‘All right.’
Clementine behind Charlene both hands on her cheeks as she mounts the stairs. In the shadows looking backwards delightedly over her shoulder. Must make this fast. Just as Gloria does. Bang bang bang. Charlene licking her lips as we go left through this room with sacks of potatoes. A big beetle squashed under foot. Percival said they were biting the inmates at night. Sinking into legs and thighs with pincers that stung from both head and tail. To leave guests covered with big red weals in the morning. Nowhere safe left in this castle. Any wall might open up and a bunch of turbaned merchants selling rugs descend. So far the insects are on my side.
Clementine in this dark musty storage room. Sweeping aside court regalia to lift Charlene up by her rear acorns and stick her on it. Get it over fast so she can get back to the cooking. And I can say wow holy cow sooner. And do it again later after the ball. One avoided noticing Rose in the library. Seated with a whole branch of bananas nearly devoured, a stack of skins on the nearby floor. First she was. To blow me in the castle. And warn of the insurgents. Pity they couldn’t have knocked off a few of the guests before the surrender. Especially those who drunkenly attempted to eat the embroidered bowls of fruit out of the tapestries. And chewed on shreds instead. Last night I had a dream of the hospital. Where they put two scalpel cuts in a cross over my heart. I heard drums. Saw men with a tiny coffin. Carrying a child. A sorrow too big to hold. And Charlene with all her little brothers and sisters. Born babies could come teeming out of her. Nine months after this cardinal sin. Committed between master and servant. Erconwald seen wandering with Gloria as she wore the death mask of his mother. Keep it all in the family. And suggest a midnight cruise for everybody. Ocean going. With the engines boiling up the dark water. Just how it was when Bloodmourn and I were coming over. Leaving a wake of flat white streaked water marbled green. Each day dawning on that wide open sea. Taking me further away from a grave. Which closes slowly as each thing steps out of your life. Leaving you with what’s left of yours. Like one cold thanksgiving day. When the wind came down the streets and shivered one’s trousers below the knees. I sat waiting in aunt’s chauffeured car. When fingers tapped at the window. Which I lowered and heard a voice ask for money. That he was starving. That he had come out of hospital. That he was a college graduate and an engineer. I shook my head no. And saw him slowly raise his hand in a wave goodbye and his face swing back and forth in despair. He reeled away down the street sick and dying. I called him back. He wasn’t lying. And I knew because both of us were going the same way. Helpless and hopeless. All hostility extinguished in the eyes. When someone’s got to shout. Loud and clear. And straight down from the stars. Don’t for Christ’s sake commit your soul. Into the master’s hands yet you eegit. It will make you think you’re in your prime.
If you
Wait
Till you’ve had
One more
Fuck
Sublime
21
Charlene invited to the ball above said she wanted to stay below. Where she groaned. As I roared. And shook. In our glad throbbing frenzy. I held her by the arse and she clung round my neck. Smashing cobwebs. Knocking mushrooms off the walls with her outstretched legs. As the rats scurried by.
From the musty private dark we left to watch the night fall over the sea. Out the mouth of the monk’s tunnel. The black rising waves. A fading crescent of moon. Spring tides thundering waters up against the cliffs. Down where the mollusca cling. And the long tail of the great conger waves. While the huge mouth waits gloating fish eyed in the deep.
Folk collecting in the great hall of Charnel Castle. Where Franz stood costumed as a pirate in the doorway of his mine shaft. Said drilling was still proceeding. In a hole at forty five degrees inclination to the southwest. Through weakly mineralized rock. That would soon strike it rich. And would I like to buy a share. Of my own mine. Just printed. And hot off Erconwald’s press.
Percival rushing by. Arms laden with pillows. For folk’s bottoms on all the hard ballroom chairs. His big hands and blackened fingernails. Sweat across his brow. Said he’d never seen the like of such an evening. That Mick the strong man had come and was up there balancing a cart wheel on his nose.
