Darcy Dancer standing in his dark serge double breasted suit. Made by Mr Kaighan as he came with his sample cloths, tapes and chalks to measure me each October. As I must I think, take a pace backwards. Put one’s elbow to rest on this white long bookcase crammed with volumes and piled on top with ceramics, bottles of linseed oil and turpentine. Round stove with its crooked chimney pipe going upwards high into the wall where it left a wide smoke stain to the ceiling. Rain now drumming on the glass, coming down in one god awful downpour. Drips dropping into the room. Lois, a hand on her hip puts one leg forward and pushes out her chest. Right in front of my hopefully angelic face. A raindrop landing on my nose.
Faint bells toll lonesome out over the city. And madam whatever her surname is, is taking her pink outer garment by the hem and pulling it up over her head and holding it by the sleeves as it hangs down in front of her. And gives me a long hard stare. I am extremely good at staring back. Even as a baby I could make my nannie Ruby drop her eyes if they too long confronted mine.
‘Take off your jacket.’
‘It’s raining on me.’
‘Just step to one side.’
‘It is a bit chilly.’
‘O don’t complain. And look at you. French cuffs and gold cuff links. At your age.’
‘I am an imperialist member of the squirearchy and imperialists, madam, dress this way.’
‘O we are grand aren’t we.’
‘Yes I am.’
‘And a cheeky little bugger that’s what you are. Daring to engage me in a staring match. I can outstare any man. Even while I must grope round to do so.’
‘You shan’t, I regret to say, outstare me madam. And do be careful of bottles.’
Lois slowly swaying her hips. As I do believe she is attempting something in the nature of a tropical dance. Her eyes I thought averted momentarily as she opens the buttons at the neck of her woolly underwear. Pulling it down around her shoulders and hanging it from her waist. With yet another pale blue sleeveless sweater underneath. Which she pulls up over her head. Leaving her upper part quite naked. Tax her with the matter of perhaps corrupting the morals of a minor. About which I am rather widely read from legal tomes I have referred to while endeavouring to satisfy my passing interest in filthy curiosities. A trace of a smile on her lips. As she thinks this rude ruse will make me avert my eyes. Not so madam. I shall stare you into your grave before I allow my eyes to examine your breasts. Of course one catches sight of them on the upper retina. Mr Arland says images get inverted going through one’s lens. Perhaps I should impart to her advice. According to Mr Arland’s Domestic Homoeopathy. When there is torpor of the bowels and there is the sensation of being paralysed there, take three globules of opium. Obstinate cases require tepid water enema. And last night about this time I was in the arms of Miss von B who is not constipated. And shits she says like a meteor scooting among the stars. Although I supplied this latter description, it was in fact what she was trying to say.
‘You are, aren’t you, quite stubborn, dear boy.’
‘Indeed yes, madam.’
To take a train ride to Dublin. And although a little frightening it is thoroughly exciting to find yet another lady so soon to present herself quite and absolutely from the waist up divested of covering. These are smaller but quite sharply pointed breasts. Not quite so rounded and big as those of Miss von B. But longer nipples. Foxy says those big breasts you see on a lady were not of the best. That it’s the small tidy bags that make a good milker over the years. Keep distracting one’s mind during this staring. Then suddenly concentrate and with my smouldering gaze strike terror in her. The room is warming. The rain and drip has stopped. Lois is clearly faltering. Any moment now this rank imperialist will panic her to being outstared. Mr Arland will wonder where I am. But for the matter of that I might ask where is he. Since I do believe I may in fact take some time to show this rather over confident pretentious lady a thing or two.
‘Do you not like my tits dear boy. You may come and feel them if you wish.’
‘I’m quite all right thank you. I am going to outstare you first madam.’
‘It’s all quite natural dear boy. Your mother had breasts. And I have breasts. And you mustn’t look as if you think I’m deranged. And you may call me Lois.’
‘Stop talking and looking for excuses to get out of our staring match.’
‘Of course dear boy, I can’t waste time like this. I’ll let you win the staring match just this once. It is essential for the task at hand that you be able to see all of me. Perhaps not quite what your tutor had in mind for you on your tour, I don’t suspect. But I’m ready now to paint you. Please. I’m putting more turf in the stove. It should be quite tolerable. Do take off your things.’
Darcy Dancer toying with his buttons in the candlelight. Lois’s underwear hanging down over her trousers as she pulls open a drawer and takes out two tapers and lights them by the candle. Now quite brazenly she’s pulling down her gentleman’s trousers and peeling off her white long woolly underwear. Sinewy long tapering legs. Shiny white shapely and smooth. Her reptile like mouth. Tongue shooting out and licking all over her lips. Like a film Uncle Willie had taken me to once in the town. When a great long black snake came out from behind a rock and a woman charmed it with holy water and kissed it. All the catholics in the audience clapped and cheered. Uncle Willie said under his breath. What awful shit. Show her I can take off my clothes too. Only I have a really wretched hole in my underwear. Which is not in the least imperial. Mr Arland is really going to wonder where on earth I am now. And as I’m nearly without my clothes he’d have a further fit if he knew. This may well serve me as experience for the future. When I may in regalia have to stand for long hours having my portrait painted. Especially with this creature with her brushes in one hand and sketching pad in another, waggingly gyrating her bosoms in a dance. Women lately are always trying to do this to me. Make me naked and nervous. When I’d prefer to be normal and ordinary. The thumping of my heart on my bare chest. And worse, she’ll see my penis sticking up at the skylight. Maybe make her faint backwards and go down again in the bottles, or crashing stark naked among her easels and tubes of paint. With bunches of brushes falling on her and sticking up out of her ears and arse maybe. Might even loosen up her bowels.
‘That’s very good. Climb up now on the dais. I shall do some very swift ink and colour washes of you. Yes, just stand there. Straight, with the left leg flexed just that little bit. And stick it out. No not that. It’s not what I’m referring to at all. Although, it is a quite adequate one, if I may say so. It’s your arse I refer to. Your right cheek. Yes. Tense it. Yes that’s it. Now I’m afraid that that must subside. You have an erection. It simply won’t do. It’s contrary to the whole flow of line. Please make it go down.’
‘I can’t, I don’t know how.’
‘You simply must learn to control yourself. If we’re to do any serious work at all. I know my body may excite you. But don’t let it.’
‘I’m trying not to let it madam.’
‘Surely if you are so good at staring matches you can learn that discipline at least.’
‘I don’t think I can. No one has ever asked me to do this before.’
‘Well I’m asking you now. So please make an effort. Ignore my nakedness. Think of something which is non stimulating. Look at my cat Fergus there. If he stimulates you, neutered as the poor creature is, you are then really evil minded. Commerce is the only really obscene thing. But dear boy for you to get an erection just as I am about to make masterpieces is an insult to the whole creative concept.’
‘This kind of art is new to me.’