The Destinies of Darcy Dancer, Gentleman

by J. P. Donleavy

  A table with a jar of marmalade and half a loaf of bread. A fish skeleton on a plate. In a corner by a small window a sink stacked full of dishes. Lois putting out her chest as she arose again. Pressing her hands down across her backside.

  ‘Thank god I’ve not broken bones. That’s all I’d need on top of everything else.’

  She crosses to open the door of the stove. Pushing in long pieces of black turf as smoke poured out. And as she slams it closed, a grey sleek cat jumps miaowing up on the table. Lois waving it off and lifting her arms to scratch.

  ‘Have you got bugs madam.’

  ‘Stop calling me that.’

  ‘Well you call me dear boy.’

  ‘Well then I shall stop. And I have not got bugs. But I should apologize for scratching. It is my woolly long underwear. I must wear at least two pairs. To keep warm when I’m working. This is my outside one I dyed pink. Now let me look at you. Just sit there. Yes. On the stool. Now just turn a little to the left. You have the most exquisite face. Your most perfectly straight nose. And such marvellously large peasant hands.’

  ‘I am not a peasant.’

  ‘Ah but we know that. You are a proper little country gent. With the most magnificent mediaeval profile. Elizabethan. Quite beyond anything one might expect would come out of the Irish countryside. I want you to pose.’

  ‘For a study.’

  ‘My dear boy, you do catch on rather fast, don’t you. Of course I shouldn’t want to embarrass you. But art demands the elimination of the squeamish little restrictions and conventions society has so barbarously imposed upon us.’

  Lois surveying Darcy Dancer, holding her head a little to the side. Putting her hand on her hip and sucking air between her lips. With her duffel coat and the big green sweater off, she had quite surprisingly pronounced breasts. I had, when first confronting her, thought she was entirely without bosoms. And now behind her another bunch of bottles. Which must have once held stout. Each time she steps backwards while surveying me I get quite excited thinking that she might land crashing on her arse.again. But just at the last rotten second she notices them. Until suddenly she snapped her fingers.

  ‘I think I have got it. Yes, I have. There is absolutely something Flemish in your face. It must be in your ancestry. Transcending of course the underlying peasant aspect. But that’s it. I’ve found it. Flemish.’

  Lois raising her chin. And now this insight it seems sending her stepping way back. Just marvellously far enough this time. To go yet with another almighty crash, falling back into and among the stout bottles. Darcy Dancer putting his hand up squeezing into his cheeks and pressing hard across his mouth to keep it closed. As one’s lungs were full to bursting and exploding. Too unbelievable that a lady of her mature age should be so stupidly awkward. Especially to trod on her own drawings and the defenceless black man’s cock and testicles. She must be a bloody exhibitionist.

  ‘O my god. Bother and damn. O my god. I think I may really be hurt. But if you laugh again I shall never forgive you.’

  Her accent extremely high pitched and nasal. I was naturally thinking it was quite typical of her that she should shout rather exaggeratedly English epithets.

  ‘O pish and pother.’

  Which she did really loudly as she fell again trying to get up. Her face quite red. One did for the first time feel a flash of sympathy. For she was really doing her damndest to get back on her feet.

  ‘You fucking little bastard you. I absolutely think your monstrous sense of humour absolutely Irish.’

  ‘I didn’t do a thing.’

  ‘Do a thing. Why you’re laughing.’

  ‘Only moderately as anyone might with a reasonable sense of humour.’

  ‘And at a poor woman. Well help me up, blast you. I think I am badly injured. I do believe the neck of one of those horrid stout bottles may have penetrated my anus. And it hasn’t done my constipation the least bit of good. O god bombs in Bloomsbury were nothing compared to this awful place.’

  Darcy Dancer again taking Lois by the armpits. Like lugging a calf to put her upright once more. Her hand feeling down around her bottom, as she shakes herself.

  ‘Hasn’t anyone ever taught you dear boy that it is the height of rudeness to find another’s misfortune amusing. And it is totally improper not to show your elders at least that much respect. Well answer me. Hasn’t anyone ever taught you that.’

  ‘Please don’t shout at me.’

  ‘Well damn you, I shall shout. I am most angry. You seem not to exhibit any regard for the feelings of others. And are you going to pose for me or not.’

  ‘Now.’

  ‘Of course, now.’

  ‘You mean without my clothes.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I hardly know you madam well enough. To pose that way. Besides you haven’t given me my cocoa yet.’

  ‘You have your damn nerve, haven’t you.’

  ‘On the contrary I am merely being candid as one has always been brought up to be.’

