Authors: J. P. Donleavy
Get this blanket around now, cover up any sign of scruffiness. Miss Frost's room has some soul. Personality. Call it lived in. Perhaps I ought to appear asleep? No. None of these sneaky pretences. Lie here, forthright, honest and awake.
Miss frost came into the room.
"Are you sure you're comfortable there, Mr. Danger-field?"
"Quite sure. Surprisingly comfortable."
"I'll just get some of my things."
Miss Frost took her dressing gown from behind the door and a green, cellophane bag from the dresser. She went to the bathroom. Running water. Door shuts. I face a fateful week. Week of constant Mondays. I think I will set sail of a Friday. And I must play this game of not being seen, perfectly.
Miss Frost comes back.
"I'll turn off the light, Mr. Dangerfield. I hope you're all right there"
"Blissful. I know this is a dreadful inconvenience for you, Miss Frost I want you to know I really appreciate it. I have till now counted my friends on a hand of amputated fingers."
"O Mr. Dangerfield."
Light went off. She stood at the foot of her bed, taking off her robe. I shouldn't be straining my eyes to see as much as I can. I wouldn't want her to notice. Got on green pajamas. From what I can see, they suit her. She's climbing up from the bottom of the bed. This thing, lust. Get away. Carnal appetite or overture to the orifice. Climb into her brain. She's settled in her bed. Limbs pushing around between the sheets. I'm careful to listen to those things. O there isn't much that I overlook. And Miss Frost, lying there as you are in your little bed and me here, prostrate, on the floor because everything is so tiny in the world. Over the edge, through gloom and whatnot, I see your two big toes sticking up under the covers. And if I lift my head a little I can see the rest of you. I'm so lonely and you're lonely too. Hearts clicking. Remember that Just so many times and dick, we go away in this roofless world.
"Miss Frost?"
"Yes?"
"May I hold your hand?"
Miss Frost moved her arm towards the voice and curved her wrist over the edge of the bed. And his fingers closed around her hand. I was a little boy and wet the bed because I thought I was out with a lot of other kids playing in a swamp and could piss anywhere. To touch Miss Frost seems safe and sad. Because I guess I pull her into my own pit For company or the bones in her hand. Fingernails and knuckles. But I can tell she's tightening her grip. Her muscles tugging at my bones. Now I'm on my knees. And elbows on her bed. Her head trembling. Hair splayed gray and dark. Sighs of her mouth. Feel her sad hands around my back. Let me get in under these covers. Got her tongue touching my ear. Juice. Open the buttons, warm my cold chest with hers. Miss Frost. O Miss Frost
She put up her back. And I'll pull down your pajamas. Throat of birth weeping. Kiss all the tears away. All gone. You've been lonely in the dark.
They lay side by side. Miss Frost held her hand to her brow. Sliding back into her pajamas. Goes to the bathroom.
"Miss Frost, bring me back a glass of water."
He was sipping it when she began to cry. He reached for her hand and she brought it away to her head. Holding her hands over her eyes.
"Now, now, this is no way to behave."
Miss Frost turning away.
"I shouldn't have done it."
"Now, now, it's all right"
"It isn't O God I shouldn't have let you come in the room."
"Through charity."
"It wasn't It was wrong. O dear—God forgive me."
"Don't take it like this."
"It's a mortal sin. And you made me, Mr. Dangerfield."
"You made yourself, Miss Frost"
"O God, I didn't It wasn't my fault I could never confess it Why did you?"
"Why did you? Takes two to congress."
"Please don't make it worse."
"I'm not making it worse, Miss Frost You're being very childish about this."
"I beg of you."
"You're saved if you say the act of contrition."
"I've got to tell it"
"God's in the room. Tell it."
"Don't say that—we could be struck dead."
"Relax, Miss Frost"
"I didn't want to do this. I know I didn't want
to."
"Yes you did"
"I didn't, please ,1 didn't"
Miss Frost turned away on her side, her body choked and sobbing,
"Miss Frost, God is all merciful"
"But it's a mortal sin which I have to confess to the priest and it's adultery as well"
"Please now, Miss Frost Take hold of yourself. This won't do any good"
"It's adultery"
"One mortal sin is the same as another"
"I'm damned. It isn't"
"Do you want me to go ? "
"Don't leave me alone"
"Don't cry. God's not going to condemn you. You're a good person. God's only after people who are out and out bastards, habitual sinners. You must be sensible."
"I'll have to give your name."
"You what?"
"Your name. I'll have to tell it to the priest"
"What makes you think that? Nonsense."
