Schultz

by J. P. Donleavy

  “They don’t know yet. And I’m drinking whiskey, that’s the noise. It’s going to take tests to find out what’s wrong. Now hey come on Al, this is all unreasonable.”

  “What for you to throw this girl out. The most beautiful creature ever to cross my threshold, that I sent over to you.”

  “Al you’re deluded, I’m hanging up. I’ve had enough of people for one day.”

  “Well before you hang up you son of a bitch, and let me tell you, you don’t deserve what I’m going to tell you.”

  “Tell me fucking what.”

  “That’s there’s an Irishman who’s hit town.”

  “So what am I supposed to do.”

  “See him, that’s what. He’s built like a lion, moves like a cat, dances like Nijinsky, sings like Caruso and could act every leading man off the London stage blindfolded in a jock strap while crooning Rule Britannia.”

  “Al he should be in a circus.”

  “Look you fucking know it all. Four Hollywood producers right at this moment are gasping trying to sign him.”

  “Jesus Al, is this no shit.”

  “It’s no shit.”

  “No kidding, we’ll forget the blindfold and jock strap, where can I see him.”

  “At night he sleeps in Brompton Cemetery.”

  “Come on Al, I’ve had enough bullshit for one day. I’m hanging up and going to bed.”

  “I’m telling you that’s where he sleeps.”

  “O.K., O.K. that’s where he sleeps. So you can get him to my office.”

  “He won’t go to offices.”

  “So how am I going to see him.”

  “Go to the cemetery.”

  “Holy fucking christ Al, I’ve been through hell today. And you’re sending me to the cemetery tonight.”

  “Do you want to have the chance to star a discovery that could give you the biggest hit this town has ever seen in years.”

  “Sure I do. But you’ve been wrong before Al.”

  “I’m not wrong tonight. Go I’m telling you.”

  “O.K. Jesus Al I must be out of my mind. I’ll go. First thing in the morning.”

  “Go right now.”

  “Now, Al.”

  “Yeah, now.”

  “How do I know where to find him. It’s dark any minute and the cemetery will be closed.”

  “Go just past the hospital and when you get about twenty yards along the cemetery fence, just shout in that Al sent you.”

  “Thanks Al. This is sure a great way to cast my show. And I’m really going to appreciate it after the day I’ve already had, to end up yelling my head off into a cemetery. Let me tell you sincerely I don’t need more jokes. But believe it or not I’m going.”

  Schultz hailing the taxi across the street just disembarking two attractive ladies in front of the Ambassador’s house. The driver turning around to look at him as he gave his destination.

  “Hey Gov. You mean Brompton Cemetery.”

  “Yeah that’s just what I said.”

  “That’s what I thought you said sir. Which entrance. It’s got two. Old Brompton Road. And Fulham Road.”

  “Is there a hospital.”

  “Yes.”

  “Near that entrance.”

  “Sir you do know the cemetery is closed at this time.”

  “That’s O.K.”

  Schultz alighting by the fence. And looking back at the hospital. Its eminently legible sign up on its wall. Princess Beatrice. Schultz handing the taxi man a crisp ten shilling note.

  “Thank you Gov and I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  Steam escaping from a pipe high up on the hospital wall. And Schultz counting the rungs along the fence. The grey and white shadows of tombs far into the darkness. Trees branching up into the night. A gentle rain falling. Holy Jesus what am I doing persecuting myself like this. On this fucking godforsaken night I could get my head stuck between the bars of the fence looking for somebody I never heard even existed before.

  Schultz looking up and down the road. A man across the street walking his dog. On the corner across from the hospital, the welcome life giving lights of a pub. A laden red double decker bus swaying and roaring by. Marked seventy four. And one coming in the opposite direction with ZOO as its final destination. A limping man approaching. Who now veered out near the curb as he passed, flicking suspicious glances at the loitering Schultz. Holy christ that fucker thinks maybe I’m a grave robber or something.

