The Ginger Man

by J. P. Donleavy

  "Mac I agree. Death can do me lots of favors"

  "And we hear old man Dangerfield isn't well"

  "That's true Mac and I must say it makes me very anxious. I'm just screwed. They call me an apostate. They say I've tried to save my own rather blemished skin. Here I am reduced to accent. No hearth nor home. But being here makes me feel there's hope yet. And I'll tell you this. As badly treated as I've been I'U not forget those who gave the helping hand. Even now Tone Malarkey is down behind his battlements. I think if God ever took him into heaven he'd never get him out again. And I think he is secretly planning to win a few quid and buy cement blocks and just concrete himself in with a tunnel down to the Daids for the odd pint. He said the pumping parts of his heart are pure carborundum. Now both of us know that that's pretty hard stuff even with the current rampant scientific advance. Tone said he got the way he is eating live salmon out of the Shannon. And Tone is the only man I know who has never told a lie."

  "Danger, I have to admit that what you say is true"

  "What in the name of God is that, Mac?"

  "He, he."

  Mac lifted from a crumpled heap at the foot of his bed the head of a kangaroo. He put it over his skull and wagged it He climbed into the rest of the body and danced around the room.

  "Mac, I think it's magnificent"

  "My drinking suit And here, a little present I know you will appreciate"

  Mac hands over a small brown replica of the head of Blessed Oliver.

  "Mac, I don't think you'll ever know how much I need or will cherish this. The teeth are perfect Most significant part of Oliver. Eeeeeee and E for effort Help me spread the fair name of Oliver to these ones with not an ounce of God in them"

  "I made the teeth from a piano key"

  "Miraculous"

  "Wear it"

  "I will. And now Mac I must ask us both have we got mouths"

  Climbing up out through the jaws, gray trees and night Along the empty wet streets. Huge windows there and a servant comes and pulls the curtains. A great black car glides by, tires humming on the street

  "Mac, that's good to see."

  "I agree Danger."

  "And I haven't seen such wealth for years. Not for years. And I need it. Need it."

  "And up here Danger is the Bear Pit but first I must show you something across the street which I know you will be taken with."

  MacDoon led Dangerfield over the road. They stopped in front of a fountain and a recess in the wall. There was a poem.

  God

  Bless

  The

  Poor.

  "Mac, I hope it won't embarrass you if I just kneel down here and offer up a little prayer from the pavement. That's a very fine thing. If more people felt that way would we have strife? Would we? I ask you would we have strife?"

  "I can only say Danger that I have been driven to designing bras the uplift of which will put a new lust into the hearts of these citizens"

  The mellow lights through the frosted windows. Entering into the saloon bar with its flowers and decks of sandwiches. The polished chairs and tables. People of a class with dogs. MacDoon brought over the two pints and laid them on the shiny table. Thirst was general.

  Dangerfield leaned back in his chair, folding his legs far away under the table. He smiled.

  Sitting talking of Dublin when it had been the Rome of the world. O it's little pitfalls and despairs. Of Clocklan who abandoned ship. MacDoon told of the hard demands made by woman, of how he was beginning to wish he had none at all or that it was so big as to be carried by the London Fire Brigade for use on major fires.

  And these dogs. Happy hungry animals. If only I owned one. I know they foul the streets and are at times disgusting with others on various village greens. Despite indelicacy I want one. Preferably of a fine breed and pedigree to go with my own. And MacDoon I must admit you're extraordinarily handsome with fine hands and here you are tinkering in this endless city. Perhaps Mary can pose for you when you design the large sizes. And bring home the bacon to some nice airy room with a fine gas ring and rugs hanging on the walls where I can sit like a detective smoking a pipe and resting feet. I'll read books. Polish my fingernails. I don't care about the other greedy ones. I think I'll have another bath before I go bye bye to my bedi bo.

  They parted at the station. Where the red trains went in went out. An Earl's Court for sure. And I ride along on these nice cars looking at everyone.

