The Ginger Man

  Shuffling through Cashel

  A box in the sun

  Through Cashel, through Cashel

  The gombeen man's dead.

  The gombeen man's dead

  In a box in the sun.

  The assistant got the wife

  And the gombeen man got done.

  Poor mercy on the gombeen man.

  There's a hand in the till,

  There's a box in the sun,

  God's mercy on the gombeen man.

  Someone talking to Felicity. Good God. Wow.

  She was kneeling on one knee and crouched over her tight legs, Felicity tugging at her outstretched finger. She wagged her head. Hello, little girl, hello. Wearing a green skirt, matched on the grass and her lisle stockings, slim slender ankles. Her gleaming round bottom poked up her heels.

  "Hello."

  She didn't turn around. Prodding the baby belly. Fading magic moment. That bun of black hair.

  "Hello."

  Looking over her shoulder, direct dark eyes. Mellow voice.

  "Hello. Admiring your child. What's her name?"

  "Felicity."

  "Really. Hello, Felicity, aren't you a pretty little girl? Aren't you now ? "

  What lips across what white teeth. The shoulders of her suit, arms through small circles. I'd like to get my hands on you.

  "You work in the laundry, don't you?"

  "Yes. And you live in the house across the street."

  "Yes."

  "I suppose you've seen me looking in your windows."

  "What do you do in that room?"

  "That's my office."

  "I see you drink a lot of tea."

  "Coffee."

  "Pleasant."

  "She's got such lovely hair. Haven't you, haven't you, little girl? I must go. Bye bye now, Felicity, bye bye."

  Waving long fingers. A little smile and she walks away on the asphalt path. Chevrons dividing across her calves and wider over her thighs. She waves again. She smiles once more. Please come back and play with me. Your sensible clothing is sexy.

  Throw this damn law in the sea. I can't learn a thing. Children are good advertising. Shows them the end product, the thing you do it for. I think she has hair on her legs. That's what I like, slight suggestion of the male. I'm in love with that girl. The way she walks, a twist of the hips. The neck tells everything, slight gangle. Certainly I'm not homosexual or an elf's child. I want to know where she lives and what she does at night I must know. O I think things are beginning to straighten out. If I get that toilet fixed. Anything. Block it up, run it into the street, just anything. But there is so little that Egbert and I have in common, especially money. How does one make this approach about impaired function of the drain. I feel I am moving to a different level of experience. Get my dark suit out of pawn and take Marion to the Dolphin for a grilled steak and Beaujolais. She needs a little recreation. Poor girl. I'm such a hard bastard to live with. And I'll come to the park tomorrow.

  There was a sheep's head simmering in the big black pot Marion washing her bottom in a pan on the floor. Fine thing for sixpence. The baby quietly to bed upstairs, the afternoon over, the evening begun. They are coming into their houses all over Dublin city with their arms light with a few sausages, old butter and little bags of tea.

  "Sebastian, give me my talcum powder on the window sill."

  "Certainly.''

  "How was the park?"

  "Very nice."

  "That's such an odor."

  "I tell you, it's the finest thing in the world. I need it for my brains. Sheep's head gives brain food."

  Sebastian picked up a movie magazine and sank in the easy chair, waiting for the sheep. Red brash brightness of these faces. I was once approached by a talent scout in summer stock. He said, how would you like to come to Hollywood. I told him they'd have to feed me brandy day and night He said he was serious and wanted me to think the offer over. I told him my allowance from home was as much as that. But kid, you just wait till after your first picture. This man's name was Bill Kelly. Call me Bender Kelly. He said his mother and father were born in Ireland and someday he thought he would take a trip over there looking for talent, and maybe find some real talent. Mr. Kelly said they got a lot of girls from Ireland. But, you see, these Irish girls don't get far in Hollywood. Got to drop the drawers at the strategic moment You see, you got to realize there's compromise wherever you go in this world, get screwed or sacked. Some hold out but not for long. But a guy with your stuff could go places. Where'd you pick up acting? I beg your pardon, Mr. Kelly, I was born an actor. Well, that's what they all say, Mr. Kelly had a few more drinks and said Hollywood killed you like these Aztec guys used to get one of these girls and dress her all up, big star, then put her up there on the altar and tear her heart out. But Mr. Kelly, how sordid. It's sordid all right, that's why you've got to be tough. But I'm just a frond, I just know I couldn't bear it. Well, Mr. Sebastian Beet Sebastian Balfe Dangerfield. Jesus. Well, anyway, I'd like to get married and have some kids. I've knocked up some high school girls. Maybe that's not so good but isn't that the way life is, all squeeze and tease? I've handled some big stars in my time. Big. Really big. And Mr. Kelly got drunk and vomited all over the bar. It is well to remember there's a village called Hollywood in the Wicklow mountains.

  Marion humming in the kitchen. Not often that happened.

  "Make some toast, baby."

  "Slice the bread."

  "I'm studying."

  "I see that silly movie magazine."

  "Marion, do you like men with hairy chests ? "

  "Yes."

