It certainly was the most
astounding
thing.
Samuel Beckett
.
"Can you pay this man" he said when they arrived "be-
cause I spent my last on a bottle? "
She took money out of her bag and gave it to him
and he paid the man off. They stood on the asphalt in front of the gate, face to face. The rain had almost ceased.
"Well" he said, wondering might he hazard a quick baisemain before he went. He released the gesture but she shrank away and unlatched the gate.
Tire la chevillette, la bobinette cherra.
Pardon these French expressions, but the creature dreams in French.
"Come in" she said, "there's a fire and a bottle. "
He went in. She would sit in a chair and he would sit on the floor at last and her thigh against his baby anthrax would be better than a foment. For the rest, the bottle, some natural tears and in what hair he had left her high- frequency fingers.
Nisscht moddddddglich. . . .
Now it began to rain again upon the earth beneath and greatly incommoded Christmas traffic of every kind by continuing to do so without remission for a matter of thirty-six hours. A divine creature, native of Leipzig, to whom Belacqua, round about the following Epiphany, had occasion to quote the rainfall for December as cooked in the Dublin University Fellows' Garden, ejaculated:
"Himmisacrakruzidirkenjesusmariaundjosefundbliitiges- kreuz! "
Like that, all in one word. The things people come out with sometimes!
But the wind had dropped, as it so often does in Dublin when all the respectable men and women whom it de-
lights to annoy have gone to bed, and the rain fell in a uniform untroubled manner. It fell upon the bay, the lit- toral, the mountains and the plains, and notably upon the Central Bog it fell with a rather desolate uniformity.
So that when Belacqua that uneasy creature came out of Casa Alba in the small hours of the morning it was a case of darkness visible and no mistake. The street-lamps were all extinguished, as were the moon and stars. He stood out well in the midst of the tramlines, inspected every available inch of the firmament and satisfied his mind that it was quite black. He struck a match and looked at his watch. It had stopped. Patience, a public clock would oblige.
His feet pained him so much that he took off his per- fectly good boots and threw them away, with best wishes to some early bird for a Merry Christmas. Then he set off to paddle the whole way home, his toes rejoicing in their freedom. But this small gain in the matter of ease was very quickly more than revoked by such a belly-ache as he had never known. This doubled him up more and more till finally he was creeping along with his poor trunk parallel to the horizon. When he came to the bridge over the canal, not Baggot Street, not Leeson Street, but an- other nearer the sea, he gave in and disposed himself in the knee-and-elbow position on the pavement. Gradually the pain got better.
What was that? He shook off his glasses and stooped his head to see. That was his hands. Now who would have thought that! He began to try would they work, clenching them and unclenching, keeping them moving for the wonder of his weak eyes. Finally he opened them in unison, finger by finger together, till there they were, wide open, face upward, rancid, an inch from his squint, which however slowly righted itself as he began to lose interest
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in them as a spectacle. Scarcely had he made to employ them on his face than a voice, slightly more in sorrow than in anger this time, enjoined him to move on, which, the pain being so much better, he was only too happy to do.
Love and Lethe
Ihe Toughs, consisting of Mr and Mrs and their one and only Ruby, lived in a small house in Irishtown. When dinner, which they took in the middle of the day, was ended, Mr Tough went to his room to lie down and Mrs Tough and Ruby to the kitchen for a cup of coffee and a chat. The mother was low-sized, pale and plump, admir- ably preserved though well past the change. She poured the right amount of water into the saucepan and set it to boil.
"What time is he coming? " she said
"He said about three" said Ruby.
"With car? " said Mrs Tough.
"He hoped with car" answered Ruby.
Mrs Tough hoped so most devoutly, for she had an idea
that she might be invited to join the party. Though she would rather have died than stand in the way of her daughter, yet she saw no reason why, if she kept herself to herself in the dicky, there should be any objection to her joining in the fun. She shook the beans into the little mill and ground them violently into powder. Ruby, who was neurasthenic on top of everything else, plugged her ears. Mrs Tough, taking a seat at the deal table against the water would be boiling, looked out of the window at the perfect weather.
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"Where are you going? " she said. She had the natural curiosity of a mother in what concerns her child.
"Don't ask me" answered Ruby, who was inclined to resent all these questions.
He to whom they referred, who had hopes of calling at three with a car, was the doomed Belacqua and no other.
The water boiling, Mrs Tough rose and added the coffee, reduced the flame, stirred thoroughly and left to simmer. Though it seems a strange way to prepare coffee, yet it was justified by the event.
"Let me put you up some tea" implored Mrs Tough. She could not bear to be idle.
"Ah no" said Ruby "no thanks really. "
It struck the half-hour in the hall. It was half-past two, that zero hour, in Irishtown.
"Half-two! " ejaculated Mrs Tough, who had no idea it was so late.
