The Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B

  "Beefy I'm warning you, either you produce these ladies instantly or something much worse will happen to you than you think will happen."

  "Sir upon my crossed squash rackets I swear and with all due respect, you are barking up the wrong tulip tree. I mean really, how can I otherwise consider that you are not, without malice perhaps, but persistently, making unintentional slanderous accusations here. In front of witnesses."

  "Are you daring to try me. Are you."

  "Sir there is no need to shout."

  "You do try me."

  "No sir. I am distinctly not doing. Nor trying."

  "All right break down that door."

  "Please sir no."

  "Break it in."

  "O sir, you really shouldn't. This is awful."

  "Quite."

  "I don't think I can bear to watch. I am cut to the quick that my word should not be believed. What am I anyway but a mere student. Giving of my best. And getting back the worst."

  "Keep quiet."

  "Yes sir."

  The two porters taking up positions. A signal and the dark shoulders crashed upon the door. A groan and raised eyebrows as the black portal refused to budge. A stepping back of three paces, another onslaught. Beefy covering his eyes. A splintering. Two panels cracked through. One porter down. Holding his shoulder in pain.

  "Sir please, allow me, I can't bear to watch anymore. I've got the key here. I'll open the door. It's the principle of the thing. It really is. Not to be believed. To have had a command in a regiment with which, sir, I know you are acquainted. There. It's open. Get them. Eighty ladies. Twenty of them dusky. Before they get out the window."

  The two porters rushing into the room. Pulling back the deep blue satin window drapes. Opening the clothing cupboard. Tearing blankets from the bed. Beefy giving a nervous start as something clatters on the floor. The pushing aside of stacks of towels and shirts. And finally standing hesitating over a great iron deed box. Room enough for two well packed midgets. The Proctor thin lipped, white faced. Stepping forward. Pointing with a finger.

  "Open up that box."

  "Sir, that is confidential."

  "I said open it."

  "Sir you have no warrant."

  "I can tell you Beefy, that my anger shall be sufficient warrant at this moment."

  "But sir there is no room for ladies in there. Not nice ladies anyway."

  The porters triumphantly holding up the foot long key fallen from the bedcovers. Smiles as they plunge it into the top of the great box. Four hands turning it. A click inside. Lifting the heavy lid open, propping it back. The great locking teeth round the lid rim. And the porters standing staring silently down.

  "Yes, what is it."

  "I don't know sir. It must be thousands and thousands."

  "Thousands of what."

  "Pounds sir. Five pound notes. Hundreds of them."

  "O dear. I'm not ready for more jokes."

  "It's not joking sir. See for yourself."

  "Good Lord. What's the meaning of this Beefy."

  "Nothing is the meaning of it sir, except that you have searched my apartments, opened my confidential strong box and failed to find any crumpet, fluff or frill."

  "How did this come to be here. All this money."

  "I put it there sir."

  "Are you completely out of your senses. You have no right to keep money in this quantity in a college room."

  Beefy crossing to close down the great iron lid with a crunching bang. Turning the huge key. Lifting it out again and slipping the iron circle over his wrist. Making an about face. A clatter of slipper. A slow march back to the sitting room. Plumping into his leather sofa, Beefy crossed his carrot haired legs and opened a tome across his lap. Book One of Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics. Balthazar B reflecting apostate, down hearted and sad, raising his chin momentarily as the Proctor stepped back into the sitting room.

  "Stand up Beefy."

  "Sorry sir, just keeping up with my ethics."

  "This is not over yet."

  "O."

  "I will get to the bottom of this. Meanwhile that money is to be put properly where it belongs, in a bank."

  "I don't trust banks sir."

  "I don't care whom you trust. Get that money out of here.

  Who is your tutor."

  "Professor Elegant sir."

  "And yours, Mr. B."

  "Professor Elegant sir."

  "Professor Elegant has his work cut out. Be at my office tomorrow at three o'clock, both of you."

  "Sir are you going."

  "What I do is not of your concern."

  "I just thought sir that you should know there is something awfully strange out there up in a tree. If you look out the window sir."

  The Proctor pushing apart the drapes. Peering out into the night. Taking a torch from under arm and shining it out the window. Turning back to these two attending porters awaiting their further instruction. To keep the college clear of misdemeanour. To track down abductors. Rout out the harbourers of females laid liberally on for riotous and indecent behaviour.

  "Porters, go fetch that man out of that tree. Who seems to find matters in here so amusing. I should not smile Beefy, I'm not by any means finished with you. I am not satisfied that there is not something quite fishy here."

  "I understand sir, completely."

  "This university is not some kind of brothel.' "I quite agree sir. No brothel here. And I want you to know sir, that although it might not at this moment seem very evident to you, I know that my redeemer liveth. Sir.' "O quite. You're going to need him. Be assured of that."

  Beefy joyfully leaping to the door. To put to the bolts once more. And a finger up to his lips. At the departing sound of steps down the wooden stairs. To the window now, they could see down to the foot of the tree. In the lightly descending rain the Proctor and porters waiting. In torch light and lantern glow. A student scrabbling down to the ground with long flowing hair. Brushing bark from his person. Turning to point up at this window. As one and all nip back.

  "That evil snooping scoundrel. Been scrounging around me for months. One doesn't mind his constantly shitting and pissing out his window after dark. But as a leech on my life. Never."

  "Let us out of here."

  "O my God, the girls. Please stay right where you are and don't move till I tell you."

