The Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B

by J. P. Donleavy

  "Ah glory be to God will you listen to your man, as fluent as you please. Hasn't he heard everything we've been talking of all the way from Donnybrook. Couldn't he be charged with wandering abroad without due care and attention to a language. Ah I don't like that at all. Sure if he knew the lingo he could have told us he was keeping mum."

  "All right officer. Mr. B say nothing now. I'll deal with matters. What is the charge."

  "Rape."

  "Good Lord. Where. Whom. How."

  "Ah it was a stout lady in Donnybrook. As to how. I would be the first to say it was a mystery."

  "Very serious. Of course penetration will have to be proved. And corroboration. We'll have to serve writs for slander this instant. False arrest. Mandamus. Of course Mr. B there's nothing to this charge. Answer yes or no will do."

  "Sir I got lost and was merely hiding in the bushes when I accidently found myself in someone's garden having knocked over a ladder."

  "Simple innocent trespass. We'll serve writs. Do that straight off. Can't have a Trinity student accused of rape. Simply will not do. We will fight this to the last drop of ink. I'm sure this whole matter is strewn with irregularities. O I think there's much improper conduct. Habeas corpus. We'll have this res judicata in a hurry. And substantial damages. O yes I think they will be very substantial."

  "Ah sir, now not so fast. Sure it's been a friendly matter all the way. Your woman is a wild heretic. She walloped her own husband insensible."

  "Wild eh. O we can commit her along the way then. We'll commit her right off. Can't have people running around slandering and damaging. Mr. B here is from a fine family. Obviously this heretic's property was not properly fenced causing Mr. B here to wander without warning off the public highway to founder in dangerous gardens in fear of his life. And then to place Mr. B in false arrest. Simply preposterous, unethical and inhuman gentlemen.'

  "Ah now sir, we've not arrested the gentleman. Merely gave him a ride to town."

  "That's true sir, they've been most kindly to me and treated me awfully well, in fact they saved my life."

  "It's a fact sir. Not a hand of apprehension was laid upon him."

  "Leave this to me Mr. B please. We must protect your interests in every wise. But if you've been treated well then we will see to it that recommendations go out for the deserving. No fear about that. Now Mr. B I think the college baths for you. Then come directly to my rooms. And we'll give you a good breakfast. For the moment here, you must have some of this."

  Professor Elegant unscrewing the top of his cane and pouring a silver cup of liquid.

  "Put that in you Mr. B. You'll feel much better. Anyone else need a little back stiffener."

  "Ah it would be very welcome sir, but we're on duty."

  "Another time then."

  "Thank you sir."

  "The charges then sergeant. There are none."

  "None sir."

  "I take it then that the matter is closed."

  "Like a book sir, not a breath of air between the pages it's slammed so tightly shut. The gentleman is as free as the breeze."

  "And I hope not blown constantly."

  "What was that sir, I didn't catch that."

  "Just a little prayer."

  "Ah so."

  "Come along Mr. B. This way. Get you bathed and back to normal. In quick order. You did well to keep silent. One must never admit to anything you know. Never never. Then you go in clanging with your own writs, cross complaints, reserve actions, mandamuses, the lot. Set up one awful stink. Amazing what one very loud shout in the beginning can save one in the end."

  "I'm most awfully grateful to you sir. For coming to my aid in this manner."

  "Nothing Mr. B, nothing. On the contrary rather enjoyed it. You come to me any time. Anything you need. That's what Fm for you know. I had been expecting you to call on me. Give you an hour. See you for breakfast. You know where I am.'

  On the black and white tiles of the bath house. Beyond the dark panelled wall the attendant drew the emergency bath of steaming waters. Into which under the skylight Balthazar slipped. Down into the welcome warmth. To close one's eyes. Out of harm's way. To turn the big brass taps and out comes hot. To gather up fortitude. Conquer irregularity, chills and ills. Uncle Edouard said for the best results plunge the cure up the rear so as not to ruin the stomach with the pills. Ah Balthazar you were born a nice fat little fellow, I saw you not long after your birth, the nurse, she had you by your legs and she held you up to stand you on your head as you went waaaaaa waa and she pulled back the foreskin, ah you had a big prick for such a little boy. Your mother would not circumcise you. It was sad for hygiene but good for the frisson. She fought bitterly with your father for your foreskin. Under which you should wash well my boy. The prick is the palate of the soul.

