The Ginger Man

by J. P. Donleavy

  And

  I

  Won't.

  24

  It's said people of letters and fine conversation frequent this place and they call it a Palace. I'm keeping out of sight In my pocket is a ticket bought from the British & Irish Steam Packet Co., Ltd. Guarantees to get this flesh of mine to a civilized shore. At eight tonight Signed and sealed for delivery.

  Sebastian lowered malt Walked out of this public house and moved swiftly under the portico of the Bank of Ireland. If this roof ever fell, boys, not even Skully could find me. Running across the street through the front gates of Trinity. Stopping at the notice board. Never know. May be a message from God. Peek into the porter's lodge. All of them in there smiling and rubbing hands round a nice cozy fire in the grate. Wearing nice black uniforms. Ready to give any little hope or help.

  "Good morning, Mr. Dangerfield."

  Boys, I give you me grin of guilt and paste it on the notice board because I won't be needing it soon. And good morning full of rashers and fresh eggs from the hot chicken rumps with coffee hopping on the hearth to the sound of the meaty sausages splitting sides in the ould thing of a pan. Good morning and how are you? Student's morning. Come follow me, students. Get the noses out from between the sheets of paper and get some of this air. You don't want this security, bad for digestion. You want something better than that Out under the trees. I am the piper. Beep beep. You up there in the garret with your arse white with sitting. Avast Ahoy and avast. Little right rudder. Left unfashionable. I see you all up there in your windows before dawn when you think there's no one looking, extending the piss stains down the walls. They say it has seasoned the rock. It's said the Junior Dean was hit on the head with a sackful of it wrapped in the Irish Standard. And don't think I've forgot when you invited me to tea and we sat round the winter fire friendly and full of cake.

  Dangerfield was skipping, using the rotary step. Moving along the raised concrete at the side of the library. My passion purple, my pendant pink. Trinity covered by lovely soft rain and all its smooth carpets of grass, In the doorways over there are milk bottles which I drank. Handy for hangovers. And down here is the printing house, set back from the silvery black street where they print the exams. My little tortured dreams of breaking in to see. And along this iron fence with the chain from post to post with tops of tiny spires. And the trees in the square. Branches thrown like stale hair. And the lamp posts and inside the shiny glass. Boot scrapers on the granite porches. Seagulls wheeling from the stone buildings and standing in the street screaming. No world outside. Or hearts boiled in grief. Or scheming, cruel dying eyes. Nor spades hurrying into the soil for gold. Just micks.

  A professor followed by a gray cat crossed in front of him in a dressing gown. Green white pajama legs catching a rim of wet and blue feet showing from his slippers. The professor nodded, a little early for smiling. I dip my head. I see him go up the steps and down the stone hall on his lonely academic legs with the milk whine of the cat behind.

  Up in the windows here I see things that make me feel that I'm a tourist. See a man with a beard behind the grease and steam-stained glass. He's pouring tea in pots or something. Give me some. Think I met him at the Student Christian Movement. Hale and hearty fellow. OI remember reading about that in the calendar. They said the Student Christian Movement is a fellowship of students who desire to understand the Christian faith and to live the Christian life. This desire is the only condition of membership. I beg you, let me belong. Met that man there. Apt to forget a lot of things. I came to the Student Christian Movement with an open heart And mouth. And stood at the door of No. 3 shyly aware of salvation. A blond, curly haired young man came forward offering his hand in a strong warm greeting. Welcome to our little society, come in, let me introduce you. You're doing law? I've seen you around college. We're a very little group here. This is Miss Feen, Miss Otto, Miss Fitzdare, Miss Windsor and Mr. Hindes, Tuffy and Byrne. Now won't you let me get you some tea. Weak or strong? Weak please. In the corner a kettle on a gas ring, steaming in the evening air. A piano. Miss Fitzdare wore a soft woolen light gray frock and as she passed under my quivering nose, a winter perfume. She offered me a cream cake and asked is this your first time here? First time, yes. I thought she was lovely. While she was saying not many college people are interested, I leaned and said tenderly to her, a cordial group. We try to be. O I think you succeed admirably. Fm particularly looking forward to attending your prayer meetings. I let out my halo and she said she was so glad and are you fond of singing. The song is of course for me. Please say some more, Miss Fitzdare. We have some very fine voices in the group. And you, Miss Fitzdare, do you? With me. Sometime. Maybe. Pass under my nose again. I went out that night in the cold smells of Dublin and last streaks of light. Down Dame Street with hope and massive heart. In that little group singing me high twisted notes. Not altogether agreeing in all respects but at least warmed by their kind considerate faces, their bright eyes. I loved them so much.

