A Fairy Tale of New York

by J. P. Donleavy

''Tell us the street and number.

  "Can't I just tell you how to get there."

  "No you cannot. And let me say before we go any further here that you are not doing your employer's case or your own any good."

  ''That's prejudice, your honor.'

  "Will you shut up please, I'll say what it is. And also, I'll hold this entire court in contempt if you don't stop scratching out there. What's the matter with you people. Now Mr Christian give me your address this second.''

  "It's Forty Six West I think Seventy Sixth Street, only on the sign the end of the block it says Seventy Seventh where some kids changed it for a laugh I guess."

  "Which is it."

  "That's what I was trying to say before your honor, that I might say something that could be a lie when I was telling the truth."

  "I'm going to allow you one last chance. We are going to give your address as Forty Six West Seventy Sixth.''

  "That'snot it."

  "Shut up, it is. Now counsel will you get on and examine your witness."

  "Mr Christian were you employed by Mr Vine."

  "Well I came round there one day and.''

  "It's only necessary to answer yes or no to the question, please."

  "I guess I was. I was broke. I just got off the boat.''

  "And what did you do for Mr Vine.''

  "I checked the thermometers, ushered the bereaved to the various suites, and even ran out for cigarettes for the mourners who needed them."

  "Did you prepare the body of a deceased known to you as Mr Silver."

  ''Yes. He was in the back room. He looked really awful.''

  ''Had you prepared other bodies.''

  "Yes, I did. With George. He was showing me the tricks.''

  "You mean methods and procedures."

  "Yes."

  "Now you say Mr Silver looked awful.''

  "Yes. Although I knew that there was a youthfulness under his skin."

  ''How did you know this.''

  ''Well I could just tell that he was a man of spirit. That maybe life hadn't been too good to him. Paying income taxes, maybe people shouting at him over his shirt counter and not being nice. All that kind of thing. But I knew that this was only the external manifestation of the man. That he might have liked classical music while he lived.''

  Mrs Silver's counsel slapping down papers on his table as he stands waving his left arm in the air and scratching under it with his right.

  "Your honor I object to this insane line of inquiry. That anyone could tell from looking at a cadaver that he liked classical music."

  "Overruled. It is quite conceivable that Mr Christian could see in this man something more than the flesh and bone he was faced with. Continue counsel.''

  "Well if you will please tell us Mr Christian what were you trying to do when preparing the body of Mr Silver.''

  "I was attempting great art in the manner of Mr Vine. Mr Vine told me that he was able to read the whole history of a man in his face. And that when you did you could embellish it with his past. His happy moments. You know, by bringing the eye sockets back to normal. Like the times he patted his dog's head in the kitchen at night when he was having a glass of milk and cinnamon bun after watching television. A moment like that can be a man's happiest. I've always been a student of human nature."

  Mrs Silver's counsel again leaping to his feet, scratching a left hand in his crotch. The fleas like the shady spots.

  "I object your honor. This is the most incredible nonsense. Unbelievable."

  "Sustained. Counsel what relevance does a man patting his dog's head in his kitchen have to the matter complained of. Mrs Silver charges that she was spiritually disfigured when confronted with her husband tarted up beyond recognition."

  "Your honor I am only trying to show that the Mr Silver with which Mrs Silver was confronted was indeed only a younger or truer version of her husband. Like a soiled painting found battered in an attic covered in dust and then immaculately restored."

  Mrs Silver's attorney slapping his palm against his brow. His shoulders suddenly turning white with a cascade of dandruff.

  "Objection. For heaven's sake is counsel suggesting that Mrs Silver had a dirty husband, that he was kept in a scruffy condition and in a manner of speaking was thrown out like so much garbage."

  "Yes that's what I'm suggesting. And that Mr Christian attempted to restore this cast off body to a state in which any one who loved him would have liked to have seen him in death.''

  Mrs Silver's counsel falling backwards into his seat, giving his brow three more slaps in a row. More snowfalls of dandruff. As he sits scratching cross armed under the armpits. The judge leaning forward to peer at this ringside frenzy.