  ‘And who brought you up, your nannie.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, she did.’

  Darcy Dancer and Lois in a blazing confrontation of eyeballs. Standing across the loose floorboards flecked with blue, pink, orange, green and grey. And now the sound of rain tapping the skylight. Mr Arland sometimes spoke of what he said would be my indoctrination into the outside world. Beyond the halls, walls and pastures of Andromeda Park. Now I am at large. And after a quick look at the gathering of the Count’s party it was alarming to discover how bogus were man’s interests and concerns. With everyone, if not prattling on about themselves, then loud voiced expressing their quite pretentious one sided opinions. Clearly most adults with the exception perhaps of Mr Arland and Uncle Willie, were assumed of the most hollow attributes. And it is obvious one must deal with them accordingly.

  ‘Well, what are you waiting for, take off your things. And I shall prepare myself.’

  Darcy Dancer standing in his dark serge double breasted suit. Made by Mr Kaighan as he came with his sample cloths, tapes and chalks to measure me each October. As I must I think, take a pace backwards. Put one’s elbow to rest on this white long bookcase crammed with volumes and piled on top with ceramics, bottles of linseed oil and turpentine. Round stove with its crooked chimney pipe going upwards high into the wall where it left a wide smoke stain to the ceiling. Rain now drumming on the glass, coming down in one god awful downpour. Drips dropping into the room. Lois, a hand on her hip puts one leg forward and pushes out her chest. Right in front of my hopefully angelic face. A raindrop landing on my nose.

  Faint bells toll lonesome out over the city. And madam whatever her surname is, is taking her pink outer garment by the hem and pulling it up over her head and holding it by the sleeves as it hangs down in front of her. And gives me a long hard stare. I am extremely good at staring back. Even as a baby I could make my nannie Ruby drop her eyes if they too long confronted mine.

  ‘Take off your jacket.’

  ‘It’s raining on me.’

  ‘Just step to one side.’

  ‘It is a bit chilly.’

  ‘O don’t complain. And look at you. French cuffs and gold cuff links. At your age.’

  ‘I am an imperialist member of the squirearchy and imperialists, madam, dress this way.’

  ‘O we are grand aren’t we.’

  ‘Yes I am.’

  ‘And a cheeky little bugger that’s what you are. Daring to engage me in a staring match. I can outstare any man. Even while I must grope round to do so.’

  ‘You shan’t, I regret to say, outstare me madam. And do be careful of bottles.’

  Lois slowly swaying her hips. As I do believe she is attempting something in the nature of a tropical dance. Her eyes I thought averted momentarily as she opens the buttons at the neck of her woolly underwear. Pulling it down around her shoulders and hanging it from her waist. With yet another pale blue sleeveless sweater underneath. Which she pulls up over her head. Leaving her
upper part quite naked. Tax her with the matter of perhaps corrupting the morals of a minor. About which I am rather widely read from legal tomes I have referred to while endeavouring to satisfy my passing interest in filthy curiosities. A trace of a smile on her lips. As she thinks this rude ruse will make me avert my eyes. Not so madam. I shall stare you into your grave before I allow my eyes to examine your breasts. Of course one catches sight of them on the upper retina. Mr Arland says images get inverted going through one’s lens. Perhaps I should impart to her advice. According to Mr Arland’s Domestic Homoeopathy. When there is torpor of the bowels and there is the sensation of being paralysed there, take three globules of opium. Obstinate cases require tepid water enema. And last night about this time I was in the arms of Miss von B who is not constipated. And shits she says like a meteor scooting among the stars. Although I supplied this latter description, it was in fact what she was trying to say.

  ‘You are, aren’t you, quite stubborn, dear boy.’

  ‘Indeed yes, madam.’

  To take a train ride to Dublin. And although a little frightening it is thoroughly exciting to find yet another lady so soon to present herself quite and absolutely from the waist up divested of covering. These are smaller but quite sharply pointed breasts. Not quite so rounded and big as those of Miss von B. But longer nipples. Foxy says those big breasts you see on a lady were not of the best. That it’s the small tidy bags that make a good milker over the years. Keep distracting one’s mind during this staring. Then suddenly concentrate and with my smouldering gaze strike terror in her. The room is warming. The rain and drip has stopped. Lois is clearly faltering. Any moment now this rank imperialist will panic her to being outstared. Mr Arland will wonder where I am. But for the matter of that I might ask where is he. Since I do believe I may in fact take some time to show this rather over confident pretentious lady a thing or two.

  ‘Do you not like my tits dear boy. You may come and feel them if you wish.’

