A Fairy Tale of New York

by J. P. Donleavy

  "Ok, all right."

  "Attaboy Cornelius. Admiral, watch it now. No full weight behind punches."

  "To me O'Rourke sport is give and take. I don't want to mix it with someone who can't defend himself.''

  "Cornelius is no cripple Admiral. But if you hold the corkscrew in check, nobody is going to get hurt.''

  ''I can never promise to keep the corkscrew in check.''

  ''But you just promised.''

  "It's an instinctive punch with me. And comes out of nowhere. I don't even know how I do it myself.''

  "It's pretty obvious Admiral where it comes from, look at the way you're set up, like a kid of twenty.''

  "Well I keep myself in shape. Every ship that goes to sea under my command is in a rigorous state of health and fitness."

  "Now Miss Gentle, would you know by looking at the Admiral that he has one of the most lethal punches ever seen in the ring.

  Naturally he doesn't like it talked about. But you can't deny it Admiral."

  "God damn it I don't deny it. I prefer it to be known. But anyone entering the ring with me knows the risk he runs by doing so."

  "Everytime you walk out of here, I can hear the muggers running Admiral. But I just finished, you heard me twice, telling Cornelius you weren't going to use it. You wouldn't be that kind of sportsman.''

  "Why don't you buy a new robe O 'Eourke.''

  "Hey what's wrong with my robe.''

  "This young lady here, I don't want her to think we boxers have no sartorial elegance.''

  "Where do you get off with that word sartorial. Speak English. Cornelius there, he's got no elegance neither. He told me it was a cultured European touch to wear rags. Come on, you going to box with Cornelius or aren't you.''

  "If he's prepared I 'm prepared.''

  O'Rourke leaping over a bench. Grabbing a pair of boxing gloves. Pushing them on Cornelius.

  "Miss Gertrude, you tie up the Admiral will you. I mean his gloves. Make sure no flying laces.''

  Two contestants center ring. O'Eourke hovering between them, a hand on Christian's back and another on the Admiral's elbow.

  "Now remember, no hitting on the break. No rabbit punches. I'm going to watch for any foul blows in this. I want a clean racist fight."

  Bong the gong. Christian jumping back. Instantly employing the reverse shuffle dance. As the Admiral with a rotating straight left does the bull charge. Crashing into the ropes. Muttering, you son of a bitch, as Christian spidered away. And O 'Eourke sits himself down to the tea pot.

  ''Well Admiral I 'll just help myself to a little tea.''

  "Get away from that tea pot."

  "Just a sip. Well what do you know, it is tea.''

  "You scoundrel."

  "So this is what you train on Admiral. Now we know where you got that corkscrew punch. Cornelius you duck when it comes."

  Christian doing his flubbididub step. Neatly avoiding the additional bull charge perpetrated by the growling Admiral. Who looses a right hook over Christian's ducking head.

  "That's the way Cornelius. Show him the footwork. Dazzle him so he can't explode the corkscrew at you.

  Gertrude Gentle turning to O'Eourke with her eyebrows raised on a smooth powdered face.

  ''They 're not going to hurt each other.''

  "Shussh. Just humouring the Admiral along, he couldn't break a spider's web.

  "O this is just a joke."

  ''Just a joke. That's it Cornelius, keep well away from that right. Circle. Watch it, the Admiral's getting set. Now Admiral remember what I told you. Make sure the corkscrew is at half power."

  "Shut up."

  "Hey I got to tell my fighter what to do. Watch it Cornelius he's sizing up your style. Hey, you're running Cornelius. Take your beating like a man. Don't go yellow. Personal bravery is what made this country great. As well as the big bombs we got. What's a matter Admiral, go after him."

  ''He's backing away. I can't hit him.''

  "Not surprising. Miracle Cornelius isn't making for the ferry. That was the corkscrew you just sent whistling past his ear. Are you all right Cornelius.''

  ''Fine. Just warming up.''

  "I'm watching you Admiral. I don't want any unconscious bodies in this boxing room. I'm responsible for all lives in here. This is just like a ship.''

  "Christian's doing all right. He doesn't need your shipboard advice. He's got a nice little punch. Just caught me. Nice punch. Only don't forget to tell me if I 'm hurting you."

  ''You 're not hurting me.''

  "Hey the two of you in there are starting to become friends. Hit him Cornelius. There you are Miss Gentle. Two fine men. Real sportsmen. Truly the manly art. Look at the Admiral's clean crisp punching. Note the way he flexes his knee and puts his shoulder into it.''