Ruby was glad that it was not earlier. The aroma of coffee pervaded the kitchen. She would have just nice time to dream over her coffee. But she knew that this was quite out of the question with her mother wanting to talk, bursting with questions and suggestions. So when the coffee was dispensed and her mother had settled down for the comfortable chat that went with it she unex- pectedly said:
"I think, mother, if you don't mind, I'll take mine with me to the lav, I don't feel very well. "
Mrs Tough was used to the whims of Ruby and took them philosophically usually. But this latest fancy was really a little bit too unheard of. Coffee in the lav! What would father say when he heard? However.
"And the rosiner" said Mrs Tough, "will you have that in the lav too? "
Reader, a rosiner is a drop of the hard.
Ruby rose and took a gulp of coffee to make room.
"I'll have a gloria" she said.
Reader, a gloria is coffee laced with brandy.
Mrs Tough poured into the proffered cup a smaller
portion of brandy than in the ordinary way she would have allowed, and Ruby left the room.
We know something of Belacqua, but Ruby Tough is a stranger to these pages. Anxious that those who read this incredible adventure shall not pooh-pooh it as unintel- ligible we avail ourselves now of this lull, what time Belacqua is on his way, Mrs Tough broods in the kitchen and Ruby dreams over her gloria, to enlarge a little on the latter lady.
For a long period, on account of the beauty of her person and perhaps also, though in lesser degree, the dis- tinction of her mind, Ruby had been the occasion of much wine-shed; but now, in the thirty-third or -fourth year of her age, she was so no longer. Those who are in the least curious to know what she looked like at the time in which we have chosen to cull her we venture to refer to the Magdalene1 in the Perugino Pieta in the National Gallery of Dublin, always bearing in mind that the hair of our heroine is black and not ginger. Further than this hint we need not allow her outside to detain us, seeing that Belacqua was scarcely ever aware of it.
The facts of life had reduced her temper, naturally ro- mantic and idealistic in the highest degree, to an almost atomic despair. Her sentimental experience had indeed been unfortunate. Requiring of love, as a younger and more appetising woman, that it should unite or fix her as
1 This figure, owing to the glittering vitrine behind which the canvas cowers, can only be apprehended in sections. Patience, however, and a retentive memory have been known to elicit a total statement approxi- mating to the intention of the painter.
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firmly and as finally as the sun of a binary in respect of its partner, she had come to avoid it more and more as she found, with increasing disappointment and disgust, its effect at each successive manifestation, for she had been in great demand, to be of quite a different order. The re- sult of this erotic frustration was, firstly, to make her eschew the experience entirely; secondly, to recommend her itch for syzygy to more ideal measures, among which she found music and malt the most efficacious; and finally, to send her caterwauling to the alcove for whatever shabby joys it could afford. These however, embarras de richesse as long as she remained the scornful maiden, were naturally less at pains to solicit one whose sense of proportion had been acquired to the great detriment of her allurements. The grapes of love, set aside as abject in the davs of hot blood, turned sour as soon as she discov- ered a zest for them. As formerly she had recoiled into herself because she would not, so now she did because she could not, except that in her retreat the hope that used to solace her was dead. She saw her life as a series of staircase jests.
Belacqua, paying pious suit to the hem of her garment and gutting his raptures with great complacency at a safe remove, represented precisely the ineffable long-distance paramour to whom as a homesick meteorite abounding in it she had sacrificed her innumerable gallants. And now, the metal of stars smothered in earth, the it run dry and the gallants departed, he appeared, like the agent of an ironical Fortune, to put her in mind of what she had missed and rowel her sorrow for what she was missing. Yet she tolerated him in the hope that sooner or later, in a fit of ebriety or of common or garden incontinence, he would so far forget himself as to take her in his arms.
Join to all this the fact that she had long been suffering
from an incurable disorder and been assured positively by no fewer than fifteen doctors, ten of whom were atheists, acting independently, that she need not look forward to her life being much further prolonged, and we feel confi- dent that even the most captious reader must acknowl- edge, not merely the extreme wretchedness of Ruby's situation, but also the verisimilitude of what we hope to relate in the not too distant future. For we assume the irresponsibility of Belacqua, his faculty for acting with in- sufficient motivation, to have been so far evinced in pre- vious misadventures as to be no longer a matter for surprise. In respect of this apparent gratuity of conduct he may perhaps with some colour of justice be likened to the laws of nature. A mental home was the place for him.
He cultivated Ruby, for whom at no time did he much care, and made careful love in the terms he thought best calculated to prime her for the part she was to play on his behalf, the gist of which, as he revealed when he deemed her ripe, provided that she should connive at his felo de se, which he much regretted he could not commit on his own bottom. How he had formed this resolution to destroy himself we are quite unable to discover. The simplest course, when the motives of any deed are found sub- liminal to the point of defying expression, is to call that deed ex nihilo and have done. Which we beg leave to follow in the present instance.
