‘Good lord.’
‘Damn right good lord. Wouldn’t be surprised if there weren’t a queue of chaps waiting outside her door. Now come, this way. Into my little pub. Had it built in the middle of this ten foot thick wall. Come in here when I’m down in spirits, enjoy to get behind the bar and make myself a drink. You know chaps like us ought to stick together. By jove. Louts trying to take over the country. Army of insurrection. By God I’m ready for them.’
Nails with radiant shirt cuffs joined by pea size rubies, putting two tumblers on the gleaming mahogany bar. With a key on a long gold chain across his cummerbund he unlocks a cut glass cabinet full of bottles.
‘Now what will it be. Whiskey.’
‘Fine.’
‘Dear boy here’s to the Macfuggers and Clementines. There are no little Macfuggers yet but by God I’ll have Gail up the pole before the winter’s out.’
Lady Macfugger entering the salon in black. Her shoulders graceful and spare. Veronica in white, her hair up. A pair of strong shapely arms. Blue little veins over the biceps. A glittering diamond brooch at the division of her breasts. Nails forced out from behind the bar of his pub. A butler appearing called Bonaparte. A thin man in an outsize suit. Nails declaring he had caught the bugger tippling and now having put all the drink under lock and key the man had lost an incredible amount of weight. In this cushiony sweet opulence. Sparkling chandeliers, glowing Meissen and Dresden. Lady Macfugger’s lingering smile across her splendid teeth. Each line of her face a smooth fleshed contour. Nourished by titbits from banquets. Makes her elegantly radiant. From my spirit damp cobwebs lift. Shutters closed over great windows. Hidden in here cosy and warm from a wintry stormy night. Among saved up treasures gathered over the years. To make and keep everything nice for the eye, nose and ear. And maybe even other parts as well.
‘By God Clementine stay over night.’
‘Thank you but I think I’d better get back.’
‘Get back, by God, you haven’t learned the rules of country living. The grass goes on growing whether you’re there or not. Ruddy beasts go on grazing, the bull is nosing around plunging it into every heifer in heat. I mean to say we’ll get out there after dinner in the black knickerbockers and play havoc with the poachers. Gail’s got a room all ready.’
‘Yes please, why don’t you stay Mr Clementine, do, it’s so seldom we have anyone we can socialize with.’
‘Ha Clementine, listen to that. She means I’ve insulted all her friends. Not a ruddy one of them save good old Veronica here will set foot in this house and I’m damn glad of it.’
‘Jeffrey there is no need to elaborate.’
‘Who’s elaborating. Bunch of prigs.’
‘Prigs. You call people priggish objecting when their host opens his trousers and confronts a mixed party by peeing upon the carpet in front of them.’
‘I say there Gail, that’s an aspersion. Cast if I may say so without warrant upon my person. Bonaparte was holding my pewter piss pot, peed in by Macfuggers over the centuries. Not my fault it had a hole in it. By God no gentleman worth his salt leaves his guests to take a pee.’
‘You had a distinct erection.’
‘It was not distinct. It was quite partial. And even pale if I may say so. Clementine knows you can’t pee through a full erection.’
‘Well let’s stop this sordid talk.’
‘Clementine don’t take on the marriage vows. I had to myself because I needed the mullah. Otherwise be sitting in here without a roof on the place with an open camp fire against the wall. But by God that will suit me fine if the day comes. What the hell, healthy air and if you can get a good feed into you once a day. Now there’s my girl Veronica, keeps a ruddy photograph album. Gail here didn’t want my appendage included. Of course her former husband you know used to invite his old public school friends home to bed, isn’t that right Veronica.’
‘Yes, quite correct. But you know Jeffrey I feel you’re still in your celluloid penis stage. You’re a bit of a bottom pincher, you know.’
‘Easy girl, by God, no Macfugger has ever shrunk from his stud duty.’
‘You and your grooms skulking in the bushes while I’m swimming in the lough.’
‘By God Veronica, that’s quite below the belt you know. I mean say what you like about me but don’t cast unparliamentary deeds upon my grooms. I think it’s immediately time we attached dinner hooks to wrists and scratched a plate or two. Are you on Clementine. Come ladies. I think I’m dashed hurt. Of course I was in the bushes. You’ve got a pair of boobs my dear girl should be immortalized in the wax museum. Never seen a set like them Clementine. I was stunned. Fell backwards into the mud. Take my hat off to you Veronica when it comes to the body beautiful.’