  "Biceps?"

  "A bit"

  "How about the shoulders?"

  "So that he can wear a suit"

  "Would you say now, that I'm your man?"

  "Don't like men with pots."

  "I beg your pardon. Pot? Not a bit—just look. Will you look in here a minute. See. Nothing there at all. You might even say I was wasted."

  "Come and deal with this wretched head."

  "Delighted. O I tell you, it's coming along a jolly treat What ho and bang on and wizard whip. Sound the horn you buggers."

  "Cut the bread."

  "Of course, darling."

  "Don't say that if you don't mean it"

  "I mean it"

  "You don't mean it"

  "All right, I don't mean it Why don't we buy a radio? I think we need a radio."

  "With what?"

  "Hire purchase. A system for people like us."

  "Yes, and that could pay our milk bill."

  "We can have milk too. Few shillings a week."

  "Why don't you take a part time job then?"

  "Must study."

  "Of course. Yes of course, you must study."

  "O now, now, now, give me a little kiss. Come on, on the lips, one."

  "Get away from me."

  "Not cricket"

  "Bring in the chair, please."

  "Then, let's go to the cinema."

  "Have you forgotten? We have a child you know."

  "Shit"

  "Stop it, stop it Stop using that ugly word to me."

  "Shit"

  "If you say that word once more I'll leave this house. You may use that sort of language with your working class friends but I shan't stand for it"

  "Leave."

  "Every meal is like this, every meal"

  "Meals? What meals?"

  "My God, what did I marry."

  "You certainly didn't have to marry me."

  "Well, I wish I hadn't now. Father was right You're a wastrel. Done nothing but drink with your wretched friends, all useless people. Will they help you to get on?"

  "British rubbish. Get on where ? Where to ? "

  "Make something of yourself. You think it's so easy, don't you. I don't even think you'll get your degree. Cheat on your exams. Don't think everything you do escapes attention. Don't look shocked, and I know how you go and butter up your professors. How long do you expect to ge
t away with it?"

  "Absurd"

  "You've insulted every friend I have. People who could help you. Do you think they'll help a rotter, an absolute rotter?"

  "Rotter? Rotter? Me, a rotter?"

  "And a liar."

  "liar?"

  "You needn't smirk. My friends could help us. Lord Gawk could have introduced you to a firm in London."

  "What's stopping him?"

  "You. Your insulting manner. You've ruined me socially."

  "Not at all. Why blame me if your pukka friends ignore you?"

  "Blame you? My God, how can you say that I can't blame you, when you called Lady Gawk a whore, ruined her whole party and shamed me. Blame you ? "

  "The woman is stupid. Moral decadent"

  "It's a lie. You sit there and you haven't had a bath for a month, your feet smell and your fingernails are filthy."

  "Quite."

  "And I have had to suffer the humiliation of having my family involved. What do you think? Daddy was so right"

  "Daddy was so right Right God's teeth, let me for Christ's sake eat my dinner. Daddy, daddy. Sterile bastard, that daddy of yours is merely a leech on the Admiralty's bottom and a pompous lot of shit"

  Marion ran from the room, she tripped up the narrow stairs. He heard her slamming the bedroom door and the creak of the bed springs as she fell. Silence and then her choked sobs. He reached for the salt, shook it over the plate. Nothing came out He raised his arm. The salt cellar crashed through the window and smashed to little pieces on the gray concrete wall outside. He kicked his chair over, picked up his jacket He went behind the clock where he knew Marion had been saving change for weeks. He took it all and let it slip, clinking, into his pocket

  A very red face. Guilt Grinding the teeth. Soul trying to get out of the mouth, swallowing it back into the body. Shut out the sobs.

  He ordered a bottle of stout and a Gold Label, telling the boy to bring him another stout and Gold Label. Boy didn't understand. Sebastian stamping his foot, shouting.

  "Do as I say."

  Boy, short sleeved, mumbling.

  "I don't think you should talk to me that way, sir."

  "Sorry, I'm upset Bring me some cigarettes too."

  What a sorry sad day. I want company. A morass of black coats, coughing and spitting. Get out of here.

  He went across the street. Had a nickelodeon there. He played "That Old Black Magic," and "Jim Never Brings Me Any Pretty Flowers." Like Chicago. A man in Chicago accused me of having a Harvard accent What are you, from Evanston? Don't talk to guys like me. The bruised and dumb, the snotty and sniffling. Her stinking hairy tits. I'm not blaming her for hair around her nipples. That's all right I just don't like the British, a sterile genital-less race. Only their animals are interesting. Thank God they have dogs. She wants her life sitting on her fanny in India, whipping the natives. Wants Bond Street Afternoon tea at Claridges. Lady Gawk tickling her twat with a Chinese fan. I'll break something over that woman's face. The way I lose my dignity is dreadful. Worrying about silly misunderstandings. She can leave. I'll tell her to get out. Stay out.

