A Singular Man by J. P. Donleavy
"This is the way we used to be, George."
"I've just stopped for traffic lights."
"Are you sitting up George."
"I'm waiting for the lights to change."
"And we should have been like this more often. Don't you think, George."
"Beep beep, I'm going again."
"Should we have a crash."
"Are you suggesting I'm not a careful driver."
"No George."
"Well watch it, beep beep."
"I can see you George. I can."
"He he. I can you too, Shirl."
"We've wasted so much time, George, haven't we."
"Don't drive your car too close."
"I want you to crash into me."
"Safety first."
"George."
"What are these Shirl."
"Feel them."
"Wow."
"Feel this."
"What is this Shirl."
"This is what I want you to feel."
"I'd be a fool to feel it."
"Be a fool and feel it."
"What a foolish feeling."
"Just because you're feeling foolish."
Reach out a hand to help. It's only polite. And she puts up her wrist and a hand softer than I ever thought it could be. This holiday in the country in the red underwear. O I raged. Of course I was insulted. How did she get over to the bed, in just the gold slippers. Climb right up on top and sit on it like a flagpole. I was thinking of just going into the village to buy a soda. Miss Tomson please don't go loose and lax at the holiday house party, all yule and yessy. Or engage with the empty balled vice presidents. What right have I to persist, I daren't even call you Sally in my dreams. Just press my face into Shirl's headlamp. Most comforting thing you can do. I hate cars. But amazing the lies you get up to in order to bring upon complete delusion. She's just come here like this to use me. Not for my personality but my organ.
"You like it, George."
What can you say to that. No. I don't like it. I suppose I could have a machine under the bed answering back in firm tones, yet giving way slightly to the emotional excitement of the time. Gee, Shirl And Miss Tomson you touched my knee however briefly or lighdy you touched it. I'm glad you didn't lean forward and grab. It was a movement of the arm. That light tap on the knee. Wanted so much to see your face and your wave goodbye. I was too full of seeing myself watched by the whole train as passengers wiped the sweat from the windows, all faces pressed on glass and they all began to sing together, up out of their seats, train's leaving, rush to the end of the car and all wave, can't see the faces for the hands, or Miss Tomson's because they're all so sad I'm gone, in there struggling to say goodbye to me. The train just clicked down the track away. And I was left.
"George I like my bread and butter."
Only that it's dark someone would be watching us from a far hillside with field glasses. I can't match Shirl's lightning conversation. Am I her bread and butter. Does she spread me. Like now. This could not have happened with the lights on when we would have behaved like adults. She's stitchless save slippers just like her bravado in early marriage when I told her I would never have her scramble my eggs without her clothes on. No nude cooking. Garments must be worn in the kitchen. When we early loved she said she liked to hold it, talk to it, tell it stories as it stood and rub it softly on her eyes, good for the sight. Now grabs my belly in handfuls. Just to bring out my inferiority. For her age not bad, still built. Women flower annually and maybe I'm catching her in bud or she's in bud and I'm her bee. And if I gave orders for the parade. Shirl shows up with cigarette holder. Of course the first four will carry drums. Naturally, why wouldn't they carry drums. It is agreed among us that the rear shall be brought up by a steam organ. A musical one.
"Fat belly George, what are you mumbling."
She butts in just as I was going to give the signal for the parade. Let us again recast the scene. Four drummers first. The balloon carriers each with a hand on the hot steam organ will naturally bring up the rear. Shirl, will you get back, out of the way, I happen to be the director of this parade. Yeah, I'm the director. Not be intimidated by your breasts which drove me into wedlock, sagged and stared at me ever since. I had the steam organ specially brought from a country where it was the last one. You've always wanted to steal the stage from me. Until naturally I got up this here parade to bring back my self respect. Now get back in line with the rest. You heard me. Get back. Now I want four people to come forward and volunteer to carry the community chest. In which of course is the brass pig. All employees of George Smith please step forward and take your places in the central position. Gosh, only Miss Martin. Get back Shirl. You just spend my money, you don't help me make it. Put away that cigarette holder and wipe that smile off your face. O.K. all of you to whom I have given scrolls of merit, hold them up. Gee, I hope you deserve them*
"George don't slip out it's a year since you were in."
I'm just ready to give the signal to march but I can't with these constant interruptions. The steam organ is losing valuable steam. Almost forgot the friends I had in childhood. Slip them between people who live in Merry Mansions who have just rushed out because the Gold-miners set it on fire. Members of The Game Club take up the rear, each carrying an acorn as an item reminding us that any one of us can get bigger than we appear on the surface. Shirl get back in line. Nobody wants to keep in line these days. All out for special attention. Do it once more Shirl and you're out of the parade for good. And cut out the immoral gestures, no one's stopping this parade for turpitude. My God, Miss Tomson. Just going to start without you. You could lead it. I've just jumped out of an alley and wrote your name with a bucket of paint over a giant wall. Didn't have the crass to put Sally. People said it was physically impossible to do it while being director of the parade but I did it. Till those dirty little urchins came along and ruined my heartfelt statement with another one. O.K. ready everybody. My goodness, just looked down in time, my fly's open. An order under these circumstances would sound ridiculous. If not downright impertinent. Hold it, folks. Must tidy myself up a bit Get back in there and don't come out again till I tell you. Naughty. All right now. Ready.