  Balthazar B lathered himself with a cake of oatmeal soap. A red colour coming back into cheeks. Stare up at this roof. The university silence. When one could now go to sleep. Saved soothed and salvaged. Rest quietly till I see Miss Fitzdare again. Take her up away on the windy heather. Wednesday. Larks fluttering in lighted skies. To want so much to press me deep upon her dark blossom. And blue down there. Is it Miss Fitzdare. As all the wet grass was green. As I lay. Nearly nibbled by a cow. Could have been some fresh breakfast milk. I dreamt we walked through flower gardens, breathing scented air. Down a long aisle of roses and forget me nots, an altar. High and thronged with lilies of the valley. I put my hand in yours. Cannons boomed salute. Flashes of fire, puffs of smoke. And not far away another vision. Continentals in grey thick overcoats clutched each other, holding tight. And I said as the minister pronounced us wed. I said what are you chaps doing. And I shuddered and shivered on that Donnybrook field. They said we are transplanting souls.

  Balthazar B stepping from the bath house. Like a private little bank. Deposit your dirt. Emporium of waters. Each bather with his own little vault. The roadway gleaming wet. Past the grey stone. Of this shadowy square they call Botany Bay. Out now to the open spreading elegance. A little tree grows near the doorway of the Modern Language Building. Where one supposes the linguistic garda rush in and out. Mastering tongues. To tempt confessions from foreigners. I go up my steps again. Name still on the wall.

  Balthazar pushing through his door. The clanking loose floorboards. To think in horror you'll find the whole world changed. The choking dust. The world's still the same. Horace sticking his head round from the sitting room, battered trilby hat jauntily forward on his head.

  "It's only me Horace."

  "Ah I wondered sir."

  "I'm having breakfast out."

  "Very good sir. I'll just get along here now with me cleaning. It's shocking weather."

  "Yes. I'm just coming in to change."

  "Ah no trouble. I'll be out of your way. Sir I can't help noticing have you been caught out in the weather."

  "Just a late night stroll. Ran into some rough country, heh heh."

  "Ah you need boots for that sort of thing. A good heavy mac is handy."

  "Yes."

  "Are you fond of the countryside sir."

  "Quite fond."

  "Sure meself I'd thought of doing a bit of the farming in me younger days. Me brother has a little farm in Monaghan. But I couldn't stick the country. The moaning sheep and goats were enough for me. Sure it's better to have four pint bottles of milk standing at your door of a morning than having to go through cold and wet to callus your fingers getting it out of an udder."

  "Quite right."

  "Rumour has it that some Americans are arrived at college sir. Have you heard that. It's been creating some misunderstanding. And there was this one of them in high boots marching across Front Square with a sign Modernise Ireland. They want the water flowing instead of out of pails. Sure you get a cup of water quicker out of a pail than a tap. And you can empty a bowl faster than a sink. I can see you're in a hurry sir, if there's anything now I can do, say the word."

  "Thank you Horace."

  Balthazar
B in Manx checked tweed. Cream silk shirted and dark tied as one's tutor. With the antique links of one diamond set in mother of pearl laid in gold to join cuffs. Hold the socks out against the turf embers. The steam rises. And warmed socks slipped on cold feet. For a moment. No matter what you do the moist chill comes again.

  On this college day in a sprawling low ceilinged room. Balthazar B sat at his tutor's table. The walls covered with tomes of law. Tort. Statutes. Contract. Trusts. Linen napkins. Plates of fried egg between pink rashers. Grilled tomatoes. Toast and tea. Servant pouring the dark tinted liquid. Turned pale with milk. Warming and comforting all down one's throat.

  Out the window the spidery branches of the trees. Students passing darkly. Those who tarry and turn in laughter. Others cycling at breakarse speed. Professor Elegant leaning back in his quiet book lined life. Rush of air up the chimney after the licking flames.

  "I think you had a very close scrape there Mr. B."

