The Ginger Man - J. P. Donleavy [81]
"Mr. Dangerfield, why don't you believe in hell and things like that?"
"Hell is for poor people"
"Hee."
"Miss Frost, I think I am a man with a future. What do you think ? Do you think I have a future ? "
"Of course, I think you have a good future. You'll be in law"
"And the jigs and jail and incognito. All those"
"I think you would do well in almost anything, Mr. Dangerfield. I think business would especially suit you"
"I think we will get on with the meat, Miss Frost I have a hunger on me that has me belly screaming my throat's cut"
"O Mr. Dangerfield."
"Thank God up there for codes, Miss Frost Get down there now on your knees and thank him and for the meat as well. All down on our knees. But never hit a man when he's down. Wait to see if he tries to get up and then by God, let him have it The sledge between the eyes. I think my unlimited faith is killing me, Miss Frost I want to chop this house down."
"I don't believe a word you're saying."
"A little underdone. Rawness of all types is for me."
Miss Frost moving the pan, circling it over the fire. Exhaling sound of gas. At the peak hours. The despair of the fading pressure. These damn people in the gas works. No one wants to do a decent day's work anymore.
"You're so strange to be with, Mr. Dangerfield."
"You can't mean that, Miss Frost"
"You're not like other people."
"Well, geek, geek and all that. Perhaps there is some truth in what you say."
"Mr. Dangerfield, would you pass me your plate. Why do you water that little plant in the front with an eye dropper?"
"Miss Frost, you've been spying on me. On me in my secret moments."
"O I haven't But why do you do such a funny thing?"
"I'm poisoning the plant"
"Lord save us."
"Now look at that plant out there, Miss Frost Would you say it was much longer for this world?"
"O Mr. Dangerfield I don't know what to say. That poor plant"
"It's something in me, Miss Frost I thought to myself why don't I slip this plant something to kill it"
"You don't mean that"
"I'm a killer"
In the air the smell of spiced meat and brandy. A soft slow whistle of wind bleeding under the doors. And in my heart a sorrow. First sorrow of the end. Of this strange week of things. Of plans and movements. Of seeing the wild beast O'Keefe. Of these uncanny bedlam moments in the streets. Everything fruiting in a cold winter week. Months of being in the bed with the bedclothes all twisted with my anxiety. The wild things that were going through my mind like storms, I'd wake up my legs spinning round in the freezing air. I need another body with me. I've tried the hot towel on the eyes and made meself some balm but with these trickly chemicals you've got to watch it. I tried mustard plaster all over me and I won't forget that blunder in a hurry or even ever. But I'm not badly off. Not complaining really. Just wouldn't mind a complete change.
Miss Frost and Sebastian Dangerfield sat in this cold dining room eating sausage meat from Bray and drinking a pot of tea. Across from one another, looking up and down to food and back to each other's face. Smiles.
Is this no longer home ? I feel all my homes are behind me. Only a house here because I think I must have nearly pawned everything in it except Miss Frost. The Rock gone. The Balscaddoon. The Rock, The Doon and Trinity. And that first day there when I got off at the back gate out of the green upholstered tram. And there was the university through my apprehensive eyes. A chill wind blowing. My new suit, white shirt and black tie. I felt all dressed up for failure, but feeling important because they were looking at me. There's the porter's lodge and a parking lot and in this building I see the contortions of glass, bubbling pots and skylights poking out of the root I want so much to learn. To know what you do with acids and esters and make my experiments go pop at the right time like the rest of you. From the very first word you tell me I'm going to remember. On my way to my tutor. Through these playing fields, flat green and velvet. How lovely with benches where I can sit watching, reading, or anything under these old trees. I think late summer is still hanging in the sky. And by these flower beds still smelling, into this pretty square where the opulent members of college live behind granite and big windows. That's for me. I see a man filling a pail of water from a green pump. He salutes me with a wave. How can I make a good impression, tuck my tie in, smile perhaps. I hope they will see I'm eager, ardent to listen, ready to take notes for all four years. That building there must be the library because I can see the stacks and stacks. I will borrow and read. I promise. What luck has brought me here because it's so beautiful. I'm told scholars can play marbles on the dining hall steps and shoot birds in college park. Got some great rules. Perhaps some day will see me shooting with the best of them. There are little clusters of students and I can hear their beautiful voices as I go by. And I can't help but look from face to face seeking out those who will also fail. The rest of my natural life without a degree. I almost wish now some little white angels would flutter down and take me or my dread away. Across the cobbled square a bell ringing and into this building number eight. Up the foot carved stairs where I see an open door. I'll knock lightly so's not to be rude. Hands out of pockets. Do the right thing. Always wait till asked. Come in. From behind the door he's telling me to come in. How shall I do it without making noise with my heels. I said as best I could that I was Dangerfield and he said ah delighted, do come in. Piles of papers everywhere and books. Must have been like this since God. Great waves of hair on this man's handsome head, a scholar in Greek and Latin for sure. Ah Dangerfield, I'm very glad you're here and I trust your trip across the Atlantic was pleasant My God, this gentleman is telling me he is glad I'm here and what can I say. I can say nothing, there's no chat in me because I'm trembling. I hope it won't mean some awful thing is to happen. He's only being nice and saying, now Dangerfield, I would like you to meet Harrington, it is Hartington, isn't it? And this tall person standing in a shadow stepped out, said yes and offered me his hand. You're to attend the same classes together. I tried to say splendid, couldn't and said safely how do you do. Our tutor rustled in the papers, came out with pamphlets and said I hope you will be very happy with us here Mr. Dangerfield. And now what could I say, trapped on this casual note of friendship. I did so want them to know that I knew I would be, but it was too late, no space left to tell them I was overjoyed to silence. On that cold morning in October I came away from that old room filled with books and paper with this strange tall person walking beside me who asked softly and slowly won't you come and have coffee. I was scarcely able to say thank you I'd like to but I was smiling so pleasantly willing to please.