‘Thank you Jeffrey, you are a deliberate little charmer you know.’
‘Ah God exactly what my regimental sergeant major would say to me. Only he would add sir.’
Bonaparte bowing his head as Lady Macfugger passed on the arm of Clementine. Under a carved walnut arch festooned with lances crossed above another boar grasping a sabre in its mouth while sporting a rather prominent penis and balls. A candle lit banquet hall. Voices echoing. Upwards between the smoky rafters. Hung with army pennants. Vast sideboard of gilt sauce boats, tureens and candelabra. The sweet green smell of ham and cabbage. Two black haired black uniformed girls standing the far end of the room, white lace caps on heads and eyes downcast on their white lace aprons.
Winds howling outside. Bonaparte pouring three champagnes sidling up to an elbow and growling a grunt to make known his presence. The pink mellow grains of ham laid across the gleaming white plates decorated with blue leaves and melons. Dark green buttery leaves of cabbage. Where do all the terrors run and hide. When washed away by wine and strange vast rooms glowing with the fighting spirit of Macfugger. Who lifts great slabs of meat on his plate. And raises his glass with a roar.
‘Clementine. To us. Two last princes of the west. I thought you lot were all finished down over there at the Charnel. But by God we join forces tonight. Our flags will fly together into battle. Are you with me.’
‘Well yes I think so.’
‘Think so. That’s no answer for a Clementine with the three grapes dangling from his vine. These ruddy upstarts have got to be put in their place. Back down where they belong. Nobody is going to dislodge this Macfugger without a fight I can bloody well tell you. One of my grooms will make a good sergeant major. Three of the gardeners can man a mortar, in this kind of terrain it’s a ruddy must.’
Nails Macfugger pounded his fist on the ancient oak table. Her ladyship pursing her lips and peering down her nose to take a corner of her napkin to wipe near her wine glass and raise an eyebrow.
‘Jeffrey I do think you’re troubling Mr Clementine who after all has only just moved in.’
‘My dear girl I have right here in my pocket a threatening letter. By God there may be a lot of damn archbishops among my ancestors but we’ve had our share of admirals and generals, who took not shit from wog nor native. Just listen to this Clementine, the absolute swinish, impertinence. Addressed to me from general headquarters, western army, dear sir I am in receipt of orders from G H Q of the army of insurrection dedicated to driving out the invader, to occupy and hold according to such orders as issued by said G H Q, lands known as ragwort meadows adjoining the river brownwater including die bridge over same and therefore inform you by this present instrument that such lands extending to five hundred and forty six acres, four roods and three perches or thereabouts are as of this letter in the possession and occupation of troops under my command. No person or beast belonging to you will be harmed provided no interference is given while the said armies are on manoeuvres in pursuit of their lawful commands. We require access to hygienic facilities of the manor house and for that purpose a right of way is now declared existing from ragwort meadows along the road marked x y on the ordnance survey map. Upon the overthrow of the present illegal regime you will be made a member of t
he Legion of the Shamrock, and will be decorated with the third degree of the green rosette. Yours faithfully up the republic, Sean Macdurex, Commandant, fourth tank division western army, of the army of insurrection. By God, that’s simply not on. Five hundred acres of some of my best grazing. The first foot put on my land will be writing long distance letters to its ankle. And by God hygienic facilities. Pee and shit in the nobly flower decorated pottery of Macfugger House. Never.’
‘Jeffrey surely they’re joking.’
‘Joking, they’ll wish they were when I’m finished with them.’
‘It’s all so tiresome. But they do say Jeffrey you’ll be made a member of the Legion of the Shamrock.’
‘I should ruddy well hope so.’
Bonaparte whipping up crêpes suzette on a sideboard in a flurry of flame and clanging plates and spoons. Aroma of brandy and sweet sauce in the night air. Gnarled branches of trees across this countryside swept leaning eastwards by a western wind. Veronica snaps her head and takes, a sniff of air. All the land empty, save of beasts and glowering rain. And maybe the insurrecting armies. Ready to mount an attack.
