"All rather risqué, Kenneth."
"A wild goose chase. We finally get an invitation to a party and here I am getting all excited thinking of how a woman must feel and then they say it's off because Jake's colored and there'd be too many fights over him at the party. Note. No one fighting over me."
"Kenneth, it's hard but it's fair. Always remember that"
"Jesus, what do I do."
"Animals left, or make a public exposure with indecent intent and have a placard with your name and address."
"I've got charm. Make a magnificent husband. And I've been beaten, beaten. But maybe I only wanted to marry Constance Kelly because I knew she would never consent If she came up and said O Kenny, dear, I surrender, I'm yours, I'd be on her like a shot and away twice as fast. I think, looking back, that the only time I've ever been happy was in the army. Except for the South, stationed down there with those miserable crackers. But I had it damn good. Got fat Company commander was a Harvard man so needless to say I was put behind a big desk with some one to make coffee for me. And I'd hear all these bastards groaning about the lousy food and gee I miss mom's cooking and I told them my mother could never cook this good. They wanted to beat me up. The food almost made me weaken to the point of an army career until I discovered you could get this food outside if you made money"
"Talking about money, Kenneth"
O'Keefe's jaw clamping. He reached quickly for a bun.
"Look, Kenneth, I know this is rather an impromptu request, but could you possibly let me have ten quid?"
O'Keefe looked around with his one eye for the waitress and beckoned her over.
"Give me my bill, two coffees, two rolls and this bun. I'm getting out of here."
O'Keefe, hands fore and aft, pulling his cap squarely in place. Picking up his sack he swung it over his shoulders. Dangerfield up, a faithful dog following the precious bone.
"Kenneth, ten quid, promise to have it to you in four days, be there when you arrive. No question about that. Air tight loan. My father's sending me a hundred quid Tuesday. I say, Kenneth, air tight, your money is safer with me than in your pocket, may get killed on the plane"
"Thoughtful of you"
"Make it eight"
"You're making it eight, I'm not making it anything, I haven't got it. I'm hounded fuckless through the streets, beaten to the wall, scratching up pennies and for the first time in months I've got a few beans to have a bath and haircut and get out and you come and push me to the wall again. Jesus, why do I know poor people."
They were walking out between the chairs and tables with their glass tops and the waitresses lined along the counter, arms folded over blade breasts, clink of cups and butter balls, and smell of roasted coffee beans. Standing by the high cash desk, O'Keefe fumbling in his pocket Dangerfield waiting.
"All right, all right, watch me, go ahead. Yeah, you're right, I've got money. You've put me up, fed me, all right, all right but now you're beating me"
"I've said nothing, Kenneth."
"Here then, God damn it, here, take it for Christ's sake and get drunk, throw it away, tear it up, do anything but there's one Goddamn thing, I want that money there when I arrive. You've beaten me"
"Now, Kenneth, no need to feel this way"
"I'm a fool. If I were rich I could tell you to go to hell. Poor crippling the poor"
"Poverty is temporary, Kenneth"
"With you it may be, but I'm not fooling myself, I know damn well that I can go down for ever and stay. This whole damn setup exists to keep me in penury. And I can't stand any more. I had to break my ass to get this dough. Work. Use my head"
"Tell me how"
"Here, read this"
O'Keefe pulling several penny notebook sheets from his pocket Scribbled torn and dirty.
"Rather scruffy, Kenneth"
"Read it"
This is my position. I haven't got any clothes to wear nor have I eaten in two days. I have to have my fare to France where I have a job. In my present condition I have absolutely no scruples or any regard for the respectable name of O'Keefe. I am therefore going to present myself to the U.S. Consulate for deportation and see that it gets an ample airing in the "Irish Press" and "Irish Independent" who would find it extremely amusing and good gas that an American is in the ould country without a penny, ignored by his relatives. If I get money by the end of the week I will leave for France immediately where you won't hear of me again. Quite frankly either alternative would suit me however I must think of my relatives and what the neighbors would say. I think it would kill my mother with shame.