The normal woman of sense asks "what? " in preference to "why? " ( this is very deep ) , but poor Ruby had always been deficient in that exquisite quality, so that no sooner had Belacqua opened his project than she applied for his reasons. Now though he had none, as we have seen, that he could offer, yet he had armed himself so well at this point, forewarned by the study he had made of his cats- paw's mind, that he was able to pelt her there and then
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with the best that diligent enquiry could provide: Greek and Roman reasons, Sturm und Drang reasons, reasons metaphysical, aesthetic, erotic, anterotic and chemical, Empedocles of Agrigentum and John of the Cross reasons, in short all but the true reasons, which did not exist, at least not for the purposes of conversation. Ruby, flattened by this torrent of incentive, was obliged to admit that this was not, as she had inclined to suspect, a greenhorn yield- ing to the spur of a momentary pique, but an adult des- perado of fixed and even noble purpose, and from this concession passed to a state almost of joy. She was done in any case, and here was a chance to end with a fairly beau- tiful bang. So the thing was arranged, the needful meas- ures taken, the date fixed in the spring of the year and a
site near by selected, Venice in October having been re- jected as alas impracticable. Now the fateful day had come and Ruby, in the posture of Philosopher Square be- hind Molly Seagrim's arras, sat winding herself up, while Belacqua, in a swagger sports roadster chartered at untold gold by the hour, trod on the gas for Irishtown.
So fiercely indeed did he do this, though so far from being insured against third-party risks he was not even the holder of a driving-licence, that he scored a wake of objurgation as he sped through the traffic. The better-class pedestrians and cyclists turned and stared after him. "These stream-lined Juggernauts" they said, shaking their heads, "are a positive menace. " Civic Guards at various points of the city and suburbs took his number. In Pearse Street he smote off the wheel of a growler as cleanly as Peter Malchus's ear after the agony, but did not stop. Further on, in some lowly street or other, the little chil- dren playing beds and ball and other games were scat- tered like chaff. But before the terrible humped Victoria
Bridge, its implacable bisection, in a sudden panic at his own temerity he stopped the car, got out and pushed her across with the help of a bystander. Then he drove quietly on through the afternoon and came in due course without further mishap to the house of his accomplice.
Mrs Tough flung open wide the door. She was all over Belacqua, with his big pallid gob much abused with imagined debauches.
"Ruby" she sang, in a third, like a cuckoo, "Rubee! Rubee! "
But would she ever change her tune, that was the ques- tion.
Ruby dangled down the stairs, with the marks of her teeth in her nether lip where she could persuade no bee to sting her any more.
"Get on your bonnet and shawl" said Belacqua roughly "and we'll be going. "
Mrs Tough recoiled aghast. This was the first time she had ever heard such a tone turned on her Ruby. But Ruby got into a coat like a lamb and seemed not to mind. It became only too clear to Mrs Tough that she was not going to be invited.
"May I offer you a little refreshment" she said in an icy voice to Belacqua "before you go? " She could not bear to be idle.
Ruby thought she had never heard anything quite so absurd. Refreshment before they went! It was if and when they returned that they would be in need of refreshment.
"Really mother" she said, "can't you see we must be off. "
Belacqua chimed in with a heavy lunch at the Bailey. The truth was not in him.
"Off where? " said Mrs Tough. "Off" cried Ruby, "just off. "
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What a strange mood she is in to be sure, thought Mrs Tough. However. At least they could not prevent her from going as far as the gate.
"Where did you raise the car? " she said.
If you had seen the car you would agree that this was the most natural question.
Belacqua mentioned a firm of motor engineers.
"Oh indeed" said Mrs Tough.
Mr Tough crept to the window and peeped out from
behind the curtain. He had worked himself to the bone for his family and he could only afford a safety-bicycle. A bitter look stole over his cyanosis.
Belacqua got in a gear at last, he had no very clear idea himself which, after much clutch-burning, and they shot forward in Hollywood style. Mrs Tough might have been waving to Lot for all the response she received. Was the cut-out by way of being their spokesman? Ruby's parting gird, "Expect us when you see us," echoed in her ears. On the stairs she met Mr Tough descending. They passed.
"There is something about that young man" called down Mrs Tough "that I can't relish. "
"Pup" called up Mr Tough.
They increased the gap between them.
"Ruby is very strange" cried down Mrs Tough.
"Slut" cried up Mr. Tough.
Though he might be only able to afford a safety-bicycle
he was nevertheless a man of few words. There are better things, he thought, going to the bottle, there are better things in this stenching world than Blue Birds.
