The Ginger Man - J. P. Donleavy [72]
Get this blanket around now, cover up any sign of scruffiness. Miss Frost's room has some soul. Personality. Call it lived in. Perhaps I ought to appear asleep? No. None of these sneaky pretences. Lie here, forthright, honest and awake.
Miss frost came into the room.
"Are you sure you're comfortable there, Mr. Danger-field?"
"Quite sure. Surprisingly comfortable."
"I'll just get some of my things."
Miss Frost took her dressing gown from behind the door and a green, cellophane bag from the dresser. She went to the bathroom. Running water. Door shuts. I face a fateful week. Week of constant Mondays. I think I will set sail of a Friday. And I must play this game of not being seen, perfectly.
Miss Frost comes back.
"I'll turn off the light, Mr. Dangerfield. I hope you're all right there"
"Blissful. I know this is a dreadful inconvenience for you, Miss Frost I want you to know I really appreciate it. I have till now counted my friends on a hand of amputated fingers."
"O Mr. Dangerfield."
Light went off. She stood at the foot of her bed, taking off her robe. I shouldn't be straining my eyes to see as much as I can. I wouldn't want her to notice. Got on green pajamas. From what I can see, they suit her. She's climbing up from the bottom of the bed. This thing, lust. Get away. Carnal appetite or overture to the orifice. Climb into her brain. She's settled in her bed. Limbs pushing around between the sheets. I'm careful to listen to those things. O there isn't much that I overlook. And Miss Frost, lying there as you are in your little bed and me here, prostrate, on the floor because everything is so tiny in the world. Over the edge, through gloom and whatnot, I see your two big toes sticking up under the covers. And if I lift my head a little I can see the rest of you. I'm so lonely and you're lonely too. Hearts clicking. Remember that Just so many times and dick, we go away in this roofless world.
"Miss Frost?"
"Yes?"
"May I hold your hand?"
Miss Frost moved her arm towards the voice and curved her wrist over the edge of the bed. And his fingers closed around her hand. I was a little boy and wet the bed because I thought I was out with a lot of other kids playing in a swamp and could piss anywhere. To touch Miss Frost seems safe and sad. Because I guess I pull her into my own pit For company or the bones in her hand. Fingernails and knuckles. But I can tell she's tightening her grip. Her muscles tugging at my bones. Now I'm on my knees. And elbows on her bed. Her head trembling. Hair splayed gray and dark. Sighs of her mouth. Feel her sad hands around my back. Let me get in under these covers. Got her tongue touching my ear. Juice. Open the buttons, warm my cold chest with hers. Miss Frost. O Miss Frost
She put up her back. And I'll pull down your pajamas. Throat of birth weeping. Kiss all the tears away. All gone. You've been lonely in the dark.
They lay side by side. Miss Frost held her hand to her brow. Sliding back into her pajamas. Goes to the bathroom.
"Miss Frost, bring me back a glass of water."
He was sipping it when she began to cry. He reached for her hand and she brought it away to her head. Holding her hands over her eyes.
"Now, now, this is no way to behave."
Miss Frost turning away.
"I shouldn't have done it."
"Now, now, it's all right"
"It isn't O God I shouldn't have let you come in the room."
"Through charity."
"It wasn't It was wrong. O dear