Yours truly,
K. O'KEEFE.
O'Keefe drew another letter from his pocket
"Here's the reply from Father Moynihan. He's the one my mother gave me the shoes for and I told the customs man that if I had to pay a penny of duty on them I'd fling them into the sea. He let them through, Jesus, will I ever forget this bastard"
Dangerfield holding the blue notepaper between his hands.
I find myself incapable of even addressing you since this is the most despicable letter I have ever had the displeasure to receive and it amounts to blackmail. It is difficult to believe that you are the product of a good Catholic home or, for that matter, my nephew. You are an insult to the American people. However, there seems to always be an element, the scum and evil minds bred in the gutter, who are a threat to those decent people who have devoted their lives and sweat to rearing ungrateful blackguards. How dare you threaten me with such insolence. It is only that you are my sister's son that I have not brought your filthy correspondence to the attention of the police. Enclosed are your thirty pieces of silver and let it be understood that I shall not tolerate hearing from you again. While here as my guest you violated my hospitality and also the dignity to which I am accustomed in this parish. I am also aware of your efforts to corrupt the purity of one of Mrs. Casey's daughters. Let me warn you, should I again hear anything of you, I shall send the details of this execrable outrage to your mother.
J. MOYNIHAN P.P,
"Kenneth, this is fantastic. What did you do down there?"
"O me. I don't want to remember. I told the girl who worked in the library she ought to liberate herself. She was fascinated. No doubt had remorse when I left and told the old bastard in the confessional I had touched heir on the arm, same old thing. Nothing new. Same old pattern, despair, frustration, misery. And that sneaky old bastard with his bottles of whiskey and dignity neatly misered away. I was never so damn cold in my life. Damn house was like a morgue. Wouldn't put an extra piece of turf on the fire. Soon as he found out I hadn't a bean and Fm living on his charity, there's no fire at all and the cigarettes that were lying around the house disappear and the housekeeper watches the kitchen like a hawk. However, no cause to be bitter, that letter of abuse arrived with ten quid in it When I asked him before for money, he sent me a half crown"
"One thing can be said for you, Kenneth, you're resourceful. If you ever go back to America you'll be rich."
"I want money here. Stay here till my last breath if I had the necessary nicker. But what tight bastards. Stay out of the country. After my visit with the Reverend Moynihan I thought I'd see what could be had in the way of hospitality on my father's side. A bunch of damn phonies. But when I first arrived they gave me the best of what they had but it was embarrassing. I'd be sitting at the other end of the table with a table cloth and napkin and they'd be gobbling off the bare boards. I'd say, look why can't I be the same as you and eat off the bare boards and they'd tell me, O no, you're from America and we want you to feel at home. They even kept the pigs and chickens outside which I didn't mind. But then they wondered when I'd be going and like a jerk I said I was broke. Bingo. The chickens and pigs in the house, table cloth and napkin gone. But I hung on till Christmas Eve when my uncle says now let's all kneel down and say the rosary. And there I was, on hard cold stone mumbling hail marys and thinking of ass I was missing in Dublin. I beat it the next day after Christmas
dinner. I thought it was the least I could do was to eat the dinner."
"A fine concession."
They crossed the street and O'Keefe bought an "Irish Times" and moved jauntily over the bridge, both filled with a torrent of words bled from O'Keefe's excitement and memories of Dublin. They looked a curious pair and a group of small boys called after them, Jews, Jews, and O'Keefe spun back with an accusing finger, Irish, Irish, and they stood barefooted in silence.
"That's what I like about Ireland, so open about hatreds. I guess all I want out of this life is a decent fire in the grate, a rug on the floor and a comfortable chair to sit in and read. And just a few quid I don't have to slave for and mix with people with money, not, I may add, in your exact circumstances, Dangerfield. But Jesus, when you don't have any money, the problem is food. When you have money, it's sex. When you have both it's health, you worry about getting rupture or something. If everything is simply jake then you're frightened of death. And look at these faces, all stuck with the first problem and will be for the rest of their days."
"And what's mine, Kenneth?"
