Draw the bolt. It's Beefy.
"My God Balthazar."
"What's the matter."
"This."
"O no."
"O yes. Headlines. All over Dublin."
ISLAM PERIL
STUDENT LOST IN LAURELS
At five A.M. this morning in the exclusive district of Donnybrook, the demesne of many prominent business people, an unusual confrontation resulting in misunderstanding took place in the grounds of a Dublin assurance executive's home. Garda were called and a squad car, the first of its kind to be used to stamp out crime, was dispatched from Dublin. The lady of the misunderstanding, who has been sleeping lightly recently because of current newspaper reports regarding the spread of Islam across the earth, heard a noise in her garden, where there are many rare roses of which she is a fancier. Having jumped to a certain conclusion at the further aggressive sounds, she roused her husband who immediately challenged the dark complexioned people thought to be aswarm in the garden and who had already pulled off half the stucco plaster the east side of the house, the damage being effected by a yank on the clothes line. As he rushed forward attired lightly in pyjamas to grapple with the Moslem mob thought to be reforming ranks beneath the window he shouted "Up the Republic" and told his wife to raise the tricolor immediately on the roof, that Irishmen everywhere would give a good account of themselves this night and once again put the invader to flight. His wife however thinking he would stand no chance against an emotional dusky skinned horde, telephoned the garda and gave thanks along the way to Blessed Oliver Plunket that the communication lines had not already been cut.
Her husband meanwhile with no regard for his own safety and armed only with a hurling stick ran out into the night against the protests of his wife. Although finding nothing he concluded the adversary would be adept at blending with the darkness. Upon his return from this reconnoitre the lady of the house screamed at the sight of blood pouring from her husband's head who in his rush down the stairs had hit it on the ceiling. He said that the first wave had obviously passed and that the Islamites must have debarked from boats on the Dodder River and taken Donnybrook by surprise. And that they should lay low till the next wave and await army reinforcement.
The scene changed abruptly however upon the arrival of the garda who swiftly took control of the situation and upon issuing a challenge to a movement in the shrubbery came upon an elegant gentleman sheltering under an Aliantus i63 Grandulosa tree, identified by the garda in charge who is an amateur biologist and linguist.
The gentleman however remained unidentified as it appeared he knew no tongue spoken by the garda, who went painstakingly through his entire repertoire. Garda unraveled him from the householder's laundry line. And upon closer scrutiny the garda could see that the gentleman was hopelessly lost and suffering shock from exposure. The entire misunderstanding came to a most happy conclusion when the garda assured the lady of the house that wherever it might be that Islam was on the march there was no trace of the said group that night in Donnybrook. The garda and the lost elegant gentleman, who later proved to be Mr. Balthazar B, a student of the natural sciences at Trinity College, were invited to clean up after the havoc and a hot cup of tea was served to all.
Upon further interview from this reporter, the lady of the misunderstanding said it was heinous to contemplate being at the mercy of Islam. She hoped that her husband, although in his early forties, would be an example to other Irishmen who sometimes left their wives in the lurch when violence was afoot. She attributed her husband's youthful agility to good toilet habits and grooming. But both of them had long been accustomed to doing eight deep knee bends at an open window each morning. She was especially glad that what had started as a hideous mystery could now be looked back upon as another incident where Irishmen, when oppression threatened, would rise up to take the cudgel or as in this case, hurling stick, to drive back the intruder. Her solicitors were looking into the question of damages.
Blackness gleaming on the large panes of glass. Soft lamplight below in the square and through the trees, the lighted windows in the Rubric. Balthazar sat slumped in his chair. Eyes closed. A strange terror seeping through one's veins. Defamed. Disgraced across the drawing rooms of Rathgar. Up and down the mahogany sideboards and in all the silver salvers. Balthazar B on my calling card. Caught in trespass lurking in the bushes. Who would ever believe I was but travelling north back to my abode. To see again this face of Beefy. Only friend I know.
"Dear boy. Dear boy. Don't take it like that. You're upset. Buck up. You crafty article. You got off with Miss Fitzdare. Good ankle. Ample about the chest. Slow to keep up with fashion. Bit of a blue stocking. But she has formidable connections with the Church of Ireland. Deep in with the ecclesiastics.' "I'm cast in a very poor light."
"It casts you in light dear boy that's all that matters."
"After such as this I'm not good enough for her."
"I am of course, Mr. B, not taking you seriously. Rash remark. If you look into it, you will always find, if not in the evening newspaper, something rather shoddy and shabby back in everyone's pedigree. Crafty frauds perpetrated upon poor old widows. Miss Fitzdare will have her little shabbinesses." "Don't please speak ill of her."
Balthazar leaning forward to his table. Elbows up on the worn top and hands at his temples. Beefy sad and quiet and reaching across a hand to put on Balthazar's shoulder. Evening bells tolling six. Newsboy shouts on the streets not so far away. And Beefy's voice.
"I'm sorry, I had no idea. I do retract my rather hasty and uncalled for remarks. Certainly you must not listen to me. Miss Fitzdare's a fine girl. You're quite right to feel the way you do."
Balthazar B said yes with a nodding head. Beefy stepped backwards to the door. The evening paper spread on the table. All its black and white print. A day begins prostrate on a field of grass. With some joys held in a hazy head. The kind blue warmth of you Fitzdare. Your magic and strength as you patted your horse. I wanted so much for you to lead me out to graze. Hold my reins. Give me laughing lumps of sugar.
Sweeten the sour look of me on this page. Where a world i65 wags a finger. And if I run they will bite at my heels. And if I don't.
They'll
Want
To sink
My soul.
17
That late winter the snow lay for weeks across Ireland. Sheep buried in drifts. Roads and railways blocked and racing cancelled at the courses. The giant brown pyramids of wet turf stacked in Phoenix Park. And when the snows left, the rains came.
Balthazar B lay late abed. In sweaters, shirts and socks. Cold winds shaking the great window frames. And when shadows settled over college. He went discreetly across the squares. To take half pints of creamy topped porter from the marble bar of the Wicklow Hotel. To soak up the warmth from the gleaming mahogany panelling. And at the latening hour to devour sea food and steak. Tucked down this narrowing street.
The Landship, of the monstrous rumbling motor, after these months motionless, was sold to Beefy. He came in motoring cap and leather coat to take it through its paces. Fourteen members of the rugby team pushed to start it out the back gate and along Lincoln Place. In Merrion Square the motor faltered and failed when the transmission fell out on the road. A team of horses came to haul it away to a mews garage. Balthazar offered Beefy his money back. And he gallantly refused.
"A bargain my dear chap is a bargain although one of us may not be amused."
Miss Fitzdare sometimes passed in a little motor all of her own. With just room for two and a package on the back seat. Of all the embarrassed days. Unable to face her carefree smile. When once even she waved at me. And I could not lift my hand or grin but fled. Till this April afternoon. The days were softening now. There came a rap on my door.