“Sir, allow me to put to the side here for you, some harengs frais grillé with sauce moutarde.”
Of course, at that, the lady at the next table, of some elegance herself and a widow of an ambassador, complained. Whereupon the waiter courteously served her with the same dish while explaining in whispers that Gainor, as well as being my chief of protocol, was an already-paid-for first-class passenger. And that I, as well as my being royalty from a damn good principality, was one of Cunard’s largest shareholders. And next, a little card was presented to both Crist and I, inviting us to her commodious cabin for drinks. And my God, she too became instantly and irrevocably another infatuée of Gainor’s. And, as he described, was picking up his scent and always on his trail where’er he went on the ship.
As the fourth day dawned aboard the Franconia, we had set sail and, Chedabucto Head abeam, entered out upon the white-capped Atlantic Ocean. Riding the northern edge of the Gulf Stream across the grand banks, the snow was falling out of deeply overcast sky and the wind was howling in the rigging. The western Atlantic basin passing beneath the hull, we were not that far out to sea when the stern of the vessel was ascending and descending in the water like an elevator, and the ship’s screws occasionally fanning the wind and the bow pointing to the sky. The storm had veered unpredictably and had now caught up with us just south of Cape Race, Newfoundland, where we hit the Labrador current from the Arctic. In the brilliantly navigated Franconia, the rolling massive seas ahead neatly split apart by the sharp black prow, the foredeck becoming awash. It was an ocean splendor to witness as the spray of the sea descended upon those who had their sea legs.
And indeed rough it was. The ship no picnic for those of queasy stomach. Folk becoming fast sparse, disappearing to their bunks and beds below, it did not take many hours to transform the ship into a ghostly emptiness. At each seating for meals, fewer and fewer attending. Even members of the crew were vanishing. And as I struggled to stay at our humble table, my appetite now had well nigh disappeared. But Gainor, totally unperturbed, was eating anything and everything our waiter continued with kindly indulgence to provide from the first-class menu. Not that it was that much different from tourist and certainly no more nourishing. At one sitting, I had listed Gainor’s smashing back a bottle of wine, devouring noodles Alfredo, sinking his incisors into roast duckling and then licking his chops, following wiping plates clean of portions of fresh pork brawn, oeufs tartare and split veal kidneys smothered in parsley butter. My final demise starting in the middle of this lunch, just as the last of the split veal kidneys were disappearing into Gainor’s mouth, when the ship gave a sudden lurch as it slammed into a massive wave.
“Are you all right, Dinnlay. You suddenly seemed to have turned a pale version of green.”
I’M OK,
BUT YOU, I FEAR,
MAY HAVE TO EAT
MY SPLIT VEAL KIDNEYS
“I shall indeed, of course, Dinnlay, see to it that no leftover embarrassment is to be seen remaining on your plate. But you must, you know, try to eat.”
The very hardiest people who were left now began to desert their tables. But with one’s sense of loyalty as a former naval person with Crist, I thought I would try to hang on. Remembering my first ever having been seasick en route up Chesapeake Bay aboard a U.S. Navy minesweeper when having a wonderful lunch of ham baked with pineapple, all of which I had to deposit overboard. And all of which made me not particularly favor ham and pineapple ever since. The dining room now looking quite bereft, I made an effort to at least pick at my food while Gainor had no troubles of any description, golfing down into his hole in one cup, the French asparagus spears mousseline, followed by peaches flambées in kirschwasser. But as usual, he was extremely solicitous of my discomfort.
“But too, Dinnlay, we must not let vanity get the better of us. Or let a sense of ceremony intervene. Do take your leave if you feel like yawking. If you should like to make for the open deck, the lee is on starboard at the moment.”
DON’T WORRY
I WON’T YAWK HERE
I’LL GIVE MYSELF TIME TO GET THERE
I clung on till breakfast next day with just Gainor and five others left in the dining room. Gainor’s advice to eat well did help settle the stomach. However, following boiled eggs and a plate of bacon, I had at this point nearly to give up. But still desperately clung on to make it to lunch, only to have to finally rush from the table just as the appetizer Helford oysters with Creole relish was served. Leaving in solemn, solitary occupation, with both plates in front of him, in a now almost completely empty dining room, Gainor Stephen Crist.
