"Mr. Dangerfield, why don't you believe in hell and things like that?"
"Hell is for poor people"
"Hee."
"Miss Frost, I think I am a man with a future. What do you think ? Do you think I have a future ? "
"Of course, I think you have a good future. You'll be in law"
"And the jigs and jail and incognito. All those"
"I think you would do well in almost anything, Mr. Dangerfield. I think business would especially suit you"
"I think we will get on with the meat, Miss Frost I have a hunger on me that has me belly screaming my throat's cut"
"O Mr. Dangerfield."
"Thank God up there for codes, Miss Frost Get down there now on your knees and thank him and for the meat as well. All down on our knees. But never hit a man when he's down. Wait to see if he tries to get up and then by God, let him have it The sledge between the eyes. I think my unlimited faith is killing me, Miss Frost I want to chop this house down."
"I don't believe a word you're saying."
"A little underdone. Rawness of all types is for me."
Miss Frost moving the pan, circling it over the fire. Exhaling sound of gas. At the peak hours. The despair of the fading pressure. These damn people in the gas works. No one wants to do a decent day's work anymore.
"You're so strange to be with, Mr. Dangerfield."
"You can't mean that, Miss Frost"
"You're not like other people."
"Well, geek, geek and all that. Perhaps there is some truth in what you say."
"Mr. Dangerfield, would you pass me your plate. Why do you water that little plant in the front with an eye dropper?"
"Miss Frost, you've been spying on me. On me in my secret moments."
"O I haven't But why do you do such a funny thing?"
"I'm poisoning the plant"
"Lord save us."
"Now look at that plant out there, Miss Frost Would you say it was much longer for this world?"
"O Mr. Dangerfield I don't know what to say. That poor plant"
"It's something in me, Miss Frost I thought to myself why don't I slip this plant something to kill it"
"You don't mean that"
"I'm a killer"
In the air the smell of spiced meat and brandy. A soft slow whistle of wind bleeding under the doors. And in my heart a sorrow. First sorrow of the end. Of this strange week of things. Of plans and movements. Of seeing the wild beast O'Keefe. Of these uncanny bedlam moments in the streets. Everything fruiting in a cold winter week. Months of being in the bed with the bedclothes all twisted with my anxiety. The wild things that were going through my mind like storms, I'd wake up my legs spinning round in the freezing air. I need another body with me. I've tried the hot towel on the eyes and made meself some balm but with these trickly chemicals you've got to watch it. I tried mustard plaster all over me and I won't forget that blunder in a hurry or even ever. But I'm not badly off. Not complaining really. Just wouldn't mind a complete change.
Miss Frost and Sebastian Dangerfield sat in this cold dining room eating sausage meat from Bray and drinking a pot of tea. Across from one another, looking up and down to food and back to each other's face. Smiles.
Is this no longer home ? I feel all my homes are behind me. Only a house here because I think I must have nearly pawned everything in it except Miss Frost. The Rock gone. The Balscaddoon. The Rock, The Doon and Trinity. And that first day there when I got off at the back gate out of the green upholstered tram. And there was the university through my apprehensive eyes. A chill wind blowing. My new suit, white shirt and black tie. I felt all dressed up for failure, but feeling important because they were looking at me. There's the porter's lodge and a parking lot and in this building I see the contortions of glass, bubbling pots and skylights poking out of the root I want so much to learn. To know what you do with acids and esters and make my experiments go pop at the right time like the rest of you. From the very first word you tell me I'm going to remember. On my way to my tutor. Through these playing fields, flat green and velvet. How lovely with benches where I can sit watching, reading, or anything under these old trees. I think late summer is still hanging in the sky. And by these flower beds still smelling, into this pretty square where the opulent members of college live behind granite and big windows. That's for me. I see a man filling a pail of water from a green pump. He salutes me with a wave. How can I make a good impression, tuck my tie in, smile perhaps. I hope they will see I'm eager, ardent to listen, ready to take notes for all four years. That building there must be the library because I can see the stacks and stacks. I will borrow and read. I promise. What luck has brought me here because it's so beautiful. I'm told scholars can play marbles on the dining hall steps and shoot birds in college park. Got some great rules. Perhaps some day will see me shooting with the best of them. There are little clusters of students and I can hear their beautiful voices as I go by. And I can't help but look from face to face seeking out those who will also fail. The rest of my natural life without a degree. I almost wish now some little white angels would flutter down and take me or my dread away. Across the cobbled square a bell ringing and into this building number eight. Up the foot carved stairs where I see an open door. I'll knock lightly so's not to be rude. Hands out of pockets. Do the right thing. Always wait till asked. Come in. From behind the door he's telling me to come in. How shall I do it without making noise with my heels. I said as best I could that I was Dangerfield and he said ah delighted, do come in. Piles of papers everywhere and books. Must have been like this since God. Great waves of hair on this man's handsome head, a scholar in Greek and Latin for sure. Ah Dangerfield, I'm very glad you're here and I trust your trip across the Atlantic was pleasant My God, this gentleman is telling me he is glad I'm here and what can I say. I can say nothing, there's no chat in me because I'm trembling. I hope it won't mean some awful thing is to happen. He's only being nice and saying, now Dangerfield, I would like you to meet Harrington, it is Hartington, isn't it? And this tall person standing in a shadow stepped out, said yes and offered me his hand. You're to attend the same classes together. I tried to say splendid, couldn't and said safely how do you do. Our tutor rustled in the papers, came out with pamphlets and said I hope you will be very happy with us here Mr. Dangerfield. And now what could I say, trapped on this casual note of friendship. I did so want them to know that I knew I would be, but it was too late, no space left to tell them I was overjoyed to silence. On that cold morning in October I came away from that old room filled with books and paper with this strange tall person walking beside me who asked softly and slowly won't you come and have coffee. I was scarcely able to say thank you I'd like to but I was smiling so pleasantly willing to please.
