The Ginger Man

  Dangerfield got his hand through to the man for two foaming pints of plain. They retreated to a corner. Put the pints on a shelf. Tony brought out a box of butts.

  "Good God. Tone."

  "I got these out of the fireplace of an American in Trinity. They throw them away big."

  "Put them away. Away Tone and permit me in a moment of lavish to treat you to twenty."

  Huddled over cigarettes and porter. There comes a time in the city of Dublin, when the glass tinkles. Morning despair and afternoon's passive agony fruits in a jell of joy. And leaks all over when it melts later. I look into Tone's face, which is Ireland.

  "What would you do, Tone, if you ever got money. A lot of money."

  "Do you want the truth?"

  "I want the truth."

  "First thing, I'd get a suit made. Then I'll come along to the Seven Ts and put a hundred pound note on the bar. Drink up the whole kip of ye. I'll send a hundred quid to O'Keefe and tell him to come back. May even, if I get drunk enough, put a plaque in the sidewalk on the corner of Harry and Grafton. Percy Clocklan, keeper of the kip who farted on this spot, R.I.P. Then, Sebastian, I'll start from College Green and I'll walk every inch of the way from here to Kerry getting drunk at every pub. It'll take me about a year. Then I'll arrive on Dingle Peninsula, walk out on the end of Slea Head, beat, wet and penniless. I'll sit there and weep into the sea"

  "Tone, take this"

  Dangerfield placed a folded pound note in Malarkey's fist

  "Jesus, thanks Sebastian"

  "So long, Tone"

  "Good luck"

  Shaking hands. Sebastian drained his glass. Hand in front wedging cracks between the overcoats, finding a way out into the street. He stood on the corner. Look up into the wild, dark sky. Pin the mackintosh up around the throat. Stop the sneaky drafts. And hands in the wet cold pockets. While I try to get up heat rubbing the pennies. I've got a passport Two hours left. I've seen whores walking along this street In there they sell the dishes. And this ironmonger's great black window. Think of the basins in there, miles of copper pipes, tubs and lawnmowers. I love it along here, I want to die in a country district with the cemetery not far away. Rural for me. Rural last ride. A casket without handles. All I ask is don't nail it too tight.

  Sebastian entered the side door of the Bleeding Horse. Lowered a Power's Gold Label. A man approached in British attire speaking French. I told him my bile was green. He said you speak French. Goo goo mick mick.

  Out the door. Up the street. Down the steps. Peek in the window. Knock on the door. Shuffle of her slippers. Twinge of hesitation. In there is flesh I took against mine. I licked it, pinched, pushed, tickled. O aye, her buzzuma. And when I've felt a bottom like hers I won't forget too fast or ever. I ask you heart to stop beating like the hammers of hell. Here comes her hair round the door.

  "Me"

  "O."

  "May I come in? Please. I know me big foul man. Big beast. All that. I know. But"

  "You reek with drink."

  "Chris, cross my heart, like any good Romish Papist"

  "Come in then. Sit down. No need to stand. Sit. I don't want to be used. Just like some shoe you put your foot in. Why haven't you come to see me before this ? "

  "I'm leaving for London on the mail boat in an hour. Cheer up"

  "I won't cheer up. Not for your leather soul."

  "Whoops. Wait a minute. Now I don't want you to feel like that. Please. Not the leather soul. Maybe plaster or jade."

  "Why didn't you tell me before this? Your affairs were in a mess and there were some misunderstandings."

  "There were. Please now. Come out and just have a drink."

  "No."

  "Please now."

  "What do you think I am? Here day after day. Lonely. Hoping you might come. Not a word. What do you think it's like? What do you know about how a woman feels? You don't know anything about life."

  "I know about life. I'm in this too"

  She turned and smoothed out a pantie. Ran the iron over the lace. Folded it and laid it on the pile of neat clothes. Sebastian sat, face adjusted for listening. With elbows resting on knees. Legs split for comfort in slight despair and chin resting in the cups of his hands.

  "Couldn't you have written?"

  "I meant to."

  "And now you just come here to tell me you're going. Just like that. Haven't you ever suffered? Or been miserable?"

