Meet My Maker the Mad Molecule

by J. P. Donleavy

  I bought some flowers, red and white carnations, at the barrow. I went across the bridge. And back to my little room up the stairs. I put the mad molecule under my own microscope, focused and then it jumped a mile. I was so pleased. I thought I had been seeing things.

  At Longitude and Latitude

  They thought I was crazy when I bought the island. I said it was a bargain. And got one of these unsinkable rubber rafts. They asked me was I worried about sharks. What a laugh. I said what are you blind? Can’t you see I’ve got this new type harpoon? Any of these sharks come near me, he gets it right between the eyes.

  Then they said I’d starve. So I told them about the deep freeze with mutton, chops and beef. I could even freeze soup. And just in case, I had my handbook for survival that tells you about chewing bark.

  So on an afternoon in June I set sail. They were all there on the dock watching me. Wise guys making cracks about wait till the hurricane. I know the type, just trying to get the wind up me. So I waved the weather report right in their faces. I said read this, it says clear sailing and besides maybe you’re just jealous because I’m going to be nice and lonely for a couple of months listening to my portable gramophone. I think, deep inside me, I hated them all anyway. All the kind of guys who lob balls into the sun when you’re playing tennis.

  The sky was bright and clear blue, the outboard motor purring away. It was twenty two miles. In maybe three hours with a good current, I’ll be able to see the little hill with the palm trees and where I fixed the flag pole. That was another thing they were beefing about, they thought it was anarchy to fly my own personal flag and that the coast guard would think it was distress or something. When it was only me.

  About three thirty there was a slight westerly breeze and a few clouds. I thought just a touch of right rudder. A few of them said they would come out late this afternoon in Harold’s cruiser just to see if maybe I sprung a leak and had to use the rubber raft. They won’t leave me alone. But there’s no sign of anybody. And there’s no other island like mine anywhere in these parts. Somehow they just don’t want to see a guy go off to be by himself. Always have to make out he’s a jerk or his politics want to be watched.

  I figure I ought to be coming in sight any minute now, although it’s taking longer than I expected. And when you’re out here all alone you get ideas. Maybe a little left rudder. I can’t wait to get up a good charcoal fire and singe up a nice thick steak. I always say, a few hours at sea brings on an appetite.

  When I bought it I thought the guy was asking too much but he said he’d throw in the boat as well as the diesel generator and enough oil to last a year. He told me he wasn’t the introspective type although you sure could do some serious thinking on that island and the fishing was great. So I thought with electricity, water converter and shower, what more could I want except to get away from Harold and the others for a few months. And Harold’s wife made that nasty remark that I didn’t know any of them anymore since I took the speech improvement course. There’s nothing wrong with making sure you’re never misunderstood and I think being able to communicate ideas clearly ought to be uppermost in anybody’s mind.

  The way I figure I ought to be there by now. Maybe it’s just this slight overcast. I feel like a shower and shave and then a nice can of beer in the hammock and tune into shore for some dance music. And I’ll put out the string of colored lights tonight. Wonderful how they give you that festive feeling.

  I think more left rudder. Might have miscalculated this current. This sea is some size. I’m just a needle in a haystack out here. At the beach picnic Myrtle showed she just couldn’t take it, getting sore when I slipped the fish down her back. Must be sorry now she called me a boor. She’d probably like to come stay on the island but I’m inviting none of them.

  Maybe I better try right rudder. Not a sign of shore anywhere. And it’s getting dark. This calls for checking position. My God. I’m here. It’s gone.

  Call Me Cheetah

  Our host, this tall friendly man, brought us through his kitchen to the garage to pick out a car to take us home, I said I would like blue. And we went off down the parkway at 3 A.M. through the scratchy trees. We talked of service, armies and navies. One said he had to go in the draft soon and another had been. He said he got in a band and played the piano and that it was all right. Jack said it was the indignity of it.