  He walked between the corners of the two buildings in back of the Queen's Theater. Feeling all is closed for winter. This back end and never noticed place. One night I climbed up on the bank of grass by the playing field and wept between my knees. And Saturday afternoons I came here to watch them bust each other's head chasing a ball. Just a few people lined along the edges of the field in mufflers and upturned collars. Back here are the science buildings where they put the stuff together to go boom. And the Botany Department and pretty flowers. It must be so nice to just grow plants for a degree. And the examination hall Begging permission to live. Better than most The Physics building where I spent a shilling to go to the Gramophone Society. Chilly but pleasant. And beyond the tennis courts the Zoology building. In there is an impressive collection of insertivora and an elephant standing in the middle of the room. I went up those steps and pressed the shiny bell for visitors and they came to usher me in to look around. And after lectures in law I came to this little museum to look at the bats. You might say I had a lot of little fancy occupations. Stuffed animals my specialty. And the sports pavilion. Played the odd game of tennis here with Jim Walsh. You didn't know that either. And the tub of cold cold water. These rugby roughs in from the pitch to plunge in bellowing. I was content to stand under the shower till I was nicely scalded.

  Sebastian passed under the arch of the back gate of Trinity College. Crossed Fenian Street amid the wild manoeuvers of carts and cars. Walking with head bent, looking up now and again to chart the territory ahead. Up Merrion Street and the sun came out shining on the government buildings. Secretaries with morning hip swinging turning in the doorways. All their lips bright red. Red coats across their broad backs. Men in dark overcoats passing with red noses. red raw hands. Girls had purple ankles. I go on. Faster. Along the Lower Baggot. Quick right, lash up Pembroke and around the Square with pretty Georgian doors. I crossed Fitzwilliam Place and touched the iron fences as I went by. Till I opened a narrow gate and went down the steep steps. Knocking. No answer. Rap the S.O.S. on the window. Bring him for sure. I know Tone's a great man for the seafaring. The light goes on. Door opens and Tony Malarkey peeks out.

  "Jesus, Sebastian, I had to be sure."

  "And quite right. Hello Tony."

  "I haven't answered the door for weeks.''

  "A little bit of the landlord?"

  "I'm beat. How are you? Come in while I bolt it up."

  Sebastian waited behind Tony watching as he closed the door and lowered a stout board into place, jamming it tight with several wedges.

  "Eeeeeee it's good, Tone. Good"

  "O Jesus it's taken the youth out of me. No more just rapping, they try to break it down. I worked all night on it and had it ready in the morning. They came along with two policemen, thick peelers, couldn't make it budge. They just stand out there with their bloody papers mumbling and me just behind the door ready to send the first head through to the moon. Bad for the kids, couldn't let them out at all."

  "I say, Tone, what's happened?
"

  "I moved everything out. Sent Terry and the kids down to the country. I'm in this tomb holding out just in case they give up trying to evict. It's good, isn't it."

  Sebastian sat on the window sill. Tony leaning against the stove, grinning over his folded arms, a pair of pampooties on his crossed feet. This bare room with a single pot hanging over the stove and their voices echoing on the damp thick walls. Looking at each other. Dangerfield bent himself double. Squealed. Tony put back his head and laughed. The windows shook.

  "Would you say Tone that there is no end to it? Would you say that now?"

  "Jesus I would and I haven't even got a spare bullet for the gun."

  "Would you say you're ready for a little bit of sleep, a nap in the 'Nevin' ? Here lies the body of Tone who left only a moan. Would you say that ?"

