Leila

by J. P. Donleavy

  Darcy Dancer crossing the black and white tiles of the station. A porter leading the way and the people streaming everywhere.

  ‘Sir just follow me now sir. To the entrance. I’ll have a taxi for you. Not a bit of worry about that now.’

  Darcy Dancer stepping towards a motor taxi. Driver jumping round his vehicle to open up. Door falling off its hinges into the gutter.

  ‘Ah I’d let you use the other door now sir only it’s jammed shut. Get in now sir, only needs tying back on with a bit of string.’

  Porter tugging at the cover of the boot. Comes away in his hands. Of course in this vehicle one will be damn lucky to reach even the morgue just around the corner. Plus the window’s cracked and the bottom of this seat is gone. Smells like a stable. Be safer taking a horse cab with a runaway horse between the shafts. As it is, one will oneself end up in the city morgue.

  Taxi crossing the Liffey. Guinness boats waiting. Loading their big oak barrels. The heavy clip clop of the massive draught horses pulling more barrels on their clattering carts. Tara Street. Past the baths. Where Mr Arland said he had swum in its swimming pool. Wall and railings of Trinity College. Nosing out down Dame Street. Same massive red faced guard directing traffic with his white gloves as if he were conducting a Beethoven symphony. The Provost’s House. Sits so elegantly in Protestant glory. Jammet’s just there behind its so discreetly curtained front windows. As we head up this stylish boulevard of Grafton Street. Mitchell’s grey granite monument to coffee cakes and tea. All of it still here just as I’d left it. There’s where Miss von B works. Without zee dust, zee dirt and zee decayed mice stinking up her bathwater. Turn left at the Green. Ah, awaiting one. The canopy of the Shelbourne Hotel. O dear. The driver is now kicking at the bloody hinges to get me out. And now the doorman. Both tugging. O god. Off it comes. Landing them backwards right on top of a poor begging tinker.

  ‘Ah Jasus can’t you give a decent ould woman minding her own business on the pavement some peace, and fuck off the fool pair of you.’

  The doorman standing brushing himself off. And kicking out at the tinker lady. Sending her box of pennies flying into the gutter.

  ‘Get out of the way you. Good day to you Mr Kildare. And don’t mind the mayhem. Long time now since we’ve had the pleasure.’

  Darcy Dancer depositing himself on the pavement. Reaching into his pocket. Shilling tips for doorman and taxi driver. And handing over half a crown to the tinker lady.

  ‘Ah sir you’re a most decent and fine gentleman. God bless you. And may the sun never set on your glowing riches. And may you never back a losing horse.’

  Darcy Dancer led through the hotel door. Soft carpets. Late morning smell of coffee. Tinkle of cups. Scurrying porters dancing attendance. One must suppose they remember me with such welcome, having finally paid on my last visit the largest unpaid bill in their history. Massive debt has always been the fastest and surest way to achieve fame in the better places of Dublin.

  ‘It is very good to have you back with us again Mr Kildare.’

  Past pillars in lobby, and preceded by this gentleman in his striped trousers, one is ushered into the lift. Such a nice comfortable feeling when one is followed by two pages, one carrying my portmanteau and the other transporting my selection of morning newspapers on a tray. So marvellous to ascend in this cage. The wires pulling us up through the well of the great staircase. Past the shiny mahogany balustrades. Alight at our floor. Maids in black quietly lurking in the carpeted corridor, watching my entourage enter into the quiet recess of this cosy comforting room.

  ‘Now Mr Kildare we trust on short notice this apartment meets with your approval.’

  ‘Very satisfactory indeed.’

  ‘I suppose you’re up in town to attend the theatre. Or is it to buy or sell a few cattle. Or would it be horses now.’

  ‘I sincerely hope it will be one or the other or indeed all three.’

  One of course stays at the Hibernian to attend theatre and at the Shelbourne to buy horses. Best anyway to supply an enigmatic answer that can be taken in the most number of numerous ways. Essential that one does not give the impression one is where one is for no damn good reason at all. And here so hauntingly ensconced in my crimson carpeted room for the mere fact it pleasantly presently pleases me. Out one’s window over the tree tops. Seagulls softly sailing beneath the blue grey clouds, edges glowing pink. Ducks circling the sky to land on the pond in the Green. The whole city at one’s feet. The roof tops and misty haze of smoking chimneys, spread all the way to the Wicklows rising purple in the distance. Mountain peak high with the Sugar Loaf. The tangy fermenting smell of the Guinness brew that keeps this whole metropolis alive and all its brains revived each day. Perhaps even fevered each night, putting them snoring asleep with their perishing dreams. Pubs with money pouring in and beer pouring out, makes every one of them a little bank. And the telephone ringing.