  "I've made mistakes. I never know when they're going to get me. I'm not heartless. If I could catch my breath. I'd make all this up to you. I don't forget when people are good to me. But when I risk getting my arse caught on a spike, get chased and beaten up, I've got to do the best I can. Start over again in London. There's a little money I'm due for across the seas. I'm not a bad person."

  "Don't be such a fool."

  "Ireland's been too much for me. Badgering and insult You can come to London"

  "Write me about it"

  "Will you come ? Jesus, come."

  "Write me. That coat looks ridiculous."

  "My magic cloak. A little kiss."

  Kissing in the lonely basement room. Footsteps in the hall. Holding one of her softened hands. I've made peace. Go up and out. A last look. Bye.

  A blast of wind and rain beating me on the back. Across the street now to get that warm lighted bus and swing inside. I see Chris closing her door. Busman's bell and hot wet air. Wipe some of this steam off the window because out there are shop fronts of toys, sides of beef and stained secret windows of public houses.

  On the quays with bag-laden figures hurrying on the candy cobble stones past the gangway lights of moored ships. Seagulls fluttering white wings in the dark. Under the light of the entrance, passengers scattering good-byes between the taxis and newsboys. I buy my last Evening Mail. I travel East. To the more established civilizations.

  "Baggage, sir?"

  "None."

  "Anything to declare?"

  "Nothing."

  Between the narrow steep rails. Ship's light bleak yellow. Along this deck the windows shielding against the sea. Nearly eight. Nearly gone. Go around to the Liffey side of the ship. Down there are the waters from Blessington. Man taking the cable to the other side. I want to see some seamanship, boys. Smartly. Making too much noise with those oarlocks. South over there is the Trinity College, the Balls-bridge, Donnybrook, Milltown, Windy Harbour and beyond. I know them all. Cold killing wind between my knees. Slant black spires of the little mountains. Within that carpet of light. All my tiny sad despairs. Like watching out of my tower. Gather my ships from the edges of the sea. Called from where they were dying. I don't want to go. But if I don't? I have nowhere to call my own again. What can I say? Tell me. What can I say? So much I would like to keep forever. Flecks of water brushed from oily laurel leaves or my steps during the silences of morning or late night. And the donkey calls. Or as I lay on my back in Ireland looking up out of the world. There was a day in summer when I walked up the mountain and stood at Kilmurry. From the bottom of the steep green fields and all the way to the Moulditch Bank. a blue trembling brim of sea, a little white. On this day there was a train coming up from Wicklow town towards Dublin. Crawling across my hand. Spread on the meadowed bottom land. The sun was shining on this train. Carrying my heart away. They send off the whistle so I almost jump out of my shoes. And it comes back from the broken houses along John Rogerson's Quay. I hear the winch. Click and growl. White wash fanning away on the water. Tenderly to midstream. By other boats and the half island of Ringsend. Is there a nest of fire and home within those windows? This ship slipping between the lighthouses of Bailey and Muglins. Man riding a bicycle on the Pigeon House Road. Howth and Dalkey. I feel the sea under me.

  I set sail

  On this crucifixion Friday

  With the stormy heavens

  Crushing the sea

  And my heart

  Twisted

  With dying.

  25

  Undo this safety pin. Miss Frost's b
louse. This rusty pullover. Put these on the chair. And I think cover my nudity with trusty blotched mackintosh. Walk on the rug in bare feet, dig the toes in something awful.

  Opening the door, stepping out into this wide hall. A chamber maid coming around the corner. Her kindly young smile looking rather closely at my ankles.

  "Would you like a bath towel, sir?"

  "Well—"

  I'm confused, pausing in the hall in an embarrassing condition for consideration of a towel due to possibility of foot smell and the valleys of me soiled with deposits of poverty.

  "Only a minute, sir. They're nice and hot"

  "Well Hot. Yes. Is that it there?"

  The door on your right, sir."

  "Well thank you."

  "Not at all, sir."

  The vagaries of this species. Her little hat. Flounce. Pushing open this impersonal door and switching on the light. In the far corner of the room a tub to bathe the world. So fat and far and full. Cork topped chair. Taps. Gigantic things. Just take off this waterproof garment and get a sup of the libido. A little of this ego admiration in the mirror. Now I haven't a bad build at all. Trifle swell at the waist. Odd rib showing. Flex the muscles. Good god. Must join an athletic dub.

