A Fairy Tale of New York

by J. P. Donleavy

  ''Yes, I've come to see Mr Vine."

  ''He's busy right now. Your name please.''

  "Cornelius Christian.''

  "O. In that case, Mr Christian I think Mr Vine would like to know you're here. I've heard a lot about you. Nice to meet you. My name is Nathaniel Hardwicke. Excuse me please, won't you. Please, do be seated. And here, have something to read if you like."

  Wow. That guy could bury you with both hands tied behind his back. Striped trousers and cutaway coat. Almost joins his hands in prayer as he speaks. Soft calming words. Calling you hither. Makes you feel apologetic for being alive.

  Mr Hardwicke bowing Christian into an elevator. Up two floors. Past a nodding smiling girl with, my god, another of Vine's drum majorette trophies on her desk. Turn right down a corridor lined with photographs of celebrity funerals. Into an ante room full of evergreens. A heavy panelled door marked private. Which Nathaniel opens. Into a large room. Clarance seated behind a massive mahogany crescent desk. Immaculate and dark suited as always. Facing out from a corner flanked by two windows. Three gentlemen with big cigars, seated before him. One a baby faced enormity swelling out of his chair. One shadowily familiar with a bandaged jaw and head, gravel voiced in sun glasses and three feet wide. Another hawk nosed and four feet wide.

  "Excuse me gentlemen, I hope you won't mind, but I'd like to introduce my associate, you won't object if he sits in."

  "No we don't mind. Sure sit him in. Like we said, it's nice to see such a classy staffed operation as you've got, Mr Vine. That's why we come to you. With the kind of all around consultancy we could offer. Like you need a bundle. We got a bundle."

  "I 'm fully financed gentlemen.''

  "Ok, you know, we understand that too, so you're fully financed. But what operation doesn't need more customers. We can push business your way, isn't that right Zeke.''

  "Sure Tony, a trickle or an avalanche whatever Mr Vine wants."

  "Now Zeke here, he covers a lot of areas. The big hotels for instance. Some of them got maybe a dead guest a week. Out of ten or fifteen hotels you got a steady supply of a dozen corpses. Maybe minus a few who don't have money. We 're selective.''

  "Gentlemen I 'm not short of deceased.''

  "Ok, ok, it was only if you was short. Now maybe you don't have the best sanitation service. We got good rates for taking your garbage away. With reverence. Isn't that right Zeke."

  ''That's right. Removal with reverence. We got good rates.''

  "I've got a fine garbage collector already.''

  "So all right. We still think you could be benefiting from our service. You know. I mean look at that place you're opening up. I mean let me tell you something Mr Vine, we think you're a pretty successful guy. I mean Zeke here, he's done calculations. With a successful guy we feel we got something to offer. That nothing interrupts him. Extra fire protection for instance. I mean take this place. Gee what a fire could do to this. This ain't no new building.''

  "I 'm insured gentlemen.''

  ''We know you 're insured, isn't that right Carmine.''

  "That's right."

  "But Mr Vine, sir, what we was thinking was would you be compensated for the loss in momentum of your operation. That's what worries us. You know.'

  "It doesn't worry megentlemen.''

  "Excuse me Mr Vine, can I ask you just one question.''

  "Please do."

  "Look at us. There's Zeke there. Some people think he's ugly, call him Two Ton. But he's got a nice house out in Flatbush. He's got neighbors he's proud of. He's got a son already studying to be a lawyer and a daughter who goes to a good school. Just like your two daughters.''

  ''What do you mean like my two daughters.''

  "Nothing, nothing believe me. You know, today there's crime everywhere. It's just like we was all pillars of the community and should stick together. Now take Carmine, he's a credit to his neighborhood. Sure his good friends call him the Slim Wop. They enjoy kidding. But they like him, a good family man from Hoboken. We don't want to give any offense Mr Vine. You know. That's all I was saying. I just wanted to ask you, do you think as businessmen we would waste your time and our time if we didn't feel deep down sincerely that we could assist you, help you. Bender you down to earth honest to god service. Like the sudden need you funeral guys talk about. That you don't know hits you till it's knocking on your doorstep. And here we are. Ready to help. A loan, sure. A big loan, all the better. A fantastic loan. Well as I say, we 're there. Ian't that right Zeke.''