  "Are you all right Mr Blitz.''

  "I am just temporarily stupified by counsel's most recent remark."

  "Well perhaps if Mr Christian's counsel is finished, you'd like to cross examine Mr Christian.''

  A lifelike glow returning to Blitz's eyes. Perspiration across Christian's brow. Wipe it away with the back of a hand. The windows look out to a brooding grey. Sound of rumbling distant thunder. One nearly could make a run for it. Beat it just up the street into Chinatown.

  "Now Mr Christian. You seem like a nice young man.''

  "Thank you."

  "Did you ever embalm a body before Mr Silver's.''

  ''Yes. I assisted with some.''

  "And before that did you take training.''

  "No. But I knew a lot of kids interested in wild animals and we read this book on taxidermy. I also learned to skin a chipmunk and prepare muskrat skins. Do you want me to continue."

  "Yes do continue Mr Christian."

  Christian looking out at the courtroom faces. Pausing in the flow as the head of Mr Vine's counsel bows slowly forward into his hands. Making him look as if he was pretty upset. And there standing right in the rear. My friend fat cheeks from the institution. Flashing open his coat. With a message.

  FLEAS

  "Well I mean that was in my youth. It was after I was orphaned."

  ''And you regarded this as some kind of apprenticeship to later becoming a qualified mortician, Mr Christian."

  "Well skinning animals and stuffing them is skilled work.''

  "O I'm not suggesting for a moment Mr Christian that the work isn't skilled. I am merely pointing out that this perhaps was your total experience prior to embalming and preparing a human subject for burial.''

  "I stuffed a snapping turtle. It was the biggest one ever caught in the Bronx. Its jaws could break a steel bar in. half.''

  "O. Do go on. Don't mind me Mr Christian. This amazed look on my face is just one of admiration.''

  "Well I thought it was itchiness the way you're scratching yourself. And it's distracting me.''

  "I'm sorry. Is that better. My hands in my pockets. Now what about this snapping turtle.''

  ''You really want to hear this.''

  "I only want to hear what you feel will help us know something about your early work in undertaking.''

  "Well I don't want to mislead the court. I just knew about stuffing animals and making them look like they were alive. We did it with a big copperhead snake. We put it through the window into the front hallway of this house one Saturday night when they were having a party, and everybody in the house went mighty pronto out the windows. Except the invalid father in law in a wheel chair and they just slammed him unmercifully right through the screen door without opening it.''

  The judge leaning forward on one black robed arm. Hammering his gavel down with the other.

  "If there's any more laughter I'll clear the court. It's bad enough the whole bunch of you out there scratching. You'd think the place was crawling with bugs.''

  ''It is your honor."

  "Well be thankful then they're only bugs and not copperheads. Continue Mr Christian."

  "Well I was only showing I could do a realistic and lifelike stuffing."

  On a side bench in his own judicial black robes, a gentleman
seated. Behaving just like the judge, using his fist in the palm of his hand as a silent gavel. As he considers the pleadings. Someone else sneaking open a lunch box and taking a bite out of a sandwich. As Mr Blitz rocks back and forth on his heels. Sporting rather over large chrome buckles on the side of his shoes. And raising his chin and bad breath in my direction.

  "You're a bit of a practical joker Mr Christian. Frightening people out of their wits and houses.''

  "That's not true."

  "O what then is true Mr Christian.''

  "Well these people weren't very nice. They were stingy and mean and sat around drinking highballs and playing bridge every Friday night. I was underprivileged at the time. Besides I was only about twelve.''

  "And you stopped doing these things at thirteen Mr Christian."

  "No. I did a few more things after that.''

  "O do please tell us. And what were these. This is a nice sultry day for stories."

  "Well I don't think they have anything to do with this case."

  "On the contrary they have a lot to do with it. Indeed it may show you're just a high spirited young man who likes to have a laugh once in a while.''

  "Well I used to collect dog droppings. And I used to put them on people's front porches and cover them in fallen leaves.''

  "Ah this was an autumn escapade Mr Christian."

