Leila

by J. P. Donleavy

  ‘Well I really would like to know how you possibly know so much about your father’s intimate life.’

  ‘I chanced upon the lady’s locked up diary in the Westminster flat. Brought it to a locksmith and then to a typist. I have the voluminous volume on my bedside table. From time to time on matinée days I had it updated. Possibly the most disgusting document ever penned by a human being in history. Most of it unspeakable even by club after dinner standards. The Marquis de Sade, dear man could have learned something from these pages. I mean among the most mild references, a long long discourse on the amounts of sperm this lady has had discharged into her mouth. And remarking on the quality. Including damn it, the Duke’s. You wouldn’t think a woman could be so contemplative about such an intimately squeamish matter. And at what depth of penetration into that orifice discharge took place. I mean I don’t want to be a prude gentlemen. But there are limits you know.’

  ‘But you are reading her diary.’

  ‘Of course I am Kildare. In the interests of my father whom I love dearly. And the cheeky lady informed him that she must remain celibate for six months. And in the next bloody sentence in the diary, she’s picked up a raunchy, her word not mine, female member of the military she’s met in the underwear department of Harrods and took her back to Westminster and had it off with the Naval lady for an entire night. Using bloody appliances including blessed left footer candles I might add, attached to their persons what’s more. I mean that’s morally fraudulent. The old Duke paying her medical and grocery bills. Although the old Duke never made it above Major he is an Army man. And of course she and the Naval lady who went absent without leave, are at it hammer and leather thongs and iron tongs and ruddy priapisms.’

  ‘But mournful as her infidelity may be, surely isn’t that the lady’s own business.’

  ‘Of course Rashers or rather Ronald, of course but I haven’t said what my present dilemma is chaps. She’s discovered I’ve copied the diary, and the bloody lady’s now in correspondence with a filthy literature publisher in Paris and threatening to have it published. Word for bloody word. Names included. She wants five thousand quid. And the flat. And the furniture. Including a Gainsborough, two Turners and a Bonvicino. Not to mention the pair of French rouge marble and ormolu candelabra and torchères by Sormani in the bathing light of which she writes her diary. One does get awfully depressed you know. Damn lawyers’ bills mounting up. I suppose it’s all cheap at the price if we can chuck the lady but it’s the feelings of my father I mind. She doesn’t give a tinker’s curse how she hurts the poor old gentleman. Taunting him. I mean, as genuine as a Duke’s love is capable of being, which is not very, he does at least seem to feel it for this wretched lady. But dear me I do rave on. Of course now the bloody lady is trying to kill the Duke. Made him meet her in Sloane Square, in the freezing cold. Then steps out of a taxi in a sheer evening gown and says she wants to go for a walk to Victoria Station. And the Duke chivalrously removing his coat to put on her. Of course by the time the poor old shivering devil got into the safe warm confines of the Grosvenor Hotel at Victoria Station he was having pneumonia. He must have damn silly well said she’d hear something to her benefit from his lawyers when he popped off, what. I demanded to see her back stage, said what the devil do you mean pushing my old pop into the pond at St James’s. She has these eyes, I don’t know what they did to me but I could not say another word. And the very worst happened of course, I fell in love with her. I proffered an assignation and she said my dear, you’re not the Duke yet, you know. And the damn old goat is still seeing the girl.’

  The Mental Marquis’s hands were strangely delicate under their hairy exterior and clearly immensely strong. And somehow sad. One would never think he might have had these mournful occasions concerning his father. Or would protect the old gentlemen so in his dotage. But he does get back on the subject of the actress and the Duke every time the port was passed to him.

  ‘Of course we never think we ourselves will ever be old men one day, and we won’t of course. Die young that’s my motto. Drink to it, chaps, shall we. Welcome to the club, both of you. Ah we shall have many similar dinners, what. Grow old together, what. Man must have men to talk to you know. Every bloody thing you say to a woman can be taken the wrong way. Used bloody well against you. Damn nuisance in conversation. I’m not suggesting we have to be homosexuals about it but short of that, a man’s company is the most satisfying thing in the world. You run a nice little squadron here, Kildare. Let’s drink to it. And be damned hypocrisy, what.’