The pup and slut drove on and on and there was dead silence between them. Not a syllable did they exchange until the car was safely stowed at the foot of a high mountain. But when Ruby saw Belacqua open the dicky
and produce a bag she thought well to break a silence that was becoming a little awkward.
"What have you got" she said "in the maternity-bag? "
"Socrates" replied Belacqua "the son of his mother, and the hemlocks. "
"No" she said, "codding aside, what? "
Belacqua let fly a finger for each item.
"The revolver and balls, the veronal, the bottle and
glasses, and the notice. "
Ruby could not repress a shiver.
"In the name of God" she said "what notice? "
"The one that we are fled" replied Belacqua, and not
another word would he say though she begged him to tell her. The notice was his own idea and he was proud of it. When the time came she would have to subscribe to it whether she liked it or not. He would keep it as a little surprise for her.
They ascended the mountain in silence. Wisps of snipe and whatever it is of grouse squirted out of the heather on all sides, while the number of hares, brooding in their forms, that they started and sent bounding away, was a credit to the gamekeeper. They plunged on and up through the deep ling and whortleberry. Ruby was sweat- ing. A high mesh wire fence, flung like a shingles round the mountain, obstructed their passage.
"What are all the trusses for? " panted Ruby.
Right along on either hand as far as they could see there were fasces of bracken attached to the wire. Belacqua racked his brains for an explanation. In the end he had to give it up.
"God I don't know at all" he exclaimed.
It certainly was the most astounding thing.
Ladies first. Ruby scaled the fence. Belacqua, holding
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gallantly back with the bag in his hand, enjoyed a glimpse of her legs' sincerity. It was the first time he had had occasion to take stock of those parts of her and certainly he had seen worse. They pushed on and soon the summit, complete with fairy rath, came into view, howbeit still at a considerable distance.
Ruby tripped and fell, but on her face. Belacqua's strong arms were at hand to raise her up.
"Not hurt" he kindly inquired.
"This foul old skirt gets in my way" she said angrily.
"It is an encumbrance" agreed Belacqua, "off with it. " This struck Ruby as being such a good suggestion that
she acted upon it without further ado and stood revealed as one of those ladies who have no use for a petticoat. Belacqua folded the skirt over his arm, there being no room for it in the bag, and Ruby, greatly eased, stormed the summit in her knickers.
Belacqua, who was in the lead, halted all of a sudden, clapped his hands, spun round and told Ruby he had got it. He was keenly conscious of her standing knee-deep in the ling before him, grateful for a breather and not both- ering to ask what.
"They tie those bundles to the wire" he said "so that the grouse will see them. "
Still she did not understand.
"And not fly against the fence and hurt themselves. " Now she understood. The calm way she took it dis-
tressed Belacqua. It was to be hoped that the notice would have better success than this splendid divulgation. Now the ling was up to her garters, she seemed to be sink- ing in the heath as in a quickstand. Could it be that she was giving at the knees? "Spirits of this mountain" mur- mured the heart of Belacqua "keep me steadfast. "
Now since parking the car they had not seen a living soul.
The first thing they had to do of course when they got to the top was admire the view, with special reference to Dun Laoghaire framed to perfection in the shoulders of Three Rock and Kilmashogue, the long arms of the harbour like an entreaty in the blue sea. Young priests were singing in a wood on the hillside. They heard them and they saw the smoke of their fire. To the west in the valley a plantation of larches nearly brought tears to the eyes of Belacqua, till raising those unruly members to the slopes of Glendoo, mottled like a leopard, that lay beyond, he thought of Synge and recovered his spirits. Wicklow, full of breasts with pimples, he refused to consider. Ruby agreed. The city and the plains to the north meant nothing to either of them in the mood they were in. A human turd lay within the rath.
Like fantoccini controlled by a single wire they flung themselves down on the western "slope of heath. From now on till the end there is something very secco and Punch Judy about their proceedings, Ruby looking more bawdy
Magdalene than ever, Belacqua like a super out of the Harlot's Progress. He kept putting off opening the bag.
"I thought of bringing the gramophone" he said "and
"
Ravel's Pavane. Then
"Then you thought again" said Ruby. She had a most
irritating habit of interrupting.
"Oh yes" said Belacqua, "the usual pale cast. "
Notice the literary man.
"S'pity" said Ruby, "it might have made things easier. " Happy Infanta! Painted by Velasquez and then no more
pensums!
"If you would put back your skirt" said Belacqua vio-
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lently, "now that you have done walking, you would make things easier for me. "
How difficult things were becoming, to be sure. The least thing might upset the apple-cart at this juncture.
Ruby pricked up her ears. Was this a declaration at last? In case it might be she would not oblige him.
"I prefer it off" she said.
Belacqua, staring fiercely at the larches, sulked for a space.
