A Singular Man by J. P. Donleavy

  "Matilda, draw the drapes."

  George sat chewing the cud over matters. Unhappy memories. The vague muscle in Miss Tomson's arm and the last bang she gave the door and the black mounds of her rear. Is it wrong my mouth waters. Chime of a church steeple tolls seven. How the sound can get through the roar of traffic. Tomorrow morning awake early for a walk in the sun over the snow.

  Goodbye to Matilda. Smith on his way out of Merry Mansions. Crossing the lobby just catching that reassuring polished look of himself in the mirror, when confronted by a gentleman just taking off his hat and taking a hanky to to wipe cold steam from his spectacles.

  "I may have introduced myself before, I'm Mr. Stone, and of course you're Mr. Smith."

  "Hello, Mr. Stone and goodbye, I'm catching a train. Compliments of the season, of course."

  "Mind if we tarry a moment."

  "Afraid I do."

  "In that case might I quickly advise you of certain facts."

  "No time for facts."

  "In that case, I may have to insist. A crack is progressing up through the Goldminer's apartment. They are most disturbed by the appearance of this gulch in their wall since it undermines their confidence in the structure of the building which as you know my management has taken great care to keep sound and durable. I'm sorry to have to say such a thing to you, Mr. Smith, but the management likes to also give the impression of high tone. We feel the tone was kind of lowered by the noisy chase made up through the building."

  "Merely, Mr. Stone, a rather boisterous end to a youth rally. Surely not objected to by any reasonable tenant. A good deal of my time is spent with the underprivileged."

  "Mr. Smith it is my sad duty to inform you that while two tenants of the next building lay innocent in their bed and so far as we can judge by the information available, nearly asleep, they were stunned awake to find themselves covered in plaster."

  "Lucky it was not -"

  "Please don't say it Mr. Smith. I am human too and out for a laugh. But two innocent people of the next building were in their bed asleep and were stunned awake to find themselves covered in, please, plaster. Hugo was on duty. We have evidence members of your youth rally, which again, there's been some question about, that they leaped off the wall nearly going through to these people's bedroom. Luckily the general structure withtook the shock and only the ceiling collapsed."

  "I gather there is a question of money."

  "We shouldn't like to give that exact impression. But of course there is a certain question of satisfaction."

  "My train. Bye bye."

  "My train. Bye "Mr. Smith."

  "Mr. Stone, bye bye, do I make myself clear."

  "Mr. Smith you can't. My management has always been impressed by the respectful and high tone of your personal life. Remember the mosaics. The extra thickness of your door. Remember things like that." of your door. Remember "Bye, bye, Stone."

  "Please, Mr. Smith, I must be instructed. What about this crack sent up the wall from your apartment. I don't know whether you care but the Goldminers are listening through it."

  "What's that, Mr. Stone."

  "I see no way out for you, Mr. Smith. The feelings of the Goldminers have been troubled. I don't know if it's what they're hearing or what. But the rapid appearance of the crack was disconcerting for Mrs. Goldminer especially. She tried covering it with a creeper but they said the racial atmosphere coming through the opening is killing it."

  "I gather there is again a question of money, if not semantics."

  "Of course again there is the matter of satisfaction, Mr. Smith, if not, ha ha, semantics."

  "Be grateful Mr. Stone if you would send all further matters and misunderstandings to my business address, where I will take them up without prejudice."

  "As you wish, Mr. Smith. I think you have acquitted yourself just as the management would have expected you would."

  "I'm pleased you said that, Mr. Stone."

  "We need tarry no longer, Mr. Smith."

  "Then this is goodbye Mr. Stone."

  "Yes, Mr. Smith."

  "Then goodbye."

  "Goodbye Mr. Smith. Merry Christmas."

  "And a yingle yule to you Mr. Stone."

  Hugo sheepish at the door. How intolerable can this entrance get. Rumour has it he had doings with the aristocracy. Even rode a horse. Hightailing it round a palace on speaking terms with crowned heads. Titillated with his past tone as a present footboy. Merry Mansions had a certain Hilda before the elevator became automatic. With whom, I have it on good authority, Hugo was not past the odd knee trembler.