  O'Rourke pouring tea. Miss Gentle putting a cup to her lips. And splutters it out.

  "O my goodness. I really thought it was tea.''

  O 'Rourke on his feet raising a shaking fist. A general slowing down of action. Feinting and pushing. Huffing and puffing.

  "Jew fight. Let's see some action. Get that Arab, he's wide open, Cornelius, for a belt to the nose. That's it, get him before he tries the corkscrew. Punish him around the belly. Now a left, hook him, hook him. Watch it Cornelius, that stance the Admiral 's using is deadly.''

  Christian lowering gloves. Moving in with his chin. -Ducking as a right cross from the Admiral flies overhead. O'Rourke jumping off the floorboards.

  "I saw it, I saw it, that was it. The corkscrew Admiral. The dreaded deadly punch. At full power. You know it's fatal at close quarters."

  "You just stop drinking my whiskey.''

  "You admit it. Well I saw you. If Christian hadn't ducked we'd be picking up his head from over there on Wall Street. Good mind to stop the fight.''

  A thump. Admiral's glove connecting with Christian's chin. Slowly turning him round as he plummets to the canvas, landing spread eagled on his back. Gertrude Gentle jumping to her feet. Hands to her lips. As O'Rourke winks and pushes her seated again.

  "Hey you hit him with the corkscrew. Now don't say you didn't Admiral. I saw you do it. Look at him, you've knocked him right out. Told you not to use it, you don't know your own strength."

  Cool moist wind coming in the window. Flashes of distant lightning. Admiral mountainously standing over the slain Christian. Lifting his chin. Raising a gloved hand of triumph. And with a slow swagger crossing the ring and slipping through the crimson ropes.

  "What's the idea, Admiral, hey we've got to pick him up, just don't leave him like that. He needs artificial respiration."

  "It was merely a tap. Leave him there. He's had that coining for a long time. Knock some sense into him. Won't be coming in here again talking a lot of nonsense.''

  "Well Admiral let me shake your hand. Now don't give me the dynamite shake. Just a shake. Didn't want to tell you, but you know that's the first time Cornelius Christian's ever hit deck, to use a sea faring phrase. Didn't want to say anything but he was middle Atlantic champ before he went to Europe. Seventeen straight knockouts.''

  "Well he had me guessing. Just for a few seconds. I've often refrained from using the corkscrew even when I've seen an inviting opening. But that kid's too smart for his own good. Not enough red blood these days."

  "You bet Admiral."

  "When I took my first ship to sea I used to skip rope around the quarter deck for two hours before breakfast, This country wasn't a whole lot of scruffy creampuffs then. That's how I got this stomach you call a beer barrel. Barrel of nails. You, young girl. Give it a punch. Try it. Go on. Don't be shy. That's it. There."

  "O gosh sir, it is hard."

  "You show her Admiral, armour plating. That's where, Gertrude, they got the idea, from the Admiral's belly. Bet Christian knew he was hitting something when he tried a few on that.''

  "That's what a clean life does O 'Bourke.''

  ''Cleaned out your teapot for you, Admiral.''

  "Miss Gentle take no notice of hi
m."

  ''O I'm not Admiral. But is Mr Christian, is he all right.''

  "Good, my dear, to see someone like you so concerned. Gives your eyes a nice look. But I assure you he'll come around in a few days. Won't be able to chew for a couple of months, but hell be all right. Well that was a good afternoon's workout.''

  ''I just thought I saw him twitch.''

  "Gertrude don't worry. My corkscrew never does anybody any permanent harm. Just puts them to sleep. It's scientific. The glove rotates as the punch leaves and when it lands, quicker than the eye can see, it has an extra penetrating force. Developed it after years of experiment, based on the rifling in a gun barrel. Throw some water on him.''

  "Gee Admiral, look at him, felled like a tree. But Cornelius took it like a man. But you shouldn't have done it, Admiral.

  "Do him good. Today's mollycoddling youth needs a shaft up the ass, excuse me Miss Gentle, my girl, but that's what youth needs. Stiffen their spines. But no hard feelings. In the ring I may be a killer but outside I believe in behaving like a normal human being. Any born boxer would have done what I did when he saw his opening.''

  "Your conscience is clear, Admiral. I think maybe Cornelius did have it coming to him. Like a lot of guys who feel this country could do with changing. And that our wives are out to get us for alimony and sell themselves."