  "That's right."

  "Hey now what about your assistant.''

  "My associate."

  "Sorry that's what I meant associate. What's your name again young man. Hey you know I'd swear I knew you from somewhere."

  "I'm Mr Peabody."

  Tony taking the cigar out of his mouth, putting his hand up to his bandaged jaw. Tilting his wide head with its pair of tiny sunken ears. Brushing a lump of ash off his monstrous knee.

  "It's funny I really think I know your face. Anyway that name sounds like you was somebody, ha ha Mr Peabody. But no kidding. Maybe you can see what we drive at. You play baseball."

  "No I don't."

  "Maybe you play football.''

  "No I'm against violent sport.''

  "You must play pinochle.''

  "Sorry, no."

  "I guess guys like you and Mr Vine are really too busy. But sports is what has made this country great. Well we don't want to take up your time. Except Mr Vine we want you to know that sometimes we know certain things. Like when a big funeral's going to happen. When I say big. I mean big. Maybe twenty thousand dollars worth. Now what kind of an operation wants in their sane mind to brush off business like that. To kick such an opportunity in the face. In six months we could line up five like that. Am I right Zeke."

  "Right."

  "And our commission would be hardly nothing. Like five percent. Real low. Of your gross operation. And everything's protected. I mean we heard right away, about this woman suing who says you made a whore out of her husband. That's horrible. What kind of operation wants that kind of publicity. Which is avoided when we explain to her lawyer the back breaking inconvenience he's going to find in his way. Satisfaction guaranteed service that nobody bothers you. Isn't that gospel Zeke."

  "That's gospel."

  Clarance Vine quietly smiling. Tony removing and wiping sun glasses. Zeke protruding in his chair. Huge bull neck bursting out of a white starched collar. Gold chain across his light brown waistcoat. Upon him all things bulge. Knees elbows and eyes. Chair creaks and squeaks as he moves. Carmine shining his fingernails back and forth on his blue jacket. Spreads out his fingers in the window light and blows lightly on each nail one by one. Turning to look every minute or so behind his head at a photograph of Vine shaking hands with the mayor of New York.

  "Well Mr Vine. Mr Peabody. I thank you for your valuable time. I only naturally hope that our endeavours here today will put our service working for you making those extra meaningful dollars. Take the wife to Florida for the weekend. And I know the nicest place. You just go in and say Big Tony sent you. On a free scholarship."

  "Mr Peabody and myself are widowers.''

  "O hey I'm sorry to hear that, that's too bad. Well maybe two healthy distinguished looking men like yourselves. Well what girl wouldn't be proud to stand next to you in any lobby you want to mention along Miami Beach."

  "Thank you for all you've said Mr—''

  "North. Tony North."

  "Mr North."

  "And Mr Bast and Mr West. Easy to remember just like we do business. In all directions."

  ' "Well thank you for coming gentlemen.''

  "Our pleasure believe us. And goodbye Mr Peabody it was real nice you could sit in. Still think I've seen you somewhere. Hey you wasn't by any chance ever flying airplanes like an airline pilot or something.''

  ''No. I can hardly ride a bicycle.''

  Blue suited Tony standing, adjusting his sun glasses. As chocolate suited Zeke rises. An
d with him the whole chair, four legs sticking out from his arse. Tony and Slim Wop reaching out to grab. Tugging at the antique's legs and arms. Vine rapidly coming from around his desk. All three pulling. As Two Ton Zeke holds the edge of Vine's desk. One leg snaps. Tony crashing backwards. Breaking the glass in Vine's photograph with the mayor.

  "O gee whiz I'm sorry to break everything Mr Vine. Hey Zeke what the hell's the matter with you. Couldn't you see you shouldn't sit in that chair.''

  "What do you want me to do stand everywhere I go."

  ''No I just want you to look before you sit.''

  "Gee Mr Vine we'll fix that picture and send you two new chairs tomorrow.''

  "Well that chair happens to be Louis Quatorze.''

  "Loui. We know a Loui makes furniture right down the avenue here. Don't worry, a chair exactly like that. We'll have it tomorrow, at the latest.''

