I had breakfast at my desk each morning brought by Alphonsine. Weather wanning across London. The skies clean and blue. And sat with my feet up over the steaming delicious coffee and croissants. Which I covered with blackcurrant jam. Staring out my window over the lilac trees and across the walls at windows where perhaps there move other sad lives. When my private phone rings. The one man who knows its number. Pick up the black handle. And hear Beefy.
"Dear boy, joy. It is announced. Just as I finally threw in the towel. Put on your hat and coat and rush to the Edge-ware Road. Meet me the north east corner of Praed Street. Sorry to give you such sudden news. You know how one might pick up the best newspaper of a morning only to read that the Swedes are legalising incest. But for me I regain my rank. Valued by one's equals and honoured by one's inferiors. Of course I may add I am really a one orgasm man but I do guarantee some tempestuous thrustings in between."
"What's happened Beefy."
"It has happened. New shirtings, smoking jackets and kimonos are on the way. The Ritz first stop. The Infanta and I have a little passionate caprice I'd like you to cultivate. Called the regal rapture. Balthazar you will think me entirely without humility. But you know I stand in front of the mirror now and I must say when I look at it, it's fully ready for rosy rogering in deep solitude. Corsica perhaps for the honeymoon."
"Beefy I can't understand what you're saying."
"We are marrying, the Violet Infanta and I, today. Awfully rush and much hush hush. You are best man."
And Balthazar B rushed to change his clothes. Gathering money from the bank. Only thing one has for a present. Put it in a brown bag with two apples they can eat wherever they go. Jump into a taxi heading to the meeting place up this straight grim road. The Violet Infanta in a blue suit and blue hat. Beefy in grey double breasted pin stripe and Trinity Dublin tie. In a panelled room four of us stand before this pleasant smiling man. Who frowned a little and looked up as Beefy convulsively exploded a helpless laughter out his lips. And said as we went to a nearby hotel, I hope no one minded, my laughter was all relief.
Outside there was a din of pneumatic drills and I bid them goodbye with a wave and kiss from my lips. The dark shadow of Beefy through the opaque taxi window. I shook hands with the Infanta's friend who boarded a bus. People part. One does not want to grow old in misery. Trickle down to death. Carry always with me now. My Fitzdare I married. Long ago in my heart. Her smile and all the rest of her. Walks with me. Told to one's face. By a wife who has trapped you. Because of your money. Stroll along this road through a thronged street. Lady shoppers testing tomatoes on the stalls. Past this female hospital. And over the canal. No taxis anywhere. Just wait and look. Before one goes into the tube. Watch that weary old dog bent up crapping in the gutter between two cars. Poor doggy having such a struggle. Like Beefy he may have piles. But codes as well because he doesn't foul the footpath. Pity there are not more doggies like him. My God he's taken umbrage at my watching.
The dog with its fat body wobbling on thin ancient legs sped up from the street at Balthazar, barking and biting round his ankles. As one moves most quickly down the steps into the tube. A lesson learned that some doggies want their privacy. Like his master standing at the door of his pub. A regular who goes back inside to ask for his usual. And drink beer in the quiet civility where no shins are chipped. Or privates displayed.
Go now and take a ticket anywhere. On the low round little trains. Roaring down their tunnel tracks. One will go to St. James and walk across back through the park. See the ducks and swans swooping in the air. Wish so much for Beefy to be glad. With his pretty bride. The two of them holding hands. Wed when the daffodils are gone. And Beefy said the Infanta said she married him because she liked men with big pricks so she wouldn't have to strain her eyes.
Stepping off the train. Walking down this grey station. Bright shouting pictures on the walls. And suddenly stayed by a hand. To turn and look into the black face of a man.
"Escuse me sir."
"Yes."
"Do you live about here."
"No. But not too far away."
"Can you tell me how to get to the Foreign Office."
"Yes indeed. Just go out of the station into Petty France Street. Down Queen Anne's Gate, go right along the park. I think it is Birdcage Walk. Continue left along the park and then go right, up some steps, into what I think is King Charles Street. And that's the Foreign Office."
"Sir may I ask you kindly another favour. I have been watching you on the train. I have been riding the train for hours. Seeing all the faces. Just waiting until I could see a face of intelligence and humanity. Such as yours, the only face like that I have seen all day. I am a medical student. At Edinburgh university. And sir, believe me when I say I have waited to see a face like yours. One of sensitivity. An honourable face. Distinguished. I know nothing more about you except what I see. And sir, I know you have been to a university. Is that correct."
"Yes."
"You see I know. I can tell human beings and what they are. It is with the utmost reluctance I trouble you. The fact of the matter is sir. I have not eaten all day. I have no money. I am at my wits end. Everywhere I have gone I have been refused help. My shoes are worn out. Dear sir, could you give me the fare to Edinburgh."
Balthazar B looked into these dark pleading eyes. The black shining skin. And gracious manner. His shoes were only very slightly pointed. The missing buttons on his shirt and frayed cuffs nearly like my own.
"Please sir, before you speak, before you make up your mind. I want you to know that I am not lying. That I am genuine. Believe me. You are a professor."
"No."
"A member of the government perhaps. You know the streets so well."
"I walk here often."
"I can tell that you are important. I knew it as I watched you on the train all the way from Paddington on the Bakerloo Line to Charing Cross. You changed to the District Line to alight here. You see I do not lie. You are perhaps a member of Parliament."
"No."
"What are you sir. If I may just ask you."
"Pd hardly be able to answer that really."
"It is all right, you don't have to tell me, I understand you are someone important, and you do not want to divulge. I can see. Then you are a minister."
"No."
"You are of the peerage. Modesty prevents you from telling me. You have the carriage and demeanour of a lord. It is so clear to me that such is the case. Your clothing and the air about you tells me. But sir, upon my word of honour. Everywhere I have gone they want credentials from me. And I have left them with my landlady in Edinburgh and she will not send them to me because I have not paid the rent. That is the gospel truth. If I can get to Edinburgh my credentials will allow me to get further funds. And immediately I will send the sum back to you. Believe me sir. If I fail with you. There is no hope. Because it is only you out of all the hundreds of faces where I find love expressed with an elegance that simply no one else I have seen possesses. I do not ask you further. Believe me sir, I am aware that you may even be a member of the royal family. And that you would not want me to know. I offer you my watch as security."
Balthazar smiling to put this gentleman at his ease. The watch of poor quality held out in the pink faced palm of his hand telling the wrong time. His eyes full of sad resignation. Back those years, when one saw passing across college squares black princely gentlemen with their white flashing teeth and splendid ways. Flowing colours of their robes and the grand aplomb with which they wore their tweeds. And there was Zutu. Great soothsayer of the horse and race course.