They'll
Want
To sink
My soul.
17
That late winter the snow lay for weeks across Ireland. Sheep buried in drifts. Roads and railways blocked and racing cancelled at the courses. The giant brown pyramids of wet turf stacked in Phoenix Park. And when the snows left, the rains came.
Balthazar B lay late abed. In sweaters, shirts and socks. Cold winds shaking the great window frames. And when shadows settled over college. He went discreetly across the squares. To take half pints of creamy topped porter from the marble bar of the Wicklow Hotel. To soak up the warmth from the gleaming mahogany panelling. And at the latening hour to devour sea food and steak. Tucked down this narrowing street.
The Landship, of the monstrous rumbling motor, after these months motionless, was sold to Beefy. He came in motoring cap and leather coat to take it through its paces. Fourteen members of the rugby team pushed to start it out the back gate and along Lincoln Place. In Merrion Square the motor faltered and failed when the transmission fell out on the road. A team of horses came to haul it away to a mews garage. Balthazar offered Beefy his money back. And he gallantly refused.
"A bargain my dear chap is a bargain although one of us may not be amused."
Miss Fitzdare sometimes passed in a little motor all of her own. With just room for two and a package on the back seat. Of all the embarrassed days. Unable to face her carefree smile. When once even she waved at me. And I could not lift my hand or grin but fled. Till this April afternoon. The days were softening now. There came a rap on my door.
Horace had put a pitcher of beef tea at my side. I lay back on my chaise longue in a pose of indisposition. Which I often took. Through these days. Wearing purple ecclesiastic silk at my throat and a blue smoking jacket. To hold firmly the spine of a tome. The Morphology of Vertebrates. And Horace nipped his head in the door.
''Sir, there is a young lady calling upon you. A Miss Fitz-dare. Shall I show her in."
"My God."
"Ah you're not receiving."
"O no no. Show her in please."
"Very good sir."
The sound of feet in the hall. Horace's voice may I take your coat miss. And a voice melodic. Like a thrush sitting first and fat in spring. Here in my chambers. In all the dust. Something I can't believe. She would call on me. Horace so anxious I should be happy. And not lie entrenched and enclosed all these weeks. Writing letters back and forth to my trustees.
Who like to make me feel I am improvident.
The Temple.
London, E.G. 4
Dear Mr. B,
Your letter of the fourth instant to hand. We have acted upon your instruction to transfer the additional sum you request to your account with the Bank of Ireland. However, it is our duty to inform you, having regard for the magnitude of the additional monies, that we would be pleased if you would advise us of any not usual contingency which may have arisen unforeseen and with which perhaps we could assist in extending our advice. Do not hesitate to call upon us to be of any help. Meanwhile we continue to conduct settlement terms regarding the damage claimed with reference to your trespass and will keep you informed.
Yours faithfully,
Bother, Writson, Horn,
Pleader & Hoot
As my big black door opens. I stand to receive. Horace stiffly as he does coming to attention. She wears the black coat she wore that detouring night. Light silk on her legs and her shoes low heeled and gleaming with two flat little bows.
"Miss Fitzdare, sir.' "Hello."
"Miss Fitzdare. Do please, come in."
"Thank you."
"Would you bring another cup please Horace."
"Right you are sir."
"I do apologise for barging in like this. Walking along I couldn't help but see your light. You've not been at classes. You haven't been ill."
"No."
"O."
"Please, sit here Miss Fitzdare. I fear I've been rather flamboyant with this chaise longue. But during long afternoons it affords a simple calm comfort."
"O you mustn't move. Please don't. I'm fine right here. On the end. I don't really feel very, I don't know how to say it, but I shouldn't call on you like this, I know."
"I'm so glad you did. Really I am."
"I felt that perhaps there was something I did or said without realising and that I may have offended you."
"O no. You must never feel that. Here. Thank you Horace. Have some of Horace's beef tea. And could we have some more toast, Horace."
"Very good sir."
