nice to meet Irish who are not servants. The noiseless gouging will be on. Foreskins drawn back, knives out. Mommies will be delving into my pedigree like thieves into a Knightsbridge back garden. Looking for a sign of shipping lines. Or land grants in Oxfordshire. And to find I am dispossessed. Then they will be rude to me. Not nice. Where's the humanity. I am almost a disgracefully humble person. One's name unaccountably keeps looking smaller in Debrett. How does one explain the shifty eyed look of one's forebears. Direct descent from horse thieves from the days of cudgels and kicks up the arse. Century upon century of the most mischievous thievery youVe ever heard. And when they weren't thieving people's horses they were thieving people's saucepans, codpieces, loose ecclesiastic attachments and turnips. God I have a volcanic erection. Would you believe it. Keep in line folks. Don't crowd around. It will stand up indefinitely. Eighty fourth wonder of the world. This way now. Folks. There it is. You'll get your chance. Don't shove. Yes, half crown a look, five bob to touch. O God Balthazar, there are knotty times ahead. And I must move to make preparations for the battle to be joined. I shall fight them up St. James as they come seething down, in and out Jermyn Street, along Piccadilly. I shall wage the struggle. Barricade myself in an attic room of the club till my dues are due. I have a porter, old chap who lays on a few lashes. I like to take a bit of the whipping now and again. But the doddering gent's arm isn't what it used to be. I'm driven from Ireland where the strange mysteries of the primitive lusts so easily flower. Many hybrid departures in sauciness. Just as there is too much cross breeding in roses these days. I mean my God where are the petals of strongly scented crimson sublime with the darkness of blood and wine. They're gone Balthazar, I tell you, gone. People like your folk in the back gardens of Donnybrook have done it. Rosy pink 01 pinkish roses mean nothing any more. The history of that elegant flower is full of people crowding to nail their names on the beautiful handiwork of God. Dear me. I am tight. Couldn't care less about roses in my sober moments but then I am mostly given to my doggish proclivities of pleasurings. Strange how in the morning and into early afternoon one prefers ladies of fulsome legs but as evening approaches I rather fancy space between the thighs. Granny o granny you have made little Beefy a sad chap. And he took a shivering ice cold bath this morning to stiffen up the character for the hard days ahead. And dislodge the little fats here on the belly. For the climb into early middle age. The sun set upon youth."

"But Beefy you've got a long way to go."

"Not if the Lord does not preserve one from lingering disorders. And deliver to his obedient servant a true, sure aid to regularity. Disinheritance has messed up my bowels. Feels like a bishop's mace been stirring there. Could I prevail upon your most cordial hospitality Balthazar and have another bottle of champagne. I'll pay. But I would like to have it here in this peace with you."

"Not at all, Beefy. We'll both have some. You'd be most welcome to stay in my little house in London."

"That's very good of you Balthazar. Very. But I must refuse. No time to cushion the spirit I feel. Time to fight. Always been my strong point. To answer the call, take up the cudgel and wade into the enemy, laying about me with much what for. My trustees of course think it's very funny. As they steam away in their suitable motors to Suningdale. You know Balthazar I'm beginning to detest people who go away on the weekend. And leave me behind. I suppose I would give anything to have a rose named after me. Years now of entertaining a vision of riding that fat ecclesiastical train into rural old age and face instead slanders of having attempted to shoulder aside the elderly. It's the rich Balthazar what gets the antiques and it's the poor what gets the tremors. Facing penury upsets my whole system. Takes so much steady emolument to traverse one's daily life unhindered. Able to say at the drop of a vowel I'll thank you not to fuck about with me you low cur. But you know Balthazar, unless one has a majesty about one's apartments, people will walk all over you, put ash on the carpet, kick the olive pips under the tallboys. As one stands there desperately besmirched. Trying that awkward laugh through the teeth. Giving the demeanour, o you chaps don't put me off my stride at all. As you face all the flashing out of smoking appurtenances, the cigarette lighters, the cases in beaten gold and silver. The English have no mercy. Out of their fat packed diaries they pick another appointment and leave you utterly alone."

"Beefy you mustn't get so upset."