"He'll ask me."
"Not at all."
"He will. And they'll send the priest to my mother."
"Ridiculous. The priest's only there to forgive your sins."
"No."
"Miss Frost, you've done this before."
"Yes."
"For Christ's sake. And they sent the priest to your mother?"
"Yes."
"And they asked the name of the man?"
"Yes."
"I can only say that it's just fantastic. And when did it happen?"
"When I was twenty"
"How?"
"A man who worked for us. They sent me to a convent in Dublin to do penance. The priest said he wouldn't give me absolution till I gave up his name. And you're a married man."
"You're afraid of the priest?"
"Yes."
"There's a special church on the quays where you can confess these things. I'll find out for you."
"God, don't I couldn't be seen there. It's not respectable."
"Sin, Miss Frost, is never respectable. Now just relax a little and everything's going to be all right"
"I don't know what to do."
"All priests' confessionals are not the same. Ask around for a sympathetic one."
"I know them and I couldn't ask anyone about such a thing. Word would get around."
"Go to sleep now, it'll be all right in the morning."
Sebastian put his hand out to her. Few friendly pats on the shoulder. She dried her tears and blew her nose. I took a sip of water and swallowed for the quench that was in it Miss Frost had closed her eyes. She would sleep. She had a nice little salary, nothing to worry about She may as well get as much as she can and confess it all at once. O Lord, for all thy faults I love thee still. And will he ask you, did you wiggle? Your nates. There must be a lot of steps to heaven. And Ireland is closest of all. But they're ruining Jesus with publicity.
At six a.m. on Monday morning, Sebastian climbed over the body of Miss Frost, and touched his way through the dark to the bathroom. Using Miss Frost's scented soap to wash the face and around the ears and the back of the neck. Then throw the icy water generously over the head for the stimulation. Good habit of a morning. And toothpaste, brush way back there round these molars.
Tiptoe back into the room and into Miss Frost's dresser. Pull the drawer out slowly. Miss Frost sleeping soundly. Take the drawer out into the hall and borrow one of these blouses. Whoops. Drawer out too far. Have lost touch with it in the dark. What calamitous clatter.
Miss Frost was awake with a dreadful fear in her voice.
"Who's that?"
"Me."
"O Jesus, Mary and Joseph. What happened?"
"Little accident."
"O."
I think this is the first early morning conversation I've ever had with Miss Frost.
Talking through the dark.
"I wonder, Miss Frost, could I ever trouble you to borrow one of your blouses?"
There was silence. Dangerfield standing, unclothed in the darkness. He waited. Her voice a little high, touch of uncertainty.
"Of course, do."
"God bless you and keep you always."
Sebastian groping on the floor for the drawer, dragging it with a chair out of the room. Had the light been on I would have been mortified. The naked are defenceless. I think night is my best friend. And death an obstacle to overcome till the good ripe years of lust, gluttony and sloth. I have lain in my lair with blankets tacked up over strategic windows. Miss Frost has been good to me. Leaves me breakfast. But I have been put to oakie cakes. My last unpalatable resort. I'm down to my accent.
She gets all upset. And remorseful. Cloacal communion isn't the great fun it was. I comforted her with readings from this Aquinas because he says it's good for you. And I said, tenderly earwards, heads on the pillow, that from manure, lilies grow. To know the real goodness one had to be bad and of sin. What good is it to God, dear Miss Frost, for a child to be born pure, to live purely and die purely. Where was the grace in that shallow, white sterility? You don't want that stuff. No. Get down in it, down. The greatest whiteness is touched with black. The righteous were a sneaky bunch anyway. And she took this little comfort. Nude and at my side, saying, if my mother ever got wind of it, it would kill her. Even to confess on the quays, Mr. Dangerfield, would have the bishop to this very doorstep and I'd be put into the nuns. My dear Miss Frost, were we to get the bishop here, I think, I myself would join the priests.
He found a yellow shirt. For the cheerfulness. And Miss Frost would never miss one of her vests. I must have warmth. Cold as a eunuch's balls on the quays.
He dressed and went into the morning room and put a few oakie cakes in his raincoat, took down a curtain rod and stepped out into the cold, dark morning. Passing through the limp front gate, sauntering down the street, sucking in the atmosphere.
Run the curtain rod on these rungs of gates. Everything is wet and silent. White, low clouds. Some light flicking on in the houses. Here comes a milkman whistling. And I hear the roaring tram. Morning is great.