  He was closing the little window, looking out in the stream of chill air to see all the windows. In this enormous city. I know there are business men here. I know it.

  A knock. Of a type well delivered with the metacarpals.

  "Sir?"

  "One moment."

  Opening the door. Naked shoulder. Please don't think me devoid of modesty. Young woman, do you know that this is risky business? I mean to say, you know, two of us and one man and one woman. Honestly, I think perhaps I wouldn't be past possessing you. Out of kindness if nothing else.

  "Here you are. It's nice and big. Silly little towels wouldn't dry an ant"

  "Ha, ha."

  "Prewar, sir."

  "Indeed, I thank you very much."

  "And very welcome you are, sir."

  Closing the door and taking this towel which was every bit a rather large carpet. And turning the taps and the water pouring out. Lowering into it. Sitting back in this warm balm. I have been delivered from many a tired year and cold day with walking streets ill shod, ferrying my educated soul, slipping sensibly behind barrels, walls and battlements, playing undiscovered and overdrawn at banks and everywhere.

  Floating. Nothing like it. Bit of the body suspension. Last night in the ship's lane. They asked me where I was staying. Under a bush in Hyde Park. And out of the train I saw the scraggy trees. Delighted to see so many streets. Tomorrow read the personals.

  Gentleman going abroad for year, wishes contact suitable person, fond of shooting, country life, to care for estate, fully staffed. Must love animals. Adequate remuneration.

  More. More of same. I tell you there's lushness. And other straight figures and delicate fingers like my own. And tall lank women. Low shoed. And pink for pure. Rust for honesty. I'm a piece of old iron.

  Huge bathroom wanned up. Sitting on the cork and drying carefully between the toes. Up for a last look at me in the mirror. I think the steam has made it bigger.

  Enclosed in the mackintosh, stepping into comforts. Large double bed, and sink and mirror sparkling in the light. Thick flower covered comforter. And perhaps an Axminster rug, the like of which the likes of Mr Skully has never seen. The Irish do have these small pretentious. Dear Egbert, do you think I'm still behind the curtains?

  Corner of the bed laid back and bare. Just let me lie down here now. I don't think I've ever been quite as nude before. Makes you think. Of others. Lilly, lately I've thought of you. Don't join the nuns.

  He reached out for the phone. Buzz buzz. Click Click.

  "May I please speak to Mr. MacDoon."

  "I'll see if he's in."

  With these talking machines hear a lot of queer things. Leprechaun feet coming.

  "Hello?"

  "This is Dangerfield."

  "Say that again"

  "This is Dangerfield."

  "Just once more."

  "This is Dangerfield."

  "Now for the mercy of our savior who has wasted his Rh negative blood for the poor likes of us, don't tell me you're in London?"

  "Mac, I am. And tell me is there violence here? I abhor violence and those who wander the streets kicking the very bejesus out of the downtrodden."

  "As soon as you hang up I'll tell Parnell, bare and hairy chested king of killers, to alert the underworld to let you pass safely and swiftly."

  "Can you put me up?"

  "Up. Exactly. I can if you want to hang by your throat from the ceiling. We supply all guests with a hook. I've got little rings in the ceiling. The room is nine by eleven and I can put up forty guests of an evening. His Majesty couldn't do any better. Of course I sleep on a bed. A little disconcerting to have so many twisting feet pointing down at you of a morning, get that trampled feeling"

  "Would you say, Mac, there was a bit of the abbattoir in ft?"

  "I'd say that. When are we going to see you?'7

  "Right away. Just have to dress so as not to present a state of undress to the public"

  "Do you know how to get here?"

  "I'd say so Mac But this is top secret Not a word to anyone. Expect me in an hour."

  "The red, white and blue carpet will be out. There are two huge animals out front. Put your fist in the mouth of the one on the left, nothing political in that, and pull on the tongue.'.

  "If it bites me, Mac, I'll never forgive you"

  "Bye bye"

  "Beep beep."