  Back at the hotel crawling weary on the heavy bed. Face on the pillow, covers up over me. And cars squealing around the corners out there.

  I set sail all right. Saw the lights of Holyhead. The black Liverpool. And the still birds standing up on top of that building. Cotton, meat and grain. I look down from the deck into the faces terrified of recognition. Safe only at sea. I got breakfast, a three-penny paper, and looked at all those girls in red lips and curlers. I'm alone. And took the train. The land was gray. And when I got here all the others were taking big cars and taxis everywhere and I had no one and just walked down the platform wondering what to do. I see them all greeted with kisses.

  And not

  One

  For me.

  26

  Upon London Sunday, Sebastian Dangerfield went by advice of MacDoon to a place in the Bovir Road where he took a room on the top floor of this yellow Victorian house. Tiny tidy room. A soft bed covered with green ticking. In the corner by the large window an oak table, a chair and another of basket weave. Twisted electric fire in the wall and a shilling meter by the door. A basin and a bath across the hall where on a chair you can see down on the tracks and station.

  Every morning a rap on the door by an Indian woman. Breakfast. Reach out and on with the electric fire. Into the clothes. Down these dark stairs. Come in where they all smile and say hello and others good morning. Cozy trimming and pots of dried flowers. Always been partial to them. I know these people are from the Commonwealth. That woman says her son has a new job. Yes, you know they decided to move him up. Madam, that's just great.

  Every morning it's like this. Porridge with lashings of milk and sugar. Then the bacon and eggs. Bring them on. OI tell you. And the Indian woman bringing in the pots of tea. And every morning I go back up the stairs and look out the window while they go by in the street with little umbrellas. And that woman over there who delights in it. I know she does. Standing naked and unabashed by her window with a certain hauteur looking back at me from between the towel drying her face. Don't think I don't see you, sister. You've got a good husky body. But if I saw you in the street dressed I think perhaps you would be different with your white lace coming out at various places from your suit.

  Come down the stairs and look for my name on any of the letters. Up the street and stop to look in the pit of a bombed out building where a cat prowls. Buy a paper from the woman in the newsagents. Go back and sit with legs up on the window ledge. O I think there's going to be a sign. Big one. And it's going to say Dangerfield Lives.

  On late Monday there was the guilty letter to Mary, O me ould tired, tried and true love, come to London and bring fifteen pounds and I'll meet you at the station and take you back to my little womb.

  Wednesday night Having come up frightened of the dark on the stairs. A telegram on the bed.

  ARRIVING HUSTON FRIDAY FIVE P.M. LOVE MARY

  Thursday. Dangerfield up the road cutting a fine figure and putting his hand in the animal mouth and giving a tug on the tongue. In the steamy air MacDoon twisting a wire to make a kangaroo tail. This man Parnell holding an end of it with pliers. MacDoon reaches and pulls a yellow envelope from behind a mirror. Hands it to Dangerfield.

  "For you Danger, arrived this afternoon."

  Sitting, Dangerfield opens the envelope with nervous fingers. There was silence. All waiting. A frown and smacking of lips.

  "Mac, would you ever pour me a cup of tea with a twist of lemon?"

  "Bad news, Danger?"

  "Remains to be seen. My father's dead."


  "Sorry to hear that"

  MacDoon hopping to the pot, pouring the tea. He swept out a narrow of lemon into the cup with his gouging chisel. To the bottom of the iodine tinted tea. Sebastian leaning back in the chair. Parnell turning the wire with the pliers. MacDoon going up in the air at the other end. Dark outside. Watching the blue flame eating up the gas and reddening the tiny asbestos nobs. Perhaps no time to face the future. They say there is good in everyone. If you just give them a chance. And a good boot in the arse.

  "O.K. out out out Everybody. Quick. To the Bear Pit Mac. Whiskey, whiskey."

  MacDoon drops a shoe he was fitting into the foot of the kangaroo. Parnell adjusting his glasses with a certain academic flourish, clearing his throat several times. And a whimper from the little babe in the box.