"Weir he grumbled at last, "shall we have a little drink to start off? "
Ruby was agreeable. He opened the bag as little as pos- sible, put in his hand, snatched out the bottle, then the glasses and shut it quick.
"Fifteen year old" he said complacently, "on tick. "
All the money he owed for one thing or another. If he did not pull it off now once and for all he would be broke. "God" he exclaimed, executing a kind of passionate
tick-tack through his pockets, "I forgot the screw. "
"Pah" said Ruby, "what odds. Knock its head off, shoot
its neck off. "
But the screw turned up as it always does and they had
a long drink.
"Length without breath" gasped Belacqua "that's the
idea, Hiawatha at Dublin bar. "
They had another.
"That makes four doubles" said Ruby "and they say
there's eight in a bottle. "
Belacqua held up the bottle. In that case there was
something wrong with her statement.
"Never two without three" he said.
They had another.
"O Death in Life" vociferated Belacqua, "the days that
are no more. "
He fell on the bag and ripped out the notice for her inspection. Painted roughly in white on an old number- plate she beheld:
Temporarily Sane
IK-6996 had been erased to make room for this inscrip- tion. It was a palimpsest.
Ruby, pot-valiant, let a loud scoff.
"It won't do" she said, "it won't do at all. "
It was a disappointment to hear her say this. Poor
Belacqua. Sadly he held the plate out at arm's length. "You don't like it" he said.
"Bad" said Ruby "very bad. "
"I don't mean the way it's presented" said Belacqua, "I
mean the idea. "
It was all the same what he meant.
"If I had a paddle" she said "I'd bury it, idea and all. " Belacqua laid the offensive object face downward in the
heather. Now there was nothing left in the bag but the firearm, the ammunition and the veronal.
The light began to die, there was no time to be lost.
"Will you be shot" said Belacqua "or poisoned? If the former, have you any preference? The heart? The temple? If the latter" passing over the bag, "help yourself. "
Ruby passed it back.
"Load" she ordained.
"Chevaliers d'industrie" said Belacqua, inserting the
ball, "nearly all blow their brains out. Kreuger proved the rule. "
"We don't exactly die together darling" drawled Ruby "or do we? "
"Alas" sighed Belacqua "what can you expect? But a
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couple of minutes" with a bounteous brandish of the revolver, "the time it takes to boil an egg, what is that to eternity? "
"Still" said Ruby "it would have been rather nice to pass out together. "
"The problem of precedence" said Belacqua, as from a rostrum, "always arises, even as between the Pope and Napoleon. "
* 'ThePopethepuke'"quotedRuby"Tiebleachedher soul
"But perhaps you don't know that story" said Belacqua, ignoring the irrelevance.
"I do not" said Ruby "and I have no wish to. "
"Well" said Belacqua "in that case I will merely say that they solved it in a strictly spatial manner. "
"Then why not we? " said Ruby.
The gas seems to be escaping somewhere.
"
"We" said Belacqua "like twins
"Are gone astray" sneered Ruby.
"Are slaves of the sand-glass. There is not room for us
to run out arm in arm. "
"As though there were only the one in the world" said
Ruby. "Pah! "
"We happen to pine in the same one" said Belacqua,
"that is the difficulty. "
"Well, it's a minor point" said Ruby "and by all means
ladies first. "
"Please yourself" said Belacqua, "I'm the better shot. " But Ruby, instead of expanding her bosom or holding
up her head to be blown off, helped herself to a drink. Belacqua fell into a passion.
"Damn it" he cried "didn't we settle all these things weeks ago? Did we or did we not? "
"A settlement was reached" said Ruby, "certainly. "
"Then why all this bloody talk? "
Ruby drank her drink.
"And leave us a drop in the bottle" he snarled, 'Til need
it when you're gone. "
That indescribable sensation, compound of exasperation
and relief, relaxing, the better to grieve, the coenaesthesis of the consultant when he finds the surgeon out, now burst inside Belacqua. He felt suddenly hot within. The bitch was backing out.
Though whiskey as a rule helped Ruby to feel starry, yet somehow on this occasion it failed to effect her in that way, which is scarcely surprising if we reflect what a very special occasion it was. Now to her amazement the re- volver went off, harmlessly luckily, and the bullet fell in terram nobody knows where. But for fully a minute she thought she was shot. An appalling silence, in the core of which their eyes met, succeeded the detonation.
"The finger of God" whispered Belacqua.
Who shall judge of his conduct at this crux? Is it to be condemned as wholly despicable? Is it not possible that he was gallantly trying to spare the young woman embarass- ment? Was it tact or concupiscence or the white feather or an accident or what? We state the facts. We do not presume to determine their significance.
"Digitus Dei" he said "for once. "
That remark rather gives him away, does it not?