  Schultz waiting till the way was clear. Nervously whistling the tune, Marching Through Georgia. The limping man taking one more look back and disappearing around the corner of the hospital. Schultz now cupping his hands up to his mouth. And whispering through the rungs of the fence.

  “Al sent me.”

  Schultz again looking over his shoulder. The limping gent back in sight and again stopped, staring back. Schultz in his best ivy league nonchalant amble walking onwards along the fence. To stop and turn around to still see the limping man standing looking back. Holy fucking christ. Somebody already thinks I’m nuts. If this is some kind of joke. I don’t give a shit how fucking weak Al’s heart is, in two minutes I’m going to go over there to his place and bust him one right in his middle aged guts.

  Schultz walked to the cemetery entrance. Flanked by grey stone gate lodges. And locked from the world by great high impenetrable iron gates. Inside, a straight road disappearing away into the middle darkness between mausoleums and now in a sudden burst of cloud uncovered moonlight, the distant outline of a church. The sidewalk clear again. Schultz walking back towards the hospital. Looming up with its yellow lighted windows. What a place to be looking down at full of gravestones while you’re trying to recover. And tonight I got to go home now to see if I’m losing fistfuls of my pubic hair. Shout this time real loud. And wake the fucking dead the place is full of.

  “Al sent me.”

  Schultz waiting. His voice even echoing back as he stood staring around behind. And at a couple across the street. Stopping to look over. Bigger and better and harder rain drops falling. Jesus while I’m getting really fucking wet I may as well throw caution to the wind. And holler at the top of my fucking lungs.

  “Al sent me.”

  Schultz tightly pushing his face to peer between the bars. Removing his sunglasses. Scanning the dark shadows. The white sepulchres. All the broken and leaning tombstones. Al fucking well better say his prayers. Nothing. Not a sign. Of life. Except footfalls. Directly behind me. And somebody else thinking I’m nuts.

  “Ere ere, sir, can I be of any assistance to you.”

  Schultz spinning around. Undoing his fists still gripped to the bars like the inmate of a prison. And scraping the cheek of his face on a black paint peeling rung.

  “No that’s all right constable. I was just looking in.”

  “In the cemetery.”

  “Yes. I heard there was someone who is famous could be in there. I sort of was trying to read the gravestone.”

  “You mean was famous, don’t you sir.”

  “Yeah that’s right.”

  “Well a bit dark now for that kind of thing, sir.”

  “Yeah I guess it is.”

  “American are you sir.”

  “Yeah I am.”

  “On a visit are you.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And spending a bit of overtime are you on the sightseeing.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Ah well, welcome to England sir. Enjoy yourself. And don’t miss the Tower of London.”

  “No I won’t thanks.”

  Schultz watching the policeman strolling off. His blue cape spread over his shoulders and the thud of his heavy black gleaming shoes on the pavement. Until his easy gait took him further and further safely away. Past the cemetery entrance. Towards the great massive roof on the skyline and a bridge in the distance where the flash of electricity shot in the sky from passing trains.

  Schultz gathering the moist evening air and diesel fumes up his
nostrils and down in his lungs. To again give one more most impassioned shout.

  “Al fucking well sent me god damn it. Will you speak up if you’re in there.”

  Schultz slowly stepping back from the fence. Thinking he was seeing a ghost. Stopping only as he was nearly killed backing off the curb. An approaching bus beeping its horn. Schultz jumping forward again to the safety of the pavement. To there turn shaking his fist at this roaring public transport, which with its big back wheel passing through a puddle sent a full frontal wave of muddy water splashing Schultz head to toe.

  “Fucking god damn hell.”

  Laughter bellowing out inside the cemetery. And a face rising up on top of a massive hulking shape now getting closer and hunched like a gorilla, growling the other side of the rusting fence.

  “Who the fuck wants me.”

  “Al sent me. Al Duke.”

  ‘And what the fucking hell do you mean by interrupting my sleep like that sonny.”

  “Holy christ you really exist.”

  “Of course I fucking exist, would you think I didn’t. Sure what aria from Puccini do you want to hear.”