‘By God your highness it’s the last word. You’ve never seen such a gathering in your life. They’re laying bets on the roulette wheel like you’d put hammers into the heads of your inlaws. Commandant Macdurex is now this very moment ready to send fireworks off the battlements. One casualty so far. A champagne cork got your man an insurgent right between the eyes. Knocked him down and gave his hair a rinse. He’s claiming war wounds. But your grace you’d better close your cloak. I think your cod piece is missing.’
‘O my goodness.’
‘Ah on a night like tonight your worship a little item like that showing would not be out of place.’
‘What are you suggesting Percival.’
‘Well I wouldn’t want to give offence but I’d say before the night’s over we’ll see bottoms up and tops down. Like absurdities are the stuff sir, of great philosophies so too is mixed company the manure for flowering pleasures. Are you right.’
‘Are you right Percival.’
‘Beg your pardon sir, I shouldn’t get so familiar but I wouldn’t want you to miss anything in the way of sport. Haven’t you had months of troubles. Fissures everywhere in the lead on the roof. Water flowing unwanted down the walls. It’s what saved us in the fire. You could see the very flame shrinking back.’
The front portals wide open. Breeze blowing in the sounds of chatter and voices in the forecourt. Hulking man in tattered sweater, blotches of grease on his tiny brow. Great hawk nose between his close set blazing eyes. Standing with another. Shorter fatter rounder. Good grief the man last seen belt around the navel squatted for a shit in Veronica’s attic room. While she, brave naked creature that she was, wrestled with the landlord.
These two. They waddle forward. Shoe tongues curled up from their muddy footwear. Eyes darting to the few remaining instruments of war hanging on the wall. And come walking up to me. Their trousers bagged out like balloons.
‘Me name’s Evil. His name is Bad. Together we are called Fucking Bad Evil. Do you understand me now. That’s us. Where’s the libation.’
‘It’s above in the ballroom.’
‘I’ll take you into my present confidence. Just let me whisper you this. You’ve never met the likes of us before. And you’ll be fucking thankful not to do so again. Never done a thing in me life to be proud of. And I’ve never felt in better health. I get me kicks pulling the life savings out of the hands of sick old widows. The only job I ever had was to measure corpses for their coffins heading for the crematorium. I’d measure them all a foot too short. They have to break the legs to fit them in. There would be them with the knees sticking up as they ride towards the flames. I’ll tell you it gave the bereaved a sight they’ll never forget. I’m villainous and mean. If you want anybody to have his neck broken. Just give me the word. My friend here is famous for his filthy habits. Overnight he can produce squalor that would sicken even the likes of me.’
The Fucking Bad Evil climbed together up the grand stairs. As Percival comes running up. A candelabra in one hand, nodding upwards where the two F B Es stand looking down.
‘Sir I don’t like the look of them one bit. Chancers the pair of them. Crawled up from out of the ditch somewhere.’
More faces pouring in. The entire hunt rumoured on horseback with hounds crossing the mountains and heading this way. Word travels far and fast over the countryside. And right to the gates of the capital. Where everyone must know there’s a bash raging here. For there stands Mr Oboe from the bank. And judging by the nature of the curl in her hair. That’s his wife. Tall blonde twinkle eyed and friendly. A cigarette holder in her hand. Short fur wrap over her shoulders.
‘Your highness I would like you to meet my wife. I thought I’d look your place over. And see what we could do for you. Fire damage seems limited. My immediate impre
ssion is that a lot could be accomplished by the cutting down of overheads. What’s that there.’
‘The mine shaft.’
‘You don’t say. Is there something down there.’
‘My engineer Dr Franz Pickle BFB says there is adequate evidence of mineralization sufficient for mining.’
‘I dare say my directors will not say ho hum when they hear of this.’
‘I hope not.’
‘Your highness we mustn’t keep you from your other guests. But I’ll have a chat with your engineer if you don’t mind.’
Amazing what a party will do. Besides running up one monstrous bill and cleaning one out of drink forever. Folk get to see the grandiose scheme of things close up. And with a greedy imagination the distant prospect can look great. Sometimes a little of my pop comes out in me. He said the whole world was a bazaar. And just to make it more exciting the prices were different for everybody.