  "Yes it was. And then I'd light the leaves and ring the doorbell and folk would come running out of their houses to find a fire lit on their porch and they would start to trample it out.''

  "To put it, if I may, in a more vulgar way, these innocent people were stamping hysterically in dog shit."

  "Objection your honor, objection. Mr Blitz cannot continue with this totally irrelevant skirmishing. Mr Christian was like any young man growing up in his community, and giving neighborhood oldsters a tough time. As a kid I used to put live snakes down people's heating pipes and they'd drop down on them from the ceilings."

  A massive thunderclap and flash of lightning. Polk in the courtroom ducking. Rain pelting against the windows. Darkness. Courtroom lights switched on. My friend fat cheeks grinning and shaking his head up and down in yeses. As the gathering scratched and cowered and Mr Blitz raised his finger to point at Christian.

  "And is it not true Mr Christian that you thought you would have one hell of a joke making Mr Silver look like some carnival doll. Just because you get a kick out of seeing people outraged. And have an innocent woman walk into this most traumatic experience of her life. To whom you issued the threat that you would embalm her.''

  "I thought it would calm her down.''

  "Calm her down. So to calm people down, you suggest embalming. "

  "For some it gives lasting peace.''

  "O this courtroom may laugh Mr Christian but I don't think that's at all funny. Pump full of formaldehyde. Sell as a bloody monster. Shut your ass hole you god damn fucking bitch. You said these words Mr Christian to calm Mrs Silver."

  "I thought some strong language might console her."

  "Console."

  "Well that word just slipped in there.''

  "Lots of words Mr Christian seemed to have slipped in there. Including fill you full of formaldehyde. And sell you as a monster. Is that what you thought would console Mrs Silver."

  ''I thought it might improve her manners.''

  "Her manners."

  ''Yes they were appalling.''

  "This seems cavalier coming from you Mr Christian. Spreading a dog's doings on the front porches of community citizens."

  "How dare you refer back to that. I told the court that in confidence."

  "Dare, of course I dare Mr Christian. Just as you dared to make a laughing stock of the remains of Mr Silver and scar Mrs Silver's memory of her husband for life. How dare I. You bet I dare. And I further dare to hope that your shitty pranks get banner headlines coast to coast."

  "Counsel that's enough now of that.''

  "But your honor it was Mr Christian who acquainted us with his daredevil community antics."

  "Confine yourself to cross examination."

  "Very well. Mr Christian. Who are you."

  ''I beg your pardon."

  "I asked who you are. You said earlier you'd been orphaned."

  "I am Cornelius Treacle Christian, of the Brooklyn Treacles and the Bronx Christians who got unloaded from a boat from Europe."

  "I see. Not a very edifying background if I may say so.''

  "They were impoverished well meaning people proud of the chance this country gave them. And they would have viewed your vulgar insult as beneath contempt.''

  "I see we 're getting a little bit of your strong tongue now.''

  "And I'll belt you out the window of this courtroom in a second, you sneaky little god damn fart.''

  "Ah that's more like it, a full flowering. No please, your honor, let Mr Christian continue.''

  "Counsel you've insulted Mr Christian. If he socks you I may treat it as an occasion of instant justice. And hold you in contempt for getting in the way of his fist."

  "Your honor that's no way to run a court.''

  "Are you telling me how to run my court, a god damn store front lawyer like you.''