  “No aria. Look, would you do me a big favour.”

  “Ah now that all depends.”

  “Would you just please come and see me at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Here, my address is on this piece of paper and either of these telephone numbers will get me.”

  “Sure my name’s Terence F. X. Magillacurdy and I come to see no man.”

  “Hey look, it’s not to see me. All I want to do is talk to you. In private. And maybe even beg you.”

  “For what now would you be begging me.”

  “To take a part in a show. It could mean Hollywood for you.”

  “Well for a start you can stuff Hollywood straight up your American arse me boyo.”

  “O.K. that’s swell with me. Believe me, I understand completely how you feel. No problem. But christ I nearly got arrested trying to find you here. Please. Just come to my house. Ten minutes of your time. Three o’clock tomorrow. I’m on bended knee to you.”

  “Ah me boyo bend your knee to no man. But seeing as you’ve taken a bath in a street puddle to find me, sure you know, you have the vague possibility of being likeable. Stand up now. That’s it. Open your ears.”

  Schultz standing back as Terence F. X. Magillacurdy’s lungs inflated. The lamplight through the bars of the fence cutting across this Roman Emperor’s face. As exquisite melodious song arose from this giant man’s throat. And flooded the length of Old Brompton Road one end to the other. People stopping on the pavement and appearing curtain twitching at windows of a block of flats. The door of a funeral furnisher just up the street opening. A late working mortician in his apron looking down the road. A shade in the hospital going up. A white capped nurse peering out. And Schultz pushing his address and telephone numbers through the rungs of the fence.

  “That’s beautiful see you tomorrow and excuse me for running. I can’t afford to be arrested here with you.”

  Schultz turning and trotting away, the Irishman’s laughter erupting in his song following him crossing the street. And up along a crescent of houses where Schultz calmed and walked again to reach the blissful anonymity of Warwick Road. Still hearing the Irishman’s distant dulcet voice singing over the rooftops.

  O Danny boy

  The pubs, the pubs

  Are calling

  From Piccadilly

  All the way

  To Camden Town

  The voice drowned now by the clanging bell of a police squad car as Schultz flagged a taxi. Taking a deep breath as he put his head back resting on the seat. The soothing throb of the taxi’s diesel engine motoring between these shadowy massive mansions. Once peopled with servants and rich mercantile families. Now catacombed with Australians. Jesus what a struggle it is to climb up on top like a hero. And soon as you do everybody is pulling open your shoelaces.

  Taxi now passing a little park. Earl’s Court Square. And into the more sedate streets. The white painted elevations of South Kensington. Theatre goers. In there behind their polished windows, sparkling tables set for dinner. Guests arriving for cocktails. Little children safe upstairs with nanny in nursery. If only I had that kind of a childhood being read bedtime stories before you go to sleep. Instead of sneaking drags of a cigarette up some garbage strewn alley in the bleak depths of America. And now with one’s own entrails maybe wracked with clap eating at my guts already.

  The brakes squealing as the taxi came to a halt in front of Sigmund Schultz’s Belgravia town house. Schultz paying another crisp ten shilling note to the driver wreathed with a big broad grin.

  “Squire you had me worried. I’m the one brought you to the cemetery. You got a spot or two of mud on you. And glad to bring you back. Had meself a quiet cup of tea at Earl’s Court there and picked you straight up again as my fare. Things all right at the cemetery.”

  “They were fine.”

  “That’s good, glad to hear it sir, goodnight.”

  Butler drawing the drapes of the Ambassador’s dining room across the street. Schultz up the steps to his own gleaming front door. Two brass keys to turn in two brass locks. And my own drapes closed across the downstairs window. Don’t even remember doing it after this fucking long hard day. Of my heart having to suddenly start beating again just when I thought it had no beats left. At least no behemoth is waiting tonight to come charging at me. Jump in a hot enough bath and could kill some of these microbes. If my prick and balls can stand it. And then my god almighty, after a day like today, I hope I can fall asleep.

  “Surprise, Sigmund.”