  "O'Rourke I think that kind of talk is out of place with Gertrude present here.''

  "But I like men who hate women.''

  "Hey get that Admiral. If Cornelius was only conscious he would have liked that remark.''

  "Goodbye O'Rourke."

  "So long Admiral. And watch the corkscrew, it's banned from now on."

  O'Rourke chuckling as the big brown door closes and clicks shut. Turning to the ring. The prostrate Christian. Open eyed face staring at the ceiling. A siren screaming. A bell clanging, down the street. A friendly fire somewhere.

  "That was great Cornelius. Why the Admiral will be inviting you down to his boat, get free rides all round the harbour. I have to laugh, that was really good acting, for a second I really thought it looked like he knocked you cold.''

  Christian with arms stretched facing east and west crosstown. Blond head pointing uptown and dark heels downtown.

  "Hey Cornelius, come on get up, what's the matter. The Admiral's gone."

  O 'Rourke bending over Christian. Touching his head.

  "Christ, Cornelius, he really hit you. Wake up. Hey gee I'm going to have to get the smelling salts.''

  On this padded canvas floor. In the New World of pavements asphalt and cement. Stranded and needy in the arms of Fanny Sourpuss. Fearful souls creeping. Great silent weeping stream of people in the canyon streets. A broken cardboard box. To take their dreams away somewhere tinder their arms. As I did on a bus north through Harlem. When I was a little boy. A sign, night crawlers and worms for sale. Cars roaring the highways. Night, noon, morning and afternoon. Nowhere to live. On a junk strewn continent. Hip up the soil, melt me back into the barren ground. Grow me once more wild to race fleet foot across this land. Beyond the salt flats. Piss down passing Pittsburgh. Walk again that bowery of scrawny necked men, with their condor heads, sitting arms flapped over their knees. Offering to sell their shirts and trousers, bargaining out of reddened lips. Polite and beaten. And one figure reared up begging. Into my high school friend's sneers. And I saw the eyes of a man. Who saw mine. When all the years I thought he was dead. And his hand dropped and his head hung.

  As he said

  Sorry

  Son

  23

  Wake this morning. Fanny pushing a breast in my face to soothe my jaw she said was all swollen up. And might be broken. Just when I was looking good in my new seersucker suit. Planning as I was a blistering series of creative utterances to make Mr Quell and his asskissers wide eyed with envy in the Think Boom of the Mott Empire. And I get knocked out. For the count.

  Cornelius Christian heading downtown for medical advice. As long cigar shaped clouds sneak over from Hoboken. The storm heading north east across Patchogue, the Hamptons and Sag Harbour. Shadows of buildings poking into the park. This bus with a great engine roaring, swaying from stop to stop. A hot sun shining in slits along the crosstown streets. See a dark complexioned kid pissing down from a window six stories up. The drops haven't reached yet, an old man sitting on the stoop.

  A new day dawns living. Even in these gloomy ravines of sweaty armpits pushing trolleys of pink and blue dresses through this dingy garment district. Trucks jammed along the gutters. Cigars in big overseeing fat faces. Throngs charging through the doors of that department store. As I get off the bus at Herald Square. Where no one is waiting to give me a prize for my spiritual beauty.

  Christian nipping once more into this cavernous entrance. Ascending again to the eighty fifth floor. With a chattering group of summery school children, their shepherding teacher giving me oblong looks. As I give her my child molester leer. Last week wrote helplessly homesick to Europe. Begged them to have me back. After the debt collector leaped out from behind a hallway door. To pay up for excess baggage contracted while en route to this shore. No mention of the meals she missed, the towels she didn't use. Said I've got you at last Mr Christian. I peppered him with straight light lefts. A nice one on the throat drove him backwards into a girl carrying out a bag of moist garbage and she screamed. And the debt collector screamed as he turned around to apologise, taking from her as he did, a robust kick in the balls. Nearly waited to watch him writhe awhile. Over the strewn watermelon pips.

  Doctor Pedro's ripe bosomed nurse, a fresh pink rose pinned on her white uniform, pushing open his door. He sits singing in his shirt sleeves, grey haired wiry little arms, his ruday cheek pressed on a violin as he plucks its strings.