If there were music all the time. I can hear the tap in the bathroom. Miss Frost washing her hair. I'm finishing the brandy, I guess teetering on the edge of this chair. London a big city. I'll manage. Just let me get there, that's all. Just bring toothpaste. Pack it safely in a little bag. On the corner of Newton Avenue and Temple Road there is erected a cross to mark the end of the Pale. And I'm outside it now in more ways than one. I just hang my head forward, lick my lips because they are so dry and I see that the edge of this carpet has been destroyed by feet. My hand to my brow, and over my eyes. I've forgotten so much. Too much going on, too much confusion.1 just feel numb having fertilized. A moment of fatherhood comes at the birth. Malarkey told me all about it I think he'd like to see me fertilize more often, told me what a joy it was to have kids. Now I know. What a joy.
The bathroom basin gurgling out its water. Must be going down the Geary Road under the street and it will pour into Scotsman's Bay, Miss Frost will be twisting water from her hair. I know she uses vinegar in the rinse. From the bathroom, the shuffle of her slippered feet across the hall. Her door banging against the green chair. Dark furniture in her dark, damp room. Used to go in there and just look. So hidden away. Unrelated room. Touch the fabrics. This house at the
end of the street. Little do you know out there, you strollers and spies perhaps, how much despair and yelling for love goes on in this shrouded house.
Miss Frost standing at the door in her thick, woolly robe, her green pajamas, her red slippers. Sebastian looked up slowly.
"You're so tired, Mr. Dangerfield. You look so tired."
Sebastian smiled.
"Yes. I am."
"Let me get you some chocolate before you come to bed."
"Miss Frost."
"Yes?"
"Miss Frost, you're kind."
"No."
"Miss Frost, I'm weary. What will you do when I'm gone? I'm worried about you."
"I don't know."
"Move somewhere else?"
"I guess so."
"Leave Ireland?"
"I don't know."
"Leave."
"It's a bit of an undertaking."
"Come with me, Miss Frost"
"You don't want me."
"Now don't say that."
Sebastian fell forward on his face. Miss Frost caught him beneath the arms and half lifted this light body to his feet She led him slowly and carefully to her bedroom. Lowering him to the edge of the bed. He sat there elbows on his thighs, hands hanging from his wrists.
Dreaming out this sunset Tacked up on a cross and looking down. A cradle of passive, mystifying sorrow. Flooded in tears. Never be too wise to cry. Or not take these things. Take them. Keep them safely. Out of them comes love.
Miss Frost stepped from the door shyly. Her head a little bent and red spreading under the flesh of her temples. There was a small spot middle way up her nose. Her lashes dark and flickering, the wandering skin around her eyes. Some lines of her hair and her age of thirty four. The vulnerable steep bottom of her skull. Never to turn around and look at our backs, or as we are walking away. But her feet stepping with red toes. The part of her that was her falling arches, the sway bent ankles which put a tender part in her eyes. For women are lonely people, lonelier with women and with men, enclosed by sunless children and the little vanishing things that go away during the years of waiting. And hearts. And how was love so round.
If
There's a bell
In Dingle
And you want to say
How sorry you are
Fm gone
Ring it
And make it go
Ding dong.
21
Wednesday. That morning Dangerfield picked up from his front hall strewn with bills, a picture postcard of the Lakes of Killarney with an inset, a poem.
My heart is yearning
For that familiar scene
Of those dear blue lakes
In that land far and green.
Turning it over.
I am kaput Meet me in Jury's lounge, Wednesday, seven.
Duke of SERUTAN (ret)
Dangerfield rode the roaring tram to Dublin. At the bottom of Dawson Street he swung gingerly from the screeching instrument Moving swiftly, face deflected to the left to look in shop windows and avoid eyes. In Brown and Nolans here, I see they have some beautiful books, so nice never have to look in them. That's the way it ought to be, saves time. Received correspondence from this fine firm. Polite. Not like the others. They say perhaps dear sir you have overlooked such a small amount or would like us to bill you yearly. Yes, yearly I told them. My, time flies.
There's a lovely smell in the door of this restaurant Look at them in there, wealthy happy people. Some coming out Getting into that luscious car. This elegance does my heart good. I know something else I need. With a very tricky maneuver of the feet I take this turn into this place by the back alley. Lovely girl give me a glass of malt because I cannot face those beaten in battle without some little thing to still my own restless despair.
