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 m
ust 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.
22
Balthazar B sailed from Dun Laoghaire back across the Irish Sea. Arriving near midnight in the deserted town of Holy-head. High up in a hotel attic overlooking the harbour he woke in a room with three beds and two ot
her men. At breakfast he sent a seaside postcard to County Fermanagh and Fitzdare.
Dear Lizzy,
Arrived now in England. Had, it would seem, to share a room with two gentlemen who arrived later in the night. There must be crowds here but they can't be seen. Upon finishing this kipper I now dine upon I am proceeding to London via various circuitous routes which may take my fancy. First stop Chester. I miss you and think of you much.
Balthazar
By taxi and hired car Balthazar went from town to town. Signing strange names in guest books taken from a volume on the lives of the saints. Chester to Shrewsbury and heading around the great white haze over Birmingham. Kidderminster to Stratford. And by whim to Eatington, a place unfamed. Until a final day at Oxford and a morning walk by the meadows and along the towpath of the Thames to go south east to the big smoke of London on the train. A photographic portrait awaited, taken of Fitzdare. The days were all soft and warm and sunny. Matters were proceeding rapidly between the principals. And a marriage settlement was nearly reached with Raphael Uryan Trusscutt Fitzdare.
Two chars came to clean and scour out the little house in Brompton. It was painted and put up for sale. The convened principals said it would not do for size nor dignity. And Lizzy pleaded too late to keep the little place she said she wanted to see. Bother, Writson, Horn, Pleader and Hoot had found a proper residence facing slightly north east near gardens, containing the usual and suitable appointments in this most favoured area deep in the heart of Knightsbridge. And one moved into the family elegance of the Hyde Park Hotel to wait. With no news of Beefy all these days.
Each morning to look for mail and await anew a letter from Fitzdare. But none did come. To stand there looking at the little cubby hole and hope for some sign of her pink stationery. Then go out and wander walking in Hyde Park along the Serpentine. And in the evening on the pebbly path feeding the black and white ducks on the still water. The faint glowing gas flame inside the big glass lamp globes. The great grey stretch of sky. Squawk of ducks, geese and swans as they made their way to nest for the night. In the darkness to sit on a bench in Rotten Row. Just to wait. Until a letter did arrive.