  After we had all taken a good long pee off the front steps his Lordship did suggest we mount up again on fresh horses and ride the rest of the night away. However after a few miles I did suggest that one’s dinner clothes were freezing me to death and that since the moon was hardly evident we were certain to be killed. Although there was no doubt that it cleared the port from one’s brain. The damn Marquis however insisted we race the stretch up the front park lawn for a fiver, which I lost, the evening now having cost me on top of being a generous host an additional total of fifty five pounds.

  ‘Thanks Kildare, for the fiver. And I wonder, does one ever seriously contemplate marrying a woman who can’t ride a horse. Damn dilemma.’

  I watched his Lordship proceed ahead with Rashers who’d awaited our return, into the library. I reddened the fire embers with a few blows of the bellows. And there was no doubt that one had to regard the Marquis in another light. He seemed to have finer feelings which his bluff and blunt exterior hid. Even though he dredged up a mundane subject which indicated not one penny of my loan of forty pounds had been repaid the Marquis.

  ‘Now Ronald my dear. Where did my fifty pounds go, would you like to enlarge upon the reason. I’m sure you would. Come come now.’

  ‘Well as a matter of fact, my dear Marquis it was a horse. The first time The Bug ever lost a race. Which left the bloody streets around Duke, Anne, Dawson and Grafton and Stephen’s Green empty, most having pawned everything decent off their backs. And were left naked all over Dublin.’

  ‘O my dear chap. How cruel. How cruel. And you know, whatever happened to that beautiful creature, Clarissa I believe was her name, that you were with that evening in the Buttery.’

  One watched Rashers’ eyes fill with tears. And the Marquis leaning forward to see closer. And my god one is simply amazed at his stories and his turns of emotions. Who does he speak of. To love. O god. A flash of white, white, white of a wedding just blazed a second in one’s mind. Terrible jealousy gives such painful visions. He won’t. He wouldn’t think of such a thing. But my god he is not above behaving in the most eccentric manner possible. Put his arm around Rashers’ shoulders as if to comfort him. Rashers’ voice stealing out upon the air. I went dozing off in the chair. At whatever it was that Rashers had chosen to tell him now. But woke, tears inexplicably dropping out of my eyes. For I had a dream in my sudden sleep. Of Stephen’s Green. And the early morn upon which Clarissa died. I had come running out of the park. To her. Trying to tear from under her body the spears of fence. I loved her. So loved her. Because she loved him, Mr Arland. And the life he would have so lived with her. That dear man. A song singing, a choir raising their voices in a great cathedral. And then stirring distant drums and voices rising. And approaching from all the streets. A flooding procession of Dubliners. Candles aloft alight in the winter air. Singing, black hatted high priests in long emerald robes, their hands lifting her up above their heads. The swelling throb of choir voices as they came. Gliding so softly, so silently do they go.

  While her

  Bleeding

  Drops of red

  Fell

  Upon my hands

  14

  Hobbling to the shutters, in the dawn. Awakened by the sound of hoofs pounding out up the drive. The tips of one’s toes frozen. One’s senses smashed to smithereens this long night. To look down into the darkness and see the shadow of the Mental Marquis of Farranistic, insatiable man, aloft again flying on h
is poor horse, who will surely be dead before he gets half a parish away. And upon once more stretching out under my double layer of eiderdowns and passing into blissful unconsciousness one was awakened again at dawn. Out of a dream. And witnessing in awe, hoofs lashing, teeth snapping, as Midnight Shadow’s shaft shoved deep up Petunia’s quarters. A warm hand pressing hard on my cold arm to still my thrashing about. Stare up into these eyes. So pleasantly reassuring. Of Miss von B. In a tweed suit. Her bowler on top of her bag parked at the door.

  ‘I am saying goodbye.’

  ‘O please, you must not go.’

  ‘Why not. I already wait for you. You do not even come to see me, the whole night. I am of course much miffed. In a freezing cold room. I am awake. Horses galloping around the house.’

  ‘The Mental Marquis, madam, who takes to the saddle in his sleep I think. And observing protocol, one could not depart while he was in the middle of his stories.’