Mr and Mrs Utah got up all over with a festoonery of ostrich feathers. Given to them by that changed man Erconwald. Now with another miniature death mask hanging from his neck. Plus a stop watch to time Gloria’s orgasms as she wears the dead expression of his mother. The two of them wandering arm in arm as Erconwald former herbivore wolfed down chunks of raw meat Gloria threw up in the air for him to catch in his mouth. And for the first time I heard Erconwald laugh.
Putlog arriving with two fiddlers and a spoon player in tow and a gentleman with a portable table of bottles into the top of which he blew. The little group assembled by a faded mirror in the ballroom. Putlog with a piece of willow branch conducting the band through some light footed airs. And Mick the strong man with Charlene’s brothers and sisters as three sit clinging to each of his outstretched arms.
Mini Monk taking bets. Donning sun glasses and giving little twitches of his shoulders and head with each spin of the wheel. An assistant pale eyed and thin with black hair greased back on his head. Lady Macfugger seated her platinum mesh evening bag next to a mountainous stack of chips. She smiles up at Bligh who must have had a joke with her dressed as he was in a uniform from the castle fire department.
The Lead Kindly Lights make a grand entrance. Using the double ballroom doors. She in the sedan chair a military guard of insurgents on either side. Followed by Himself of The Backside Contorted adorned as a leprechaun. Carrying a large volume of illustrated architecture. Folk wander staring at the tapestries and paintings. Spouts of champagne gushing at the ceiling. From the hands of the militia who said it was essential to shake the bottle. And from the taller of the Fucking Bad Evil lurking in the distant corner came a shout.
‘Give the women in the bed more rigidity.’
Clementine wearing his silver crown of filigree surveying his guests. Passing now to and fro like thirsty cattle on a large desert. Drives away for a moment the doom of the morrow. Which comes pressing on throbbing temples of the brain. As light floods the room with the very last of the candles. Spiced with incense. A man there in a light brown coat. And striped red bow tie. His smooth round cheeks and sandy hair. Eating a canape. As he smiles to himself. Sees me. And heads over.
‘Do you mind if I come over and talk to you. I’ve never been to a fancy dress ball before. My name’s Steve. But nobody talks to me. I just tagged along when a whole gang of people suddenly downed their drinks and poured out of a pub. I guess you were invited I thought I’d retire in this country. It’s quaint. But I get awful homesick. Every morning I just sit and imagine myself doing exactly the same thing I did all the years I worked back at the office. Taking my bus, buying the newspaper. Having a cup of coffee on the ferry and sometimes a hot dog crossing the bay. It was just three hundred and eighty six steps across the park, from the ferry slip to the office. I still count them every morning. See myself going up on the elevator. Saying good morning to the guys. I hear their voices as if I was still back at my desk. I try to talk to the embassy staff over here but I never get very far before they seem to want to get rid of me and talk to somebody else. You’re one of the first people I’ve met who has just stood there listening. And you know what. Since you’ve been so patient I’m not going to bother you one second more. And thanks.’
Steve retreating sadly with his social triumph. Moving along towards the roulette wheel whirring away. Could have told him how I stand sometimes talking to the guys back at the office. Mostly spouting unpleasantly sarcastic things to them. All flat arsed and big stomached with the years of sitting larding on the seniority. Should have cabled them an invitation. You are all carnally invited for a last cavort in the Charnel. Before the joint is put up for sale. As a most attractive large estate. Set in gently mountainous countryside. A fine pre Christian castle with later additions all in keeping with the original. Astonishing unspoilt views without and within. Complete with antique furnishings, staff, and varied guests. To be seen strictly at viewer’s risk and by appointment only.
The gathering enlarging with arrivals by the minute. Clementine climbing lonely to the rampart of the gate tower. To stand under a clear sky slowly opening from the west. Big bright stars on this moonless night. Air clear moist and cool. Stare up at the blazing sparkling heavens and all worldly wrong doing vanishes. Till you look down again. And hear a voice high pitched and cultured straying out of the night.
‘I will not rat. I absolutely will never rat. Unless I absolutely have to.’