  "We want to come out of here."

  "Not yet. You must lie low for just a while longer. Ah Balthazar you are quite a person under fire. However, be ready, the last tribulation is about to unfold. An old college tradition. In circumstances such as this. They go away. For a few minutes. And then when one is up to one's neck again in lewd gymnastic indecency. They come crashing in the door. Not nice. So we'll just sit here at the table. Take up the tutoring where last left. Ah here we are, a little something on the constitution of Athens."

  The door came asunder. With splintering door jambs and plaster. Three porters pouring through. Balthazar jumping to his feet emitting a slight shriek. Beefy relighting his cigar gone out in the former festivities. The third porter new to matters rushing the bedroom. Reappearing vacant faced and bemused. Beefy blowing a large smoke ring across the room. Which wreathed his granny's portrait and smashed out in wavering billows against the wall. Balthazar B with his hand held against his lower throat sat down again.

  "Are you porters done. Dark beadles of injustice. How dare you burst in in this manner. Bringing plaster with you. Causing nuisance to a man who will one day follow quite closely upon the heels of Christ. He was an awfully good walker before they tacked him up."

  "We are under orders sir."

  "Well then. New orders. Vamoose. Take your lot out into the night. O yes, the Provost will hear of this. My trustees will certainly be assembling in front of the Bank of England over there in the land of fair play. And by God when the drummer begins to strike a cadence, they will march to the Holyhead, stepping of course right over Wales. Do you hear me. Put down that crowbar. Quite untoward. M
y trustees will be on the night boat soon and by God they will be scribbling out writs and the like, as well as many other beribboned documents."

  "Very well sir, very well."

  "You know I happen to be a scholar."

  "Yes sir."

  "Ranking of the fifth rank in this college. And a gentleman of the choir."

  "We do sir know this.' "Scholar in classics, as well as a man who is to take holy orders. And you chaps break down doors and visit indiscriminate injury to the sensibilities of myself and Prince B. Your Highness my profound apologies. As your host one wants so much to blot out horrendous spiritual bruises which smite one in one's chambers. Quite odious."

  "We are quite sorry sir to have incommoded you."

  "All right. We all, here present, know our redeemer liveth. Let that suffice. I am tired."

  "Goodnight sir."

  Porters departing silent and open mouthed. Beefy examining his busted door. Sad bolts and latches hanging, screws twisted out of the splintered wood.

  "Don't you find this all terribly unrefreshing Balthazar. Look what they've done to my poor door. What a waste of their broken shoulders to think they could outwit Beefy. Infantry captain extraordinary. I think cannibalism is next on my calendar of lusts."

  "Let us out of here."

  "Right with you girls now."

  Beefy at the turf bin. Lifting up the lid top. Displaying the brown piles of turf. His hand choosing a crumbling piece.

  "Quite real. You see Balthazar. Now. We close this up. And here, come watch, undo this and we draw back a little secret door. And the two morsels of our delight. Good evening girls."

  In the shadows, sitting upon a low bench. Breda and Rebecca grim faced and unglad. Shuffling out sideways. Fitter patter of the rain. And the wind rising. The scullery window ashake. Helping the ladies back into the little game. Beefy so gallantly plays. With rules writ. For black bliss. Oblique and naughty. Smiling he bows. This boy of all those years ago. Whose purest voice raised such sweet threnody to sound across meadows blending the lightest green with daisies and buttercups. Taken by his friendly hand through woodlands gently away from fear. He made my Tillie well again.

  "Get us out of here, I want to be gone out of here altogether."

  "Girls I myself would dearly like to be lost at this moment. Amid the gaieties of the London season if possible. After all the recent rattings. Buggering up the stylish sauciness I had so hoped was to be our lot. And still can be."

  "Til not be arrested in this college you chancer."

  "Rebecca that's not an awfully nice thing to say. After risking all to keep you safe from harm. Allow me to take this strap from your tempting shoulder."

  "You're the devil himself, you are."

  "Please. Both of you are my honoured guests. Good grief. Abandon ship. The windows."

  A woeful crash. The door falling flat into Beefy's chambers. Over it tramping three porters. A wave of dust rising. The Proctor rigid at the disembowelled entrance. All triumph buried unseen in the sad face. The sound of doors opening on the staircase landings below. To see what the earthquake is about. Windows squeaking, and others slamming shut. A college awake this night. For an awarding of a degree. In harlotry.

  "Very well. I apologise to both of you young ladies. I'm sure you've been misled here. You Beefy, and you Mr. B. Attend tomorrow at three. My office. I shall appreciate your escorting these young ladies, again with my apologies, out of the university. A taxi has been summoned. That is all. Goodnight."

  A roll of drums beating. Cannons firing salvos. In a coffin two blank parchments. Of ungranted degrees. Drawn on a gun carriage. Hooves echoing their clatter up and down Dublin streets. Sorrowing people wave their little flags and tap their tears. The wind awakes and blows. Bends and flattens highland grass. The bagpipes play. A purple music across the heather. Go down to death bravely. When you go. Neither to weep nor smile. Tomorrow will be a yesterday when nothing mattered at all. It rains tonight. This bishop born Beefy.

  Anointed with his own gracious infamies. A high stepper in all doggish demeanours. We both are led by the scruff of the neck. To the black long taxi. A light lit inside. To reload the girls. In this college square they call Botany Bay.

  Under

  The wild

  Hair

  Of the trees.

  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 wil
l 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."