  ‘Mein Gott. And also too, there is much noise and shouting and running.’

  ‘Crooks hung himself.’

  ‘Grosser Gott.’

  ‘In his intoxicated attempt, he did of course bungle it. But Madam please. Don’t go. Nor make me plead with song, mirth, dance and gyration to make you stay. I’m far too fragile.’

  ‘I have responsibilities. I work.’

  ‘Then you too need calming redeeming sustenance. Please my pretty princess. Get with me cosy in bed.’

  ‘I should be angry with you.’

  ‘Ah Madam please don’t be. Nor distress a poor exhausted farmer at this ungodly time of the morning. Be a good lady, and shut up. Strip off. And do in the interests of love, lay your good body by me I beg. Also lock the doors.’

  ‘Ah who is the exhausted little farmer boy. Maybe who is not so exhausted.’

  Miss von B, her sad face in the faint light, big baleful eyes hesitating. She sits so solemn on the edge of the bed. Strong fingers asplay on her skirt. Her shiny pale pink nails so neatly manicured. On her strong slender tapering fingers. Of those hands which can so gently touch. O god, will she get up. Go lock the doors. Please do, dear lady. On this day when a whole countryside will be alive with whispers. Of our embrace in the wet of a winter meadow. Nor can one take much comfort from Sexton’s oft repeated remark. Liars, of course they’re liars, Master Darcy, sure they’re descended from liars, related to liars and lie to other liars, but by god when there’s a scandalous rumour going the rounds you can bet on it that it’s the gospel truth and that’s a fact. Ah Miss von B. Removes her clothes so elegantly. Folding each garment. Laying them neatly upon the chair. Stepping out of her furry boots. She is really quite youthful. What pleasure to see such strappingly robust reliable thighs. What long dependable work one could get out of her. If one ended up without a pot to piss in. Or all the servants in this house hung themselves.

  ‘Ah it is so good to see your splendid form again. And to warm my hands on your genial bosoms. So good to stick my chill knees between your thighs. So good to plunge my cold feet between your ankles. Ah this close clasped soothing warmth of you.’

  ‘I am not just a hot water bottle in the mattress for you.’

  ‘O no Madam, you are not, you are much, much more. But I cannot refrain from asking. Who was he.’

  ‘Who was who mister chilly boy.’

  ‘I must know. On moral principles. Before I can allow the passionate juices of our bodies to again unite.’

  ‘What. You utterly impossible little pup. Such heights of stupidity you reach.’

  ‘Who was he. That man with whom you sat to dinner in the Royal Hibernian Hotel. You put your hand on his.’

  ‘I do not even know what or who you are talking about. Now you have too much of the covers. I am cold.’

  ‘You sat adoring him. He had long flowing grey hair. And he bent to kiss your hand.’

  ‘There is much long flowing grey hair of gentlemen in Dublin. And at least more than a few who kiss occasionally the hands of ladies.’

  ‘And he looked like an aristocrat.’

  ‘Grosser Gott. That subject again. You are not jealous of me. You are jealous because you, bog trotter, think someone else is better socially than you are.’

  ‘That is positively, arrantly and totally untrue.’

  ‘Well I have sat with many in the Hibernian Hotel and who have long flowing grey hair. Please. I was beginning to enjoying here with you. Now I am not enjoying here with you. And now I am freezing. My feet are out.’

  ‘And I am not jealous. Nor care the least damn about anyone. But we may never have in this cosy household another peaceful moment like this together.’

  ‘Ah how dramatic you still are, my little poppet.’

  ‘And you Madam. You are distressing me. You can be immoral.’

  ‘Mein Gott. What immoral. You silly boy. About what immoral. There is anyway no such thing.’

  ‘Are you still in love with that man.’

  ‘My private life is not for you to know.’

  ‘Certainly if you so prefer, I shan’t inquire further. And I shall stay this side of the bed. But you must have some morals. I think it would be most inconvenient for your soul, Madam, if you do not.’

  ‘But how stupid. Of course of women you expect that they have morals. But men, they need not. What woman for two seconds could afford such luxury of morals. When it take one second for a man to be immoral. That is not what you want to hear. Is it.’