"You'll have some toast. And beef tea. And try this honey. Then we'll have china tea."
"I'd love to."
"Good. It's for me I suppose the most important wonderful part of my day. I have to hold myself back in the early afternoon. When four approaches I blurt out to Horace. Beef tea. I know it's awfully indulgent but then I have china tea and lemon to follow. Languorously sipping all the way to six o'clock."
"You're swotting too."
"O. The Morphology of Vertebrates. Not really. I think it's to do with these drawings. When one looks at the dorsal side of things. All so neatly laid out on the page. And absolutely nothing to do with the horrors of life. These dormant pisces and aves."
"You've been asked after. Professor said where has our elegant friend got to."
"O Lord not that night again.' "He didn't mean to pry. I'm sure. But you know the account in the paper did rather put you on the map. I felt awfully responsible. That's why I thought you were avoiding me. It was so much my fault. To let you just wander off in the night that way. And the least I could do was to come and put things right."
"Is that the only reason you came."
"No. I did want to see you again."
"I'm glad. You see I felt perhaps. Well as you say, it did rather put me on the map. But the ladder, the shrubbery. I thought people would think I was trying to look in their bedroom. And I suppose I just couldn't get myself to walk into class again."
"O but it was so little a matter."
"My lawyers haven't found so. I've been sued for enormous damages."
"O no."
"Yes. It doesn't matter. But it makes you feel people can be extremely unfriendly."
"O but that's awful. I had no idea."
"My tutor handled things marvellously and I suppose all would have blown over. But they heard rumours of my enormous car and riches. Totally unfounded, the riches that is. And that was that. Ah toast. You will have some."
"Love to."
"I put just this little extra touch of marmite on. Would you like extras too on yours."
"Yes thank you."
"Will there be anything else sir."
"No thank you Horace."
"I'll be pushing off then sir. Goodbye miss."
"Goodbye."
"Shall I shout you up in the morning sir. Eleven as usual."
"Eight please."
"Ah. Forgive me for commenting sir, but I'm glad to hear it. I think it's the effects of your call miss. And I hope you don't think I'm cheeky when I say we hope to see you again."
Late afternoon settling greyly. Somewhere west peeks a sinking sun. Fanning pink across the clouds. The stark chimneys of the Rubric and the tip top tower of the Campanile. When a spring stillness comes to the soft air. The world stops. And suddenly it goes on forever. Turning slowly round in its own tiny time. Click of the cricket bat and pop of tennis ball. The air comes down and breathes on you. When all the flowers know and rush to grow. Their fattest flowing leaves sent up. Their white bulbs secret and pleased in the moist black ground.
And Miss Fitzdare sits. One knee further up than another. The green plate on her grey wool skirt. I swallow my breath to look down and see her swell of thigh. Frightened of the world I'll always be. Never to stand up and shout. That that woman is mine. Sit instead to bow my head. And quake with loneliness when at last she's forever gone.
"That was an awfully nice thing for your servant to say. And I wa
nt to ask you something. You did say that time ago if you remember. That your Sundays were. O dear. What I'm asking is if you wouldn't like to come and lunch with us Sunday if you can. It's with my uncle where I stay. He's a nice old dear."
"I'd like to very much."
"And I think you do like horses. Don't you."
"Yes but I fear recently I've been visiting turf accountants.
And haven't been out at the courses."
"Well I thought that if you had nothing better to do, you might like to come and visit where I live. But that can wait."
"O no don't let it wait."
"I thought before Trinity lectures began."
"Do please have more tea."
"And if you like the countryside.' "Yes I do."
"Do you shoot.' "Yes I do.' "Do you ride.' "Yes I do."
"O dear I feel I'm making you say yes unfairly to all these things."
"O no. Not at all."
A slow smile on the lips of Miss Fitzdare. Dare not look at the contours on her purple soft sweater. She wears two. A twin set I think they're called. Buttons mother of pearl. One turn back of the long sleeves and her small round gold watch and black band shows.
"O I am. I know I am."