When the first shock of surprise had passed and the
silence spent its fury a great turmoil of life-blood sprang up in the breasts of our two young felons, so that they came together in inevitable nuptial. With the utmost rev- erence at our command, moving away on tiptoe from where they lie in the ling, we mention this in a low voice.
It will quite possibly be his boast in years to come, when Ruby is dead and he an old optimist, that at least
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on this occasion, if never before nor since, he achieved what he set out to do; car, in the words of one competent tosingofthematter,VAmouretlaMort—caesura nest quune mesme chose.
May their night be full of music at all events.
Walking Out
vJne fateful fine Spring evening he paused, not so much in order to rest as to have the scene soak through him, out in the middle of the late Boss Croker's Gallops, where no horses were to be seen any more. Pretty Polly that great-hearted mare was buried in the vicinity. To stroll over this expanse in fine weather, these acres of bright green grass, was almost as good as to cross the race-course of Chantilly with one's face towards the Castle. Leaning now on his stick, between Leopardstown down the hill to the north and the heights of Two Rock and Three Rock to the south, Belacqua regretted the horses of the good old days, for they would have given to the landscape some- thing that the legions of sheep and lambs could not give. These latter were springing into the world every minute, the grass was spangled with scarlet afterbirths, the larks were singing, the hedges were breaking, the sun was shin- ing, the sky was Mary's cloak, the daisies were there, everything was in order. Only the cuckoo was wanting. It was one of those Spring evenings when it is a matter of some difficulty to keep God out of one's meditations.
Belacqua leaned all his spare weight on the stick and took in the scene, in a sightless passionate kind of way, and his Kerry Blue bitch sat on the emerald floor beside him. She was getting old now, she could not be bothered hunting any more. She could tree a cat, that was no
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bother, but beyond that she did not care to go. So she just remained seated, knowing perfectly well that there were no cats in Croker's Gallops, and did not care very much what happened. The bleating of the lambs excited her slightly.
My God, it occurred to Belacqua, I must be past my best when I find myself preferring this time of year to the late Autumn.
This vivid thought, quite irrefutable as he recognised at once, did not so distress him that he was unable to move on. Past the worst of his best, there was nothing so very terrible in that, on the contrary. Soon he might hope to be creeping about in a rock-garden with tears in his eyes. Indeed proof, if proof he needed, that he was rather elated than distressed, appears in his taking his weight off the stick and moving forward; for the effect of a real derelic- tion was always to cast him up high and dry and unable to stir. The bitch walked behind. She was hot and bored.
Slowly he raised his eyes till they were levelled at his destination. Tom Wood, it graced like a comb a low hill in the distance. There he had assignation, but only in the sense that an angler has with the fish in a river. He had been there so often that he knew all its ins and outs, yet he could not have given a name to its timber. Oak, he supposed vaguely, or elm, but even had he looked he would not have been any wiser. This country lad, he could not tell an oak from an elm. Larches however he knew, from having climbed them as a little fat boy, and a young plantation of these, of a very poignant reseda, caught his eye now on the hillside. Poignant and assuasive at once, the effect it had upon him as he advanced was prodigious.
He thought if only his wife would consent to take a cicisbeo how pleasant everything would be all round. She knew how he loved her and yet she would not hear of his
getting her a cicisbeo. He was merely betrothed, but al- ready he thought of his fiancee as his wife, an anticipation that young men undertaking this change of condition might be well advised to imitate. Time and again he had urged her to establish their married life on this solid basis of a cuckoldry. She understood and appreciated his senti- ment, she acknowledged that his argument was sound, and yet she would not or could not bring herself to act accordingly. He was not a bad-looking young fellow, a kind of cretinous Tom Jones. She would kill his affection with her nonsense before the wedding bells, that would be the end of it.
Turning this and cognate anxieties over and over in his mind he came at length to the southern limit of the Gal- lops and the by-road that he had to cross to get into the next list of fields. Thus, large tracts of champaign, hedges and ditches and blessed grass and daisies, then the deep weal of road, again and again, until he would come to the wood. The wall was too high for the bitch at her time of life, so he helped her across with a vigorous heave on the grey hunkers. This gave him pleasure if he had stopped to analyse it. But himself, he made short work of the obstacle, thinking: what a splendid thing it is when all is said and done to be young and vigorous.
In the ditch on the far side of the road a strange equi- page was installed: an old high-wheeled cart, hung with rags. Belacqua looked round for something in the nature of a team, the crazy yoke could scarcely have fallen from the sky, but nothing in the least resembling a draught- beast was to be seen, not even a cow. Squatting under the cart a complete down-and-out was very busy with some- thing or other. The sun beamed down on this as though it were a new-born lamb. Belacqua took in the whole outfit at a glance and felt, the wretched bourgeois, a paroxysm
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of shame for his capon belly. The bitch, in a very remote manner, stepped up to the cart and sniffed at the rags.