  "Hey come on Tony. Don't stand talking about two new chairs. Get this old one off me.''

  Zeke's ass wedged. Thighs straining at the sides of his trousers. A tug. As he shouts don't kill me. The chair yanked off. Floor trembling. Clarance Vine wiping his brow with a dark green silk hanky. And these gentlemen of the compass picking up their cigars from the ash tray, plunging them back in their mouths as they wave at the door goodbye.

  "Nice meeting you mister. Your name just slipped my mind, had a nice clean sound to it."

  "Mr Peabody."

  "O yeah, Peabody. You sure are familiar from somewhere. And sorry about the busting up, Mr Vine.''

  Clarance standing over his gilt embellished chair. Bending to look at the broken back and one leg wrenched off. Shaking his head back and forth.

  "Well Cornelius, or should I call you Mr Peabody. You just saw what is sometimes described as muscle. Flexing in one of my chairs. Sit down. I 'm glad you 've come around like this.''

  "Those men trying to blackmail you Mr Vine.''

  "If I let them. Yes. If I don't. No. I can tell you one thing though. Guys are trying to get into this business like it was some kind of sawdust sausage factory. Nobody gives a good god damn about the dead anymore.''

  "Mr Vine, I really am sorry for what's happened. Is Mrs Silver really suing.''

  "Here's the letter from her lawyer. But don't worry about it. That's my problem.''

  Christian leaning forward. Sunlight flashing on the white sheet that rattles in his hand. A spear of pain flaring up one's bowel. Clang of bells and sirens as a fire apparatus roars by down in the street.

  Dear Sir,

  We communicate with you on behalf of our client Mrs Silver, concerning the extensively damaging outrage (hereinafter referred to as The Outrage) regarding her late husband Herbert's funeral arrangements, who, as numerous people know held an honorable position in the business community of this city for many years.

  The Outrage upon our client occasioned grievous ego injuries and an outbreak of warts over her entire body. We are holding your firm accountable as well as your employee Cornelius Christian who prepared the remains.

  Further concerning The Outrage, my client has complained bitterly regarding the cavalier manner in which she was treated in her interview with you with a view to rectifying the matter to the satisfaction of all concerned. We fail to understand your refusal to discipline your employee and to require him to apologize to Mrs Silver. The menacing comment, "I'll pump you full of formaldehyde,"was a direct threat to do grievous bodily harm to my client, to maim, spiritually grieve, and abusively imperil her life. The malicious slandering of the words, "sell you as a bloody monster, "and other words too offensive to mention has rendered my client to total incapacitation since, and her disfigurement by warts has forced her to withdraw from the outside world.

  What the hell, yes, I use the word hell, kind of mental scourge do you think innocent people should be subjected to these days when laying to rest their loved ones. We are sure you would prefer that the matter not be litigated with the attendant publicity. And in such event, my client, to compensate for her acute and prolonged suffering, would consider the matter closed upon payment of adequate damages.

  Yours,

  Wartberg & Blitz

  "It was all my fault Mr Vine. O my god. The last thing I wanted to do was to hurt your business.''

  "I know that Cornelius, I know that. But it could have happened to anybody. You put your heart and soul into doing the best you could. George told me that. And you got a snarl in your face for thanks. There are no hard feelings here."

  Vine's eyes. They go through you. Seeing every layer both living and dead. Knows every thought you think. Both funny and sad, serious or glad.

  "And by the way Cornelius, if you don't mind telling me. How the hell do I shift that guy with the sandwichboard outside the east side branch. Says he's a friend of yours waiting for you. Has a god damn new sign every day. Ok, I understand. You'd like me to leave him alone."

  "I guess so Mr Vine."

  "Sure. Somehow there's not much left of the soft and loving. Like the shape of an ear. The ear of a beautiful woman. That you know is going to melt away. I wish you luck Cornelius. I have a feeling your name is going to be on our lips someday. And I hope I can say then without being presumptuous, that we were friends. I don't know Christian. But that's what's most precious to me."

