But only to tremble in terror. Visions of porters and authorities marching eighty abreast across Front Square. Crowbars held high. For breaking and entering. Hangman's nooses for stretching throats. And to dangle, one's university career at a dismal end.
Beefy raging with considerable nudity holding up his silk pyjama cords. Breda covering her eyes with well spaced fingers. Rebecca in a wild peal of laughter seizing this unforgettable instrument asway upon Beefy's chunky person. As I good heavens, feel constrained to look out the window. And Breda gasps.
"Ah God I've never seen the likes of a thing like that before. It's as big as a donkey's. Sure your man is a mule."
"Good God your toenails Rebecca, need cutting, I'll report you to the Society of Chiropodists. Ah but otherwise, isn't she my Rebecca, the most splendid creature. Pirouette my dear. Ah that raised some fine points. Of divinity if not law. But we're losing the sense of rape here. Cringe back a little my dear. If the Provost could only see us. Keeping up the fine traditions of the college. Numini et patriae asto. And now. For rape."
Beefy charging across the floor. Hands raised in a pose horrid and menacing. Pyjama cords draped in a priestly manner about his neck. Seizing Rebecca by the wrists, her legs buckling beneath her as a smile broke across her face and laughter trembled her knees.
"Rebecca you're ruining this deadly serious act. I am about to rape you. This won't do."
Rebecca doubling up with her hands held across her belly. Beefy bent pulling them apart. Shaking her into resistant action. As she went limp on the floor. Breda wide eyed and pushing back her sweater sleeves.
"You're getting awfully dusty Rebecca. It's not fair of you to behave this way. Resist. For God's sake. O dear what can I do, my charm melts all hearts, and everyone, men women and children open their legs to me. Into the bedroom, Rebecca. I will lash you to the bed. And in my best secular manner I will have at you like a beast bounding straight out of the bible. Numini et patriae asto. And don't spare the jujubes."
Balthazar swallowing constant lumps of air. Wiping his brow with handkerchief. The crumpled giggling figure of Rebecca carried into the bedroom. Jubilant jouncing coming out the half open door. To reach and pass the bowl of raisins across to Breda. To select of these dried grapes.
"What was that he was saying in that funny language."
"I stand on the side of God and my country."
"Sure in the condition he's in what God or country would have him."
"Would you have tea if I can find the kettle and leaves."
"Aren't you about to try anything with me."
"No."
"I'll have a cup then if you're making one. Can you tell me if your friend is completely round the bend."
"He's the most brilliant brain of the university."
"Is that a fact. Well if you ever knew what was on another person's mind you wouldn't know what to put on your own at all. He's one for devilment."
The door crashing open. Beefy, trousers down around his ankles, shuffling and hobbling in his socks. His private signal tied with a bow of pyjama cord waving in circumcised salute, poking out beyond the floating tails of his shirt. Breda shrinking back from this bullish grinning ruddy face.
"Balthazar. Where are you. See for yourself. Rebecca trussed up. Ready to give treats. My dear girl show some shame, how dare you stare at my instrument in that manner. We shall rape Rebecca. Then it shall be your turn. While you rape Rebecca Balthazar I shall truss this truculent lass to the other bed. And by God we'll rape you."
"I'm making tea for us, Beefy."
"O my gawd. You'd let such opportunities as I've prepared slip. For the sake of Empire dear man. For Monarch. We must on with the felony. You lass you're next, make no mistake about that."
"I'm not with you I'm with your friend here who's a well behaved gentleman."
"Stop. Do I sense here the shirty and utterly shabby nuance of criminal impertinence. And take your eyes off my instrument this instant."
"Sure it's not my fault if it's there put in front of me eyes."
"You are a saucy lass. I'm putting you down in my notebook. Needy of corrective measures."
"You fancy yourself. Standing around like that You should be ashamed of yourself."
Beefy, eyes so brown ablaze with merry evil, moving forward towards Breda. As she rose from her chair and slowly stepped backwards around the room. Past the shotguns, past foils stuck in an umbrella stand. Till she fell on the brass studded gleaming leather couch. Beefy's great instrument pressing at Breda's face as she waved it away. Balthazar scratching his head in the scullery doorway. This can't be college. An evening such as this. A hidden world never seen before. Until you think that this is the way it must really be. The carefree frolics of undergraduate years. That we grow up to live in steadier and sterner ways. Look back and say I was a naughty fellow in my younger days.
"Come my dear girl, it's as hard as a baby avocado, don't push it away, it likes you. Give the boy a treat."
"I will in me witless ways. Go on before I give you a bite of your balls and they'll be through bouncing anymore I can tell you."
"Blessed my dear are the non violent girls who blow. A sound from this horn delivereth me up to the heights of ecstasy. With such elevation I could spit on Mars. The explosive grandeur of tickling your tonsils would make this poor boy so happy. And also clear your complexion of any blotches.
"You'll get away with that thing or I'll stain you with the back of me hand. You're out of your mind."
As Beefy disappears to the bedroom. A sound. A sharp crack. Balthazar turning to look back in the scullery. The steaming spout of the kettle aimed against the window. The parted white and blue checked curtains. A busted pane of glass. Misted and streaked. To touch where it split and look out into the thickets of the new leaves. Something strange up in the tree. Strain one's eyes to see. A shadow entwined about a bough. And down there. O my God. Passing by the shed of cycles and motor bikes. A lantern swinging. Spreading light across the hard grey ground. Three figures approaching this way. One in dressing gown and slippers between two porters. They stop. They look up at this window.
"Beefy Beefy."
"I'm lingering. In the most spooky pleasuring."
"The Proctor. Coming."
"Nearly.' "O God. I mean it Beefy."
"Nonsense. Fm in elemental ecstasy."
"Please Beefy."
"Dear boy how can you, how can you, call, o rny goodness, at such a time, o Lord that's nice, awfully nice. Tell my trustees of your trouble. They deal with all my debts and tribulations. So that I may pursue without hinder. Divinity, first ranking of the professions. Followed sadly by law, medicine and literature. The rear taken up by science and music. First you get baptised, grow up and get sued. Life goes on till they saw off your leg. If you survive you can read a good book. My advice in life is to proceed in a blaze of contradictory remarks, and send one's trustees each year a valentine. Rome is finished as a power. The ecclesiastical torn torn says so. Church of Ireland is taking over everywhere. We are winning souls left right and evil. Right down the coast to Greystones. And doing awfully well in Dalkey. We must kick the indulgences and plastic relics out of this isle. Give them a nine first Fridays of my Lutheran horn up the hole instead. Tear back the camouflage of emerald purity. Thou art Beefy and upon your arse I shall build my bank. No one gives a damn about the organic unity of Christ. Or the ecclesiastical jurisdiction. Rebecca, darling, the cardboard crucifixion is crumbling."
"You're mental."
Balthazar at the open crack of the door. As the gospel according to Beefy drones on. One's two hands held tightly together. If not altogether wringing. Certainly drained of blood. To tip toe into someone else's intimacy.