  "Good evening Hugo/'

  This is quite interesting. No answer. Seems he is looking up in the sky at the threatening snowflakes which are beginning to fall. It would seem this could be a struggle of wills.

  "I say there, Hugo, taxi."

  This is enthralling. If I had the time one might try a triple hot foot. He heard me speaking to Mr. Stone. It would seem in life when all is said and done that it is unwise to speak to anyone if it can be avoided. I don't suppose it has ever passed through his head that I am a shareholder in the management and could lop his ears off.

  "I say there, my good man. You there. I say. Bung ho. Over the top. Charge."

  This is quite beyond comprehension. Must have his ear plugs in. Like myself he has had experience with the military. Naturally one tries comraderie when possible. When leading men it is essential not to be scared. Taking the season into account I will not utter some taboo word. I will try volume.

  "Taxi."

  Hugo stiffened. Boy how he would like to spin around and snarl. However there was need to shout. Normally I would crawl out into the snow on the fours rather than be unkind. But you see Hugo I must have a taxi to take me to the station.

  Snowflakes coming thick round the orange canopy, George climbing in on the leather seat. Pulling bag behind. Door slamming resoundingly. Taxi man saying to Hugo,

  "Easy on the vehicle bud."

  'Driver Grand Central please. Want to make an eight o'clock train."

  "Not in this snow, mister."

  "I quite understand."

  "You do."

  "Yes."

  "In that case you'll be there at a quarter to eight or my name's not Silvershit."

  "I beg your pardon."

  "It's terrible. That's my handle. How do you like that for a handicap. Always I know if a guy's laughing in the back of the cab he's checking with my credentials."

  Smith viewing this unfortunate name on the back of the seat beneath the victim's picture. Outside the snowflakes were big and blanketing the streets sofdy. Exhaust billowing whitely out behind the cars.

  Taxi plunging under the gloom of the river bridge. Dark shelter from the snow. Black figure slumped against the stone. George drawing elbows in close around the ribs. Past Golf Street. Ghost of Miss Tomson. Will flit up and down there for years.

  "How's that mister, got sixteen minutes to spare."

  "Most impressive. This is for you. Merry Christmas."

  "I can't take this. It would ruin the whole gesture. I know materialism is important but every once in a while I like to fight against it, that way I can really go in for a big kill without feeling guilty."

  The station tonight, straggling late travellers maybe each looking for a companion. But crossing this huge marble hall with just my lonesome self. With the snowy night and nip outside. The pushed down hats and collars up. Group of girls in furs. Standing at the clock. With bags at feet. Magazines under the arms. All the trains waiting down on the tracks. I go in the entrance over there with a list of wistful destinations. Stop.

  Up beyond in the distance on the balcony, the head moving tall and collected above the rail. It isn't. It is.

  Couldn't be. All the way here I saw her coming out of lavish doorways. Now coming down the steps. She looks like it was all made for her. And it is. I'm overcome to run. With a heart so hurt. God gave me this chance again. If I walk with my head down I could walk right in
to you. You might just say oaf.

  Smith bought a paper. Folding it up under his arm. Nearly put it up in front of the face. Thought my courage was rock solid. Could walk simply up. Miss Tomson, it's me. You look dazzling, unemployed. Knew all you needed was to get away from me. Til go on your train anywhere you're going. Oaf, I am going on a gold train with silver wheels. Reserved.

  Can't face it. Turn away. Collar up. Hunch over and proceed to the entrance where the machine will take me away. A child no longer and must not squirt emotion all over the place. If you have behaved in a dastardly manner reconciliation is abomination. If it has been interpreted that I am low down I shall not give my person to further trampling and general wiping like a mat. To the ramp. And down down to the trains.