Walking down the Custom House Quay, the cobbled street filling with the rumble of carts and huge, pounding horses. Stand back and watch them go by. Taxis and hansoms collecting at the boat exit
Dangerfield leaning against the warehouse wall across the street from the third class door. Giving final attention to his clothes, little nip at the tie and the rather fashionable long collar of Miss Frost's blouse. Good to see O'Keefe again.
The passengers coming out Sebastian rapping his curtain rod against the building. He took out an oakie cake, crunched it, and ate. Stale fat. Dry and gluey.
Suddenly framed in the door, the half man, half beast, red bearded jaw, the same green shirt he left in, same trousers. Kit bag slung across his chest, same smileless sad face. He paused, looked at a newsboy suspiciously and bought a paper. He opened it quickly, closed it quickly, sticking it under his arm. He threw his kit bag strap higher on his shoulder with an awkward flick, and bending slightly forward, lowering his head, started to drive forward up the quay and stopped. Turning his head slowly. His eyes met those of the silent, austere spectre of Sebastian Dangerfield whose cadaveric lips, widening, showed his newly brushed teeth, as he leaned carefully against the bricks.
Dangerfield crossed the dung-covered street. Reached into his pocket and stretched forth his hand to the waiting O'Keefe.
"Kenneth, will you have an oakie cake?"
"I figured on this"
"On what, Kenneth?"
"Oakie cakes."
There was an evil laugh.
"Kenneth, aren't you glad to see me? To have me welcome you back to this green garden in the sea?"
"That depends."
"Come, my dear Kenneth, put down this animal caution. Just look. The commerce, barrels and barrels, steel girders and see these fine beasts, ready to be cut to size. A grand prosperous country."
" We'll see."
They walked by the huge boxes and stopped to let a drove of bullocks pass across the street through the lifting, half light The wild fearful eyes of these animals. A long line of spidery bikes, flowing along the edge of the sidewalk and the taxis and horse cabs coming up from the ship. They were cold figures passing on into this ancient, Danish city.
They had come to Woolworth's Cafe for breakfast Sun was out Sitting, facing one another across the white table. Bacon and eggs, tea, bread and butter. Yummy.
"Kenneth, let me hear about your travels"
"Dull"
"Did you go to a professional in Paris ?"
"No. Lost my nerve at the last minute."
"I take it then— ?"
"That I didn't have a smell"
"Quite. It's a pity, Kenneth. Something will have to be done for you. An arrangement made. Bring you to the Congo or something. How would you like a Rgmy?"
"Where's this seven quid?"
"Be all right, now. Don't worry about a thing. Taken care of. Just tell me, what else happened?"
"Nothing. I got nothing. Just nothing. Wrestling in the dark with this student and I gave that up because it wasn't getting me anywhere and was driving me crazy. The only thing that kept me from going completely around the bend was this fantastic correspondence with lady Eclair."
O'Keefe quickly slitting the soft tissued white of egg. Wiping up fat with a piece of bread. They could see from this window down into the early morning stirrings of Dublin.
"It was really fantastic. I told you about the ad for a chef. I write and get this reply written in the third person, Lady Eclair would like to know if Kenneth O'Keefe is Protestant or Catholic. I wrote back that Kenneth O'Keefe is neither and will not require to be delivered to Church on Sundays. She writes back, Lady Eclair feels that Kenneth O'Keefe should have some religion because everyone needs a church for the development of their immortal soul. So I said that Kenneth O'Keefe's immortal soul is already developed there- fore did not find churches useful. Next letter she says Lady Eclair would like to quote from Proverbs, 'Poverty and shame shall be to him that refuseth instruction but he that re-gardeth reproof shall be honoured.' I answered that Kenneth O'Keefe has already suffered much poverty and shame while a member of the Church of Rome and that 'The simple believeth every word; but the prudent man looketh well to his going.'"
"And you're hired?"
"So far. This religion business will present a problem. I'm suspicious about people interested in saving other people's souls. Where's the money?"
"I beg of you. Eke. Beg. Patience. Kenneth"
"What's in this house. Does it have a toilet?"
"Every amenity. A place for soap. Four gas burners. Wooden floors. Bit of the damp and loneliness."
"Your own kitchen ? "
"Everything, Kenneth."
"And you're alone?"
"No."
"You're not alone?"
"Exactly."
"Who's living with you?"
"Not with, Kenneth. In the house. A Miss Frost. A charming young lady from Wexford. I'll have you meet her."
"Marion. Where did she go?"
"Away. Scotland. Not feeling well."
"What's the matter? She pregnant?"