  "Sebastian we're all finished. This last month has really been the worst. When things are bad you keep telling yourself they can't get worse. Then they get worse. And stay that way until you're so weary and screwed you can't even worry anymore. It gets like that. So damn bad that you have to cheer up or die. Clocklan was right, the whore. Up there selling God clouds."

  "Kenneth told me."

  "That was the way to do it. A bottle of Jameson and off the mail boat I've been reading in the papers to see if the old whore will wash up somewhere. Just like him to come up on some bathing strand next summer and frighten the life out of some poor defenseless kids"

  "Do you really think he went off the boat, Tone?"

  "I don't know what to think. No one's heard from the ould whore since. It wouldn't surprise me if he's off somewhere like Cardiff screwing some old hag for the few quid she's worth. O'Keefe's finally gone. It's a shame,"

  "On the high seas."

  "A pity."

  "Well, Tone, what are you going to do ? n

  "I haven't a whore's notion."

  "Where do you sleep ? "

  "Come here till I show you. This will give you a laugh."

  Sebastian followed him down the long passage, their voices echoing from the dark deep rooms. Sebastian stopped at the door. Malarkey went over to the wall and striking a match on the scaly stone lit a gas mantle.

  "Twisted Jesus. I say Tone that's a little bit of the fantastic."

  "I knew it would give you a laugh."

  In this long pink room. At both ends there were huge railroad spikes driven into the wall to which were attached stout ropes suspending a gigantic hammock lined with a black overcoat.

  "Tone, may the Blessed Oliver pray for us all."

  Tony with a swift skillful leap landed in the center of this mammoth black cradle. He reached out his hand.

  "Hand me that cord on the wall, Sebastian."

  Grinning Malarkey pulled on the cord drawing himself towards the wall, releasing it to slip through his fingers. The hammock rocking gently back and forth. From the door faint animal squeaks of Dangerfield.

  "Tone, if this weren't the Catacombs, if I weren't deep down here in the cats with an honest man such as yourself I would say it was lies I saw but seeing is, and watching is, believing"

  "I'll tell you something. I would have gone out of my mind if it weren't for this, Sebastian. It's been the saving of me. I had nowhere to sleep and just this coat and ould junk. I couldn't get a night's rest on the floor with the suburban community of rats. So with the coat a rich American gave me and this rope I found while looking for something to whip into the pawn I got to work."

  Tony lifted up the coat

  "I braided this out of some old bits of string and rags. It's the good gas."

  "Tony, you've got so much brains you'll never amount to a thing."

  "Isn't it the way, Sebastian. Tell me. what's new?"

  "I'm going to London."

  "You're not?"

  "Tonight's mail boat"

  "What's happened?"

  "It's so involved I don't know."

  "That's fair enough."

  "Tone, we're all going to the wall."

  "They've been trying to get me out of this place for over a year and they haven't succeeded yet It's the only satisfaction I get out of life. Just screwing this landlord. But I'll tell you Sebastian, while there's a spud left in Ireland, I won't be beat A lot of faces will be bashed in before I'm finished."

  "Them's the words, Tone."

  "It's the kids. I don't know what I'll do. They've got to have a place to live. I've got to find something. Get my hands on a few quid. Just a few nicker and I could get a little farm in the Wicklows."

  "Turn to gangsterism."

  "Sebastian, I couldn't"

  "Tone, pride has you at its mercy."

  "Has me by the very ballocks."

  "Tony, I think a pint would see us right"

  "I think you're right for the first time since you last said that"

  "Wait till I use your toilet"

  "You can't"

  "I say, Tone, what?"

  "Jesus, I ripped the damn thing out and sold it down the quays for thirty bob."

  "God's teeth."

  "A fine bit of lead too, fetched eight and six."

  "Will we ever see the end."

  "I'm desperate."

  "Now Tone, tell me. Fm professionally interested. How did you get a thing like that down to the quays?"

  "In the pram. Tied a ribbon on it. Pillow and blanket"

  "I think it can be said Tone that we've both pushed more than babies in the pram."

  "Terry had a fit."

  "How is she?"

  "Fine."

  "And the kids?"

  "They have no idea. Everything's great Beauty of kids. They only miss love and food."