  Slide in on the wicker seat. Executed the swinging of the bag up nicely. I'm sure other passengers noticed how neatly it was done. Double dirty windows looking out in the dark. O.K. conductor, driver, I'm ready to go. But she could have seen my sad back as I went in the entrance. I bent specially over and then with neat linen blew my nose. Had to stop to do this. Then she could have seen the figure I was. Alone, not in the best of taste, a cuff of a trouser eaten away by a moth, and a rubber sole just beginning to peel back from the toe of my shoe. But I picked up the bag again and descended to track thirteen. Hoping desperately for a tap on the shoulder.

  The paper says there will be crisp cold. That north of cities and towns there may be flurries of snow, a powdery kind swirling in the wind. And ice will form. Should have brought my skates. But this would have encouraged jeers over the cocktails, Smith behaving younger than his age. Have a good mind to descend to the lake and skate by moonlight. Who was that figure zigzagging like lightning across the ice last night. Ah ha, you cocktailers. Ah ha.

  And we move. Train lights dim. Through the pillars across this tunnel I see other trains. All late night travellers so sad and I suspect flatulent. Lamps lit on the tables. Wonder why we all bother coming and going. It's the money gentlemen. I travel for love. I go because I feel while perhaps passing in some strange hall, using some strange toilet I may find a moment of reverie. Or a touch or feel I've not had before. I am fond of stripping the bark from a branch and handling the sappy wood. And out under wild skies when spring is there I take down the dog wood flower and hold it.

  Train comes up out of the dark. Swaying swiftly on the tracks past the windows of the underprivileged. Bunch of little thieving carol singers. Where was Miss Tomson going. Seeing someone she can fall in love with. Maybe a socialite she met through her brother. And they'll all be busy with hi, goodbye, hello, so long. She'll go slapping backs. Or go on her own where no one can slap hers. I have no right to object to an employee's private life but I know she would never do these things when she worked for me. Exposed now to the incredible vulgarity of these flashy rich.

  Train tonight quite packed. With gentlemen, coats hung up and hats spotted with melting snow. Salary earners. That chap there is smug in his newspaper with pride in his firm. Until his services are no longer required. I have had profit never having had salary. Stacking the former away. Except when pressed to buy some contraption like the happy awaking machine. Leaking on me in a sinking dream. Give it to Matilda. Who sometimes I wonder if she is all right upstairs. What's this idea feel me. Just as I'm sitting in Merry Manse trying to get the whisky down to take the pressure off. She says feel me, go ahead. I expected her to say George any second. No doubt right now she's got the candles burning and my music on. I don't mean it's mine really. She can listen if she wants. Just makes me feel she couldn't possibly be keeping the place clean seduced with some of the tunes I've got which drive Matilda mad. One particular memory gives me shudders. Matilda on her back in the middle of the floor kicking her legs in the air. I said Good God, she's gripped by some malady. I thought give her something but I could see it was no use. I could never get close enough to her mouth. And I did a terrible thing because I was thinking treat shock with shock. And rushed to the closet and ripping it off the wall. I turned the extinguisher on her. She lay wiggling under the great creamy bubbling blanket and said man I just love that. Naturally I called a doctor. And we consulted there in silence ankle deep in foam. Seemingly there was some question as to who was the patient. As God help me, I happened to be in bathing costume.

  In the station tonight nearly ten miles back I did not have the courage to go up and just say, Sally hello. And come let's tear a claw off some lobster. I know from experience that no woman refuses to eat seafood. And Miss Tomson with that tall frame to keep trim cannot lightly turn down the protein. There through the train window, a cemetery high on a hill, great white mausoleums, chilled shadowy crazy trees. In there too I have problems which tonight I shall not go into but get up and go to the bar. Down to the end of the train. All the boozers float back here. To sit quietly letting the mind run away.

  Smith in the cocktail bar. All blue and smoke where he sat in a club chair as they would seem to have it. Tinkle, the ice rocking in the glasses. People sparkling. Lampposts go by outside. Under which streams the snow. I wear my long red underwear. Calmly under the trouser leg. Waiter in light blue. Only white thing in sight is his towel.

  "Waiter, a cocktail."

  "Of what variety or nature sir."

  This is a new sympathetic behaviour I have not noticed before on trains. I think, place the tennis ball back in his court.