‘By God Clementine after port we’ll have a go. Pick a few pubic hairs off them with a suitable calibre. Now you ladies out you get, while Clementine and I have a man to man followed by uninterrupted peeing into the pewter.’
Silver chalices filled with purple port poured by Bonaparte who shuffles loudly in his big shoes up to one’s elbow. A wine sweet and soft. Ladies gone. Face Macfugger at the head of the table. A smile on his lips. Clipping off an end of cigar. Lighting it from a candle. Blowing out a volume of smoke and quaffing cheekfuls of port.
‘Now Clementine here’s a little sample answer I’ve got worked out for this Macdurex. Tell me what you think. Dear Commandant, if you don’t get your flying columns, motorised infantry, donkey drawn howitzers, sten guns, heavy as well as medium tanks, the fuck out of my meadows I’ll send a shower of withering crossfired shit upon the lot of ye as well as set my hounds to chew off your balls and other extenuating appurtenances. As for your declaration of a right of way to hygienic facilities, anyone of your troops putting a foot in the direction of my water closets will have same decorated with forty five calibre indentations in the shape of a shamrock. How’s that. Signed Macfugger.’
‘Might that incite to a breach of the peace.’
‘Breach of the peace, man. By God, of course. Only way to deal with them. Strap on my two forty fives and I tell you if there are any rich shop keepers among them I’ll have his gold fillings splashing around inside his head. I’ve got this map. Now the plan is I want you to take and occupy this ridge. I’ll be at this point here, ideal for entrenchment and we’ll pick the buggers off, best time is when they’re crouched for a crap. Not a shred of shelter in that area. Pair of balls dangling between the cheeks of the arse makes a marvellous target.’
Macfugger puffing on his cigar, his brows furrowed, a stubby finger pressing the parchment map. A low chuckle as he lefthandedly removes a large black automatic from inside his dinner jacket and clanks it on the oak table.
‘Buggers might be climbing the drains out there. Handy to have what for at an elbow to whistle a few blobs of lead about their hair follicles. You let me know as soon as you have your chaps in decent order. If they can follow a few commands, shoulder arms and that sort of thing. Make some use of that armour you’ve got at the Charnel. Shame about Percival, I think he served. Make you a good sergeant. Be sparing about handing out rank. In that lot of ruddy insurgents every other trooper is commandant. In fact I wouldn’t appoint rank above lieutenant. My old ruddy rank was captain, but I was acting major. Of course as of tonight we’re both raging field marshals. For starters we’ll use my special tactic, barrage various. Casualties will be heavy.’
With a contented growl Macfugger pistol in one hand penis in the other peeing into his pewter pot held by Bonaparte. And leading the way to join the ladies. Gently sitting over tiny glasses of crème de menthe. Take a trip to a new land to rebuild the dignity and fortitude and wake up in the middle of a war. As Macfugger takes us now through a dimly lit passage down stone steps and along a corridor. Outside a door, the key refusing to turn in the lock. Nails aiming the big black automatic. A loud report and the door slumping open. A cackle from Macfugger as he switches on a light flooding over a large billiard table.
‘Nice shooting if I do say so myself.’
‘Jeffrey what is Mr Clementine to think.’
‘Think. By God he’d better think about fighting for his life. This is war. There he is on that wall, the one Macfugger who made field marshal before the drink rotted his brains out. Clementine get yourself a cue. Billiards is excellent practice for the ricochet. Come on you pair of saucy bitches. Just lean over there Veronica and I’ll pot one down your cleavage.’