  "Hey what happened to you. The cat got your tongue. Can't speak. What did you get, a sock on the jaw. You should make love not war. Who you fight with, some crumbum in the street. Grow up. Or sock him first. What's the matter I send you out of here cured and you come back busted. I have a good mind to charge you. You know how much I cost as a doctor. Don't ask. You couldn't afford it. Ask me why they change Eleventh Avenue to West End at Fifty Ninth Street, and Tenth Avenue to Amsterdam and Ninth to Columbus, and Eighth to Central Park West. Because people thought they were big hot shit up there. That's why. And up here I'm looking down into every jackass's chimney stack. Did you scrub your floor like I told you. You see, I know you didn't. Now look at you, can't talk. What the hell's the matter with you, you don't do what I tell you. You think I live for this long and talk bull shit. You got a swollen jaw, slight dislocation, it's going to be all right, nothing broken. Only thing you got going for you now is no one can call you a cocksucker."

  Christian nodding thanks. Rivulets of moisture flow down between the cleavage of the arse. Out the window over the head of my wry little doctor the shadow of this building cast over a mile of rooftops. Over which, if I see the Admiral again, I'll bounce him belly first, black and blue.

  "Hey wait a minute. You want to know how to be happy. I tell you. Every day you should walk sixty blocks. To keep the muggers away, make like you're a little crazy. Thirty downtown, thirty uptown. Then go to the Sixth Avenue Delicatessen. Order a hot pastrami on rye, use plenty of mustard, a dish of coleslaw, a bottle of beer. Watch the fucked up expressions on the faces of your fellow man. And be glad you're not like that.''

  Nurse putting my file away. Genital glow of her smile. The little doctor singing and plucking his violin again as I go out the door. Strange pains in my chest. A few up the arse as well. Thousand directions to head when I go out of here. Instead of back to Mott.

  Elevator packed with a batch of Atlanta Georgia straw hatted, whale bone corsetted Colonial Dames of America. As we plunge down perfumed smothered to the street again. Except that, good lord someone on this elevator has stepped-in dog shit. Use my ventriloquist's technique to sneak some words out from my beleaguered jaws. Choose a roundabout way to civilly suggest.


  "Forgive me madam, I happen to be standing rather close to you and I wonder might I ask if you and your friends are Daughters of the American Revolution."

  "O my, how did you ever know."

  "I knew madam.''

  "Well isn't that something, Jean, this young man knew we were daughters."

  "My jaw's broken, and I really regret having to mutter to you in this way, but one of your party has, I am sure, stepped into canine excrement.''

  Lady's face flushing pink and patches of red appearing on her throat. As all elevator chat ceases with another fifty two floors to go. In agonizing silence. Almost impossible for me to utter anything right these days. But I can't stand anymore stink. Whole bloody lot staring at me. During this eternal ear popping descent. And noses twitching as they sniff. The whole god damn bunch are deliberately smelling me.

  Elevator loading and unloading. Christian threading his way through the noisy chattering lobby. And out on the street past a man selling rosary beads and polka dot bow ties. Go west in one's misery towards the docks. Where the big ships can take you away. Sail out just as I sailed in. On a monstrous boatload of sorrow.

  Christian stopping where it says Tavern. Go in here and have a glass of beer. Pulling open this swing door into darkness. Move down this long mahogany bar. Cooler than the heat of the street. Fans whirring. Blow away the smell of that elevator. White aproned avocado bellied bartender wiping up the slops of beer. Pass a little group of four in earnest conversation.

  "Now why don't you get wise."

  "Why don't you get wise."

  "I am wise."

  "A wise guy."

  "Hey both you wise guys dry up. And let's have four more beers. Give that guy one who just came in. He looks unhappy."

  Raise my glass in a silent salute of thanks. Because if I felt like speaking I'd say no thanks. Come in here to a whole new world. Take refuge at random. Sit on a bar stool and think. Feel alive working in a funeral parlor and now see death groping in every corner of my brain. Whole city staring awake at night. By day another black gentleman sticking his prick in the subway train. To a bunch of mother fucking white cocksuckers. And a greasy faced lady of riper years jumping up with her knitting in one hand, tried to grab it. He retreated along the platform pushing and shoving his prick back into his trousers. As she followed shouting, wait a minute I want to talk to you. For light relief I went up to street level to take a walk in the park. On top of a boulder in the sunshine, eight guys wearing lipstick sitting in a circle jerking off. Waved and invited me to join. As one marked time with a tambourine. And coming along the path in nice linen suit and white spats, an elderly man passing me said welcome to the asylum.