GAINOR, SORRY
TO HAVE TO DESERT YOU
“Ah, Dinnlay, you fought the battle long and well. But always remember, such discomfort is in a good cause, for we are at last on our way to Ireland. A great fine land for both sorrow and love. And where we shall be able to find festive comfort through the night in the pubs and then be able to cure our hangovers in the early morning drinking houses of Dublin.”
With the captain’s splendid navigation, everything on shipboard soon returned to normal when calmer seas were reached. And after a day’s convalescence, I reappeared. Then under the duress that I continue to keep my mouth shut and my pen busy writing notes, I was introduced to a marvelously attractive and pleasant girl by Gainor by the reassuring name of Joyce. Who patiently read my scribbled woes. And even read the manuscript of S.D. And was full of every encouragement. Always marvelous what an admiringly handsome, sympathetic girl can do for one’s spirits. My journey now when Gainor was otherwise occupied was so much less lonely. And as Gainor’s fame spread along with my own invented fame, a few eccentric first-class passengers were now even more aggressively slumming in order to see and meet him. They were not disappointed. Splitting their sides as he performed his mimed antics as a surgeon in an operating theater botching an operation.
Meanwhile, during dinner, I was summoned to the radio shack, and, as the purser’s assistant whispered in my ear, everyone in the dining room assumed that a coup had taken place in my principality and that I was about to instruct my loyal generals to execute the previous puppet government. At least this was the kind of story that Gainor always had ready to unleash on those nosy enough to want to know, and only God knows what he said as I nervously and speedily left the table. And I did break my vow to Gainor not to speak aboard ship when I tried to hear through the static the voice on the other end.
“Hello. Hello.”
“Hey, J.P. It’s me, April. I’ve been trying to get you for five days. You two guys just upped and beat it on the very night I was giving you both the best going-away party ever seen in this town in my swell new stupendous penthouse apartment high up over everything, where I’m enjoying its Florentine palace splendor like it was in the movies, lit with lights, festooned with flowers, heaped with wonderful food, bottles of all the best beers, whiskeys, bourbons and champagnes. Not to mention a bottle even of Rebel Yell for Gainor. And the whole night turned into a funeral. I had to get the hell out of that place where the girl downstairs was driving me out of my mind with what I knew she was doing with her Great Dane. Hey, J.P., turn around and come back, will you. Hey, can you hear me. Come back.”
Before I could speak the static drowned out April’s voice, and, the ship’s radio officer losing contact, I couldn’t hear her again. I stood there in the chill strangeness of dials and pinpoints of light and sound of other signals coming over the airways. The radio officer quietly solicitous, assuming from the solemnity of my face that I had received bad news. When I told Gainor, he just sat staring and remained as silent as I was. It was perhaps the only really sad moment we were to know crossing the Atlantic.
With the ship tranquil again, Gainor rushed to take part in each of the events listed in the daily program. Hurrying along the windy decks or to be met on a companionway staircase, he was always on the move. To play anything or take part in whist or bridge or bingo. And, unbelievably, considering past injury to
his knees, he employed his astonishing reflexes to beat everyone at table tennis. And I found him staring with satisfaction at his name posted as winner outside the purser’s office. But with a dud partner, he came in only second at shuffleboard, and when this result was appended outside the purser’s office he was more than a little miffed. But in such a sophisticated man, I simply could not believe at what I was witnessing. His wholehearted embracing of tourist-orientated shipboard life and his endless readiness to engage in every single activity. Always the first to enter the quiz competition and return his answers to the purser’s office. Always the first to his seat for the recorded concert. He even presented himself as Abraham Lincoln in the fancy dress parade. His energy astonishing. His enthusiasm knowing no bounds. Daring even to suggest, instead of Abraham Lincoln, he present himself at the fancy dress parade as a madam of a bordello. But thank God, his young ladies gown proved many sizes too small.
GAINOR IT’S RUSH
RUSH RUSH
ABOARD THIS SHIP
“And why not, Dinnlay, and why not.”