"You just sail dream boats. You think because you were born rich you're going to stay that way. Too many guys like me around waiting for a slip up. Get your degree, passport to security, and use contraceptives. If you get snowed by kids you're whipped."
"Touch of truth there."
"Keep in with these rich Trinity students. They all like you. I'm crippled by my accent but as soon as I have my phonetics taped, watch my smoke. I'll come back from France a new man."
At Cathal Brugha Street, they turned and O'Keefe bought the Paris edition of the Herald Tribune and The Western People. He shoved the papers in his sack and faced Danger-field.
"This is where I leave you. It's against my principles to have people see me off."
"As you wish, Kenneth. I'd like to thank you for the money."
"Don't make it painful. Just send it to me. I'm counting on it Let there be no bungling."
"No bungling."
"So long."
"Take care of yourself, Kenneth, and wear armour."
"I want nothing between me and flesh the first time. God bless."
Dangerfield stood adjusting the strands of wire which held his trousers. Clenched fist of notes. O'Keefe loose, lost and sinned upon. Bought a green army surplus shirt to keep him in the running longer.
Kenneth O'Keefe turned and sallied forth this sunny morning. Cuffless trousers wrapping round the legs Constance Kelly had said were so smooth. Cap set square to deceive beggars and his one eye, a wet gem seeking out the sign which pointed the road to the limbo of the living, the deep carpeted womb of the idle rich.
6
0 summer and soft wind. Relieves the heart and makes living cheaper. Get that fire out in the grate. Get it out That's better.
There's the butcher a few houses up the street. A tram line goes by the window. And across the road is the most fantastic laundry with forty girls and great steaming vats. O 1 think they are a bunch for using just the little touch of acid.
Mr. and Mrs. Sebastian Dangerfield and their daughter, Felicity Wilton. late of Howth, are now residing at 1 Mohammed Road. The Rock. Co. Dublin.
It was decided to get out of the haunted house of Howth. But there were hesitations till the morning after the storm when Marion opened the kitchen door to get the milk and she screamed and Sebastian came running and they looked down into a mud stained sea into which had fallen the back garden and turf shed. They moved.
The new house was not new. And you didn't want to walk too fast in the front door or you'd find yourself going out the back. Mr. Egbert Skully took Mr. Dangerfield aside and said he was glad he could rent to an American because he and his wife had worked for twenty years in Macy's Department Store and loved New York and was pleased he could find tenants like themselves. And I hope you, your wife and little one will be happy here. I know it's a little small but I think you'll like the cozy quality, ha, you look like a gentleman, Mr. Dangerfield as likes his cozy comforts, and do you play golf? O aye. But my clubs are indisposed. Having them looked over by a professional for flaws, particular about alignment, you know. A very good idea, Mr. Dangerfield and perhaps my wife can give yours some recipes. Great
Walls newly papered with brown flowers even feel soggy to the touch. And a nice brown, fourth-hand Axminster rug on the sitting room floor and a scabrous, blue settee. The kitchen was fine but the tap and sink were out the door. Up steep narrow stairs, a closet with plate sized skylight, the conservatory. And a toilet bowl wedged between two walls, the lavatory. Tory was a great suffix in this house. And the sitting room window two feet off the sidewalk was perfect for the neighbors passing by, so don't want to get caught with the pants down. But the tram rumbling by keeps one on one's guard.
A visit to the fuel merchant for coal to keep piled under the stairs. Marion got crates and covered them with table cloths for color and respectability. And my special maps one or two of which are rare and old. The one I have of a cemetery I keep under thick glass. And got the card table for a desk under the window. The laundry girls will take me mind off the awful grind of studying. They come out twice a day, hair in curlers and breasts like needles in these American uplift bras. Think the Bishop had something to say about that and rightly too. Then watch them line up for the tram, a row of steamed white faces. And some of them giving a giggle in this direction at the madman behind the curtain.
