The Ginger Man - J. P. Donleavy [11]
"Take anything. I'll be as poor as a church mouse for the rest of me days."
Sebastian gathered the bow ties in his fist and stuffed them in his pockets. Pilled a wash cloth with razor blades and several slivers of soap. On the table, a pile of penny notebooks.
"What are these, Kenneth?"
"Those are the fruits, rotten ones I might add, of my efforts to become a great writer."
"You're not leaving them behind?"
"Certainly. What do you want me to do?"
"Never know."
"I happen to know. One thing I'm sure of, I'm no writer. I'm nothing but a hungry, sexstarved son of a bitch."
Dangerfield turning the pages of the notebook. Reading aloud.
"In the ordinary Irish American family this would have been a very happy occasion of hypocritical and genuine gaiety, but the O'Lacey's were not the ordinary Irish American family and the atmosphere was almost sacrilegiously tense—"
"Cut it out. If you want to read it, take it Don't remind me of that crap. I'm finished writing. Cooking is my trade"
Two of them passing out of the bedroom with newspapers spread on the mattress springs. Imprint of the body. January in here and June outside. Sad rat, O'Keefe, the hunk of bread gnawed. And the scullery a blackened vestibule of grease. Under the gas ring he bacon rinds the color green and a broken cup half full of dripping; O'Keefe's first move, no doubt, to open up a highbrow restaurant. Lives punctuated with shrewd business deals, quick flashes of happiness ending in dismal abortion. Keeps one awake at night and poor as well.
They tripped and bounced down the worn stairs. Walked across the cobbles. O'Keefe leading, hands plunged in pockets, lilting, a caterpillar walk. Followed austerely, nervously, by the twitching Dangerfield on his bird feet. Into No. 4 to urinate.
"Pissing always gives me a chance to think. It's all the good this thing has ever done me. But I'm out. On the move again. Best feeling in the world. How does it feel to be loaded with wife and child, Dangerfield? It's a problem for you even to get out the door."
"One manages, Kenneth. Be better days. I promise you that."
"Be Grangegorman."
"Did you know, Kenneth, that Trinity graduates get preferential treatment in the Gorman?"
"Good, you'll be murdered. But you know, Dangerfield, I don't dislike you as you might think. I've got a soft spot somewhere. Come on, I'll buy you a cup of coffee even though it's bad to encourage tenderness."
O'Keefe disappearing into the porter's lodge with his keys. Porter looking at him with a grin.
"Leaving us, sir?"
"Yup, for the sunny Continent, yours truly."
"The very best of luck, always, Mr. O'Keefe. We'll all miss you."
"So long."
"Goodbye, Mr. O'Keefe."
Prancing out to Dangerfield waiting under the great granite arch, and swinging around the front gate to West-moreland Street They entered the smoke and coffee scented air and sat in a cozy booth. O'Keefe rubbing his hands.
"I can't wait to get to Paris. Maybe I'll make a rich contact on the plane. Rich Yankee girl coming to Europe for culture who wants to see the points of interest."
"And perhaps your own, Kenneth."
"Yeah, if she saw that I'd make sure she saw nothing else. Why is it that I can't have something like that happen to me? That guy who came around to my rooms who was over from Paris, a nice guy, told me once you cracked a clique in Paris you were set. Like the theatrical crowd that he knocked around with, a lot of beautiful women looking for guys like me who haven't got looks but brains and wit Only one drawback he says, they like to ride in taxis."
Waitress comes over and takes their order. Two cups of coffee.
"Do you want a cream cake, Dangerfield?"
"Most cordial suggestion, Kenneth, if you're sure it's all right"
"And waitress, I want mine black with two, two remember, full jugs of cream and heat the rolls a little."
"Yes, sir."
Waitress giggling,remembering a morning when this short madman with glasses came in and sat down with his big book. All the waitresses afraid to serve him because he was so gruff and had a funny look in his eyes. Sitting alone all morning turning page after page. And then at eleven he looked up, grabbed a fork and started banging it against the table screaming for service. And never took his cap off.