And Gainor, by his indefatigable example, did buck me up. And I tried to join him for morning beef tea and music at teatime. Plus the film shown at four P.M. and the cocktail hour at six. Although it was clear that Gainor was not caring a damn as to what was going on in the outside world, he would, reception conditions permitting, go to listen to the news broadcast at six-thirty P.M. He even exerted some friendly persuasion upon the kid in my cabin when, somewhat chastened, the kid was returned to shipboard life and warned not to piss again from his bunk in the middle of the night. Gainor seemed a friend and confidant to all and despite his daily appointment-filled life, there he was at nine-fifteen P.M., front row at the recorded orchestral selections and with his now silver flask of brandy given him by the ambassador’s widow, who said he so reminded her of her late husband in the way he was sympathetic in manner, ministerial in mien and charming in all company. That she wanted him to have something which belonged to the man she’d married and loved. In short, just as he must have done as an acting host for Pan American Airways, Crist enchanted this ship and brought to nearly all aboard solace and comfort. His only regret being that clocks were retarded one hour at midnight, making the enjoyment of his day that bit shorter for activities. Some of which he admitted might involve the odd frisson occasioned in the time spent in the privacy of his stateroom. Where we were sitting one evening having a predinner glass of the remains of the gallon bottle of Chianti, and Gainor suddenly became a mite serious.
“As we are now midway between two continents, Dinnlay, and as I clearly see the increase in thickness of the number of sheets upon which you make your little shipboard notes, I’m sure, as it would be impossible for you not to, you must occasionally be including mention of me. So I would like to make it known that at least while I live and breathe that you promise you will never disclose what has taken place aboard this ship concerning my more personal activities.”
WHY
“Because, quite simply, your often acutely observant and detailed observations might be misunderstood.”
AND WHAT WOULD HAPPEN
IF I DID DISCLOSE
AND IT WERE
MISUNDERSTOOD
“Something awful usually takes place.”
SORRY
TO HEAR THAT
I TAKE IT THAT
LADIES ENAMORED OF YOU
WHO CATCH YOU WITH YOUR TROUSERS DOWN
WITH ANOTHER WOMAN
GIVE YOU WHAT FOR
“Ah, Dinnlay, you have caught exactly the substance of the matter. Again, quite simply, I would as a result be savaged.”
GOOD GOD
“Fingernails used as claws gouging deep ruts down my face.”
BUT
DEAR ME
COULDN'T YOU RUN
FOR IT
“Not when this most oft times takes place in closed and deliberately locked rooms from which there is no escape.”
HEAVENS
HOW THEN DO YOU
POSSIBLY PROTECT YOURSELF, SINCE
YOU ARE THE
QUINTESSENTIAL GENTLEMAN
AND IT IS FOR YOU
ABSOLUTELY ANATHEMA
TO EVER RAISE YOUR FIST TO WOMEN
TO WIELD THEM
EVEN A WELL-DESERVED
CLOUT
UPON THE OLD GOB
“I get under the bed.”
AH WHAT A GOOD IDEA
“No, Dinnlay, it’s not.”
WHY
“Because under there I am then pursued by the hard poking end of a broom handle. Which is thrust deeply into any part of my anatomy that can be reached. Which means all of me.”
HOLY CHRIST I SUGGEST THEN
YOU HAD BETTER KEEP YOUR
FLY CLOSED
AND I ABSOLUTELY PROMISE
NEVER WHILE YOU LIVE AND BREATHE
TO MENTION
A WORD OF YOUR
CEASELESS WIDESPREAD PHILANDERING
“Dinnlay, put this in your notes that I am desperate to get very old at which time it is rumored one’s gonads rust up, dry up and sometimes even drop off. But meanwhile, I do everything I can to keep the buttons from popping and zip from unzipping my fly. But nature being what it is, one is prodded on to prod others which one trusts will be of the opposite sex. Nature, by the way, seems to have its own methods untaught by mankind, and, if you’ll forgive the expression, it can rather fuck one up. Except for the war, Dinnlay, my father was sending me to Eton, a very English school on the river Thames where my father said the stiff collars and top hats they wear would do me a world of good. You see, Dinnlay, your mother suggested Trinity to you in Ireland, where we had the good fortune to meet. Our pretensions come from our parents’ dreams for us. And then when we don’t live up to our parents’ dreams, we do things to make them shatter even more irrevocably. Ah, but as we soon approach Ireland again, give me your sheet of paper upon which I will write an old Orange song.”
