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The Ginger Man - J. P. Donleavy [97]

By Root 9456 0

A professor followed by a gray cat crossed in front of him in a dressing gown. Green white pajama legs catching a rim of wet and blue feet showing from his slippers. The professor nodded, a little early for smiling. I dip my head. I see him go up the steps and down the stone hall on his lonely academic legs with the milk whine of the cat behind.

Up in the windows here I see things that make me feel that I'm a tourist. See a man with a beard behind the grease and steam-stained glass. He's pouring tea in pots or something. Give me some. Think I met him at the Student Christian Movement. Hale and hearty fellow. OI remember reading about that in the calendar. They said the Student Christian Movement is a fellowship of students who desire to understand the Christian faith and to live the Christian life. This desire is the only condition of membership. I beg you, let me belong. Met that man there. Apt to forget a lot of things. I came to the Student Christian Movement with an open heart And mouth. And stood at the door of No. 3 shyly aware of salvation. A blond, curly haired young man came forward offering his hand in a strong warm greeting. Welcome to our little society, come in, let me introduce you. You're doing law? I've seen you around college. We're a very little group here. This is Miss Feen, Miss Otto, Miss Fitzdare, Miss Windsor and Mr. Hindes, Tuffy and Byrne. Now won't you let me get you some tea. Weak or strong? Weak please. In the corner a kettle on a gas ring, steaming in the evening air. A piano. Miss Fitzdare wore a soft woolen light gray frock and as she passed under my quivering nose, a winter perfume. She offered me a cream cake and asked is this your first time here? First time, yes. I thought she was lovely. While she was saying not many college people are interested, I leaned and said tenderly to her, a cordial group. We try to be. O I think you succeed admirably. Fm particularly looking forward to attending your prayer meetings. I let out my halo and she said she was so glad and are you fond of singing. The song is of course for me. Please say some more, Miss Fitzdare. We have some very fine voices in the group. And you, Miss Fitzdare, do you? With me. Sometime. Maybe. Pass under my nose again. I went out that night in the cold smells of Dublin and last streaks of light. Down Dame Street with hope and massive heart. In that little group singing me high twisted notes. Not altogether agreeing in all respects but at least warmed by their kind considerate faces, their bright eyes. I loved them so much.

He walked between the corners of the two buildings in back of the Queen's Theater. Feeling all is closed for winter. This back end and never noticed place. One night I climbed up on the bank of grass by the playing field and wept between my knees. And Saturday afternoons I came here to watch them bust each other's head chasing a ball. Just a few people lined along the edges of the field in mufflers and upturned collars. Back here are the science buildings where they put the stuff together to go boom. And the Botany Department and pretty flowers. It must be so nice to just grow plants for a degree. And the examination hall Begging permission to live. Better than most The Physics building where I spent a shilling to go to the Gramophone Society. Chilly but pleasant. And beyond the tennis courts the Zoology building. In there is an impressive collection of insertivora and an elephant standing in the middle of the room. I went up those steps and pressed the shiny bell for visitors and they came to usher me in to look around. And after lectures in law I came to this little museum to look at the bats. You might say I had a lot of little fancy occupations. Stuffed animals my specialty. And the sports pavilion. Played the odd game of tennis here with Jim Walsh. You didn't know that either. And the tub of cold cold water. These rugby roughs in from the pitch to plunge in bellowing. I was content to stand under the shower till I was nicely scalded.

Sebastian passed under the arch of the back gate of Trinity College. Crossed Fenian Street amid the wild manoeuvers of carts and cars. Walking with head bent, looking up now and again to chart the territory ahead. Up Merrion Street and the sun came out shining on the government buildings. Secretaries with morning hip swinging turning in the doorways. All their lips bright red. Red coats across their broad backs. Men in dark overcoats passing with red noses. red raw hands. Girls had purple ankles. I go on. Faster. Along the Lower Baggot. Quick right, lash up Pembroke and around the Square with pretty Georgian doors. I crossed Fitzwilliam Place and touched the iron fences as I went by. Till I opened a narrow gate and went down the steep steps. Knocking. No answer. Rap the S.O.S. on the window. Bring him for sure. I know Tone's a great man for the seafaring. The light goes on. Door opens and Tony Malarkey peeks out.

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