"I know. But the deep dreadful fear of earning one's daily bread assailed me this afternoon. Could throw myself at the mercy of the theatrical world. Think of that. I can't act a damn. But it would be an excuse to go on living. While suffering my piles. I suppose the audience would notice wouldn't they, my hand held constantly to my arse. O dear, that won't do either. Had I taken holy orders dear boy, I was to have shooting rights on forty thousand acres. Two disused lead mines. A shipyard, two mills and three distilleries. The loss of the latter has hurt me most. But it's unforgivable of me to tumble these complaints upon your good natured head, Bal-thazar. And I owe you the very deepest apologies. Having got you sent down with me."

"You mustn't mind. But can't you appeal to your grandmother to reconsider."

"Alas my God Balthazar, what I did was. To threaten to sue my granny. I thought it would put wind up her enough to gently expire her last spark. It was heinous and ill advised. I mean one can shove a legal point up some cad's arse upon which he will chew for the rest of his life. However to threaten writs upon one's old granny I suppose is unforgivable. But she could simply leave the bullion to a cats' home. For unpleasant cats. In any case she just laughed and slammed down the phone. I'd been begging Smithers to put her on for half an hour. There used to be the day when light fingered hair surgeons danced about me in a fevered lather of attendance. To keep me beautiful for tea time. I was such a nice little boy of big cheeked arse and face. Had enormous curls in childhood. I did. Now all and everybody is going to go piggish."

"I won't Beefy."

"I know you won't Balthazar. And I won't go piggish just to suit other swine. Justice is decaying about me. I think my heart is liable to failure in pulsation. I rogered Rebecca last night glissando and then grosso molto. Poor girl couldn't really care. Said Breda just upped and disappeared I hear. And I go with vowels to cut a swath through London. Take the first hedge in the steeple chase. And be damned the mumpish miseries.' Another bottle of champagne. Comes through the door. With smiles and the hospitable genuflections. And the empty taken away. To see this man here before one. So sad. In need of solace. Of rich round friendly cheeks. When I was a small thin white complexioned boy. Frightened and feared of a new world. And first saw his small carefully sewing hands beneath his sunny face. On the blackest horizon of my life. "Balthazar it's been heartening to spend this moment with you here. In the peace of these surrounds. But I must take my leave and go. Rebecca waits for me on Butt Bridge. Dear girl. I sneak her as my mother into my hotel. She is full of fight you know. Wants to come with me to London. When I take out my instrument she seizes it with a wild peal of laughter. Very unirish of her. But marvellously charming. Granny taught me at table not to ask for a second service of soup. She was always fond of saying haste was vulgar. Don't leave a door open you find closed or close a door you find open. And above all she said don't trouble people with your mishaps. As I've ignobly done tonight. Wish me well. I now go forth in search of a young lady whose endless pence can slide me over these bumpy times. Shall we meet in London. Seven weeks exactly from today. Waiting hall of Harrods. Are you on. Three o'clock. The course should be clear then, free of unpleasantries. Must go. Drain this last of wine. Blessed are the randy makers for they shall themselves be even more so. My hotel serves only tomato and oxtail soup. For breakfast lunch and dinner. Each time I ask for soap they say the girls will see to the soap. And my God I'm exhausted seeing to the girls. I must go."

"You'll overcome Beefy."

"I guiltily hope so."

Balthazar B watching as the lift cage descended with Beefy.

To make sport with Rebecca. Uncle Edouard said you must take women as they are with perhaps a little Chablis and snail. I took Fitzdare bare arsed out of a hole in the wall and am still trembling with the memory. I'll go stand at the window. Look down. All just as it was when I first came to Dublin. And heard on an early morn. A voice. Singing down below. To hear it now again. And look. There on the pavement, hands resting on a pillar before him. He stands. Looking up here at my window. I wave. And the strains of O For The Wings Of A Dove. Go in my ears. That sunlit hearth of Mrs. Twinkle's cottage so many years ago. And as I will wake to look out on Dublin. I give a wish. For you Beefy. That a time will come. If just you wait. For one of those pure days of accident when everything turns to bliss.

Then

Pack away

Pleasures

All you can.