Breeze makes the eyes water. A group of farmers standing watching the lighted windows. Too shy to enter the cattle market inside. Full of parlour games. Percival has raised my flag to fly through the night. But time now after this breather to descend back to the ballroom. And find a man raising his chateau filled bottle high and standing on a chair to maintain.
‘I will not be defamed.’
‘What will you be.’
‘I will be exhumed.’
‘And what next begorra.’
‘I will be thrilled.’
‘And what next for land sakes.’
‘I will be excommunicated.’
Commandant Macdurex approaching Clementine for a chat. Glass in hand. Unlike his troops who dispensed with preliminary pourings.
‘Ah Mr Clementine I’m watching the boys. I wouldn’t want to see a breakdown in discipline. I hope you don’t mind but you are my prisoner of war.’
‘What.’
‘No need for alarm now. I mean to say there will be no incarceration. None of that. I’d be reduced in rank if my superiors ever got wind of what’s going on here. Profligacy without profundity but with lots of poteen. Awaiting shall we say the ripeness necessary to squeeze the grapes of beauty. Are you with me.’
‘I hope so.’
‘The high command are having their portraits painted together back in the capital at this moment. I wouldn’t want them to be in receipt of a bad communiqué from the battle front. To put a look of displeasure on their faces recorded for all time. As full as some of them are with the smartology. But now there are two of your fellows here, deserters and betrayers to the cause. And before the night’s out we’re going to hang them by the bollocks from the towers up there above. The dirty filthy pair of them. Are you with me. Last night we had a successful blast with no political motive but by God it levelled the place anyway. And let the saints be with us in future tactical exploits. Up the republic.’
Figures jigging on the floor. Fiddlers playing to beat the band. Elmer sitting on haunches loosing long yowls and howls. As the guests shrink back. And a man crouches behind a chair with a revolver drawn. Now advancing on hands and knees upon some objective further down the ballroom. And looking up dresses on the way. His face florid. His crouching posture playful. As the commandant surveys the cherubs, clouds and painted pastures on the ceiling and circles round to keep me between himself and Elmer.
‘It’s a fine place you have here Mr Clementine. If I wasn’t running a tank division it would suit me with a few beasts grazing and a cow milking. Here I am with a bunch of them after ministerial posts when the new regime takes
over. Private limousines, free liquor and telephone calls. And if they weren’t god fearing you might even say free women. To tell you the truth my orders were to turn the lot of you out onto the landscape. But as you displayed hospitality instead of resistance what right thinking man would be churlish enough to do that. You’ll be recommended as a man of cultivation in my report back to headquarters. Sure you’ve laid out the fermented beverages without stint. What could be more humane or law abiding. Or by god patriotic. Now intelligence tells me that at the other end of the room there is a gentleman as has arrived completely coloured black. Now my men have never set eyes on one before. And maybe we could have a view of him if he’s still here in the daylight. For me own satisfaction I’d like to know if his more intimate parts are darkened too. Many are the little mysteries in life that still bedevil me.’
Clementine craning neck to see over and between the heads. To a rotund man of dark complexion grinning whitely from his round face. His person aflow in tweeds. Moving this way. A bright orange tie in a large knot on a deep red shirt. And suede boots over which his trouser cuffs generously drape. A retinue of colourfully attired white attendants following him. As he speaks in languorous tones. A gathering of ladies and Charlene’s little brothers and sisters pressing near as he pauses to examine tapestries close up. His attendants holding back the crowd. If any more of them push past Percival’s chalk line, your Ebony Nibs will be a floor or two below white with dust and debris.
‘Will you look at that now Mr Clementine. A man he has holding a platter at the ready at his elbow piled with a plentitude of your fried chicken. And him taking a nibble as the fancy grips him. By God it’s a lesson to us with our backward ways.’
‘Commandant please let me introduce you to a friend of mine, Major Macfugger.’
‘What. What’s that. Where. Where is he.’
‘Over there.’
‘By God I’ll have him under arrest.’
‘Now Commandant he is after all my guest.’
The Onion Eaters Page 28