"Cmowathat! " vociferated the vagabond.
Now Belacqua could see what he was doing. He was mending a pot or a pan. He beat his tool against the vessel in his anxiety. But the bitch made herself at home.
"Wettin me throusers" said the vagabond mildly "wuss . "
'n meself
So that was his trousers!
This privacy which he had always assumed to be in-
alienable, this ultimate prerogative of the Christian man, had now been violated by somebody's pet. Yet he might have been calling a score, his voice was so devoid of ran- cour. But Belacqua was embarrassed in the last degree.
"Good evening" he piped in fear and trembling, "lovely evening. "
A smile proof against all adversity transformed the sad face of the man under the cart. He was most handsome with his thick, if unkempt, black hair and moustache.
cause I spent my last on a bottle? "
She took money out of her bag and gave it to him
and he paid the man off. They stood on the asphalt in front of the gate, face to face. The rain had almost ceased.
"Well" he said, wondering might he hazard a quick baisemain before he went. He released the gesture but she shrank away and unlatched the gate.
Tire la chevillette, la bobinette cherra.
Pardon these French expressions, but the creature dreams in French.
"Come in" she said, "there's a fire and a bottle. "
He went in. She would sit in a chair and he would sit on the floor at last and her thigh against his baby anthrax would be better than a foment. For the rest, the bottle, some natural tears and in what hair he had left her high- frequency fingers.
Nisscht moddddddglich. . . .
Now it began to rain again upon the earth beneath and greatly incommoded Christmas traffic of every kind by continuing to do so without remission for a matter of thirty-six hours. A divine creature, native of Leipzig, to whom Belacqua, round about the following Epiphany, had occasion to quote the rainfall for December as cooked in the Dublin University Fellows' Garden, ejaculated:
"Himmisacrakruzidirkenjesusmariaundjosefundbliitiges- kreuz! "
Like that, all in one word. The things people come out with sometimes!
But the wind had dropped, as it so often does in Dublin when all the respectable men and women whom it de-
lights to annoy have gone to bed, and the rain fell in a uniform untroubled manner. It fell upon the bay, the lit- toral, the mountains and the plains, and notably upon the Central Bog it fell with a rather desolate uniformity.
So that when Belacqua that uneasy creature came out of Casa Alba in the small hours of the morning it was a case of darkness visible and no mistake. The street-lamps were all extinguished, as were the moon and stars. He stood out well in the midst of the tramlines, inspected every available inch of the firmament and satisfied his mind that it was quite black. He struck a match and looked at his watch. It had stopped. Patience, a public clock would oblige.
His feet pained him so much that he took off his per- fectly good boots and threw them away, with best wishes to some early bird for a Merry Christmas. Then he set off to paddle the whole way home, his toes rejoicing in their freedom. But this small gain in the matter of ease was very quickly more than revoked by such a belly-ache as he had never known. This doubled him up more and more till finally he was creeping along with his poor trunk parallel to the horizon. When he came to the bridge over the canal, not Baggot Street, not Leeson Street, but an- other nearer the sea, he gave in and disposed himself in the knee-and-elbow position on the pavement. Gradually the pain got better.
What was that? He shook off his glasses and stooped his head to see. That was his hands. Now who would have thought that! He began to try would they work, clenching them and unclenching, keeping them moving for the wonder of his weak eyes. Finally he opened them in unison, finger by finger together, till there they were, wide open, face upward, rancid, an inch from his squint, which however slowly righted itself as he began to lose interest
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in them as a spectacle. Scarcely had he made to employ them on his face than a voice, slightly more in sorrow than in anger this time, enjoined him to move on, which, the pain being so much better, he was only too happy to do.
Love and Lethe
Ihe Toughs, consisting of Mr and Mrs and their one and only Ruby, lived in a small house in Irishtown. When dinner, which they took in the middle of the day, was ended, Mr Tough went to his room to lie down and Mrs Tough and Ruby to the kitchen for a cup of coffee and a chat. The mother was low-sized, pale and plump, admir- ably preserved though well past the change. She poured the right amount of water into the saucepan and set it to boil.
"What time is he coming? " she said
"He said about three" said Ruby.
"With car? " said Mrs Tough.
"He hoped with car" answered Ruby.
Mrs Tough hoped so most devoutly, for she had an idea
that she might be invited to join the party. Though she would rather have died than stand in the way of her daughter, yet she saw no reason why, if she kept herself to herself in the dicky, there should be any objection to her joining in the fun. She shook the beans into the little mill and ground them violently into powder. Ruby, who was neurasthenic on top of everything else, plugged her ears. Mrs Tough, taking a seat at the deal table against the water would be boiling, looked out of the window at the perfect weather.
