The Onion Eaters

by J. P. Donleavy

  ‘EEEEEEEEEEEEEE. I’m feeling great. Stand up now on the bed and let me see a sight of you.’

  ‘I’d rather not.’

  ‘Come on haven’t you a sight of me.’

  ‘I’m shy.’

  ‘Come on give us a flash of it.’

  ‘Really I don’t think so.’

  ‘I love the sight of them standing out like a stallion, pointing straight at you as if you were accused of wanting to be killed by it. You’re a retiring sort of gent then.’

  ‘A little.’

  ‘So I’ll be off.’

  ‘You’re coming back.’

  ‘Well now that’s a thought. I’ll not come back unless you stand up there and give me an exhibition.’

  ‘I’m sorry but I won’t be threatened.’

  ‘Who’s threatening. Have you ever seen a black man’s. I hear tell they’d choke you with them. And a yellow man’s is no bigger than a snail out of its shell.’

  ‘I’m not really acquainted with either.’

  ‘Well I’m off.’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  ‘So long.’

  Rose wrapping up in her kimono. Tying a knot around the waist. Twisting her neck in a circle. And throwing back her hair. She goes. Now stops. In the antechamber. Could just reach there over the bed and clang down would come the iron door. Just as she was walking out. I’d be had up for murder. Which might be quite legal around here. Or God forbid decapitate her toes and tits. Which my resident scientists would painstakingly suture back on. And raise her combat pay.

  ‘I’ll come back. I’ve been without an old fashioned horn up me for over three months.’

  ‘What about the scientists.’

  ‘What about them, I wouldn’t let one of them near me with their things. Sure they want to be coming at you with calorimeters, gyroscopes and with a bunch of tubes. It’s vexing enough being examined by them that I don’t have to let them up me. It wouldn’t half fill a book the goings on back there in town testing out the distillate. With the three of them sitting there in a row on a bench one hand pulling away possessed and in the other holding stop watches. Didn’t they have an innocent little girl out of a convent as an assistant measuring the amount that jumped out into test tubes. The three disgusting pagans. I’m off for to get the eggs and bacon. Will you have a fried tomato as well.’

  ‘Yes please.’

  ‘Right you are.’

  Four weeks ago tomorrow I stepped off the boat. Rode a train up along a strange bereft shore. Click clacking by estuaries, stopping in small towns. Finally to chug along a flat deserted cold grey coast. Past ruined roofless houses and wintry marshlands. Arrived at a station and went down the granite steps between the pillars, a dance hall across the street. Rented a room from a big kindly woman. In which I quietly and politely froze. Sitting by the wall at breakfast shivering under her heavy breathing ministrations. I was a stranger stared at wherever I went. Wandering the grey wet streets. Looking into a future. Dimmed by the months of dying. Watching from my pillow a young man in the centre aisle of the ward with his precise methodical ways as he declined. Visited every day by a mother who fussed and kissed him and wore big fur collars on her coat. The day before he was rolled away under a sheet he smiled and played with a jig saw puzzle. That evening I lay still with my eyes closed. Heard choirs singing. Boys in white cassocks trudging over snows with great flaming candles. Their voices rising up in the blue cold skies strewn with colder stars. Watch them. They walk on the endless white. Mountains in the distance. Follow them. Run light footed into wonder. Where there may be a hand to lay touching gently my eyes. And whispers wake with words. Lie safely wound in my arms in peace. All I am is your soul. To gather you. Now. And I knew I was going. Hearing voices. Nearby my bed. Yes we’re finding it difficult to diagnose, refuses all food, possibly an hysterical condition, he’s unconscious now, may go into coma. We don’t think he’ll last through tonight. I opened up a lid a crack. Could see three white coated figures and a nurse standing a little away from the foot of my bed. They are talking about me. And it’s touching and comforting that they are. A little group concerned while I live my final moments. I go and they stay. In this great maw of a hospital. Ward of death where the bodies are wheeled in and out. And sometimes screams echoing down the corridors. Sirens of ambulances and police cars in the night. Next to me a man swathed in bandages, only a hole for his mouth. The black nurse who goes by my bed. Stops and looks at me. Try bravely to smile. She smiles. How are we feeling today. I shake my head. And she would say have you ate anything and I would shake it no again. She said that’s not good. You’ve got to eat. Else you won’t be here anymore. I had then the strength only to raise and lower my hands on the sheet. She would pass on shaking her head. And then twenty minutes after midnight which I always knew because a whistle blew on a gasworks across the river canal, the black nurse came, stood over my bed, and looked at me. She said yes that’s what they say, you’re not going to live one more day. That’s not good. That’s bad. So I am going to cure you.