  "Mac will you let me some day take your son away with me for a little trip I intend to make to the Isle of Man for a rest. I'm considering having a small chapel built on the top of Snaeffell. And perhaps you'll say a little mass for me there."

  "Certainly, Danger"

  "Parnell, would you look up a reputable tailor in the Row for me?"

  "Sure, Danger."

  "Something like a prewar Humber with a luggage carrier might suit me. Would I see one of those in Mayfair, Mac? Would I?"

  "For certain."

  "Good. Yes. Yes. That's very good. See a lot of things. Brass name plates. They're in there. In there behind that brass. And I think I will go to live in Old Queen Street"

  "Danger, do I smell richness coming into your life?"

  "You might put it that way, Mac. Yes. I think you could put it that way. Would you ever say now that this room had the universal twitch. Could we say that?"

  "You could say that Danger."

  "I've known Mondays come on a Friday. Thursdays on Tuesdays. But Sunday is a day I can never accept. Can I put it this way? I think we all need a drink."

  "Danger, Parnell and meself have been driven to agree. And now if you will all kneel down I'll give you me black blessing and sprinkle the holy juice over your young innocent heads, a fine bunch of pagans you are anyway."

  "Mac, you'd say I was conceived in idolatry. Parnell here by mistake and you yourself not even at all."

  "Aye."

  There was a certain amount of giggling. Dangerfield squeezing into the kangaroo. Parnell attaching the wire tail. Danger was lifted to the street A strange crew. The kangaroo head rolling the little blobs of eyes around in the cellophane sockets. Red bearded MacDoon supporting himself with a shepherd's staff. Parnell beating an empty tin with a spoon. Procession of saints and beasts. Fourteen wild stations of the cross. Pagans.

  The bar was awash. Uncontrolled pints. It was said in the pit that there had never been a night like it. Dublin brought to London. Some say the Romans were Kerry men in disguise. Talk about resting and seeing everything a little more clearly and arranging affairs. Conclusions were reached. Better with than without. And if without better here than there. Thirst.

  Dangerfield sitting with the kangaroo head off looking a sight with the pregnant belly Mac had put to the animal and the little baby hanging its confused head out of the pouch. There was talk about MacDoon getting inside the little one and Dangerfield carrying him in the pouch so as to make it cheaper traveling to Soho. Tonight it was decided they must see the Soho.

  People out of the pub to watch them walk down the street Parnell beating out the death rhythm. MacDoon dancing the Bali dance to lead the way for this kangaroo.

  Moving slowly along the center of the streets. Windows opening to watch this strange spectacle. MacDoon cuffing the kangaroo with his long staff. Parnell out front walking backwards up the Kensington Church Street where a girl threw a flower from a top window. To Notting Hill where they tried to close the gate and Parnell stopped it with his foot Bayswater road. O this was wild. Dance of the idiot trinity. A bobby said 'ere 'ere now, a little quiet and they said by appointment to His Majesty the King and this giant bobby stopped the traffic so they might safely pass. MacDoon doing the leprechaun tumble. A laugh for tired England. And out with a hat which was filling with pennies. At the Marble Arch, groaning under the money and pouring it into the kangaroo's pouch so that they were only fit to be dragged on so laden down with gold and success. Maddest street circus the world has ever seen.

  At the Arch they boarded a bus. A woman, touched with a long furry lapping ear, turned and saw this animal sitting behind her and screamed and all the heads on the top of the bus looking at this beast At the Tottenham Court Road with the pouch dripping pennies they had to drag the beast out with the help of the conductor. MacDoon said there was nothing like it since the night they let all the cattle out of the markets before dawn and Dublin was aswarm with the moos of bullocks and the city came to a standstill and some have said that Dublin has never been the same since.

  They walked around the Soho Square and then in the Greek Street they went into a public house.

  The kangaroo was talking at the bar. It raised its voice in song.

  Tell me Britons

  How do you know

  You like it

  In the Soho ho.

  No joy no juice

  You pigs no use

  I want to know

  How you like it

  In the Soho ho.