Facing the summer ahead. Living in this little house was calm. No drinking and minding the baba when Marion was off to shop. Had a cup of beef tea in the morning. Also see a rather pleasant creature up there in the window. Catch her looking in here with rather large brown eyes, no smiles or giggles. A little disdain, her dark hair straight and thick. And I think I see intelligence, a little embarrassing that look. Retreat into the kitchen. Most exciting.
Made a little case and filled it with books of law, a short life of Blessed Oliver Plunket and others on birds. Bottom shelf for business magazines for the big days ahead. And then a section for my extensive collection, which, God forgive me, I stole from Catholic Churches. But I did it because I needed strength in paupery. My favorites are, 'This Thing Called Love" "Drink Is A Curse" and "Happiness In Death"
The first morning tram almost shakes one to the floor and Felicity gives the twisted cry from the conservatory. Growl back to sleep. Pull the legs up in the foetal crouch. Marion wearing my underwear, Sometimes the sun would sneak in. Then Marion beating barefoot on the linoleum. Entreaties. O do get up. Don't leave me to do everything every morning. In my heart where no one else can hear me, I was saying. now for God's sake, Marion, be a good Britisher and get down there in that little nest of a kitchen and buzz on die coffee like a good girl and would you. while you're at it. kind of brown up a few pieces of bread and I wouldn't mind if maybe there was just the suggestion of bacon on it, only a suggestion, and have it all ready on the table and then I'll come down and act the good husband with, ah darling good morning, how are you, you're looking lovely this morning darling and younger every morning. A great one that last But I come down martyred and mussed, feeble and fussed, heart and soul covered in cement
But later in the morning great things were to be seen. Sound of horses on the cobble stones. Then up to the bedroom to look down in the street These sleek black animals glistening in soft rain. Heads high, driving slits of steam in the morning air. Sometimes I see through the little glass windows, a lily on a pine box. Take me with you too. And 1 can't help murmuring from memory poems I read in the Evening Mail:
Sleep thy last sleep,
Free from care and sorrow.
Rest where none weep,
And we too, shall follow.
And I see the grinning faces popping out the windows of the cab, radiant with the importance of the dead. Hats being tipped along the road and hands moving in a quick sign of the cross. Whiskey passed from hand to hand. Green, greedy mouth is dead. A fiddle across the fields. Mushrooms fatten in the
warm September rain. Gone away.
Then time to go for the paper. And back with it to the lavatory. Between the green peeling walls. Always feel I'm going to get stuck. One morning there was sunshine and I was feeling great. Sitting in there grunting and groaning, looking over the news, and then reach up and pull the chain. Downstairs in the kitchen, Marion screamed.
"I say, Marion, what is it?"
"For God's sake, stop it, stop it, Sebastian, you fool. What have you done?0
Moving with swift irritability down the narrow stairs, stumbling into the kitchen at the bottom. Perhaps things have gotten too much for Marion and she's gone mad.
"You idiot, Sebastian, look at me, look at the baby's things."
Marion trembling in the middle of the kitchen floor covered with strands of wet toilet paper and fecal matter. From a gaping patch in the ceiling poured water, plaster and excrement.
"God's miserable teeth."
"Oh damnable, damnable. Do something, you fool."
"For the love of Jesus."
Sebastian stalking away.
"How dare you walk away, you damnable rotter. This is horrible and I can't bear any more."
Marion broke into sobs, slammed into silence with the front door.
Walking past the parking lot, down the little hill to the station. Stand by this wall here and watch the trains go by. Just take a crap and look what happens. This damn Skully probably put in rubber pipes. Three pounds a week for a rat hole, with brown swamp grass on the walls and cardboard furniture. And Marion has to be standing right under it. Couldn't she hear it coming? And the sun's gone in and it looks like rain. Better get back to the house or it'll weaken my position. Get her a little present, a fashion magazine filled with richery.
Marion sitting in the easy chair sewing. Pausing at the door, testing the silence.
"I'm sorry, Marion"
Marion head bent Sebastian tendering his gift
"I really am sorry. Look at me, I've got a present for you. It's hot tamale with ink dressing, see"
The Ginger Man Page 4