  The end of the song. Outside, standing in front of the cinema waiting for the roaring tram. It's so noisy, coming down the hill out of the night, mad teetering vehicle. Seems to work like a coffee grinder. But I love the color and the seats, all green and warm, orange, pink and passionate. Like to run up the spiral stairs to the top and see the schoolchildren sitting on the outside platform. I like it because I can see into all the gardens and some of the evening windows. I was impressed by trams when I first set foot in this country. From the top deck you can see into some personal windows. Women wearing slips only. I often saw a great deal of chromium plate in the bedrooms and electric fires glaring from the walls. Also the beds were covered with satin eiderdowns, big, thick and puce.

  He got off at College Street. Swarms of people. A girl pipers' band was rounding the front of Trinity College, all green and tassels and drumming. La, de da deda la de. Followed by gurriers. This English amusement park. Must get into a public house. Where? I owe money in every one. That's one thing about me anyway, I can run up credit in a public house and that's saying a whole lot. Go up the Grafton Street, cheer me up with its wealth. But where are the rich. Just poor miserable bastards like me, have nowhere to go. Invited nowhere. Why doesn't someone invite me. Come on, invite me. You're all afraid.

  At Duke Street. Just about to cross. Foot half down from the curb. Hold on.

  On the opposite side, looking in the shoe shop. I mustn't panic. No bungle. Get to her before she starts walking again. She's staying. Stay still. Rebuffed. I'll not be rebuffed. Whoa. She sees me. She's confused. Optimum moment. Show slight surprise. I am surprised. Don't have to show it. Be natural. Brave and noble. And a gentleman, of course. A quick greeting.

  "Good evening"

  "Hello."

  "Are you window shopping?0

  "Yes, it passes the time"

  Mate in one move.

  "Come and have a drink with me."

  "Well."

  "Come along."

  "Well, there's nothing stopping me. All right."

  "Where do you live ? "

  "South Circular Road."

  "You're not Irish."

  "What makes you say that? My voice?"

  "No, your teeth. All the Irish's teeth are rotting. You have good teeth."

  "Ha, ha."

  They walked to the bottom of Grafton Street.

  "We'll go in that pub. Nice soft seats upstairs."

  "All right."

  They wait on the curb. Two beetle American cars go by. A breeze. Cool sky. Taking her hand an instant, warm knuckles of her long fingers. Just guiding you safely across. She went up the stairs before him, curious climber. White petticoat. Slight pigeon toe. The voices around the corner and in the door. Slight hush as they enter, and sit. She crosses her legs and smooths her skirt over her nice knee.

  "My name is Christine."

  "Mine—"

  "I know yours."

  "How?"

  "One of the girls in the laundry. She has a friend who works in the grocers where your wife shops."

  "Fantastic."

  "I agree"

  "Must know what I eat too."

  "Yes."

  "What?"

  "Sheep's head."

  "O aye."

  What a good-looking girl you are. White. Your body must be very white. Let me eat the lotus. I came out tonight feeling badly. How weak are our hearts. Because now I can jump with joy. The world obeys a law. Large and brown black. Eyes.

  "Do you like working in the laundry?"

  "I hate it."

  "Why?"

  "O the heat and steam and noise."

  "And what's it like where you live?"

  "O I don't know. Don't know how I can describe it. There are trees down the street anyway. That's always something. Just one of those terraced houses on South Circular Road. I live in the basement. It's quite nice though, compared to what I might have to live in."

  "Alone?"

  "Alone. I can't bear sharing."

  "What would you like ? "

  "Stout, please."

  "How long have you been working in the laundry?"

  "A few months."

  "Money?"

  "Not much. Four pounds ten."

  "Now, Christine, I think you are a most pleasant girl."

  "What do you study ?"

  "Law. This is most pleasant. I was in despair. Wretched. Beat. A walk up Grafton Street sometimes kills it. But everyone looked beat like me."

  "Wrong time. Just people looking for somewhere to go."

  "You?"

  "Just looking. I often just look. I like to feel there is some- thing in the shops I want I get off the bus at the top of Stephen's Green and walk through the park. I like that best and watch the ducks from the bridge and go down Grafton Street. Sometimes I have a coffee in one of those icecream parlors. Then I go home. That's all there is to my l
ife."

  "No culture?"

  "Cinema, and sometimes I go sit in the back of the Gate for a shilling."

  Sitting there and then lighting up cigarettes. I don't usually approve of smoking. I find now that things seem good. That suddenly out of the darkness the light. That's Christian. The light showing the way. When I've thought of it, I've stepped into Clarendon Street Church, to pray and sometimes to see if it was warmer and after sitting awhile, to relax a bit from the tension. I have awful tensions and in that Catholic gloom and the Erse that is in it, I grew slightly sad and pitiful, considering the after and before and I often got the feeling there that I was really going to haul down some quids. I don't know why quids get rid of gloom. But they get rid of it O Christine. What are you like underneath?

  They had one more round of stout and she turned and smiled and said that she must be going home. And may I take you? That's all right. I insist. It's really not necessary. For the joy that's in it then. O.K.