  Rose coming through the shadows holding a tray of plates and tea pot. A candle making big dark holes out of her eyes. The thump of Elmer’s tail on the stone floor. Spreading out this feast in front of us. Packed back in the bed. Grease cooled white on the bacon. Steam rising from the cups of tea. Rose with a slice of bread spread with a slab of butter. Takes up an egg of which there are three on her plate and lays it over the fork and shovels it into her mouth. Followed by the bread and mouthfuls of tea.

  ‘You know this is grand. Like a hotel. I was in one once. As the guest of the Baron. It had a bathroom not twenty feet away down the hall. I took seven baths. One after the other. Went out of there so clean the skin was nearly off me. The Baron never took a liberty with me. Perfect gentleman he is. For the matter of that I don’t think the Baron has ever taken a liberty with any woman. If he’s got his music he hasn’t a care in the world. Aren’t you going to eat that.’

  ‘I’m not awfully hungry.’

  ‘Fair enough hand it right over here.’

  Rose wiped plates and saucers with a piece of bread soaking up tomato seeds, congealed fat and bacon specks. Laughing and growling after the final mouthfuls. A lively strain of organ music in the lulls of the wind. No dull moment in this place. Not even at dawn. Pigs, snakes, barons, scientists and high heeled pieces of arse come floating down the halls. Someone may even show up called Boris. Who can play parts not yet cast. And star as a rectum. In the final production. And I could end up footing the bill for this original opera.

  ‘I like a snack of an evening. Give us a flash of it. That thing down there. Can’t I see it showing signs of raising the bed covers off us.’

  ‘That’s my knee.’

  ‘You don’t say.’

  ‘Yes I do.’

  ‘Well give us a look at your knee then.’

  ‘There.’

  ‘Ah that’s a great scar you’ve got. What ever did that.’

  ‘My father once when he was chasing me.’

  ‘Poor lad. God help you. Grrrrrrr. I’ve got holt of it. What’s wrong with you you won’t let me see it. Sure the scientists testing the distillate prance around their laboratory all day with them sticking out. The whole of the population passing down in the street not a stone’s throw away. You’d wonder if they ever tell their sins to God. Such whoppers that the almighty would be sent mental. Hasn’t Franz said to me there’s no supreme being. Would you believe that.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘By God the bunch of them have been right enough about a few things, it makes you think. Do you think there’s a god.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Ah thank God of that. I’m glad to hear it. That Franz would tell you the sky was green and that you could eat it on tuesdays. He has the craziest horn I’ve ever seen. Curves upwards at you like a banana. Yours seems straight enough. There’s a man in town, now the quietest most elegant well spoken gentleman you could meet, came courting me. Didn’t I think I w
as right once and for all. The good looks of him would make you faint. Doesn’t he accept an invitation to come for a little dinner I’m giving him down in the flooded flat. Embarrassed as I am to meet him at the door with a pair of me brother’s boots to wear. He was lovely. Sits down without a murmur of discontent his feet bunched up in the boots, the water splashing around us. I had the couch propped up on paving stones. Ready for any delight he cared to bestow. A dozen eggs and a pound of rashers we had between us. Like yourself he was shy. I couldn’t let him turn off the electric as it would throw you dead into the water with a blaze of current. He kept saying could we have it dark. So I finally aimed an old stale loaf of bread at the bulb and put us into darkness. I was on the couch. I could hear him wading towards me through the water. And didn’t the headlights of a car go by on the street. Well I had a fit when I saw it. He had a thing on him like the prow of a ship. Appropriate at the time. But I said for the love of God you’re not going to put the likes of that into me, I’d be kilt. Hadn’t the words got out of my mouth before I could stop myself. The poor gentleman was mortified. God he was handsome. Must have happened to him many times before. That he had to get at you in the dark before you could object. Haven’t I often wondered had he got at me with it first would I have known. I don’t mind them thick or on the long side but when they’re the like of that as would plough you in half I’ll take celibacy instead of death. Well I can tell you when I came with the news to the three of them weren’t they into white coats in a flash, ripping instruments out of the drawers and racing out the laboratory door like they were going to a fire. In no time they had your man housed in the best hotel, giving him the treat of his life while they were at him with the stop watches, weighing and measuring and pouring distillate and copious beers down your man’s throat. You wouldn’t know but that the bunch of them were turning into homosexuals. You’d hear nothing else out of them but the specifications and performance of your man’s tool. All in a special book with a blue ribbon. How long it took to get up, come off, go down, get up again in the various temperatures, times of day and phases of the moon. Till your man broke down in tears and wept, a nervous residue. Now that’s a handy size I don’t mind saying. Built for comfort. Give us a flash. Go on. Sure as I’m feeling it what harm is it to see it.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘It must be studded with jewels. Grrrrrr. Ah fondly seen by moonlight. Grrrrrr. You have a beautiful prick. Make a grand dessert.’