  There were some grunts and growls and MacDoon said now Danger these people here are good people enjoying their pints.

  Grunt and growl

  Spit and scowl

  You poor pigs

  Are just foul.

  They were up. Fourteen in all moving toward the kangaroo which was singing come all ye faithful. The black brute Parnell was at them. It was on.

  Parnell picking up the front man and holding him an instant above his head flung him against the advancing crowd. MacDoon rotating his staff over his head and they said get that little bastard of a helicopter and Mac neatly broke the man's nose. The kangaroo reached behind the bar and was draining a bottle of gin when a chair was lowered on his head from behind. The kangaroo fell spread-eagled to the floor. Parnell attacked from all sides with MacDoon pulling them off with the hook of the staff and beating them to the floor. The building trembling. Eight left of the fourteen, six unconscious under the trampling feet. MacDoon went down and they were kicking him and he was catching them by the ankles with the hook and tripping them to the ground. They were driving Parnell out the door and they were yelling these damn Oxford intellectuals think they can tell us we're pigs. They had Parnell out and drew the latches. They were dragging the unconscious figure of MacDoon to fling him on the street, saying we fixed that big fella, he'll not try that again. Outside a great war whoop. They turned to the door. Another war whoop and a voice yelling I'm coming through. The brown vomit-tinted door parted with a squeal of hinges and splintering wood. The door came asunder into the room. Parnell, face covered in blood, clothes in tatters, launched his ferocious counter attack and three of the remaining eight fled up the stairs crying the man is insane, call the bobbies. They were holding him off with chairs. A crowd gathering on the street. The sound of the police. A half-revived MacDoon and Parnell dragging the stricken kangaroo out the door stumbling into the street. Flinging the beast into a taxi and yelling into the terrified man's ear, away you Cockney bastard like the hounds of hell before we deliver the wrath of the Celts on your English skull.

  The kangaroo groaning that it must have a drink or die. That life was not worth living without a lash of something. The taxi man was saying he would get the police if they didn't stop fighting in the back and that they better get to the hospital because they were covered in blood.

  They came to a stop and hobbled into the white smells of this hospital Crippled trinity. Down the warm halls. The nurses coming out of closets everywhere to see the spectacle of the limping kangaroo.

  In the hot head he could see out of the pinhole eyes the buxom nurses and the kind nun who got the Chinese doctor. And this nun said whatever is it? Did you go to a pub with it? W
e did. We've never had patients like you before and you are, you know, rather beat up, but the doctor will do an especially good job on his face, a serious wound. Parnell is a fierce man. O a brute man and Mac here, by God, could lay waste a Cockney hoard in his prime were it not for the fabulous thirst of your young English maidens and even others for a sup of his Irish juice.

  The hospital called another taxi and together with the Chinese doctor, compassionate nun and thirteen nurses called from their beds they stood watching the tragic trinity troop out the gate. But the kangaroo, touched with a slight madness what with being poisoned by his own wind accumulating in the animal head and other things like this shower of lovely silver dollars, shot out the door and came in the other until they were racing around the taxi in one door and out the next. The nurses' quarters alive with popping heads until these three weary wastrels set upon each other choking and collapsed and were taken away. The hospital people waving goodbye.

  27

  Dangerfield turned up the gas flame and rubbed his hands at three o'clock on this gray Friday afternoon. He took a bottle of gin from the pouch of the crumpled kangaroo. From the bed the stricken voice of MacDoon.

  "What in God's pukka name have you got there, Danger?"

  "E. Just e. Holy water. A little fast blessing for all of us. Parnell, wake up. Up I say. MacDoon for God's sake see if he's dead in there. Don't want to smell up the room with corpses."

  Parnell wreathed in bandages stirs, looks out from under the covers and goes in again.

  "Danger, come over here with that."

  "O I had this neatly tucked away in the bedlam. Looting is part of the battle. You think now MacDoon that this is going to be a time of richness. Do you think that now. Or that from over there the motor birds are bringing me an egg. Big. Big. Nothing like that land of the big big rich."