  There was some snow in tiny piles along the road and the north sides of trees. And I said in the Navy I was a tough man to get to work. And told them how they lined up ten thousand men every morning, me among them, to read off the names and then compress them all together, slicing sections off the ends for working parties. And they never got me. They kept us out in the open but I would leap out of this dark gathering with all their white hats and streak away to get lost between the quonset huts with them after me, dozens of them. I loved it. And they were waiting for me to do it with extra guards posted everywhere to stop me from getting away. A cheer went up from the ranks when I struck out for liberty or library for the lazy morning behind the magazine. I could hear them yelling get that wise guy and from the big brass boss man with the microphone up there screaming quite crazily, by God stop him, stop him, get that man, get him. There is an animal. Called a cheetah. I ran streamlined against the wind. Naturally I practiced every day. At times I was aghast at my nerve but my little heart was tempted by applause. It got so that these ten thousand men would wait in miraculous silence for me to make my break and I think the boss man was getting worried about the prestige of the service at stake or get me and make an example. I think he yelled once that I’ll see you get ten years if it’s the last thing I do. This latter quite understandably made me think and of course travel faster.

  And that one and last morning when they almost got me. Several jeeps were ordered on the scene, brimming with these brutes. Distasteful types brave with clubs. I was careful to look for lethal weapons. Roll call was taken and then the sections pushed together. I waited looking up into this Virginia sky all cold, rolling out to sea over this silence and no peep from anyone. I’ve got to do it, please don’t let them get me. My brains and feet against their clubs and wheels. I can’t help savouring it and there they are ready on all sides. They knew the general section of the crowd I would leap from but they weren’t taking any chances, cars patrolling up and down, eagle eyes on every face and people shining innocence back. Me too. But after my usual pause for the tension that’s in it, I began to get sceptical, a jeep had stopped right in front of me. For a second I thought they might know it was me but one of the men pointed to a chap up a bit and said watch that jerk there it looks like him.

  I put my collar up a little higher and got my cap down. Half a minute went by and smiles appearing on guards’ faces. That was it. I was off. I ran straight at them. Whoa. Those clubs raised up in the sky, this means detour for sure. A massive fantastic cheer went up and another as I swerved up the road executing my first dodge. As they were getting out of the jeep the driver started off and three guards were thrown to the ground, thank God. There was a laugh. The officer in charge was screaming such gibberish that I almost stopped to listen.

  I made for the huts weaving my way away. Feet behind me and then a guard stepped out in front, wow, they were in earnest. This guard managed to say his last words first. I got him with his own club. But he slowed me down and I had only one hope left. Bizarre deception. I ran into a hut and out the other end to shake them off and quickly into another, taking off my coat and jumper, hat too, and proceeded out the other end casually, suppressing the breath to walk over to a washstand and plunge my garments into the water.

  As I stood there busily scrubbing this man came puffing around the corner. He stopped, looked at me. I said to him, say you guys still after that crazy fool? He said something quite obscene to me.

  A Fairy Tale of New York

  Three o’clock in February. All the sky was blue and high. Banners and bunting and people bunched up between. Greetings and sadnes
s.

  Great black box up from the deep hold, swinging in the air high over the side of the ship. Some of the stevedores taking off their caps and hoods. With quiet whisperings, swiveling it softly on a trolley and pushing it into a shed.

  Cornelius Christian standing under the letter C. The customs man comes over.

  “I’m sorry sir about this. I know it isn’t a time you want to be annoyed by a lot of questions but if you could just come with me over to the office I’ll try to get this over as quickly as possible. It’s just a formality.”

  Walking across the pier through the rumbling carts, perfumes, furs and tweeds, the clanging chains, and into the little warm hut with type writers pecking. Tall dark customs man, his fist with a pencil on a piece of paper.

