The Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B

27

The little fellow was born three days after nurse came to Crescent Curve with her hat of white daisies with big white petals on the back top of her head. She wore blue frequently and when out of uniform a grey sweater with two rows of amber beads. She smoked inhaling the air deeply and threw her head back shooting the smoke upwards at an angle from the horizontal.

A fortnight later nannie came. And nurse was slow to leave. In the long still tight lipped silences at table. No one having a second helping except of wine. Millicent wrapped up high with frills all over her bed. Delivered trays of delicacies by the fragile and hard of hearing Boats with his white hair flowing behind his ears. He had made his way from his tiny sea front cottage in Dorset. Travelling for three days, getting lost on stations, taking trains back to where he came from instead of where he was going. As I shouted directions to him down the long distance phone. Lodged safely now up top in the back room. With all his neat equipments laid ready about.

There were tremors of lighted warmth over the house. Between the black looks nurse gave nannie and nannie gave nurse. Neither ever passing the salt to the other and pushing butter and bread further away. Millicent muchly reclined in the middle of her bed having hair and fingernails done. The little fellow nuzzling in at the breasts. One nipple just a little larger than the other. The left one as a matter of fact. Mil-licent's right eye is a little larger than the left. Nature quite fussy in balancing things. Beefy came to visit. We had a private little talk in the library.

"Dear boy, I don't know what the Violet Infanta's advisors and principals want. Fve told them granny will go to her maker any day and I will be immortally rich. They say they are advised from confidential sources my granny will go on living for years and years, the reports say she has the heart of a twelve year old girl. It is all simply too too sad. The Infanta when I roger her says she's got to wank. Asked me if I minded her tickling herself off in that manner. I said don't be a miserable so and so, of course I don't mind. Of course you may wank if it gives an extra pleasure. Full steam to orgasm. Sometimes the Infanta wears an expression of staggeringly splendid stupidity on her face, utterly endearing. I'm frightened I may be becoming more fond of her than her money. She has an awfully beautiful back. Ah my God Balthazar, you're a father. I'm not even a husband yet. And from last week no longer an elevator operator. Too awful. I am about to reveal my address to the world as the Savoy Steps, a nice crooked little street behind the Monarch's church where there's no doorway to deliver an envelope to."

Beefy with his strangely delicate fingers playing with the stem of his glass. Boats entering, lifting up another bottle laid down in the ice. His hands shaking as he undid the wire over the cork. Which hit him on the forehead and nearly knocked him out. We sat there stilled by Boats' lofty elegance as he silently withdrew. And I asked Beefy, who has so often sailed through my life, yawing and heaving, cutting through the waves under a brisk following breeze, how had he lost command of his lift.

"It happened most unexpectedly. I'd been taking chaps up to the top floor throughout the afternoon. Had this Chinese coin with a hole in it in the palm of my hand. If I had a chap with me travelling alone, I'd mumble an aside that this was the tip the last passenger gave me. Worked marvellously time and again in producing a couple of bob. Anyway, I'm as usual conducting a most well run lift. Giving smart salutes to those passengers deserving it. And slipping out a morsel of a fart at others meeting with my displeasure, mostly of the untutored talkative variety addressing me without invitation. This is marvellously good champagne Balthazar. So good to see you sitting there. Happy in your own little buzzing home. Nice. But me alas. I sped my elevator to the top floor. To take down some of the day's last passengers. There they were, an even dozen gents. Although all short, all extremely wide. They were pushing, all wanting down at once. Well I mean to say, one has had authority over a company of men in the field. I said gentlemen, the capacity of this machine is seven, the first seven please only. The entire twelve instantly crushed forward. I announced over the heads that we would plummet to the bottom of the lift shaft and if one gentleman would step back he could laugh himself sick at the sight. Well it was quite clear that they were not about to let one of their number get to the bottom first. A most horrid group. Fuck-pigs of multiplicities, distinguished as they were by jug handled ears and halitosis. They mocked my safety precautions. I announced once more that the capacity was seven. The pushing became even more prevalent. I was poohpoohed in an aggressive manner. Their cigars were starting to stick into the back of each other's necks. I thought you saucy chaps, you're all fiddling with each other's genitals at the closest of quarters. The lift was already swaying and groaning with the weight. Again I announced the risk. No one could bear to be the chap to step out and be left behind. The last bugger who finally squeezed himself aboard had his arse stuck in the doors. Wouldn't close. There was a general exhaling and he was fitted in. The mixture of smells was sickening. By the time they all got on they could have walked down. I thought well, stand by my post. A guardsman always. Of course I reckoned we were quite safe. I manoeuvered the power handle over to descend. Slowly. But we were picking up speed. The sixth floor passed by. The fourth flashed by. And the rest simply didn't exist at all. Not nice. I pressed and pulled and switched the emergency yokes. The whole gang of them shouting, what's wrong, stop it. I braced myself for the moment of impact at basement level. Or perhaps lower. And my lift which I had run without the loss of single life was suddenly a load of moaning trembling sweating jelly. Screams of legal steps and negligence and we want out. My God, I thought wistfully of my pedigree. And my most modest position. The alarm bell now ringing. Stifling smoke from cigars. Like a crematorium. One accusing another that he was breathing his area of air. A third that his lawyers would already be looking into his disappearance. Two chaps just behind me however were engrossed in discussing percentages of a deal. Thirteen of us trapped for twenty five minutes. Finally in the lobby there were police, fire brigade, lawyers, all taking dispositions from the lift travellers who had suffered moral disfigurement and spiritual bitterness in the disastrous descent. And would sue for damages. Each one pointing a finger at me. Balthazar. My dear man. Here you are, in life, where I should so much like to be."