WE’RE UP TO OUR KNEES
IN CATHOLIC BLOOD
AND UP TO OUR KNEES
IN SLAUGHTER
AND IF WE HAD THE POPE
RIGHT HERE, WE’D
DROWN HIM IN
CHIANTI PORTER
Gainor raised his glass in a toast. Although I had never heard him utter a word against religion, the Catholic and Protestant war in Ireland had been one of Gainor’s most consuming fascinations. And when visiting his in-laws of his first wife’s in the north of Ireland, he would, when he heard of such, go anywhere to see an Orangeman’s parade and listen to the fierce beating of the big Lambeg drums. Gainor seemed to especially delight in these four-foot-in-diameter instruments of percussion, the symbol of the Orangemen, which were beaten with two long canelike sticks and with such frenzy as to bloody the wrists and hands of the beater and which represented the ferocity of hatred between the two anciently belligerent tribes. And it was, he said, a battle to the death of the truthful against the dishonest, of the dirty against the clean, of the cowardly treacherous against the bravely honorable. But when asked to say which band was which, he smiled and pronounced,
“Ah, my dear Dinnlay, answering that would imply that I had taken up sides, which would be very much against my principles in such matters. However, what is not against my principles is to drink another toast in Chianti to the Pope. To the Pope, Dinnlay.”
TO THE POPE
“And, Dinnlay, I trust, despite your brief indisposition caused by the heavier seas we encountered, that you are enjoying this trip as much as I am.”
Gainor still presiding at his place at table and who was now shining in radiant splendor in another suit of mine, was still without the vestige of a single ounce of fat upon him. And was as ever, smashing back at a sitting, sauerkraut juice, clam chowder, fried smelts, noodles Bolognaises, braised beef à la mode, onions au jus, mashed potatoes, a portion of lamb’s liver smothered in onions with an on-the-side dish of rolled ox tongue, spiced ham and galantine of chicken.
He was clearly the blue-ribbon winner and the all-time champion eater of crossing the Atlantic. The easily amused waiter still dancing delighted and almost hysterical attendance upon him. And once following a substantial number of main courses and Crist wiping the plates clean of pineapple crush pie and an assortment of Wensleydale, Cheddar and Cheshire cheese, washed down by glasses of rich red wine at one shilling a glass, which I was glad to buy him, the waiter on returning to the galley door, suddenly doubled up with laughter at the stupendous, unceasing appetite of this man and dropped an entire tray of dishes. And then slipping on some butter grease, fell on his own arse. Whereupon the next waiter emerging from the kitchen tripped over him and dumped his own entire tray of chocolate custard puddings down on his head.
“Mike, despite our waiter having just broken about fifty dishes and undergone a sudden ethnic color change to his face, I regard him as one of the very best in his long suffering profession and intend to dispatch a list of commendations concerning him to Cunard’s managing director as soon as we return to London.”
GAINOR, THAT MIGHT BE ILL ADVISED
AS YOU MIGHT THEN BE PRESENTED WITH
AN ADDITIONAL BILL, JUDGING BY THE
AMOUNT OF FIRST-CLASS CUISINE
YOU HAVE CONSUMED
The storm left far behind, the submariner was now taking three-instead of two-hour sessions in the cabin with his lady and was polishing off two bottles of wine. While Gainor gave as explanation of his appetite that he burned inordinate amounts of energy trying to avoid being demolished by me at chess. However, he in turn had demolished all at draughts and dominoes and while waiting for new challengers, he now sat alone for periods in the ship’s lounge by day and then would by evening station himself high up in the boat deck smoke room bar located behind the funnel amidships. And there I would come to find him as we merrily and now smoothly sailed on with a much appreciated lack of the ship’s pitching and rolling. And Gainor on this night was quaffing a predinner sherry, as one imagined he might one day do in his London club when qualified as a barrister and taken silk in the interests of British justice. And the bartender at this bar this night, polishing glasses, nodded assent as Gainor indicated in sign language for replenishment, waving a pair of eyeglasses borrowed from his lady admirer to read the Ocean Times, daily delivered under one’s cabin door. And on this occasion, as I entered, Gainor, upon seeing me, closed a book and immediately rose from his seat to click his heels and bow.
The History of the Ginger Man: An Autobiography Page 41