  Rose is at me. Finishing off her supper with a nibble. And now a mouthful. Of the end of my pole. Take it as a radish, take it as a leek. But by God don’t gobble it off altogether and make me a freak. Plough acres around Charnel Castle to keep you fed. Grow a few tons of onions too. For the others. The land raging forth with cabbages and spuds would bring in some revenue. Might make ends meet. Just as easily die here as in the hospital. Fading away in the night when nurse said I am going to cure you. The shadows rearing as she pushed the green screens up around my bed, pulled back the covers and put her hand gently tickling between my legs murmuring man you’re in a bad bad way but we’re going to cure you starting right now tonight before you do any more of this dying. Do you hear. You come back now walking on that road. You can do it. Her whispers reaching quietly into my ears. From this dark slender girl. A little silver watch on her wrist she watched when she held mine. I felt all those first days she might not like me. Till she said you’re a model patient not a request or a complaint. I gave her all my tropical fruit. Just to leave with someone something. If only spat out seeds. Little pips. In memory. I had no visitors but one old school friend who thought I had got strange. And after a few sour fading smiles he walked away with my temperature chart caught on his coat. Which clattered to the floor at the swing door of the ward. And then she came. On duty every night at seven. Her uniform sparkling white. Her big long lashed eyes and flashing teeth. Which were pressing a light touching porcelain on my penis. More lightly and lovely than light or love. Till just after half past twelve my pecker came up. A slow fire from a tiny spark kissed into me. She was called April and wore glasses when she read my thermometer. My heart was thumping. Her lips soft wind blowing. A tune played with music tip toeing up my spine. Carrying little tinkling silver chains. Winding them round in bundles. Attached up to a ship. A naval vessel I once saw ready for launching. The great wooden supports knocked away. Taking the thighs off my hips and banging them on my ears I come awake. Bottle of champagne crashing against the bow. People running scattering through the brain. The ship moves. Slowly. Faster now. Rose please. Not so hard. April blew like a mystery. Never solved in the shadows she sweetly beat into billowing flames. The drag chains on the ship swept away in great clouds of rusty dust. Bells pounding. Sirens blaring. The bulge stern of the vessel flooding out into the water. And I was floating too. April’s hand over my mouth as I groaned out with life from all the beds of dying. Where she left me. So tenderly that night. A kiss on my cheek and warm honeyed milk licked from her fingers. Dripping down my throat. Healing. Brought to me by her long slender brown hands. She had a husband. Who had gone off to die. Somewhere along the miles of dirty pavements under the elevated train. She met him every afternoon. Where he sat on a bench waiting. She came with milk, chicken pie, cole slaw and ham. His favourite foods. His face lighting up with a smile and they went to a little park to sit by a tree, throwing crumbs to squirrels and she’d tuck his napkin in and try to bring him back to life. Each time she left him saying goodbye at the bus stop, tears in both their eyes because she knew one time she would come and there’d be no one sitting there. And that Saturday came. For five hours she waited and waited. Till it was dark and she was late for duty. That day the next day and next. Sitting the hot afternoon pestered by drunks, a hoarding of a vacant lot behind her, a big hand holding up an enormous glass of beer. She gave the food away to men just able to lift up their heads and say thank you. Each midnight the screens up around the bed she blew me. Fed me more warm milk and honey soaked pieces of bread. Within a week I had the strength to grab but not hold her and she laughed and said this is treatment and you mustn’t touch. I wrote out in big letters on a piece of paper.