  “I understand this happened aboard ship.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re an American and your wife was foreign.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you intend burial here.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s just that we’ve got to make sure of these things because it can save a lot of trouble later. Don’t want to burden you with anything unnecessary. Do you have any children travelling.”

  “Just my wife and myself.”

  “I understand. And are all your other possessions your own property, all personal effects. No fine art, antiques. You’re not importing anything.”

  “No.”

  “Just sign here. Won’t be anything else and if you have any trouble at all don’t hesitate to get in touch with me right away. Here’s my name and I’ll straighten out any difficulty. Just Steve Kelly, customs’ll get me. Vine funeral home phoned here just a while ago. I told him everything was all right and he says you can go see them at their office, or phone any time this afternoon or tonight. You take it easy.”

  “Thanks very much.”

  Customs man giving Christian a pat on the back.

  “And say, Mr. Christian, see the stevedore, guy with the fur jacket. Just tell him Steve said you’d help me with my stuff. O.K. Don’t worry about anything.”

  “Thanks.”

  Out through the grinding winches, clicking high heels, the stacks of gay baggage and colored labels. The great tall side of ship. And coming out to it as it sat on the sea in Cork Harbor. A stiff cold vessel. All of us bundled up as the tender tugged us out on the choppy water. And left the pink houses on the shore twirling early morning turf smoke in the sky. Black rivets on the ship’s side. And I climbed up behind her. On the stairway swaying over the water. And now through this jumble and people gathering each other in their arms. This stevedore with fur jacket, a hook tucked under his arm. Hard muscles across his jaw.

  “Excuse me, Steve said you’d help me with my stuff.”

  “Oh yeah, sure. Sure thing. Got much.”

  “Three small trunks, two bags.”

  “O.K. You just follow me all the way. I’ll put the stuff down the escalator. Meet me the bottom of the stairs. You want a taxi.”

  “Please.”

  Under the roof of girders and signs. No tipping. Escalator rumbling down with trunks and crates. Crashing and crushing. The treatment they give things would break open her box. And they shout. This way folks. Five bucks, Grand Central. Three fifty, Penn Station. The stevedore has scars on his face, keeps his hands on his hips. “Mr. Christian, this guy will take you wherever you want to go. Stuff’s on.”

  “Here.”

  “No no. I don’t want any money. I don’t take money for a favor. You’ll do the same for somebody. That way it goes round the world.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Forget it.”

  Cornelius Christian opening the door into this gleaming cab. Horns honk everywhere. This driver with a green cap turns around.

  “Where to, bud.”

  “I don’t know. Have to think of somewhere.”

  “Look, I haven’t got all day. I want to catch another boat coming in.”

  “Do you know where I can get a room.”

  “I’m no directory bud.”

  “Anything.”

  “Place is full of hotels.”

  “Do you know anywhere I can get a room.”

  “Boardinghouse for a guy like you. Just sort of dumps I know. This is some time to start looking. Everybody wants me to find a room I’d be starving. As it is I make peanuts. O.K. I know a place West Side near the museum.”

  Taxi twisting away. With smiles and arms laden with coats others get into cabs. The trip is over. Some made friends. And we go up a hill to the roaring highway.

  “It’s none of my business but what’s a guy like you doing coming all the way over here with nowhere to go. You don’t sound like a guy got no friends, don’t look it neither. O.K. Takes all sorts of people to make a world. Keep telling my wife that, she doesn’t believe me. Thinks everybody’s like her. Across there long.”

  “Went to college.”

  “Good education over there. Don’t you feel lonely.”

  “No, don’t mind being alone.”

  “That right. Got a right to feel that way if you want. But look at this, how can you feel alone. Everything looking like it’s going to explode. And I got a face looks like a monkey. Know why. Because I used to own a pet shop till a relative got the big idea to make a lot of money. So what happens, I lose the whole thing. Now I’m driving a hack. Kick in your teeth and every guy after a fast buck. What a life. Keep going, keep going till you can’t stop.”