He crossed over College Green. Glanced at the Trinity clock. Seven five. A newsboy standing in my way. Mister give us a penny. Here's my heart, sonny. And did your mother come from Ireland too? And sonny, give me an Evening Mail, please. And here's a half-penny for yourself. May you never have another poor day, sir.
Sebastian entered Jury's by the side door. Seated in a far corner, half obscured by a palm leaf, sat the retired Duke. Before him on the table, a brandy glass.
"For God's sake, Kenneth."
"It's you."
"Ah Kenneth yes, I see."
"You see an utterly broken man. I'm going to drink this till I'm stinko."
"Wisest words you've ever spoken."
"I'm finished."
"Tell me what's happened."
Dangerfield settling himself comfortably in these wicker chairs, folding his hand to hear like father confessor, this red-bearded man's tale.
"I gave myself up."
"What?"
"I went to the consulate and told them to ship me back."
"Surely you're not serious, Kenneth."
"Ship sails tomorrow night. It's in Alexander Basin right now. Sick man and I'm taking his place. Lady Eclair was a dead loss. As soon as I got out there I knew it was no go. Could feel it in my bones. Too good to be true. She took one look at me and almost had a fit. And I almost went right off my rock. I just said to her give me thirty shillings and I'd get out because she was driving me nuts."
"Do relax, Kenneth. Now how did this happen?"
"She thought I was French. Never gave me a chance to get started and my foreign accent just went to pieces, I sounded as if I had just got off the boat from U.S.A. What could I do? In a situation like that there's no point in prolonging the misery. Neither of us were getting anywhere so I just said give me thirty shillings for my expenses in Dublin and coming out and I'll leave. So I left, that's it"
"Cheer up now. Let's see a little smile. Every cloud, you know"
"I'm sick of people. The less I have to do with them for the rest of my life the better. I don't care if I die."
"Nonsense now. Where have you been staying?"
"And that's another thing. I'm staying with Malarkey and my Christ was that depressing. Do you know what's happened?"
"What?"
"Clocklan committed suicide."
"Jesus."
"When I left you Monday I went to Tony's to stay. I didn't sleep because I kept hearing knocks on the window, then I heard a fight on the steps. I didn't know what the hell was going on. I wanted to get a night's sleep so I'd be at my best for my interview. Now I could have been beating my brains out all night against the wall for all that mattered. God it's weird. Then about a quarter to ten we see this uniform coming down the steps. We open the door and it's a policeman and he asks does a Tony Malarkey live here. We were all going to say no just on principle when Tony screams from one of the back tunnels for his tea and the policeman says is that Mr. Malarkey? Tony comes to the door and the policeman asks him if he knew a man by the name of Percy Clocklan and Tony said remotely. Then the policeman said he had a message addressed to him at this address, to a Mr. Tony Malarkey, which was picked up by some people on Portmarnock Strand. He said the message was found in a Power's whiskey bottle which was washed up on the beach. Then the policeman reaches into his breast pocket—we're all watching the whole proceedings from behind the door—and he takes out a crumpled piece of paper and hands it to Tony. I think Tony went a little white. Then the policeman asks him if he knows anything about it and Tony said he didn't know a thing except that Clocklan left for England about a week ago and hadn't heard a thing since. The policeman asks if he were depressed before he left and Tony said he couldn't notice because he was drunk all the time and the policeman says he was just checking up and that if they got any word on anything he would let Tony know. Tony came in the door and stood there and says it's that bastard Clocklan, he jumped off the mail boat and if he thinks I'm going to waste my time claiming his body he's mad"
"Blessed Oliver intercede for us all."
"Tony didn't seem to give a damn but I felt rotten. He just went on saying that if Clocklan wanted to commit suicide why did he have
to get sentimental and send him notes. The note said he was fed up and couldn't take it any more and felt rotten, it was the only way out and that he wanted to be remembered to Terry and the kids. Jesus I was really upset. Tony standing there with a cup of tea saying that if he knew Clocklan, he'd never jump off the boat before it got to Liverpool because he'd feel he didn't get his money's worth out of the trip. Honest to God I felt depressed. That's why the whole Lady Eclair affair was such a dismal failure. I thought that if such a happy-go-lucky guy like Clocklan would do himself in what hope would there be for me?"
"What's this business of being shipped back?"
"I took the bus out to Roundwood. Waited around the local pub and I was picked up. Then the interview. I don't know what happened to me. A few days ago I was all hit up about it. Conjuring up wonderful dreams of zinc table tops, pans, dishes, scullery maids. Then bang when it comes for me to do my stuff—puff—smoke. I was as nervous as a kitten. I was thinking of Clocklan floating in the Irish Sea. Then I knew it was all up. As soon as I got off the bus on the quays I went straight for the consulate. Went in and said deport me. The vice-consul was a nice guy. He phoned, found this ship and that was it. Now I'm on my way back to the States. A beaten and finished man. Malarkey thought it was wonderful. To me this is worse than death."
"Poor Percy, good heavens. I liked him."
"Yeah."
"Perhaps, Kenneth, with all this bad news to bear we had better have a little something"
"Yeah."
The Ginger Man Page 21