  Schultz as his hand was about to land on the light switch of the library. Was in a flood of light coming out of the dining room door just behind him. And hands folded angelically and all smiles in a long black clinging evening gown, stood Pricilla.

  “Darling. Darling. I’m back.”

  “Hey what the fuck’s going on.”

  “Darling, come. I’ve nearly got it all ready. Everything. All for you. Champagne. Caviar. Smoked salmon. Chicken in aspic. Gulls’ eggs, everything you love. For us to have a feast. To celebrate.”

  “Celebrate what.”

  “Darling, that I’ve come out of hospital well again, of course. And all safe and back into your arms.”

  “You looked fine to me on the floor before you went in.”

  “That’s churlish of you to say. Don’t be churlish. And meanie. Come in. Into the dining room. Come now. In here. It’s all the food mother and I had left over at the hospital.”

  “I got no appetite.”

  “You will have soon darling.”

  “Why.”

  “Because of what I’m going to tell you.”

  “Hey what’s that fucking thing.”

  “That’s my big teddy bear Boobles.”

  “You’re asking me to come sit down with a fucking teddy bear at the head of my own table with a place all set for him.”

  “Darling. Please. I want to tell you something. And I’m going to use that horrid word.”

  “What are you talking about.”

  “Darling you can fuck me till your heart’s content tonight.”

  “Holy Jesus christ what are you saying.”

  “You heard me darling.”

  “Hey wait a minute. This whole transformation is all taking me pretty suddenly.”

  “And that’s how I want you now darling to take me. Naked and suddenly. Tie me up and whip me. Rape me.”

  “Just a minute. Hold it. Never mind the sadism. Just how come the big change honey.”

  “Darling what change.”

  “Your mother was out there only last night trying to beat my brains out on my own stoop with her umbrella.”

  “O darling darling, things like that are past. Don’t you understand. Past. Gone and forgotten.”

  “Like this black eye I got from your mother’s fist.”

  “O my poor darling. It’s going to be all rig
ht believe me. No please, let me kiss it for you. Let me kiss it. I’ll kiss you all over tonight. Even your arse.”

  “So you’re going to kiss my arse. Well that’s what you can do, kiss my arse.”

  “Don’t say it like that darling.”

  “I’m saying it just like you said it. Christ I don’t even know where the fuck I am.”

  “Darling you’re with me. With me. You are. And here, my little kisses all over your spotty face for my poor little sweetie pie.”

  “Hold it, hold it honey. Wait a minute. Please. Stop the smothering.”

  “Why are you pulling away like this.”

  “I got to understand what’s all the big change all of a sudden.”

  “Nothing has changed darling, I’m simply yours.”

  “Well I’ve just been to the doctor’s. And he says I got a raging kind of possible pneumonia or something he thinks could be coming on due to strain and overwork. Plus a toothache. I could contaminate you.”

  “Then darling, contaminate me.”

  “Jesus baby don’t rush me a second. First just let me change out of my wet clothes.”

  “Darling, you are wet.”

  “That’s what I said. I need a hot bath. I’m going upstairs.”

  “Of course darling you need a hot bath. Now I know how busy you are. How did you get all spotted.”

  “That’s how I got spotted. Because I’m busy.”

  Schultz up the stairs two at a time to exercise his thigh muscles. Pricilla holding up her long gown as she followed.

  “Yes I know. Al told mother and me. He’s been so sweet.”

  “What did he tell mother and you.”

  “About your rehearsal. And all how it might be a wonderful hit.”

  “You mean my show a hit.”

  “And mother and I think it’s so marvellous for you.”

  “Look honey, nothing’s wonderful. And I haven’t got anything together yet that even remotely looks like a hit.”

  “You haven’t.”

  “No. Nobody knows what the fuck’s going to happen till after six months it’s already a hit and when that’s happened and then it’s booked out solid for another year in advance you might lean back a bit for two seconds and say you got a hit. Otherwise all you got is a hit on the head.”

  “Well Al said you had a hit on your hands. And at a time like that mother said she felt you needed me near you.”