  ‘Mr Kildare, your champagne is ready in the downstairs drawing room.’

  ‘Thank you. I shall be down shortly.’

  Could clonk someone unconscious with this telephone. It is, when one thinks of it, a marvellous instrument. If one had them installed all over the house. Imagine the nice new unbelievable confusion it would be possible to cause. Quick wash and brush up. Descend again from heaven on high down into the voices. Some of them nearly hysterically snooty like my sisters. Eleven o’clock chiming the perfect time for having one’s champagne. Aloof from the early Monday morning traffic out in the lobby. Sink back into this flowered sofa chair. Down here in the deserted quiet and peace of this room. God what bliss miles away from the turbulence of Andromeda Park. Beneath this comforting ceiling. And if one overlooked the cads, racecourse touts, amateur abortionists, mountebanks, medical students and gas meter readers, at least the few remaining would mostly be lords, ladies and squires, either heading in from the country or back out again. And now a hotel page intoning. Right into this very room.

  ‘The Earl of Ronald Ronald please. Lord Ronald please.’

  ‘My god, that cheeky bugger, Rashers. God he must be this city’s biggest chancer. Sounds as if he’s staying right in this hotel. Must confess I never thought I’d ever extricate him from Andromeda Park. Of course when they weren’t dancing attendance upon him, he kept the whole staff idle with laughter. One had the guilty feeling that one would be kicking a great artiste out into the wet. Each morning confronting me in the library, reading yet another volume of Punch. Telling me yet again, how much the protracted comfort was healing his previous wounds of indignity. Futher soothed now no doubt by his having clearly taken unto himself a title. And he no doubt is at this very moment planning some new coup. To help land his lady pub and tobacconist owner up the aisle. And not even at this moment is one safe from his depredations. As one carried this very last forgotten one hundred pound note. Miraculously stuffed away all these months. And dredged up from the very bottom seam of one’s jacket’s barrister’s pocket. Designed so handily for either stuffing therein, torts or a stray pigeon or snipe one might shoot out walking. Such a welcome find, this big and sickly green coloured paper. A plentitude of ready, as Rashers would call it. Before one sinks instantly back into a nightmare of the unready. Unravel it. Bearded man’s face on the back of this legal tender. Fish, swans’ necks and sea shells hanging over his brow. A shawled lady, her chin in her hand, leaning on a harp. Her face the shape of Leila’s.

  ‘Sir you’re ready are you for your champagne.’

  ‘I was expecting a guest. Who doesn’t appear to be coming.’

  ‘Will you have some yourself sir while you wait.’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘It will do your elbow no harm, sir. And maybe you’d fancy a sliver of smoked salmon.’

  The waiter with his white hair combed flat back and parted in the middle of his red cheeked face. This high priest of his profession, taking his steps with his aloof dignity. A figure so familiar for so many years. Who brought us tea as I sat then waiting for Mr Arland try
ing to stop my eyes staring down between Clarissa’s alabaster bosoms. Now he disappears away through the door and down into the great ample bowels of this hotel which one feels so reassured is so full of plenty.

  ‘I trust sir, the Heidsieck is to your satisfaction.’

  ‘Excellent as a matter of fact.’

  ‘Shall I pour the other glass sir, for luck and for the welcome ghost that may be in it.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve heard that one before.’

  ‘Me old granny, sir down the country alone, never poured a cup of tea without a cup for the welcome ghost.’

  ‘I see. Well in that case do pour a glass in the hope that either my guest or the ghost may soon arrive.’

  ‘Pleasure’s all mine.’