"Well yes perhaps. I'm not really a crack shot. I mean I do try to get the bird. O Lord, Miss Fitzdare. I miss badly if the truth were to be known. Frankly I can't shoot at all. I'm mortally terrified of horses too. But I do love the countryside. I mean would that be enough."
"O goodness yes. I love everything to do with the country and I sometimes, I know, am unbearably enthusiastic. You mustn't feel you've got to shoot or ride. Honestly. I only asked because if you did shoot, we have a shoot. And if you rode we could ride. Or weekends, hunt. And O Lord, really, if only you would like to go for walks that would be awfully nice."
"That's what I would like to do. More tea."
"I must be going. I had only meant to pass a moment. It's been such a beautiful afternoon. Balmy and calm. And I'm so pleased you'll come for lunch Sunday. I did often think of you and your Sunday appointment in Rathgar. You mustn't mind uncle, he blusters a bit about the Empire. He is sweet. Horticulture and astronomy are his passions."
"That's interesting."
"O you know he potters about but he has the largest private telescope in Ireland. I'd better warn you. You'll get a conducted tour."
"I'm awfully interested in the stars."
"Well then we have a date. I am glad I perked up my nerve. I thought you might be awfully busy or something and Fd be shooed away."
"O Lord Miss Fitzdare. What a thing to think."
"Fve not ever been in rooms in this part of college before."
"Perhaps I could show you, I mean you wouldn't mind, would you, it's only my bedroom."
"Well yes, do. Show me."
"Well. Certainly. It's rather barren I fear. But there we are. Obviously that's my bed. Giving me permanent curvature of the spine. I rigged up that little lamp there. I'm not much of an electrician. I'm sure to be electrocuted."
"O you must be careful."
At the open door Balthazar B turning to Miss Fitzdare. She smiles. And turns away back into the drawing room. Glancing over the books in the case on the wall.
"Goodness. Etruscan pottery. O do you go to the London auctions."
"Yes."
"You have all their catalogues."
"A way of spending a not unpleasant afternoon. Tarrying around the galleries."
"I'm sure you're one of those people who stick to Meissen onion pattern."
"That's extraordinary. How did you know Miss Fitzdare."
"O I knew."
"Would you like to see my scullery."
"I'd adore to. O mustn't say that word you took me to task over once before."
"O no, do please adore. I mean I'm quite happy you said that word. I'm afraid things are rather a muddle in here. That's the larder. Where I keep my marmite and cornflakes."
"What's that."
"O it's my peanut butter. I have it sent from Boston."
"Is it nice."
"It's scrumptious with strawberry preserve and butter in a sandwich. And in here. My two burner stove with grill.' "That's rather elegant."
"Left by a rich American I believe. Who couldn't stand the bitter cold and fled back to New Orleans. He used to lie in that room I understand, covered in coats and blankets, surrounded by hot water bottles and an electric fire shining on him through the night and he'd wake frozen."
"O the poor man."
"Horace arranged to get most of these things he left. Horace has been awfully kind to me. That's my pail of water. That's my turf bin. Beefy has one with a false bottom. You can hide underneath, through a little secret door. But that's very hush hush."
"How is your friend Beefy. One hears so many stories and rumours about him. I don't know quite what to believe. He seems such a kindly person."
"He is."
"It's horrid that people don't mind their own business."
"What do you hear."
"Nothing. Not anything worth repeating. And what's in here."
"Well I made a little effort to use this room as an antechamber. It's where the American driven out by the bitter cold made his last stand. I use it for nothing in particular at all. That's a little print I bought."
"It's nice."
"And those are early editions of zoology texts."
"O aren't they lovely. How wonderful. Wherever did you get them."
"On the Quays."
"You are a strange one Mr. B. One never knows about people. I never would have thought you collected books. I don't mean that in any way derogatory. But when one saw you in your enormous car, I thought you were the complete sporting gent. And not bookish at all."
"Well, Miss Fitzdare, I fear you really still don't know me. Now. You see over here. Notice, all locked up out of sight. But there you are."