  ‘I’m quite all right thank you. I am going to outstare you first madam.’

  ‘It’s all quite natural dear boy. Your mother had breasts. And I have breasts. And you mustn’t look as if you think I’m deranged. And you may call me Lois.’

  ‘Stop talking and looking for excuses to get out of our staring match.’

  ‘Of course dear boy, I can’t waste time like this. I’ll let you win the staring match just this once. It is essential for the task at hand that you be able to see all of me. Perhaps not quite what your tutor had in mind for you on your tour, I don’t suspect. But I’m ready now to paint you. Please. I’m putting more turf in the stove. It should be quite tolerable. Do take off your things.’

  Darcy Dancer toying with his buttons in the candlelight. Lois’s underwear hanging down over her trousers as she pulls open a drawer and takes out two tapers and lights them by the candle. Now quite brazenly she’s pulling down her gentleman’s trousers and peeling off her white long woolly underwear. Sinewy long tapering legs. Shiny white shapely and smooth. Her reptile like mouth. Tongue shooting out and licking all over her lips. Like a film Uncle Willie had taken me to once in the town. When a great long black snake came out from behind a rock and a woman charmed it with holy water and kissed it. All the catholics in the audience clapped and cheered. Uncle Willie said under his breath. What awful shit. Show her I can take off my clothes too. Only I have a really wretched hole in my underwear. Which is not in the least imperial. Mr Arland is really going to wonder where on earth I am now. And as I’m nearly without my clothes he’d have a further fit if he knew. This may well serve me as experience for the future. When I may in regalia have to stand for long hours having my portrait painted. Especially with this creature with her brushes in one hand and sketching pad in another, waggingly gyrating her bosoms in a dance. Women lately are always trying to do this to me. Make me naked and nervous. When I’d prefer to be normal and ordinary. The thumping of my heart on my bare chest. And worse, she’ll see my penis sticking up at the skylight. Maybe make her faint backwards and go down again in the bottles, or crashing stark naked among her easels and tubes of paint. With bunches of brushes falling on her and sticking up out of her ears and arse maybe. Might even loosen up her bowels.

  ‘That’s very good. Climb up now on the dais. I shall do some very swift ink and colour washes of you. Yes, just stand there. Straight, with the left leg flexed just that little bit. And stick it out. No not that. It’s not what I’m referring to at all. Although, it is a quite adequate one, if I may say so. It’s your arse I refer to. Your right cheek. Yes. Tense it. Yes that’s it. Now I’m afraid that that must subside. You have an erection. It simply won’t do. It’s contrary to the whole flow of line. Please make it go down.’

  ‘I can’t, I don’t know how.’

  ‘You simply must learn to control yourself. If we’re to do any serious work at all. I know my body may excite you. But don’t let it.’

  ‘I’m trying not to let it madam.’

  ‘Surely if you are so good at staring matches you can learn that discipline at least.’

  ‘I don’t think I can. No one has ever asked me to do this before.’

  ‘Well I’m asking you now. So please make an effort. Ignore my nakedness. Think of something which is non stimulating. Look at my cat Fergus there. If he stimulates you, neutered as the poor creature is, you are then really evil minded. Commerce is the only really obscene thing. But dear boy for you to get an erection just as I am about to make masterpieces is an insult to the whole creative concept.’

  ‘This kind of art is new to me.’

  ‘Well let’s hope you’re learning something then. Ah yes, that’s a good boy, I see it is going down. That’s very good. Very good. Now just hold it like that. There’s a real pet. O you are being very jolly good.’

  ‘Thank you madam.’

  ‘Alright now. I’m nearly there. If you would only just subside it that little bit more. O drat. It’s going up again. You’re ruining the whole line.’

  ‘Well madam when you start to talk about it, it seems right away to go up again.’

  ‘Well damn it, make it go down. Just look around you. And I hope to god you’re not homosexually inclined. See. All those other nice calm penises. I was nude in front of them too. And yet not one of them erected. Don’t you think if they were able to do it. That you too can. Try.’

  ‘Yes. I shall.’

  ‘I suppose you think I’m eccentric.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well I am. I have long ago forsaken all things bourgeois. Ah now, you are trying. It’s coming down nicely. Don’t shift your leg like that.’

  ‘It itches me madam.’

  ‘I work in instantaneous strokes. Your moving faults the tension of the line. Of course nobody understands. I love the way your foreskin comes down over your penis like the closed petals of a flower. Imagine that they cut such a beautiful thing off in the silly interests of hygiene. And o god, there you go, up again.’

  ‘Well it’s you madam drawing my attention to it every time when you say things like that.’