  "I'd appreciate your suggestion in the matter."

  "Sir, you might try a derobe, popular with our evening travellers."

  "I beg your pardon, waiter."

  "Sir, derobe-"

  "I most certainly will not."

  "Sir, it happens to be the name of the drink if you don't mind."

  "In that case make it double strength."

  Must close eyes. Relax. Fold the hands. Wearing red underwear the mere suggestion of undress is frightening. I can't even cross my legs with abandon for fear the garter gives and die red shank shows. For a late train of travellers there seems to be a note of merriment. Can't see down to the end but the laughter could almost be described as obvious. Even sounds like somewhat pushy laughter I've heard before. For once I feel I'm not being watched. Train moving too fast for a telescope to focus. And from the shadows looks like a rather sympathetic bunch of people. Tall with mouthfulls of even teeth with which they smash ice cubes at will. Ah, waiter. I see a cherry goes with the derobe. And a mint leaf. Hopeless to shield one's privates. However looks good floating in this tea tinted specialty.

  "Pardon me waiter, how did this rather fascinating name come about."

  "Simple. Woman comes in one evening. Says she wants something really new that no one has ever had before so Franz concocts this. She sits down drinks it, and next we're looking at her stark naked, we almost had to stop the train. So derobe."

  "How refreshing."

  "Took five attendants from the loony to hold her down. Lucky we were near the State Hospital at the time."

  "You don't say."

  "And mister, yours is double. But I think she was crazy before she drank it."

  "Comforting. Thanks for the folklore."

  "Anytime."

  George put his lips to the edge of the glass. Sweet but soft. Just touch the cherry with the tongue. Nice little cherry. Can never remember no matter how long I mix in circles whether to take the mixer out of the cocktail. Don't like dripping on the table or poking out my eye. What's this standing in front of me.

  "Hey don't leave your mixer in the glass."

  "Sally, I megn Miss Tomson."

  "Sally, why not."

  "Sit down, Miss Tomson."

  "I only just got up to go to the ladies. The rocking of the train makes me want to go. See you on the way back. What are you doing on this train. You don't have to answer that, see you on the way back."

  Wham in just a flash she has me intimidated. What a time for her to pee. God let us get off at the same stop together. No God, let me rephrase that. Just let us continue on this tr
ain before reaching any stops. I want time. Must be some surreptitious way I could sneak on the brakes. Or even a slight derailment in open country where Miss Tomson and I must trudge through underbrush looking for a farmhouse. But there is none and we've got to make the best of my coat for both of us, trying our level best to conserve body heat by proximity. Passing a river now. My God, there's the cemetery. Thought we had passed it already must have been dreaming. Great white houses of the dead, lonely in there at night. How's my plot. Engineers say some difficulty with the foundations and a reappraisal of costing is necessary. Whoosh. Up goes the price to box me. Never let Miss Tomson see those letters. Get the impression I was deeming demise. Suppose it's foolish of me, but I sometimes feel things are too complicated for me to die. feel things are too complicated

  "Hey anyway, Mr. Smith -"

  "Miss Tomson will you join me for a drink."

  "Can't. I'm with people."

  "Just one, Miss Tomson."

  "Can't get over it, isn't it rich, you right in here all the time and I didn't see you. No I really can't."

  "You didn't collect your last pay check."

  "Forget it, Mr. Smith. Hey you're derobing."

  "Won't you join me ha ha, Miss Tomson."

  "Ha ha, Smithy, since you put it like that, sure. Always willing to take off my clothes. But I can't stay. See down there. No you can't see. But see what you can see, the big blue shadow, that's my brother."

  "Amazing shadow."

  "Yesh."

  "Waiter. Two derobers here."

  "You catch on fast mister."

  George had never been good at the fast remark. Miss Tomson brings that out. Must put up some sort of show. She's been amused down there with her brother and his socialites. She could easily slip back into that life. I'm so nervous. Just not made for making smart remarks. The waiter in his kind anticipation of a dp could see I was new at it. Let me get away without crushing me altogether. I have warm inner feelings which explode resoundingly at boiling point.