  One sits. Long and lonely. And sad. Mr Arland always so prompt. Wrote me back a fortnight ago. Only three days waiting for him to reply. To say he would come. Near where his beloved Clarissa died. And now he has not. One is tempted to venture down to his address. Mount Street. Not particularly salubrious as an area. Must be near Westland Row Station. Wait at least cosily quiet in here. Feeling no pain. He still may come. While one avoids the more desperate of Dublin’s denizens. One or two of whom I see briefly creeping by. Among whom Rashers must be the king of chancers. Dispensing his endless charm. To even the beaten and broke. Who are always there to applaud one’s largesse. Who seem never beaten, but always broke. Forever able to stick forth a hand to take to their lips a drink when someone else who can pay is buying their round. And now I count myself among the beaten. Walking away from the boathouse that day. A pall so great one was hardly able to bear it. She would not even go a few paces back with me. Our goodbyes are better this way, she said. Let us leave each other just as we do in this room. I hardly remembered returning back up the path. Oblivious to the briars scratching my hands and face. Through the wood and by the fields and meadows along where they joined the land of the great castle. Where the Mental Marquis was a guest. Imagining their making a tryst. During her hours off in the afternoon. Somewhere in the woods. That she would submit to the Mental Marquis’ arms. He could touch her. Do other angering unspeakables. And then cast her back into the gutter again.

  Darcy Dancer downing the last of the champagne. Rising from his chair. Stand over the ghost’s glass with the tiny bubbles still arise in the pale light. The taste bud bliss in one’s mouth of the soft slivers of salmon. Lunch bustle of waiters in the dining room. Blue flame of alcohol burners. Pleasant fume of sauces. My god, people actually speaking French are upon this doorstep. Mountains of very good quality luggage. Although the gentleman’s tailoring is a trifle tight, the tall dark woman he is with has exquisite long slender legs, tapering wrists and ankles. Aloof beauty. Her dark eyes and satin soft skin. My god Miss von B is right, these clearly aristocratic people from the continent do put us to shame. By their effortless casual elegance. Put my key to the porter. Must make an inquiry.

  ‘Excuse me.’

  ‘Yes Mr Kildare. At your service.’

  ‘Ah, as a matter of fact I believe I heard the Earl of Ronald Ronald being paged.’

  ‘Yes sir, to be sure you did.’

  ‘Might I inquire if he is staying.’

  ‘Yes he is, sir.’

  ‘Ah, actually in the hotel.’

  ‘Would you like me to contact his apartments for you Mr Kildare.’

  ‘His apartments. Is that word actually plural.’

  ‘Yes, the Royal Shamrock suite, sir. At the corner of the fourth floor. Two bedrooms, a drawing room, anteroom and two bathrooms.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Is there something wrong Mr Kildare.’

  ‘No. No. Just a momentary dizzy faint. I’m quite alright. Thank you for your help. But tell me. We are aren’t we referring to the same gentleman, I think we both know.’

  ‘Yes. Indeed we are sir. Seems he was previously for private reasons under the incognito of a commoner. Isn’t the father a big English General. Sure I remember him as Rashers if you’ll excuse me now referring in that vernacular, in those days with his great friend Clarissa, the actress. May such a beauty rest in peace. The two of them now would be great gas together of an evening in there in the Shelbourne Rooms. Ah god she was lovely.’

  ‘Yes of course. Thank you so much.’

  I went out the Shelbourne. Popping a shilling in the tinker lady’s hat. Her blessings crying out after me, one did lift one’s heels to saunter along the Green. Clearly Rashers is a bigger mountebank than one had already conceived him to be. I must damn demand my money back. But I suppose he does keep one’s mind off other dilemmas, even more irritating, attached to roof slates, livestock, plumbing and staff horrors which usually gloom over my life. And one does back in Dublin find a joy quickening and lightening one’s step. The breeze milder with this bit of pale sunshine down Grafton Street. Past the smoky coffee smells of Roberts’ café. Which Rashers said is forever full of perennially stalled first year medical students down from the College of Surgeons. Who maintained that if they ever got their first year exams they’d go flying through the rest. And then be in Fannin’s with their window full of medical instruments, buying their scalpels, saws and stethoscopes.

  ‘I say, hello, it is you Kildare.’

  ‘Why hello Kelly. Yes it’s me.’

  ‘Well. You are looking well. How nice to see you like this Kildare.’

  ‘Same to you Kelly, same to you.’

  ‘I suppose you’re up in town on business.’

  ‘A little business, Kelly. That and some pleasure too I hope. And I suppose you want your fudge I borrowed that night at the school fire, back.’