Bonaparte entering with the chalices of port and liqueurs. He bends in his big baggy black suit to light fires in cavernous grates either end of the damp room. Goes from window to window closing and bolting iron bars across the shutters. Winds rustle ivy leaves out in the night. Portraits of military men in red, black and blue tunics around the walls. Bonaparte brushing flecks from the green felt. The fires blaze. Down in a warm belly the foods lie sweetly. A carnival marching through the brain. Led by Macfugger strutting cue stick in hand. Wielding it mightily in this fight commencing soon for liberty. Bonaparte refilling one’s chalice. As quickly as one takes pleasure in emptying it. Go swinging now through war torn heathers over granite outcroppings hanging by my strengthened thread of life. Far away from that world where they did incredibly mean things to me. Not knowing I was a prince from way back. Faces turned aside when they thought I was going down. One or two even trying to push. As I was beckoned by the pale hand. Come hither. Out of the office where I worked a short while. And stood staring out my corner window. Steam throbbing in the radiator. They said my salary with the years would rise. To where when elderly and nervous and loaded down with all the years of faithful service one gets nudged off into the abyss. Wrote a letter. Dear auntie, you will be glad to hear I am now moving up in the corporation. Our product is doing extremely well. I don’t have the latest figures but it really is taking off. My boss Mr Addenda has been extremely kind and understanding and it is for his sake in trying to keep up my appearance that I have perhaps charged too much to my clothing account for the month of September. There was one football game where I simply couldn’t be seen wearing anything remotely resembling what I wore last year. And while styles have been getting rather tight about the waist and hips, I know you will approve my resisting this trend. I was tempted to add but did not, about the extra looseness I required in the area of the crotch.
‘Your shot Clementine. By God it’s storming up out there. Must stay the night. Can’t let you out over the mountain road in that.’
Macfugger said it was too wild to ferret out poachers. And our little group sat finally to an assortment of nougatine, marzipan and bitter chocolate coated peppermints. Macfugger golfing down the sweetmeats and macaroons, Lady Macfugger the winner at billiards, performed on the harpsichord. She said I had a marvellously straight nose in profile. And I went reeling off following Bonaparte to my room on an undertow of apricot brandy.
Mine was a lacy four poster bed. Whiskey and mineral water on the bedside table. A great marble wash basin on gleaming brass standards tucked underneath fatly with towels. Soaps of fern and sandalwood. Dry smooth sheets. Feather pillows pushing up cosily about one’s head. I could become a permanent inhabitant of Macfugger House. Like Erconwald at the Charnel. Unshifted entrenched and emitting no offence.
Clementine folding a book closed. Called A World History Of The Pox. Lie nude between the sheets. Linens touching first cool now warm. Pink and blue prints on the walls. Custom House and sail ships thronged along a river quay. Grey elevations of town houses, one of a jail. Reach for the little button on a wire to press off the light. The door slowly opening. Curtains billow out letting in a darknes
s on the wind. And Veronica a ghost under a gay striped parasol. Breasts bouncing nakedly. Gliding on high laced black shoed roller skates. Rumbling over the floor.
Here in
This hinterland
Lonely sad and black
There’s a midnight skater
Figure eighting
And that’s
A fact
8
Four days spent bouncing in Macfugger’s strange armoured estate car. Lying in soggy heathers blasting at pheasant. Nails standing with his binocs briefing me as to strategic positions to be manned in case of attack from the army of insurrection. The sun shone this noon with a blue sky rising from the west.
Lady Macfugger retiring mid morning with a demi-tasse and long cheroot which she smoked in the porcelain room. Remarking once more as I happened in there, upon my remarkable profile. She sat in a long satin gown and said she did an hour’s private thinking here each day. Tabulating the thieving of foodstuffs and drink by servants. Her chin high she spoke with a fluttering of eye lids. Picking up her pearls when asking a question and dropping them back and forth on her chest listening to an answer.
My arse and legs ached as Macfugger brought me galloping up into the hills. From where the sea lay distantly blue black. At a canter he blasted innocent rabbits. With each hit reining up his horse, forelegs churning in the sky as he laughed and shook his rifle over his head. The soft moist breezes blowing. Down through wizened oak forests stretching along a valley. Visions of Veronica. Standing muscles rippling across her slim waisted belly. Hands on her hips. Loose hair streaked grey over her shoulders. Long muscles on her thighs. My dear boy she said I am impoverished. You’ve got that commodious castle. Won’t you let me be your housekeeper, I’m cramped in my flat back in town. You’re so young and innocent it makes me cry. I so want to corrupt you. She executed a backwards semi circle on her skates. I lay there terrified by the world history of the pox. And asked as she unlaced her wheeled footwear and put her parasol propped on the dresser, if she had by any chance a communicable disease. She lit up like a floodlight. The easy measured tones. Would you mind repeating that question just in case I heard you wrongly the first time. I tried to point to the volume. Said it’s in there. All about it.
The Onion Eaters Page 11