  Thank you

  For eating me

  The way

  You do

  She folded the tidings up and put it in a little pocket over her breast and shook her finger at me. She said you’re going to talk again too but comments like that are taboo. I could peel an orange now and chew an apple. Saw green again. Grass and cherry blossoms. Press my hand flat on the earth. Watch flowers grow up between my fingers. The doctors came with raised eyebrows. Shaking their heads up and down. Wondering why I wasn’t out there a turning left off the hall and down a long ramp where they put the chilled banked up bodies. Rose I’m coming. Should I call you Josephine. Instead of the April I remember night and day. With her trim legs and the agony simmering in me when I saw her put her hand to another forehead or read another chart or smile at another face. I swore on a clean sheet of paper to her that I would go into a further decline. Unless she took less time visiting the other beds and stayed with me. Rose. I’m coming. In April. When she blew me at midnight and again at dawn. I was eating steak then. She took a piece of paper and wrote in letters I thought far bigger than were necessary.

  You

  Are

  Cured

  I wrote back. Like hell I am. And she spoke a shouting whisper. You are. I left just before Christmas. She tied the knot of my tie and fixed a hanky in my pocket upon which she wiped a tear. It was a morning. She was off duty in a light grey suit, and light blue sweater. I would start dying again just to touch her breasts. Said she stopped in to see me go. To make sure I didn’t give her another wrestling match that night. And I went. Out the long dismal green corridor of haunting chemical smells. And hugged her goodbye as I got into a taxi. And now I come. In her memory. Wherever she is. Waiting by the big glass of beer. Near the train which thunders by. A brown girl who gave a kiss of white life to me. Coaxed
up seed to sow. Some gone now gruntingly swallowed. By Rose. Strength seeping out of my legs. Her hand feeling in among my balls. During inquisition, please take it easy. Spheroids of the utmost delicacy. Not to be tested with a pinch between forefinger and thumb. Or one held while the other two are squeezed for authenticity. April specially took out her glasses when perusing that part of my case history. Even though I was dying I smiled. As Rose comes up for air. Big buxom thing from under the covers on her hands and knees. Smacking her lips. Swinging those breasts. Could smother you. Quite pleasantly. As I get reported to the scientists. For having three. Estimated by Rose. Be invited to an hotel. Disrobe please. We have with us our adding machine. Just like the guy who came navigating his stupendous prow into port over the cellar waters. She is amazed.

  ‘How many balls do you have. I’m going out of my mind down there counting.’

  One

  Two

  Three

  Cheek by jowl

  Jaw by jest

  It’s a trinity

  By twixt

  And christ

  Manifest

  6

  The grass short and shrubs beaten into hiding behind mossy stones. The sea’s blue slow thundering swells creep in. And rise up on the cliffs and spread a ribbon of white foam. Met Toro. Who looked from his grazing the other side of the fence and gave me a red baleful eye. And shook a ring in his nose. Watched him chew and then bow his head down to a patch of clover again. Elmer went up to sniff. To leap back from a swift hook of Toro’s horn. Sunny and breezy out this morning. Nearly as if last night was not yet until tomorrow.

  Clementine strolling along the headland. On a narrow path worn by the edge of the steep cliff. Grey rocks jutting out over the heaving water far below. Look back southeast, the castle turrets loom stacked up against the distant clouds. Percival said would he run up the standard now that I was in residence. I thought what the hell why not. And it flutters red green brown and gold. The upheld crimson hand looking particularly well against the sky. Take a little leap I think in the air. Clang my heels together chirpish and chipper.