  Christian folding white gloved hands in his lap. Cars stream along the highway. The wail of a police car zooming by.

  “Look at that, some guy murdered his mother for a dime. Guy like me got to drink milk all day, live like a baby. I tell you, it’s a crime. Sweat our guts out. Something awful. Goddam place jammed with foreigners. Think they’d stay in Europe instead of coming over here and crowding us out. You foreign.”

  “No.”

  “You could pass for foreign. It’s O.K. with me mister if you’re foreign. My mother came from Minsk.”

  Clouds come grey and east. Ice down there on the edge of the river. Smoky red weak sun.

  Taxi turns down off the highway. Between the pillars holding up the street above. Serve beer in there. Bar stools and sawdust. Stevedores with hooks. They say keep your mouth shut and you won’t get hurt. Safe in a crowd. Close in there by the elbows, next to the sleeves where all around me are just hands to shake and squeeze.

  “O.K. mister here we are. Give me five bucks.”

  Red grey stone. An iron fence. Where the rich lived years ago. Tall steps up. First five dollars gone.

  “Mister ring the bell downstairs and I’ll take your bags, never get rich this way but you look lonely. Mrs. Grotz’ll take care of you. She’s crazy, but who isn’t.”

  Mrs. Grotz, cross eyed, wrapped in a black coat and a collar of silver fox, standing in the door.

  “What’s your business mister.”

  “He’s all right, Ma, just back from college over in Europe. Just ain’t got no friends.”

  “Everyone ought to have friends.”

  “How do you know he wants them.”

  “Friendship means a lot, you crazy cab driver.”

  “My wife thinks I’m crazy too, but my kids think I’m God.”

  “Go home you crazy cab driver. Follow me mister, I got a nice room.”

  Carrying the bags behind this large bottom shifting up the stairs. In the onion smell. And scent of dust.

  “Stairs for me is work mister. Got to do everything myself. Since my husband. He drop dead right in his underwear. Right while I was watching. Such a shock. Go to turn off the lamp and drop dead right on his face. I’m nervous and shaking like this ever since. So all husbands drop dead sometime. You think they have manners and do it quiet in the hospital.”

  A room with red curtains high on the windows. Double bed like one I saw in Virginia where once I was walking down a street and climbed in a train standing in the hot sun. Always wishing I could save the h
eat for the winter.

  “Four fifty dollars a night or twenty dollars a week. Look what I supply, radio, shelves, gas stove, hot water. Don’t play the radio loud.”

  “Could I let you know in a day or two how long I’ll be staying.”

  “Give you till Friday and you got to make up your mind. You got a funny voice, you English. Learn to speak at college.”

  “Just a bit.”

  “Was that accent you was born with.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Give me four dollars and fifty cents.”

  New world. Opening up the suitcases on the bed. Turn on the oven. Out into the hall past another brown door. Everything in the dark. And cars go by in the street like boats and soft bubbles.

  Find the switch for the light in this bathroom. Green towel crumpled on the floor. Lift the seat. All gentlemen are requested. When little you never lift the seat and mommy tell you lift the seat. Pick up the towel. Go back. This door has a name on it under the cellophane. And now the only thing I can do is wait and wait and wait. It’s got to go away. She could never pack things and her bag’s a mess. I told her she was sloppy, why don’t you fold things up. And I’ve got to go down there. To a funeral parlor. Come all the way here to a funeral parlor. Just wash my face. No one to be with her. And I was so full of dying myself. I hope I know how to get down there after all these years. How much is it going to cost. Just end up being buried among a lot of strangers.

  Christian steps down into the street. Grey tweed on his back. White gloves on hands. Street full of shadows. And dark cars parked. And straight ahead the stale stiff fingers of trees. After so much ocean. And I don’t know what to say to this man. He’ll be in black or something. Do I have to give him a tip or a cigar. He might think I’m not sorry enough and can’t concentrate on the death.