'Take me out of here."
Millicent in the same position on her chair. One long leg folded over the other squeezing out a curving mound of flesh. A long hacking coughing and upheaving coming through the wall of the next room. Sound of water draining and a toilet flushing. The lids droop on Millicent's eyes and she snaps awake again. I must go and take an urgent and desperate pee.
"Did you hear what I said. I said take me out of here."
"Yes. I will. Just excuse me. I must go to the water closet. I'm sorry."
Down this hall past a door. Inside the springs of a bed rustily squealing. Pushing the latch on this broken water closet I cut my finger. And held it coagulating between the open crack of window. The morning light and foggy air. Back ends of houses and garbage strewn yards. A window lit. A girl stands spreading something on a piece of bread with a knife. She is pretty and sharp bosomed in a moss green sweater. Takes up a kettle in her hand. My pee comes out. Lean further towards the crack to see. And she's seen me. Makes a rude gesture with her fingers. Pulls a tattered curtain across the window. Send her an apology on my calling card. Tell her about the whole horrid mess because of derailment and fog. You girl, buttering your bread. I was only standing peeing. The morning after my wedding night. My soul strewn with a simple little hope to please my wife. My prick in my hand. From which I shake the last drops. And they go, with my tears down my cheeks. Into the toilet bowl.
Among these breakfasting figures I pushed a tray along a self service rail. Had coffee, two sausages, bacon and egg. Gritty around my collar. Greasy round the egg. Face feeling stiff with sleeplessness and grime. Millicent sat across the table and refused to eat. And after silence through the morning she spoke as we sat amid hotel palms for tea,
"Who is Fitzdare."
"Fitzdare."
"Yes. You were shouting it out in your sleep. And you writhed. It was quite horrid to watch."
As the ship cut through the water. And at dawn Dublin loomed in the west. I never said who Fitzdare was. Ten o'clock last night rung high up on the Royal Liver Building shaking the great birds atop held against the wind. The dark heaving pier. I had two bottles of stout in the bar before I went to bed. Millicent in the top bunk. The ship hitting a bit of rough sea. I undressed falling about the cabin. I was trying to find the ladder up to her bunk. My pole so hard I thought it would break. Feeling exposed and awkward when it waves about. Apologise and explain that it did it when least I knew why and often when I was only counting money. To now take it with me wagging up step by step to kiss her on the cheek.
"Get your drunken hands off me."
She reached out and shoved me on the shoulder. I fell from the ladder with a crash. And lay in silent naked agony. A terrifying pain across my shoulder and down my arm. Waking in a cold sweat in the dawn of this lower berth. The path of death so well worn by the many gone before. The brown plastic ventilator in the ceiling. Lifebelts in racks over the top bunk. A brass vomit bowl and a white chamber pot. Catching my breath with pain. Struggling to look out the porthole. The sea calm. A dredger, grey and still. Dublin lies flat and ahead, hills rising out around her. The Sugarloaf beyond Dalkey. The sky all faint blues. A squat row of the little houses as the ship turns round. Down those alleys went Beefy in all his degrees of devilment. See a pair of great iron hooks and the cables winching in the bows. Ships. The Manta. Netta from Rotterdam. The Glenbridge from Dublin.
An ambulance was called to the ship. I was lifted out on a stretcher staring at the sky. Millicent said she was red faced with embarrassment and all the French letters were confiscated. At the red brick hospital over the Grand Canal bridge. They said I had a broken collar bone.
But one
Day
Soon
I would
Be well
Again.
26
Crescent Curve was awake festooned from attic to basement aflow with flowers. Carpets laid, cupboards and shelves fitted. Sideboards and suites of bedroom furniture. All lavender waxed and ordered by Millicent's mother and the bill sent to me. To await the arrival after the honeymoon. As one listened being taken on a tour of one's own house.
"In our way of life Balthazar a wife always has her own bed and dressing room. Then there's a time and place for everything."
My shoulder was just but out of its cast. After a few weeks of married life. Three weeks in Dublin. Where there had been the French and Irish Rugby match during our stay. I tried to smile winningly over my injury. As the French players swarmed about one's wife. Saying in their language to her as she smiled back. My God what a glorious cunt she is, how can we get rid of the husband who looks like a crippled English peer. And as I whitened and tightened my lips they licked theirs at the sight of Millicent. And shook their heads at the sight of me.
A Friday lunch I saw Beefy. Up in the top of Fortnum's. I walked in. Having strolled from Knightsbridge. To find him seated there. Resplendent in his lift operator's uniform, with a general's lapels. The world so balmy. The sun slashing through trees and streets. And he could tell that I carried a tale.
"My God Balthazar, you're thinnish. You must eat more. Dog food, that's where all the nourishment is these days in England. The selected meats, liver, vitamins and minerals. Honest nourishment at an honest price. Choice lean beef finely chopped with proteins. I take a tin a day. But my God Balthazar, what's the matter."
"Beefy. I don't quite know how to put this. Millicent and I have not yet cohabited."
"Good grief. Let's order lunch."
"My collar bone broke at the first try. Been in a cast ever since. But now I'm out. She doesn't seem to want me."
"Mandamus her. To commit the act"
"I couldn't do that."
"Then annul for God's sake. Annul."
"Do you think so."
"Get your trustees on to it. If you don't annul now you condone, you could be trapped celibate for the rest of your life."
"But I don't want to annul. That's a legal step and I somehow feel her mother would shout awfully loudly in court."
"Has she seen it."
"Seen what."
"Your tool, your private member. I mean does she hold it in horror or disbelief. Is she distressed at the sight of it."
"I don't know."
"Did she scream when she saw it."
"No. I think I may have when I fell. Is this usual in a marriage."
"But of course, I mean there are some who haven't laid hand to each other in all their years. Often makes for permanent unions. You mustn't worry. First thing is to get you some dirty literature and have it around the house. Few of these filthy books. You know the sort of thing, Lola stood there as the bishop or butler advanced his sheath upon the shaft well drawn back from the rosy knob of his stiff passion. Older members of the club who don't want to be bothered stimulating the wife often just throw her one of these tomes in the dressing room. Twenty minutes before dinner is served is thought to be a ripeish time. Millicent might just pick it up and get carnal minded."
"Isn't that a little distasteful."
"It's abominable but you must. I know a shop. Good chaps. Specialists. Answer your needs in a hurry. A portfolio of the male nude may be your man. In the usual erected poses. Hate to bring up nationalities but you know how you French chaps wear white gloves so not to leave fingerprints on your pricks. Well, such photos throw English women into uncontrolled fits of passion. Buck up Balthazar. Fm now tying the last little strings on the Violet Infanta. We've decided to live at the Ritz. When I shall like any other civilised human being be able to spend my afternoons at the usual auctions. Chippendale's cheap at the moment. My trustees are delighted by my prospects. But you know I miss work on the building site. Good chaps to a man. There was a Padrick from Tipperary. Wore a chefs cap while on the job. He employed his culinary deftness he said in mixing the cement into which I always took a pee. He could fart in unison with the pneumatic drill. And goose one with the mechanical digger. I mean he could make it dance, there he was in the glass operator's cubicle playing the sticks and levers like a prodigy. He'd dig a hole into anything. Down into gas mains, electric cables, nearly every day there'd be an explosion, like open warfare. Ah but you Balthazar, you will overcome."