Gallantly through dinner Beefy lightheartedly tickling the fancies of nurse and nannie. Through the somewhat long pauses as Boats got stuck outside the dining room door. His shoes far too big for him. The tray too heavy. Until the yells from cook brought us all running. Boats in the scullery covered in gravy and mint sauce. Beefy and I lifting the dear old gentleman bodily. Up to his bed. Putting compresses softly on his brow. As I had to rush to meet Alphonsine, an au pair arrived from France. In her soft grey suit, short cropped hair and pretty eyes. And quite extraordinary arse, much callipyge.

But again we were all nice and settled. Cook laying a place for Alphonsine. As she sat shy with her wine, slabs of lamb, rhubarb custard, port and cheese. Which Beefy and I brought up to Boats and he lay propped with pillows in bed, a purple tasselled night cap on his white head. His faint blue eyes and delicate long fingered hands. We poured his port and held it for him to his lips and slowly he revived and indeed was rather animated and cheerful. Spoke of his great old days with Uncle Edouard and before that in the grandnesses of Wales. When he went shooting and fishing. And met his first love. Until he finally fell asleep and gently snored.

Beefy and I sat there with the sleeping Boats. Quaffing a decanter of port. Quite silent. Tonight in England. Across all the stiff upper unmustached lips. Men not clever, not overly endowed with carnal prowess, but of normal pleasant appetites, only asking to enjoy their pudding in peace. Some with a quiet evening erection browsing through their erotica. Secure in their postal districts, or preferred counties. At slipper footed ease in their castles. And here in Crescent Curve where Boats busted the cut glass bowls one by one. To my cheered relief to see the last of these seventeen wedding presents purchased at the same sale finally disappear.

"Of course Balthazar. I was so depressed. Nothing seemed dandy randy and delightful anymore. Wondering if the sun would ever come up again. To be witnessed solitary in London. Known that one's diary entries are nil. That one's life doesn't merit having the hours booked up. I chose some fluff from the Bayswater Road. And announced my desires. She said that will be two guineas extra. I said guineas. She said yes, Fm not like the other girls, my fees have always been in guineas. Very cheeky she was. I said peruse my organ and pull it gently for me please. I sang my repertoire of Irish ballads. She said aren't you the straightforward darling though. I said usually I was rather more craven but wasn't at my best tonight. She had a quite nice little place. She asked me if I wanted to watch her ride for two more guineas her rocking horse in her transparent macintosh. Of course, I screamed, I want to see you ride. Then she asked me to give her a little fluttering of the whip across her what for. I said madam that will be exactly three guineas. She was furious. But you know, suddenly again I was awfully cheered. At that moment. And my God. What happens. The floor was quivering. And shaking. As I laid on the lash. I knocked her over. Both of us fell. And one's one leg and a knee of the other went right through a blasted cardboard patch in the floor. Came out through the ceiling below, in a room where they were showing the second house of a dirty film. Well I scratched my head. I really did. And calmly looked down upon the scene. Not nice. Boats dear man is snoring there, I may be giving him dreams. But upon my word, the debacle of the lift was most minor. There they were below. Dirty film goers. About fifteen of them. Trying to get out the door. Some through a blocked up window. I could catch a glimpse of the untoward film still flickering on its moth eaten screen. Of course they thought it was the police. Attacking from the top. I must confess I did myself whisper such a word. Thought it would frighten away complaints from below. Said this is the chief detective superintendent Beefy, everyone stay as you are. The thing was the chaps below were locked in. Pure murder. I recognised a titled cousin struggling in the dust and broken chairs to get out between someone's legs. Packed with peerage it was. One shouting out that he wished to call attention to the lack of sanitary provisions in a place of entertainment and was present there officially investigating the matter. Marvellous ruddy cheek of the chap. But enough Balthazar. I must go. Look how Boats sleeps. After his long gentle life. My God it makes one wish one had been born a butler."

Quietly leaving Boats' room. Past Alphonsine's door. Where Beefy bent to peek in the keyhole and put his hand up to his amazed lips. As I dragged him away and down the stairs. To bid him a fond goodnight out my front door. Standing between the two little statues of doggies. Beefy patting them on the head. I watched him walk away down the street. Until the shadow of his jaunty shoulders turned the corner. After this April third day. Back in there the little family I'd founded. To look up at the sky. Mountains of cloud tumbling across the tree tops down the street. Rain beginning to fall. I sigh. When suddenly one is left without a complaint.

The silent house. To pass back into my study. The wall now lined with volumes treating of the whole of the animal kingdom. Of the birds and snakes, of the monkey and the horse. Port left in the decanter on my desk. Sit at last for a little read of the paper. Sip the sweet splendour of this ancient fortified wine. And lay out the page. Of The Times. Announcing marriages, births and ruby weddings. And rows of deaths. Of all these pleasant ringing names. Adams, Blyth, Clutterbuck, Donoghue, Eliot. And.

FITZDARE. On March 3ist, peacefully at The Manor, Co. Fermanagh, Elizabeth Astrid Benedicta Fitzdare, beloved only daughter of Raphael Fitzdare, in her twenty fourth year. Funeral private at The Manor. No flowers please.