  In all

  The dark dooms

  Where courage

  Must live

  If life

  Is not

  To die

  15

  Cornelius Christian strolling away up the street from Vine's west side branch. Staring into the sunshine pouring upon this wide long teaming avenue. Trucks cars and buses at the traffic lights. Stand with folk collecting to cross the road. Easy to look good in such a sea of ugly people.

  Christian pausing on the sidewalk. Big smiling picture of a man sitting chained to an egg. Inside the window of a bank. Above which the flag of this country flies red white and blue with stars and stripes. Over the passing heads decorated with faces. In which Vine said he could read a whole life. During the secondary flacidity when the rigor mortis passes off. And just up here is an automat. Have some milk and apple pie while I worry. About how I find another job.

  A tanned dirty hand placed on Christian's arm. A ragged pedestrian, his coat clutched closed at his throat. Soup stained silk blue tie hanging out, white streaks of lightning down it. Shoes bent and broken. Dark red gums holding yellow teeth as he speaks.

  ''Buddy can you spare a dime.''

  "Sorry, no."

  ''Just a dime. Hey come on, give me a break.''

  "I need it for myself."

  "Well at least you 're honest. But I really need a dime.''

  "What for."

  "For a cup of coffee.''

  "Sorry."

  "Buddy it's just a little charity, make you feel a better person."

  "I feel good enough already.''

  "Buddy believe me if I had something to give you I'd give it to you."

  "All right. You can give me your life's story.''

  "What for."

  ''Because I 'm paying for it."

  "Who said I was selling.''

  "Do you want a dime or don't you.''

  "I want two dimes for my life story.''

  "Ok, two dimes."

  ''Buddy, what do you want my life's story for.''

  "What do you want two dimes for.''

  "So I can get a cup of coffee and a roll.''

  "Well I want your life's story because it will make my hair stand on end."

  "What are you fella, some kind of pervert. Anyway for that I charge a dollar."

  "I'll give you two quarters.''

  "What, fifty cents for my whole life story. It could be worth a fortune."

  "Ok, goodbye."

  "Hey wait a minute mister what about a quarter and I'll tell you where I was born.''

  "No I want the whole story.''

  "It could take me nearly an hour to tell it.''

  "I'll wait."

&nb
sp; "It's too public to stand here while I tell it."

  "Ok. Let's go into the automat. I'll buy you a cup of coffee."

  "Hey mister I go in and have a cup of coffee with you I could be missing making dimes from guys who don't want to know my whole life's story, be reasonable will you. I mean what's to pay for my time and overheads.''

  "Take a risk."

  "Buddy in my life every risk is like wearing a noose round the neck while you jump the Grand Canyon. I mean what's with you. What do you want with my life story.''

  "I don't know yet. I'm taking a risk."

  "Fella why don't you take an option. Be a sport. Just give me a dime. Meet you here tomorrow same time.''

  Christian looking into these eyes. Only need a token bit of touching up. Easy to flesh out his cheeks. Hair shampooed and combed, a close shave and he'd look good in his coffin. Hire mourners. Maybe a cockroach would come running out of him. Like the one George said once scampered along the edge of the antique embalming table and sent Vine into a rage, smashing bottles on the marble slab as he missed the scurrying bug, drenching himself in embalming fluid.

  "Hey look, see what's happening. While I'm talking to you. Look at all the handouts I might be missing. People walking by who could be giving me maybe quarters. And here I'm stuck making no money talking with you. Good way to go broke.''

  "You mean you 're not broke.''

  "Hey now buddy wait a minute. Why should I tell you a stranger my finances.''

  "Why not."

  "Gee whiz fella, already two dozen possibilities I've seen walk by. Hey look, for Christ's sake. Forget I ever asked you. Why don't I give you a dime, and you go your way and I go mine, how about that."

  "O k."

  "Jesus Christ, it's crazy, what the hell kind of a world would it be if every guy was like you. Here. Take it.''

  "Thanks."

  ''O boy fella, don't thank me, thank you.''

  Christian slipping the thin coin into his dark tweed waist coat pocket. Passing a vegetable shop, green peppers, bulging red and yellow tomatoes, purple egg plants and fruits stacked out on the pavement. Buy myself an apple. With one nickel. Make a phone call with another.