  "And while there's a potato left, eh Tone?"

  "You're right"

  "I think the pint now. Time for pint."

  They paused at the front door. Tony fiddling with his elaborate fortifications.

  "Now watch this, Sebastian."

  Tony adjusted the stout board wedging it perpendicularly at the side of the door. Sebastian stepped out, watching with interest. Tony slammed the door. Inside the sound of the board slipping into place.

  "For the love of the B.O.P."

  "Isn't it good?"

  "I wouldn't relish you as an enemy, Tone. How do you get in?"

  "Now watch."

  Tony opened the door to the coal cellar. Reaching carefully around the wall grinning. He held out a cord.

  "This goes through the wall and you just pull it back until the board jams up against the door frame and bob's your rudd. Took a lot of fiddling."

  "Someone told me Tone that you can take sixty thousand volts through one ear and out the other while singing The West's Awake."

  "Who in Christ's name told you that? I didn't want that to get around."

  "Eeeee, we're going to win. Win win win. Do you hear me out there? Win."

  They set off for Lower Baggot Street. Into the house on the corner. Malarkey wearing a purple scarf with tiny yellow and green stripes tucked up carefully to hide garments that had seen better days on the back of a rich American. Danger-field holding his female mackintosh closed with a baby's big safety pin.

  "Sebastian, I hear from reliable sources that you have been getting a bit from your boarder."

  "I beg your pardon, Tone."

  "You shrewd whore."

  "Miss Frost is joining the Carmelites."

  "You mean a kip."

  "I assure you, Tone, for your own peace of mind that no commerce, carnal or otherwise, has taken place between us. On the contrary, Miss Frost and I often attended Benediction together. Took the holy water on the cheeks. Of the face. Do you know she has a very fine voice. Bit of baritone but with heart. Yes, heart. Puts her heart in it. Sings from the bottom of."

  "If you weren't screwing Miss Frost day and night and mostly nights, I'd give up drinking and betting for life."

  "Eeeeeeeee."

  Gathering pennies from the bar, they moved to another pub on the Baggot Street. Sebastian
who said he felt a slight chill coming on had several double brandies.

  "Do you know Sebastian I've got to get a farm as soon as I lay my hands on some quids. Only way to live. Make packs of money"

  "Tone, I think we put too much faith in the farm. Get this farm and then be out there at dawn feeding pigs and some bull sneaking up for a good butt in the arse."

  "You're right"

  "I'll be sorry to leave, Tone"

  "Not at all"

  "A bit of sadness. The burial boat But I need the change. Over the water and far away. The greenness will be gone. Strange, Tone, how you, direct descendant of the original king, take so much in your own country. Without land or spuds."

  "If it weren't for me ould blood being blue I'd have sold it at the hospital long ago."

  "But never mix it, Tone. Never do that Our day will come. Just stave off the starving and a few other things and our day will come."

  The holy hour of two-thirty when public houses get the big iron gates shuttered across the doors to keep the thirsty out. They went to the Green Cinema where they sat at a white table and golfed down platefuls of rashers, eggs and chips. When they came out the traffic was stopped. Heads out of the cars and honking horns. Down the street a huge hulking man lay himself down in the road and went to sleep. Some said he had drink taken. Others that he was listening to see if he could hear the pulse of the city. Sebastian danced and yelped. Newsboys in the crowd asked him what he was doing. Dog dance, sonny.

  They walked down the Friday throng of Grafton Street and by the customers waiting for the cinema. Heavy skies coming over the city. Dark dark. Glow of lamps in the Grafton Cinema Cafe. My haven. Bikes flooding up towards the traffic jam which was becoming general throughout the city. The public houses filling with the huddled men wiping noses across sleeves and on chilblained knuckles. Bartenders hard at work. Serving up to the voices touched with bravado of payday, and mouths shut on Monday. And now we go down Wicklow Street because on this street there is a public house which I have always found very special It can't be beat for the mahogany or barrels. When I go there the man is nice to me and has even asked if I went to the theatre. For once I didn't lie outright, and I said no. What do I say when I lie? Ill tell you. I say my name is a Gooseky and I'm from Westsky every Leapsky.