"George."
Don't shout my name in vain. You've done every sly thing to ruin the parade. With the tables set in the park. Where we were going to march to eat with banners, streamers red white and blue. And the organizers would have given out prizes. While the director watched from the stage. I know what you would have done Shirl, gone up to the microphone and sung a song into it. Embarrassed me as director. Because you wanted to appear before the public. Hear your voice floating over the crowd. So they would clap and cheer and say you're great. And I was only an acquaintance. From the other side of the tracks. You've interrupted my parade for the last time. Boom boom boom. Just got it going again. Thank you drummers.
"George what parade, shut up, it's up and enter me again."
"Shirl watch the underwear."
"What made you wear red."
"A predilection."
"Take it off, it rubs me."
"You're holding my head down by the ears and stop tearing the garment, Shirl."
"Kiss my bazumma."
"Shirl, you're tearing the garment."
"I'm pulling the zipper."
"It's tearing the garment Shirl and is caught in the hairs of my belly."
"It rubs me."
"I didn't ask you to come in here."
"George you wouldn't turn on the light. Shut up and take a handful of hair. You were so nice when you were a car. Drive you bastard."
"Beep beep."
"Kiss my bazumma."
"Stop telling me what to do Shirl. I've got my own mind."
"I'm the hottest handful you've had for months."
"Don't be too sure."
"So you've been into Matilda."
"That remark is false."
"Was she a good fuck, I don't mind."
"I repeat that rema
"Ha ha George."
"Ha ha Shirl it's not funny."
"Once more, fast George."
In this rural retreat of The Goose Goes Inn, the Friday before the Tuesday of Christmas. I wake to find my person used for a motive of which I had no notion. Torn out of the red underwear. Bereft of that red safety. Shirl a master at that tempting tickle, cupping up pearls blowing a warm air saying it was bigger than she remembered and she had memories. Till the energy I was conserving to get back to town, all gone. She'll take this as a renewal of hatred. A right to snoop round Eagle or Golf Street. Once getting hands on her, can't get them off. Deepest darkest kisser. And what can you do when it's upright. As she says wow. When it's downright rude to do nothing.
"Faster George, my friends are waiting."
Snowy owl hoots. Hear him out there in the night. When all the other animals are snug or more likely tearing each other and feathers apart. And in here I am agog and speechless at this last remark. I am no machine. I am no piece of old rope. I'll pretend the physical excitement has made you utter statements without meaning. has made you utter statements "Hurry George."
"Hurry George."
Between the parted curtain shines the white so white romantic moon. Right across the carpet, half way up the wardrobe and on the sleeve of my shirt. You're just getting carried away Shirl. Since you haven't as I hope you haven't, had any for a while. Ha ha, friends are waiting. I suppose if I had any mine would be waiting too. We've come together panting mechanically which is what disturbs me. I should have said no.
"Faster George, harder. Now you know why I ride horses."
The village church bell rings, quarter mile down the road. We're in here like this with flowers on the bedroom curtains and on the chair. Shake your brown thatch all out over your shoulders, be the last time I'll grab. I will not go faster.
"My friends are waiting, George."
In summer on this road they sell the stacked up pumpkins, purple aubergine and zeplin watermelons. And fresh farm eggs. Not for nude cooking I said. And Shirl this is a joke no longer.
"Shirl what do you mean your friends."
"They're waiting down stairs."
"They're what, Shirl."
"Waiting."
"Get out of this bed."
"Hey we're not finished."
"I will not give myself to being used while your friends wait for you. Get out."
"I'm not dressed."
"Get out."
"You're not pushing me naked into a hotel hall, George, you're not doing that. That's one thing you're not doing."
"I am doing. Out. Into the hall."
"No."
"Go to your friends. Waiting for you. Bunch of ambitious little commuters. O Shirl's just upstairs having a throw with some guy. Don't make me a laughing stock."
"You are already. Everybody knows how you make your money. And they laugh, boy do they laugh. They laugh because they know."
"You take it from me and spend it."
"I wish I didn't because it's horrible money."
"I reject that."
"And they know what happens with that nigger in that apartment. Don't try to fool me."
"Simply get out of this room before I lose my temper."
"Always knew you were from the wrong side of the tracks."
"A litde vulgar fantasy of yours."
"It isn't. You sneaked into society."
"I see. I'm in society now."
"They saw you sneaking, don't worry. My friends know. Your phoney little cultivated habits."
"I reject that."
"Mosaics all over your stupid house. How they let you in The Game Club I don't know. And trying to make some baronial hall sowing trees up our drive. My friends were wise to that, don't you worry. Can't find my things. I want the light on."
"You came in in the dark you go out with all lights off."
"You rat. I'm glad I can't see your face. It's the only way I could bear you fucking me."
"I think perhaps you've said enough."
"Tell me to get out. And I'm going."
"Splendid. Bring your little playmates downstairs with you."