  "Yes."

  "Whole thing has blown over quite nicely though. Have some more marmalade, my wife's, the best in Dublin.' "Thank you. It is awfully good.' "Tell me have you decided on a career.' "No."

  "Hobbies."

  "I go racing."

  "O yes. That's not going to be your career."

  "O no. I hadn't much thought what I would do. I would like I suppose to work at a fishing station. Classifying flora and fauna."

  "Good show."

  "Yes I might rather like it."

  "Well Mr. B. We must see more of you. You haven't really entered into college activities. We haven't seen you at college hops, or meetings, or societies."

  "I've been taking my racing rather seriously."

  "Quite. But we want to see more of you. Get what you can out of your university days. They tend to be very short ones after they are gone. And any little trouble or big trouble for that matter. You come straight to me. I'll take care of it. These can be very worrying years. But thing is stand on two feet, two fisted and give better than you get. There's pomposity here in the college just as anywhere else and it must be diminished when possible. Good to see you. Don't think your detour in Donnybrook did you any harm. But try to keep on public footpaths."

  "Yes sir."

  "Good. Come see us in the country. We do want to see more of you."

  "Thank you and thanks awfully much for breakfast sir. It really has made me feel very able again. And splendidly refreshed."

  "Good."

  Professor Elegant smiled a firm goodbye at his door. From these cozy comfortable rooms. His wavy greying hair. He has seven children. Scurrying about a country house. His wife all dressed in tweeds. Blue eyed and radiant. Kids on ponies. Cantering through meadows in sunny lives. Sitting evenings at fires overlooking their busy days. From Howth to Kiliney, and out across Kildare with all their fluffy haired children romping over the grass and outcrops of granite.

  Balthazar B weak of stomach went back and lay on his bed in his room. Pulling back the washstand from the window and closing over the tall great shutters. Hold out the wild hair of the trees. To wake again in gloomy darkness. One's mind areel with pounding horses. Hooves flicking clods up against the sky. What will ever happen in my future life. When I step out and say to the world I'm here. Foreskin saved. They'll say you're just like the others yesterday. What is that pounding and pounding. Dark outside. And late. After sleeping. And still so often I chase her. Bella. And each time I stop. Bend my head and feel tears fall down on my folded fists. And turn back for wherever is home. When now at this grey ancient university. I can't bear to put any knowledge in my brain. That I'll never use again. Still hear pounding. It's my door.

  Balthazar B pulling back the heavy blue wool blanket and stumbling to switch on the light. Shuffling in slippers across his sitting room and into the hall. The door shaking on its hinges. Open up. Some mayhem all over again. Or arrest.

  Draw the bolt. It's Beefy.

  "My God Balthazar."

  "What's the matter."

  "This."

  "O no."

  "O yes. Headlines. All over Dublin."

  ISLAM PERIL

  STUDENT LOST IN LAURELS

  At five A.M. this morning in the exclusive district of Donnybrook, the demesne of many prominent business people, an unusual confrontation resulting in misunderstanding took place in the grounds of a Dublin assurance executive's home. Garda were called and a squad car, the first of its kind to be used to stamp out crime, was dispatched from Dublin. The lady of the misunderstanding, who has been sleeping lightly recently because of current newspaper reports regarding the spread of Islam across the earth, heard a noise in her garden, where there are many rare roses of which she is a fancier. Having jumped to a certain conclusion at the further aggressive sounds, she roused her husband who immediately challenged the dark complexioned people thought to be aswarm in the garden and who had already pulled off half the stucco plaster the east side of the house, the damage being effected by a yank on the clothes line. As he rushed forward attired lightly in pyjamas to grapple with the Moslem mob thought to be reforming ranks beneath the window he shouted "Up the Republic" and told his wife to raise the tricolor immediately on the roof, that Irishmen everywhere would give a good account of themselves this night and once again put the invader to flight. His wife however thinking he would stand no chance against an emotional dusky skinned horde, telephoned the garda and gave thanks along the way to Blessed Oliver Plunket that the communication lines had not already been cut.