  "No your honor. Gee whizz suddenly I'm the guy who did everything wrong. Excuse me I need to take one of my heart pills. I feel real lousy. I mean my client isn't getting a fair hearing. Here's a kid up there tells us he's stuffing turtles. Spreading dog shit on people's porches. When they're in the middle of their chicken dinners. Flinging poisonous snakes into the middle of bridge parties. When someone might be trying a grand slam. And I get held in contempt for getting in the way of his fist when he feels like throwing it. I mean is this the new liberty. That's come to swamp our way of life. Is this what our city has come to. When a weed isn't safe in a window box anymore. That even dead bodies have to take their chances. What's the life long struggle for, if you die and then get the biggest insult of your life. From someone whose been cleaning out rest rooms. One half million dollars damages will never compensate Mrs Silver for the horror of that day haunting her every waking and sleeping minute. And what a thought. That when she dies this could happen to her. A widow made overweight with nervous worry. She too could be flung into her coffin like a cut rate side street whorer. At a time of her life when she should enjoy. With her other widowed girl friends the bliss of a calm happiness without a husband coming home with his head in his hands with business worries. Her still youthful flesh could be getting golden at the best beach front hotels on the Florida coast. And where with the many swamps being reclaimed she could lie wrapped in the dreams of her retirement home. Her only heartbreak being the trouble she might meet finding the right antiques to grace her castle in paradise. Instead of here. In this bug infested dusty courtroom. During a thunderstorm. Is this what she stuck by her husband for through all his years of merchandising. With collar styles changing so fast her husband was sickened by the inventory dumped on his hands by a gimmick fickle, junior executive population seeking only a brief sartorial thrill. Yes, I dare to say it. There's what today's modern world has come to. Sitting in that witness box. Schooled in all the low foul dirty tricks that mature citizens of this country are now harried and hurried to their graves with. With the final ridicule lying in wait for them. Eight in their very coffins. Where when they should rest in peace. They rest in horror. And in these days when our daily lives are being threatened whenever we go outside our homes and even inside. The one place left was the funeral parlor. Is that now too, to become an area of fear. I'm sweating. That's all I've got to say. Except I say to you, who was known as Herbert Silver. Wherever yon now may be. Goodnight sweet prince."

  Don't

  Get yonr feet

  Wet

  In heaven

  21

  On that witness day, as the bugs were jumping over everybody, the court adjourned with a slew of suings for bodily injury bites. Cornelius Christian stepped down from the stand, walked four steps and swooned. And falling, dream
t of Fanny. That she was a girl with a black bow in her blond hair and I was a boy in my only best suit. And I took her to my first dance. Gliding over the floor. She in a wispy gown. Her smiles all glowing and glad. And she whispered in my ear. Cornelius what kind of toothpaste do you use.

  Vine patting Christian on the back. His team of lawyers brushing me off. I was led under an umbrella down the court house steps and climbed into a Vine limozine. A sad look on the face of fat cheeks. But he smiled as he flashed open his coat with a new sign.

  SLANDER NOT SLIME

  Charlie sped me up town. To Thirty Third and Fifth. Rain flooding the streets. Folk rushing from doorway to doorway. Beneath those endless windows each with a name and product. How does all the commerce get done. A whole phone book full of lawyers. To take their clients by the hand and lead them through all the chiseling. A relief to see Charlie's grave face again.

  "You did good up there Cornelius. You stumped that smart ass lawyer trying to put the big bite on Mr Vine. You know, there must be happiness somewhere, when a lawyer dies. In that courtroom, boy could you get a bird's eye view of the world."

  Charlie leading Christian from limozine to one of the sixty seven elevators. In this vast rose marble hall. An upwards ear deafening express to the swaying eighty fifth floor. Step out and leave all these other folk heading for the top of this skyscraper. Walk down a hall over rubbery floors past frosted glass doors. Numbers and names. And this one Doctor Pedro.

  A white coated and elegant legged woman gets up to lead Christian through a door. A tiny white haired twinkling eyed doctor sitting behind his desk. A rainy city below. See the Hudson River and the stony steep ridge of the palisades. And north past a peek of Central Park and over all the Harlem crazy streets. To the sad unsung gothic splendours of the Bronx.

  "Come in, now what's wrong with you young man, take a seat. You're a good friend of Clarance. Clarance, he's a good smart man. Has the best job of all. Everyone comes to him he puts them in a box. They don't need a cure. A little candle light, music, flowers and a ride. You know why I have my office up here so high. I'll tell you. So I can look down and see all the jackasses. Whole place is full of them. You want to live long. Don't pray to god. You annoy him and he kill you faster. Now what's the matter with you. Nothing's the matter with me. I'm eighty six. You know why nothing's the matter with me. I'll tell you. I don't talk bullshit. That's why I am eighty six. Now what's wrong with you."