"You bet I will. You'll hear from my legal counsel."
"Can't wait."
"My friends are better than you are and I'd like to know where all that other money goes. And I'll find out. You can't kid my lawyer, he's smart."
"Since I pay for him I'm glad to hear that."
"I ought to have half of what you possess."
"Ha ha."
"Go ahead and laugh. Where's my purse. You'll be laughing. Boy you'll be laughing. FU make you laugh. You'll laugh all right. Boy you'll be laughing."
"Ha ha."
"Laugh all you want. Go ahead. But I'll squeeze you dry."
Across the room somewhere in the dark there was the momentary silence. Four hoots of that snowy owl. And summer comes back and the tangled worms squirming in the white silk nets they weave in wild cherry trees.
"George, George, what terrible things am I saying."
"You were saying, boy, you'll be laughing,, And I'll squeeze you dry."
"George, I'm scared and shivering. What's making me shiver. Turn on the lights. I'm scared the things I'm saying."
"Can't you find your purse."
"No George and I'm scared. Don't throw me out. I didn't mean that about legal counsel."
"Forget it."
"George, I can't. What about the kids. God legal counsel. Don't make me go to court George."
"I'm not making you go to court."
"They'll scream down at me. I know they'll scream down at me. A judge with white hair. He'll eat up my soul George."
"Don't be silly."
"Never make me go before a judge, George. As you lie there now promise me that. I'm scared. Let me sit. I'd be accused. The judge would accuse me and it would be horrible."
Can see the shadow of her hair. See the shoulders she covers with her shirt. And I know she's breaking right in two. Tears pouring down her cheeks. Wait and the sniff and sob will come. Shirl all women cry. The lousy life. But outlive men. I mean you no harm. Let no judge get you. Even on judgement day. When all the country yokels are clustering in the trees and I step down the steps of my tomb. To cheers. Remember under the snow lies summer. Done that for a lot of years. Can sit then sucking a straw of grass and it hardly matters nearly that one is in society. Or that I went out in the world ruthlessly. Maybe sneaking across the tracks. Shirl you're crying. I could cry too. I went so far in the snow today. Walked back along the tracks in the road where it was hard. Thinking so much about the silence you hold like a child's hand and it was all up over the hills. I came last night when it was snowing. A rich man. The papers said it would be crisp and cold. At the Junction it began to snow. I was hurt when the train left. I hate anything to leave. Stay. Stay longer. I only told you to get out because it was a fiasco. Paper hats and jumping bodies in the lobby. Tell me nice things and I'll believe them forever. Shirl don't cry. What harm really for a fast one and for you to run down and meet your friends and go out speeding over the snowy roads and even sit on a stranger's knee. Why should I mind. Except that I suppose I have no friends. Save one old one standing staring at me at some excavation site when I ran. So Shirl little girl. Dry up your eyes. I've got your purse here under my pillow. And now I'll give it back. Made of mesh like your slipper. And you can go away then. Out to friends. I think you're right, the only time traffic will ever stop for me.
Is when
I'm dead.
6
CHRISTMAS eve. And this Monday morning George Smith dressed in black passed out the lobby of Merry Manse. Hugo some yards up the street in conversation with another doorman. But the chauffeur was there with door open of this long low wide black gleaming car. A tinted green glass between Smith and driver. Who said his name was Herbert.
And last Saturday I sent Shirl dogwood blossoms. Wax this time of year. And sat
Sunday I rested my bag on a cart and sat beside it in the railway station. Feeling sad for all little children. The cold evening. Lights blinking on. In the tavern just beyond the war memorial a jukebox played. Heard the train engine roaring, its light shining down the white tracks, almost empty, streaked and stained. Got off at the Junction and had a cup of hot chocolate. Kept me warm looking out at the winter evening the rest of the way to the terminus.
Merry Mansions Sunday night, with loud parties in the distance. Matilda said she was going to have a good time at some heaven. And George Smith sat alone staring across the room. And out the window for a bit, at a roistering gathering of folk across the street. A city full of fathers with gathered arms of presents to give and get, this complicated time of year.
And now Monday morning, day before the great birth, in this car crossing town in the jammed traffic. George Smith sitting one leg folded upon another, ankles in black silk, cane and briefcase. Slipping off his dark capeskin gloves. A lap full of mail. The season's summonses. Without glad red berried holly leaves. Deep long lasting and sincere. Heartfelt wishes this time of year.
Car speeding up the ramp to the highway, tire chains gripping and humming on the hard snow. Past parked ocean liners, tall ships, steaming funnels and rust stained anchors hauled up against the bows. Ice flows in the river. And across it, a bleak winter skeleton of an amusement park stands on top of the hard straight cliffs.
Smith opening up the mail. To each a quick glance. One school chum, alas from an institution. A risque one from Matilda. A big santa claus holding a bottle of whisky from the kids. Nothing from Shirl. Others blaring good business and prosperity. Make a million throughout the coming year. And happy new year too. And what's this, amid this. Within this. Poor quality envelope, a little letter from far away. Hold it on my dark knee. Makes me blink.
Post Office
Cool Village
December ipth