  Her husband meanwhile with no regard for his own safety and armed only with a hurling stick ran out into the night against the protests of his wife. Although finding nothing he concluded the adversary would be adept at blending with the darkness. Upon his return from this reconnoitre the lady of the house screamed at the sight of blood pouring from her husband's head who in his rush down the stairs had hit it on the ceiling. He said that the first wave had obviously passed and that the Islamites must have debarked from boats on the Dodder River and taken Donnybrook by surprise. And that they should lay low till the next wave and await army reinforcement.

  The scene changed abruptly however upon the arrival of the garda who swiftly took control of the situation and upon issuing a challenge to a movement in the shrubbery came upon an elegant gentleman sheltering under an Aliantus i63 Grandulosa tree, identified by the garda in charge who is an amateur biologist and linguist.

  The gentleman however remained unidentified as it appeared he knew no tongue spoken by the garda, who went painstakingly through his entire repertoire. Garda unraveled him from the householder's laundry line. And upon closer scrutiny the garda could see that the gentleman was hopelessly lost and suffering shock from exposure. The entire misunderstanding came to a most happy conclusion when the garda assured the lady of the house that wherever it might be that Islam was on the march there was no trace of the said group that night in Donnybrook. The garda and the lost elegant gentleman, who later proved to be Mr. Balthazar B, a student of the natural sciences at Trinity College, were invited to clean up after the havoc and a hot cup of tea was served to all.

  Upon further interview from this reporter, the lady of the misunderstanding said it was heinous to contemplate being at the mercy of Islam. She hoped that her husband, although in his early forties, would be an example to other Irishmen who sometimes left their wives in the lurch when violence was afoot. She attributed her husband's youthful agility to good toilet habits and grooming. But both of them had long been accustomed to doing eight deep knee bends at an open window each morning. She was especially glad that what had started as a hideous mystery could now be looked back upon as another incident where Irishmen, when oppression threatened, would rise up to take the cudgel or as in this case, hurling stick, to drive back the intruder. Her solicitors were looking into the question of damages.

  Blackness gleaming on the large panes of glass. Soft lamplight below in the square and through the trees, the lighted windows in the Rubric. Balthazar sat slumped in hi
s chair. Eyes closed. A strange terror seeping through one's veins. Defamed. Disgraced across the drawing rooms of Rathgar. Up and down the mahogany sideboards and in all the silver salvers. Balthazar B on my calling card. Caught in trespass lurking in the bushes. Who would ever believe I was but travelling north back to my abode. To see again this face of Beefy. Only friend I know.

  "Dear boy. Dear boy. Don't take it like that. You're upset. Buck up. You crafty article. You got off with Miss Fitzdare. Good ankle. Ample about the chest. Slow to keep up with fashion. Bit of a blue stocking. But she has formidable connections with the Church of Ireland. Deep in with the ecclesiastics.' "I'm cast in a very poor light."

  "It casts you in light dear boy that's all that matters."

  "After such as this I'm not good enough for her."

  "I am of course, Mr. B, not taking you seriously. Rash remark. If you look into it, you will always find, if not in the evening newspaper, something rather shoddy and shabby back in everyone's pedigree. Crafty frauds perpetrated upon poor old widows. Miss Fitzdare will have her little shabbinesses." "Don't please speak ill of her."

  Balthazar leaning forward to his table. Elbows up on the worn top and hands at his temples. Beefy sad and quiet and reaching across a hand to put on Balthazar's shoulder. Evening bells tolling six. Newsboy shouts on the streets not so far away. And Beefy's voice.

  "I'm sorry, I had no idea. I do retract my rather hasty and uncalled for remarks. Certainly you must not listen to me. Miss Fitzdare's a fine girl. You're quite right to feel the way you do."

  Balthazar B said yes with a nodding head. Beefy stepped backwards to the door. The evening paper spread on the table. All its black and white print. A day begins prostrate on a field of grass. With some joys held in a hazy head. The kind blue warmth of you Fitzdare. Your magic and strength as you patted your horse. I wanted so much for you to lead me out to graze. Hold my reins. Give me laughing lumps of sugar.

  Sweeten the sour look of me on this page. Where a world i65 wags a finger. And if I run they will bite at my heels. And if I don't.