  ‘Well there’s simply nothing else for it. I shall just have to put down my brushes and wank you off then. That’s all there is to it. Or else I simply can’t go on. Or do you have an objection.’

  ‘I guess not madam if it furthers the cause of art.’

  ‘You are a rather clever little one, you know. Far more astute than you let on. Got the touch of the devil about you. But please don’t take this as an overture. Or assume for one second that one is enjoying having to do this. What are those bruises on your neck.’

  ‘O nothing.’

  ‘And while I’m doing this you’re not to touch me.’

  ‘I wasn’t intending to.’

  ‘Well, just in case you might think of doing so I’m telling you to keep your hands to yourself if you don’t mind. My goodness I can see you really are jolly well erected aren’t you. And quite considerably endowed. A pity it ruins the line. And such nicely
ripened testicles too. It’s the imbalance created by the blatantly horizontal I can’t stand. That’s where art stops and obscenity begins. When something juts out like this. I’m not being too ungentle am I.’

  ‘O no you’re fine.’

  ‘And please, if you don’t mind, warn me when you’re ejaculating. I’d prefer to swallow it, rather than have it go all over my floor. Dirty filthy as it already may be. Stale sperm can make such an awful smell.’

  ‘I wish madam you wouldn’t go on talking while we’re doing this.’

  ‘Well I’m not making love to you you know. Be sure of that.’

  ‘Yes I am and thank you.’

  ‘For god’s sake don’t thank me. And since we are rather getting to know one another better don’t you think it’s time you called me by my christian name at least. If you don’t like Lois, my second christian name is Euphemia. And I do hope you’re not going to be a long time coming. It’s quite tiring on the arm.’

  Lois with flecks of dandruff in the hair parting mid way down her scalp. The streaks of blonde and brown and the wiry strands of grey all drawn back and a brown shoelace tying up a plaited pigtail wound in a bun at the back of her head. From which a bit of blue ribbon hangs down. Get nearly killed going to a bog to learn about life. And now I am getting very first hand information in this grown up lady’s studio with my prick being pulled by her hand. If poor old Foxy could see me now. Up here on exhibition. Like the time he told me of the titled lady judge who went squeezing all the balls of all bulls at the fair. Her hands are strong. Stroking in long gentle strokes. Then stops to say she’s not making love to me. Uses four fingers and her thumb underneath. Certainly an improper grip for milking a cow. Send the milk missing the pail. And I could go gushing all over her face. And Mr Arland’s face was quite flushed in the company of the courtesan. Kept referring to the Count’s party as a bash. And even as he was getting quite tipsy, said we’ll have a bash at that bash. And then as we got round one corner he said even before I pushed him, ‘Let’s bash on regardless.’ Dublin so dark dreary and dank. One has got to be rich. Or be hungry like this woman. Who was as we walked here, popping chunks of butterscotch in her mouth. Without offering me a piece. And who now as I try not to groan, is eating me. Could take it into her head to murder me by biting it. Foxy said you fast bleed to death. Be twitching around on this floor knocking over more of her bottles in my death throes. And who now would care, or be torn with sadness. Or light up torches for my funeral. Or beat drums. Or lay me to dusty rest in the vaults of the Thormonds. Please god even though I am an atheist protestant take care of my sisters. Send Sexton to heaven where he so dearly wants to go. And where he hopes to have his first rest from his long lifetime of religious duty. Tending roses and kneeling at the feet of his adored Blessed Virgin Mother. Over the garden wall I once heard him say to Crooks that never once did his prick ever trouble his conscience, as it did many the blackguard he knew. And Crooks said that when he was active his own prick sure troubled a lot of sheep. And he told him of the farmer across the lake who kept devout and unsoiled by women but that in this holy state he wore nearly all the wool off the arses of his ewes. And Sexton said at least it wasn’t as bad as having a woman with her gab wear all the flesh off your ears. For the sake of art I am sucked. Pleasure coming just like one waits for pain to strike. When the town dentist with his evil looking instruments was looming all over me, his smile widening as he descended upon my mouth and plunged his drill whirring into my tooth. I must soon say goodnight. And get me out of here. This lady’s breathing comes strongly down her nose and right at this moment she’s in a complete frenzy as my head goes back hollering. Pump my personality into her. Loosen her bowels. As she is bent forward bosoms hanging from her chest, nude all the way down to her pair of white shoes. Stopped holding her hand over her mouth. And rather sloping in her quarters. She goes rushing to spit in the sink. With the knobs of her spine showing down her back. Her bottom trembling, she looked so foolish heading across the floor.