"Will you shut up now about the yellow peril while I'm trying to sleep. Sure not a man of them cares two hoots about Ireland."
"Sleep is it, while defilement is but a hair's breadth away.
And me raped following seventeen years of marriage."
"Shut up now about rape. There hasn't been such a thing in Ireland since the Danes and they were welcomed with open arms. Will you get back to bed."
"Jimmy for the last time."
"Shut up."
"I'm telling you Jimmy, not a bit of me will I let the rascal have."
"Too much of you anyway for him to want you all. Put out the light. And batten your gob."
"Abandon me is it. To men with the corkscrew things on them."
"Abandon you. Fm sleeping that's all."
"Batten your gob is it."
Balthazar crouched in the thicket of laurel and sinuous boughs of rhododendron. When trapped across the chippendale on a light note of conversation, an opera seen, a recital at the Music Hall in Fishamble Street, and one never knows that there are conditions and positions worse. Agony to ask to pass a sauce boat. Now, my God, the fear of running through unknown darkness. Just trying to get home madam, Fm no Moslem. Her shadow is at the window. She carries two portly breasts. By the feel of this brassiere.
"He's still there with the big long thing he's dragging. You lie there like that while your wife is raped out of her wits. Fm going to give you something to remember the occasion by. O Jesus Mary and Joseph what heinous new trials have you sent me to bear."
Damp and dripping in the rhododendrons. To know which way to run. Wait till the action dies down. Between this woman and the Far East. What was that. Bloodcurdling scream. And sound of broken glass.
"That'll teach you to lie there snoring and making dirty filthy remarks to your wife while a heinous rapist wanders in the garden. That'll teach you. Till the garda get here. To leave me panic stricken and defenceless against an immoral intruder."
A light bursting on, flooding yellow rays across the grass and gravel. A fallen ladder. Jimmy what did she do to you. I do apologise for all the needless upset. Crawled away here to cover. Just to wait now for the all clear. And the light out to give me a chance to run. Too late to offer one's card. By the silence ensued. The witty husband from whom there seems now no sound. Better advised to withhold a social overture. If I had my Landship now. I could suddenly emerge from the shrubbery. And twelve cylinders pumping, would get me back to college. Where I am but a harmless student of science.
Irish bugs fluttering at the glowing porch light. The grass pale white green. Crouch stiffly. O please, it's not the sound of tires on the road. It is. And twin beams of light through the branches. O God. Let it be some milk man and not the police. Tires sliding to a stop in the gravel. Car doors slamming. Flashes of torchlight. Three garda in their thick blue uniforms, yawning and rubbing their sleepy eyes.
"Can you see anything Milo."
"Nothing suspicious.'
"Ah it's what I thought, what would a good Mohammedan be wanting wandering nowhere on a soft night such as this. Give the Mrs. a knock. And well put her mind at rest. It's a nice place they've got here."
The front door opening. Gentlemen of the Garda Schicona standing on the gravel. Helmets held in the crooks of their arms.
"Nothing so far madam, where last did you see the culprit complained of, described as Mohammedan."
"He was right over there with this long thing hanging from him."
"I must caution you now madam, we're three members of the Legion of Mary present here. Let that be understood. And I have to tell you to be careful in talk like that."
"Sure I'll have you know then that I'm a member of the Royal Dublin Society. Roses have been named after me. Only last year I exhibited myself."
"Ah now, madam, none of that. I must caution you again."
"You oaf."
"Now now. That's a matter neither here nor there. It's decency first. I'm ready to take down particulars."
"And let the scurrilous intruder escape."
"Now if your man, madam, was as desperate as you say, he'd be as far now as the Kilcool, in the County Wicklow.
After waving goodbye to the protestants in Greystones."
"Eegit, eegit."
"Calm yourself madam, and be a decent lady."
"Didn't I see him five minutes ago."
"Describe his dress and distinguishing features."
"How many times do I have to tell you he was a Mohammedan." "Ah well well have no trouble then, catching the likes of him, but sure madam he's as likely to be a prince travelling with, forgive the expression, his harem. There's one of them lives in the Rathgar. But from what we know of him he's a jolly gentleman. And it's the women we've got to protect him from. They're banging on his door, poor man, all times of the day and night. The gentleman can't get a moment's rest. I'm sure he thinks we're not civilized."
"How dare you, when Ireland preserved culture through the dark ages of mankind."
"Ah now madam what's a few old trinkets and pages of a book compared to the refrigerators some of these gentlemen have in their very cars."
"I'm going to faint."
"Boys catch her now. I've got holt of her. She's no lightweight, I'm telling you, any Mohammedan gentleman would have his hands full with the likes of her. In the door now.
She'll come round. Milo you make a search there through the shrubbery for footprints."
Flash of garda torches approaching across the lawn shooting between the branches and leaves of rhododendrons. Balthazar crouching low. A weary wave of sleeping chill across my head. How did I ever wake up into this. Out of dreams of a white bull goring a man in a brown suit. And of Uncle Edouard who stood in a pulpit preaching. About the routes to follow through life. Lighthearted on the boulevard, gay in the cafe, a good shot at the shoot. A flower delivered each morning to the door for the buttonhole. Put a smile on the face. Keep the collar worn loose at the throat. Be skittish laughing and droll. Wear the garter always for the sock. And Balthazar my dear little one. As the prickly problems of life assail, or get dumped on you all at once, then. Ah. Take the walking stick, put back the shoulders, chest out, emerge into the world, stare up at the sky, watch where you're walking and show them what you are made of. Move the bowel in the morning like the roar of a lion. Hum a lullaby while you pee. That is my dear boy, joy. Soar up in the heavens in the balloon. When you come down again and you find that your mistress has had a little on the side. Give her a small slap and say do not again be naughty. You hope that it was not with a rogue or swindler. That it was a gentleman of stature. Who knows his wine. And would always know his women. If he is black so much the better, and you then become completely white. For a change of pace. And last of all, let me say my dear boy. A little something about baldness. If you want to wear the toupee, which I do not suggest, always carry two. One for the white wine and one for the red. And when you drink the brandy you must of course be completely bald. And ah. For the great frisson. To press the top of the head against the breasts. It is perhaps one of the noblest of man's pleasures. The brain feels the breast right through the follicles. Undisturbed by the useless hair. You are not perhaps bald yet but there is hope. And then. You spin like a top upon madam's precious matters. After which death has no fear.