  Ah O me O my this is it. I'm just a mad stallion. With pink eyes. Wouldn't you just like to see me now. Marion, wouldn't you? I'm not bitter. O no. I'm quite calm. Completely relaxed. But when you come to me in Mayfair when things are as they ought to be, don't try to move in and think things are going to be jake again. Don't worry. The time of the faithless will come and you'll get a good boot in the arse. God I look good tonight. Color in me cheeks. My nostrils just quiver with the sensibility that does be in me. Lashings of the hot water out of this tap. This soap is fragrant. Mary, I'll wash you with it.

  There were smiles in the lobby. Marble halls for sure. Out into the night life. A quiet park across the Street. I like this. Walk around here. And down into the Underground. Everybody's got jewelry on. That girl has a nice gray suit. Hands bit heavy round the knuckles. But a pair of legs that must be lovely. I hope she doesn't think I'm staring at her. Because I'm really aloof. I'm just looking at your legs and wondering how they are further up. Or maybe you could even give me directions how to get to MacDoon's. These seats are comfortable. Keep my legs like this because I think my soles are going to drop off any minute. Have to use the shuffle walk from here on in. Not a time to be chased.

  So many faces to look at. Up these stairs. Her legs are extraordinary. I must ask her the way. I've got to.

  "I beg your pardon but could you tell me the way to Minsk House"

  "Yes, certainly. Third turning on the right."

  "Thank you. I hope you won't mind my telling you you have lovely legs?"

  "Well no. I guess not."

  "Take good care of them now. And thank you very much indeed."

  "Thank you."

  I haven't got the heart to involve her. A girl like that deserves a fair chance. Her teeth bit small but even and clean and I always say give me the even and clean to dirty big ones all the time. Not a bad area at all. Must say MacDoon keeps the fashion at all costs and now that I've seen a bit of this city I think I'd agree with him there. Good heavens. That must be it. Are those lions or what. I daren't put my hand in there, might never come out again. But I've got to do it. Blessed Oliver deliver me from fangs. He said pull it. Feels like something I'd rather not talk about. I don't see a thing anywhere. Perhaps Mac is a bit whoopsie doodle in there. I know he gets up to the most fantastic things. I hear something.

  A door opening and closing. A shadow passing on
the wall. A figure bending over a barrel. Stuffing something in, pulling something out. Somebody say something.

  "I say. I say there, Mac? Is it you Mac?"

  MacDoon. Small dancing figure. It is said his eyes are like the crown jewels. A sharp red beard on his chin. Leprechaun for sure. Can't speak too loudly to Mac, else he may blow away.

  "Come down, come down, come down. Down Dangerfield down"

  "Mac, everybody I know these days lives down. Now why is that?"

  "The times, the times. And how's your hammer hanging. Step this way, Danger. Into the jaws of strife."

  There was a door with a mouth around it. Lips were red and teeth white.

  "Mac, this is terrifying. Will I get out undigested."

  "And unmolested."

  "Mac, I'm relieved to be in London."

  "Sit down. I would say you had the odd bit of angst around the eyes."

  "A bit of it."

  "Now tell me all. I hear they have new bells in hell."

  There were two nice soft chairs. A gas fire burning a blue flame on top of which was a pot of glue. On the walls were private prongs. Large ones, medium and curved and, as Mac said, one in the image and likeness of. From a little colorful box came whimpering.

  "Mac, for heaven's sake what's in there?"

  "Progeny."

  "My."

  "Now Danger I want news."

  "Well I think I can say I've come a long, a rather long way, I can see it all now. It's been hard, evil and even unfair at times. Shall we look at it that way."

  "Danger, I want blood."

  "Now of course there's been the odd bit of blood. A bit of that. And confusion. Marion's at Withwait with Felicity."

  "To interrupt for a moment, Danger. Now I always thought that you would do the right thing and take over one of the wings of Withwait Hall. It's always been the feeling in Dublin that that would be the natural course of events. We felt it would only be a matter of time before guilt drove Admiral Wilful Wilton to suicide and that old lady Wilton would be immediately sent to Harrogate to recover from the blow while you sold off the shooting rights and became the squire of Withwait Fashion now Danger"