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t adhere to bringing that up again. That was all such a long time ago.’

  ‘Well you know Kelly, your horse, Tinkers Revenge saved my bloody life. I placed a bet on it at a hundred to one.’

  ‘Did you really, did you really.’

  ‘Yes I really did.’

  ‘Did you put a lot of money on him.’

  ‘Yes I did.’

  ‘You must have won a lot of money.’

  ‘Yes I did.’

  ‘I mean you could have won thousands.’

  ‘Yes I did. And as a matter of fact even planned to have Bewley’s post you a weekly box of fudge. But didn’t, thinking that it would make you extremely fat.’

  ‘I see. Well, it would have done. Of course you were extremely decent to me at school. I’m sorry you came down in your life as you did. But you do seem to be doing alright now.’

  ‘Yes I am. At least not having to work as a stable lad or an indoor servant.’

  ‘You must not hold that against me Kildare. I did everything possible to make your life reasonable when you were down on your luck.’

  ‘Yes you did Kelly. Yes you did.’

  ‘Well we have another similar horse running. With even greater prospects. At Phoenix Park. Ulidia Princess The Second.’

  ‘Are the brakes off Kelly.’

  ‘I hate that expression. It implies deceit.’

  ‘My goodness Kelly you are taking a moral view of racing aren’t you.’

  ‘Well. Yes I do rather.’

  ‘Well I shall pop a moral bet on him, in memory of our school and previous squire and servant relationship.’

  ‘I don’t find that at all funny, you know Kildare. Throughout I looked upon you as my friend and I so behaved.’

  ‘Ah so you did Kelly, so you did. Well I must rush on. And Kelly you know, you are not at all a badly turned out chap. Very smart. Yes.’

  ‘Well I’m part of my father’s business now.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘And what do you do, Kildare.’

  ‘Ah. Well. I may be breeding up a nag or two myself.’

  ‘Well Kildare, obviously you have improved yourself. This is my office right here.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Please I should appreciate it, if you were to call in on me anytime. Really anytime. I should so like for us to keep
in touch.’

  ‘I shall Kelly. I promise I shall. Ta ta.’

  ‘Goodbye Kildare.’

  Astonishing, one noticed actual tears in Kelly’s eyes. Dear me. In spite of his awful parents he seems to have turned out decent enough. I suppose none of us really has to be as odious as our fathers. If the opportunity arises to be otherwise. Stand here a moment on the corner of Duke Street. Hard to know which way to turn in Dublin. There’s the turf accountant’s next to The Bailey. One must put something on old Kelly’s horse. Meanwhile why not perhaps stroll through the Trinity College squares. Heavens who’s poking me in the back.

  ‘Grosser Gott. It is you.’

  ‘O my goodness, Miss von B, my countess.’

  ‘Why did you not say you were coming to Dublin.’

  ‘Well as a matter of fact, I didn’t know myself. My you look awfully pretty.’

  ‘Thank you. I am just crossing here to go back to work after my quick coffee for lunch.’

  ‘Well won’t you join me. Later. For an aperitif at the Shelbourne. What about six.’

  ‘Ah, my bog trotter, you are on.’

  ‘Ta ta.’

  My goodness, one is meeting folk today. Plus seeing an awful lot of old familiar faces. Even the Master of Foxhounds whose horse one stole. An occasion to carefully make one avert one’s face. And turning in this gateway of Trinity College. One thinking of Mr Arland. Across the wooden blocks and out across the cobbles of the front square. And as I go closer and closer to the back gates. Past the green velvet lawns of the colleges. The sun coming out. The rugby pitch, churned up. Three gentlemen practising kicking goals in the mud. Why not go to Mr Arland’s address. At least perhaps find if something may have befallen him. He could be sick. Injured or worse. Even as one knows that somehow his letter seemed not to encourage one to visit.

  Darcy Dancer walking past the buildings, Zoology, Chemistry, Pathology, Anatomy. And towards the back college gates. Porter in hunting cap outside the lodge, a watch chain across his waistcoat. Saluting as if one were a respected student in good standing on the college books. This turreted emporium looming across the street looking like something out of Constantinople. It’s said they were once Turkish baths. I suppose just one more desperate foreign innovation imported to hopelessly founder in the uncharted commercial seas of Dublin.