  ‘Well Madam, your English appears quite grammatically effective. But no. Perhaps that is not what I want to hear. But I think that women are capable of giving gentlemen damn shabby treatment, like pushing them into ponds, abandoning them on trains, conducting affairs behind their backs, taking their money, and even trying to kill them off. And then writing it all down in a book. Perhaps to gloat over the profits from publication or at least to amuse themselves with in their old age.’

  ‘This is now, bog trotter, your opinion of women, eh.’

  ‘It is quite.’

  ‘And so what do you want or expect me to say. To such Irish idiocy.’

  ‘What I want you to say is that perhaps you will come back again to this house. To live with me. As my officially recognized mistress. As you are with me in my bed now. Of course one shall be discreet, no one shall know you are my mistress.’

  ‘Who do you think you are.’

  ‘I think I am who I am. Madam.’

  ‘I should be your mistress. Official. But no one should know. Ha. Don’t make me laugh. So that we lie together mister silly boy and have no morals.’

  ‘I intend that we shall have morals. I think that’s how I should like it.’

  ‘You should like it huh.’

  ‘You will be faithful to me. In both body and spirit.’

  ‘And you, my Knabe. What will you do.’

  ‘I have not yet perhaps become, because of a lack of foreign travel, a true man of the world. And I think that should be top of my priorities, so to speak. But I shall occasionally soon disport myself. At my London club. And you could do much worse than living here.’

  ‘London now is it.’

  ‘Yes as a matter of fact.’

  ‘And me. What would I do.’

  ‘You would regard me as being with you when I am not here and behave accordingly. Soon the electricity will be reaching us. And soon there will even be a telephone. And we shall occasionally travel abroad to Paris and stay in a suitable hotel.’

  ‘So in addition to the electrocution there is Paris now too. I suppose at the Grillon, the Meurice or zee Ritz. Ah it is so romantic to listen to you.’

  ‘You are, aren’t you being uncommonly cynical. But yes Paris too. It has I believe one or two suitably wide boulevards for constitutionals where le grand monde display their haughtiness.’

  ‘Ah that would suit you. I suppose. In top hat. Zee silver knobbed cane rap tap tap upon zee pavement.’

  ‘Yes, as a matter of fact. I damn well intend to cut a figure.’

  ‘Ah to b
e among your betters. But it would not be le grand monde, my sweetie but distinctly the demi monde, whom you would be among.’

  ‘I abhor letting irritation get the better of me. But at this precise time I should be most pleased if you would dear lady please go and do fuck a duck.’

  ‘Ah duck fucking. That would be immoral.’

  ‘You are being inordinately most tiresome.’

  ‘Ah I am so sorry. Please what else. Tell me. I promise to listen.’

  ‘Well we shall go to the races at Chantilly. And I may indeed race there myself you know. I shall have by then bred up the fastest horses upon the face of the earth. Meanwhile you will enjoy the privileges of residing in a stately house with servants at your disposal.’

  ‘What a wonderful future. How gay. How exciting. Out in the bog. Servants. Stately house. Ha. Dust and dirt, rats and mice. Leaks and mildew. Chill and damp. Dat’s what’s at my disposal. And you breed racehorses eh. Ah dat’s good.’

  ‘Is that all you have to say.’

  ‘Ya dat’s all. But you should not stop. You should tell me more. And who is that dark beauty on zee staff who breaks things in the hall.’

  ‘I’d prefer not to discuss members of the staff for the moment if you don’t mind. But if you didn’t know Madam, I am now telling you. That I have some considerable acres of the best limestone land in the world. If you did ever trouble to take a look in any good encyclopaedia. It is just that I have with this place at this time quite a number of worries. And I know next time, completely by accident of course, Crooks in fact is going to succeed in hanging himself. I shall then be short of a butler. However, it’s been a miserably long time since he has properly officiated as one.’

  ‘But why, should one butler more or less be a worry.’

  ‘Well for a start, undressing him last night after the hanging, he was wearing ladies’ bright pink underwear. I think that in itself bespeaks present curiosities to be contended with and most certainly bodes uncertainty as to his behaviour for the future.’