"I hope not. Now I think I can see you right. Come out to the Geary with me."
"Doesn't Marion mind your being in the house alone with Miss Frost?"
"Hardly think so. Miss Frost is a very good Catholic. Quite above board. No fear, no scandal, Kenneth. A most interesting person."
"You've got money out there?"
"Just come."
"God damn it You've got nothing on you?"
"I'm a little short"
"God damn it. I knew it was going to be like this. All right, I'll pay the bill. I'm just an utterly defeated bastard"
Dangerfield leaning back. Wiping the mouth. Waitresses watching them. O'Keefe led the way down the stairs. His jutting red beard. Put his hands in his pocket. Dangerfield behind him, walking curiously.
"What's the matter with you?"
"This, Kenneth, is the spider walk. I've been trying to perfect it for some time. You see, every two steps you bring the right foot across from behind and skip. Enables one to turn around without stopping and go in the opposite direction."
"What for?"
"I'm a little self-conscious about turning around these days. Mobility is what I like, Kenneth."
They were approaching the bottom of Grafton Street
"I'm thirsty, Kenneth"
"Yeah."
"Drink of water."
"Go into a shop. They'll give you water."
"That's very complicated."
O'Keefe suspicious. Jaw clamped. Walking faster.
"Now, Kenneth, is there anything wrong with wanting a little drink of water."
O'Keefe stopped. Threw his hands in the air. Eye wide. Screaming.
"You God damn drunkard. Damn this damn country. Drink is the curse of this country. God damn it."
The crowds stepped back to make room for this shouter. Dangerfield abandoning his spider walk set off swiftly across the street towards O'Donogue's Public House. He missed the door. A great slap of body into the wall. He stood there stunned. Scratching at the bricks.
O'Keefe watching him, broke into wild laughter. The crowd stepped back further. When shouters laugh, there's violence.
O'Keefe speaking to the crowd.
"Can't you see I'm mad? Drink is die curse of this damn country"
He followed Dangerfield who was standing, a bit twitchy inside the pub door.
"For God's sake, Kenneth, what's the matter with you? Do you want to have me spotted?"
"You bastard, you got me into a pub anyway. Boy did you look silly running into the wall."
"Well I think you're cracking up."
"I've come back to this place after putting in a half year of loneliness, not enough to eat, no sex life, nothing and this is what I have to face. No money waiting and I'm not going to buy you drink. I just can't stand it I don't want this life anymore."
"Kenneth, you're upset. Now don't be upset. I know you've had a hard time of it and I want to see you enjoy your return."
"Shut up. Get your drink. Here. Take this. Get it but shut up. Drink, drink—go ahead."
Sorrowfully, Dangerfield took the half crown. He whispered to the man behind the bar. He came to O'Keefe with a pint of cider and a pint of stout for himself. In O'Keefe's eye, a bit of mist Dangerfield put the pennies change down. O'Keefe swept them aside. Sebastian put them in his pocket
"Look, Dangerfield. When someone farted in my house you could smell it in every room. At every meal there were seven pairs of hands reaching for a pile of spaghetti. Fights and yapping. Yap, yap, yap. I'm here because I want to get out of that forever and there's one thing that will get me out and that's money. I don't give a damn what you do, drink yourself to death, murder Marion, but me, I've had all I want What have I got to show for two years over here? This sack has everything I own in the world."
"I'm only trying to be of help, Kenneth."
"Well you're not You're sucking me down. I don't want you on my back"
"You don't mean that, Kenneth"
"I mean it I don't care if I never see you again as long as I live. You could be dying in the gutter, I don't care. All I want is my money and you can go and drink yourself to death"
"O hard words, Kenneth"
"What the hell have I got to show for all the time I've been over here? Nothing. And it's because of people like you. The Irish are all the same wherever they go. Faces compressed into masks of suffering. Complaining and excuses. And the Irish rasping, squabbling and bickering. Hear me? I'm sick of it I hate it I thought you got places when you learned to be an electrician. Good steady job. Good money. Have kids. I don't want kids. I don't want to be sucked down. And listen to some priested mick saying this is the second Sunday after Pentecost, there will be a communion breakfast next Sunday, and I want to see you all put a dollar in the basket. And every time I get a chance to get out of it, something screws me."
"O you're distraught, Kenneth. Now calm. And remember poverty is sacred. But don't strain to get away. All these other things will come. Let me sing you a little song."
All the way
From the land
Of Kerry
Is a man
From the dead
Gone merry.
This man
Stood in the street
And stamped his feet
And no one heard him.