"Goodness, magazines."
"Movie magazines. That's really what I read."
"I won't believe it. O I think you're having me on."
"It's absolute gospel. That's how I while away my days."
"O you don't."
"I do."
"You're reading morphology."
"It's just one of my guilty days. I settled down to some morphology. Usually I'm engrossed with film stars. I like the reckless abandon with which they live."
"O Mr. B you do amaze me. Thank you for showing me your rooms."
"Thank you for coming to see me."
"I'm awfully glad I did."
"I'm glad you did."
"So till Sunday. If you can manage about one."
"Yes. That's splendid."
"My coat."
"O yes. Sorry."
"Thank you."
"I can never hold the sleeves in their proper place. Can you manage."
"Yes. Thank you."
"You're not wearing your little silver jumping horse."
"My you've got a vivid memory, Mr. B. You do notice things."
"Yes. I do."
"I'm warned. Must go. Thank you so much for tea. It was awfully good."
"Not at all. So nice having you."
"Well thank you."
"Thank you."
"Goodbye."
"Goodbye."
The door closing as Miss Fitzdare stepped out into the dimly lit hall. She'll go down the stone steps. And if I get to the scullery window. I can look out and watch her go. In her black coat. Under the lamp post. By the slung chains. She turns her head. O Lord. She waves. O heavens. I've got to give her everything in my smile. Caught watching. Perhaps I shouldn't have been. Then she shouldn't have turned. And she did. She likes me. I'm going to lunch. What about that. For joy. O God this is awfully good. On an otherwise doubtful day. Jolly and scrumptious. When least you expect something beautiful happens. She asked me. To lunch. She did. O God on that day. Please don't let me stray. Make me go and catch the tram. Go rolling along the tracks. As goes now the last sight of her. A
black spot between the Rubric and all the converging perpendicular slabs of granite. On her silk stock-inged legs. Her hair floating darkly behind. I may never have to be sad again. If we go cantering up over the hills and heather.
Balthazar dressed at seven in a double breasted black pin striped suit. Light blue shirt and black silk tie. To pass now outwards. Across the bumpitibump Front Square. Lanterns lit over the dining hall steps. And one over the big granite doorway. The sky morose and grey. The wind freshening. How will she look after all these years. And why did she come. How does one meet one's mother.
Climbing the steps of this hotel. Through the swing doors. And across the black and white floor. Stand here and look. The little groups. And there. That woman sitting in the corner. Her legs crossed. Large wide hat and can't see her hair. A long black cigarette holder. And next to her a dark man. About my age.
Balthazar crossing the faint brown carpet towards the beige settee. And glass topped table between the chairs. The two figures rising. My mother's hand touches me on the shoulder and her perfumed powder on the cheek.
"Balthazar."
"Hello mother."
"You're tall. And too thin. Otherwise you look as I expected. This is Georgie, Georgie my son Balthazar.' "How do you do.' "I am honoured to meet you Balthazar.' "Please sit down now both of you. What can I get you to drink."
"Sherry."
"Good. What we are having too."
Balthazar crossed his leg and uncrossed it at the sign of a drooping sock. Shaking his head up and down for a momentary yes to all the questions that did not come. Facing these two on the sofa. My mother's shadowy eyes under her shady hat. A slanting wisp of grey hair in the blond stretched gleamingly brushed over a tip top ear. Little webs of wrinkles around her eyes. Just now as she lifts her chin. Light suit of magnolia cavalry twill. Freckles big on her soft delicate hands. Two great gems one red one green on a right and left finger. And a flat slack bracelet of many many diamonds.
"Please will you have one."
A gold case of cigarettes offered to Balthazar. Who smiles a brief nod no. To Georgie sitting back to light the tobacco cylinder held at the distant tips of fingers. He wears a watch chain across his waistcoat. A stiff collar and small knotted polka dot tie. His tailor made his suit a trifle too tight. And his barber takes too much care with his black curly hair.