‘Well I think I’m alright. It’s my diet which has been so poor. So wretched. I’m quite nearly starving sometimes you know. That’s why I go to those awful parties. To eat. And one hardly ever can because all they do is drink. Every penny I earn must go towards buying more paint and canvas.’
Lois slowly getting to her feet and holding a banister rail to lead Darcy Dancer feeling his way up the narrow steep staircase. The sound of a box of matches opening. And Lois strikes one once, twice and three times. And finally a flame. To light four candles. A large tall room. A big pot bellied iron stove in the centre. Glassy blackness beyond a great skylight. Paintings stacked everywhere.
‘I nearly have a good mind to send you away laughing at me like that. And not to let you see my etchings. But of course I will give you some hot cocoa. Well, don’t just stand there. Take off your coat.’
Clusters of massive testicles in great wild tropical curvatures of colour with penises cascading down them like waterfalls. The canvases leaning overlapping along the walls. By the blackened rusty stove, three steps up to a high dais. Before it an easel holding a full length portrait of the Count. Missing an unfinished arm and a lower leg. The rest of his muscular body wearing only his extremely smooth skin, posed against a deep green flowing drapery. His privates most shockingly prominent not to say bulging out of his blond curling pubic hair. And strewn on the floor water colour drawings of a quite black individual, with uncommonly not to say improbably whopping sexual organs.
‘This is where I sleep dear boy.’
A wide quilt covered bed stacked with brightly coloured pillows. Upon which Lois throws her great heavy duffel coat. And then sits to pull off her green sweater. A long sleeved tight pink garment underneath.
‘You have a lot of pictures of naked men.’
‘They are not naked men. Studies, dear boy. Studies of the male nude.’
A table with a jar of marmalade and half a loaf of bread. A fish skeleton on a plate. In a corner by a small window a sink stacked full of dishes. Lois putting out her chest as she arose again. Pressing her hands down across her backside.
‘Thank god I’ve not broken bones. That’s all I’d need on top of everything else.’
She crosses to open the door of the stove. Pushing in long pieces of black turf as smoke poured out. And as she slams it closed, a grey sleek cat jumps miaowing up on the table. Lois waving it off and lifting her arms to scratch.
‘Have you got bugs madam.’
‘Stop calling me that.’
‘Well you call me dear boy.’
‘Well then I shall stop. And I have not got bugs. But I should apologize for scratching. It is my woolly long underwear. I must wear at least two pairs. To keep warm when I’m working. This is my outside one I dyed pink. Now let me look at you. Just sit there. Yes. On the stool. Now just turn a little to the left. You have the most exquisite face. Your most perfectly straight nose. And such marvellously large peasant hands.’
‘I am not a peasant.’
‘Ah but we know that. You are a proper little country gent. With the most magnificent mediaeval profile. Elizabethan. Quite beyond anything one might expect would come out of the Irish countryside. I want you to pose.’
‘For a study.’
‘My dear boy, you do catch on rather fast, don’t you. Of course I shouldn’t want to embarrass you. But art demands the elimination of the squeamish little restrictions and conventions society has so barbarously imposed upon us.’
Lois surveying Darcy Dancer, holding her head a little to the side. Putting her hand on her hip and sucking air between her lips. With her duffel coat and the big green sweater off, she had quite surprisingly pronounced breasts. I had, when first confronting her, thought she was entirely without bosoms. And now behind her another bunch of bottles. Which must have once held stout. Each time she steps backwards while surveying me I get quite excited thinking that she might land crashing on her arse.again. But just at the last rotten second she notices them. Until suddenly she snapped her fingers.
‘I think I have got it. Yes, I have. There is absolutely something Flemish in your face. It must be in your ancestry. Transcending of course the underlying peasant aspect. But that’s it. I’ve found it. Flemish.’
Lois raising her chin. And now this insight it seems sending her stepping way back. Just marvellously far enough this time. To go yet with another almighty crash, falling back into and among the stout bottles. Darcy Dancer putting his hand up squeezing into his cheeks and pressing hard across his mouth to keep it closed. As one’s lungs were full to bursting and exploding. Too unbelievable that a lady of her mature age should be so stupidly awkward. Especially to trod on her own drawings and the defenceless black man’s cock and testicles. She must be a bloody exhibitionist.
‘O my god. Bother and damn. O my god. I think I may really be hurt. But if you laugh again I shall never forgive you.’
Her accent extremely high pitched and nasal. I was naturally thinking it was quite typical of her that she should shout rather exaggeratedly English epithets.
‘O pish and pother.’
Which she did really loudly as she fell again trying to get up. Her face quite red. One did for the first time feel a flash of sympathy. For she was really doing her damndest to get back on her feet.
‘You fucking little bastard you. I absolutely think your monstrous sense of humour absolutely Irish.’
‘I didn’t do a thing.’
‘Do a thing. Why you’re laughing.’
‘Only moderately as anyone might with a reasonable sense of humour.’
‘And at a poor woman. Well help me up, blast you. I think I am badly injured. I do believe the neck of one of those horrid stout bottles may have penetrated my anus. And it hasn’t done my constipation the least bit of good. O god bombs in Bloomsbury were nothing compared to this awful place.’
Darcy Dancer again taking Lois by the armpits. Like lugging a calf to put her upright once more. Her hand feeling down around her bottom, as she shakes herself.
‘Hasn’t anyone ever taught you dear boy that it is the height of rudeness to find another’s misfortune amusing. And it is totally improper not to show your elders at least that much respect. Well answer me. Hasn’t anyone ever taught you that.’
‘Please don’t shout at me.’
‘Well damn you, I shall shout. I am most angry. You seem not to exhibit any regard for the feelings of others. And are you going to pose for me or not.’
‘Now.’
‘Of course, now.’
‘You mean without my clothes.’
‘Of course.’
‘I hardly know you madam well enough. To pose that way. Besides you haven’t given me my cocoa yet.’
‘You have your damn nerve, haven’t you.’
‘On the contrary I am merely being candid as one has always been brought up to be.’
‘And who brought you up, your nannie.’
‘As a matter of fact, she did.’
Darcy Dancer and Lois in a blazing confrontation of eyeballs. Standing across the loose floorboards flecked with blue, pink, orange, green and grey. And now the sound of rain tapping the skylight. Mr Arland sometimes spoke of what he said would be my indoctrination into the outside world. Beyond the halls, walls and pastures of Andromeda Park. Now I am at large. And after a quick look at the gathering of the Count’s party it was alarming to discover how bogus were man’s interests and concerns. With everyone, if not prattling on about themselves, then loud voiced expressing their quite pretentious one sided opinions. Clearly most adults with the exception perhaps of Mr Arland and Uncle Willie, were assumed of the most hollow attributes. And it is obvious one must deal with them accordingly.
‘Well, what are you waiting for, take off your things. And I shall prepare myself.’