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"Where are you going? " she said. She had the natural curiosity of a mother in what concerns her child.
"Don't ask me" answered Ruby, who was inclined to resent all these questions.
He to whom they referred, who had hopes of calling at three with a car, was the doomed Belacqua and no other.
The water boiling, Mrs Tough rose and added the coffee, reduced the flame, stirred thoroughly and left to simmer. Though it seems a strange way to prepare coffee, yet it was justified by the event.
"Let me put you up some tea" implored Mrs Tough. She could not bear to be idle.
"Ah no" said Ruby "no thanks really. "
It struck the half-hour in the hall. It was half-past two, that zero hour, in Irishtown.
"Half-two! " ejaculated Mrs Tough, who had no idea it was so late.
Ruby was glad that it was not earlier. The aroma of coffee pervaded the kitchen. She would have just nice time to dream over her coffee. But she knew that this was quite out of the question with her mother wanting to talk, bursting with questions and suggestions. So when the coffee was dispensed and her mother had settled down for the comfortable chat that went with it she unex- pectedly said:
"I think, mother, if you don't mind, I'll take mine with me to the lav, I don't feel very well. "
Mrs Tough was used to the whims of Ruby and took them philosophically usually. But this latest fancy was really a little bit too unheard of. Coffee in the lav! What would father say when he heard? However.
"And the rosiner" said Mrs Tough, "will you have that in the lav too? "
Reader, a rosiner is a drop of the hard.
Ruby rose and took a gulp of coffee to make room.
"I'll have a gloria" she said.
Reader, a gloria is coffee laced with brandy.
Mrs Tough poured into the proffered cup a smaller
portion of brandy than in the ordinary way she would have allowed, and Ruby left the room.
We know something of Belacqua, but Ruby Tough is a stranger to these pages. Anxious that those who read this incredible adventure shall not pooh-pooh it as unintel- ligible we avail ourselves now of this lull, what time Belacqua is on his way, Mrs Tough broods in the kitchen and Ruby dreams over her gloria, to enlarge a little on the latter lady.
For a long period, on account of the beauty of her person and perhaps also, though in lesser degree, the dis- tinction of her mind, Ruby had been the occasion of much wine-shed; but now, in the thirty-third or -fourth year of her age, she was so no longer. Those who are in the least curious to know what she looked like at the time in which we have chosen to cull her we venture to refer to the Magdalene1 in the Perugino Pieta in the National Gallery of Dublin, always bearing in mind that the hair of our heroine is black and not ginger. Further than this hint we need not allow her outside to detain us, seeing that Belacqua was scarcely ever aware of it.
The facts of life had reduced her temper, naturally ro- mantic and idealistic in the highest degree, to an almost atomic despair. Her sentimental experience had indeed been unfortunate. Requiring of love, as a younger and more appetising woman, that it should unite or fix her as
1 This figure, owing to the glittering vitrine behind which the canvas cowers, can only be apprehended in sections. Patience, however, and a retentive memory have been known to elicit a total statement approxi- mating to the intention of the painter.
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firmly and as finally as the sun of a binary in respect of its partner, she had come to avoid it more and more as she found, with increasing disappointment and disgust, its effect at each successive manifestation, for she had been in great demand, to be of quite a different order. The re- sult of this erotic frustration was, firstly, to make her eschew the experience entirely; secondly, to recommend her itch for syzygy to more ideal measures, among which she found music and malt the most efficacious; and finally, to send her caterwauling to the alcove for whatever shabby joys it could afford. These however, embarras de richesse as long as she remained the scornful maiden, were naturally less at pains to solicit one whose sense of proportion had been acquired to the great detriment of her allurements. The grapes of love, set aside as abject in the davs of hot blood, turned sour as soon as she discov- ered a zest for them. As formerly she had recoiled into herself because she would not, so now she did because she could not, except that in her retreat the hope that used to solace her was dead. She saw her life as a series of staircase jests.
Belacqua, paying pious suit to the hem of her garment and gutting his raptures with great complacency at a safe remove, represented precisely the ineffable long-distance paramour to whom as a homesick meteorite abounding in it she had sacrificed her innumerable gallants. And now, the metal of stars smothered in earth, the it run dry and the gallants departed, he appeared, like the agent of an ironical Fortune, to put her in mind of what she had missed and rowel her sorrow for what she was missing. Yet she tolerated him in the hope that sooner or later, in a fit of ebriety or of common or garden incontinence, he would so far forget himself as to take her in his arms.
Join to all this the fact that she had long been suffering
from an incurable disorder and been assured positively by no fewer than fifteen doctors, ten of whom were atheists, acting independently, that she need not look forward to her life being much further prolonged, and we feel confi- dent that even the most captious reader must acknowl- edge, not merely the extreme wretchedness of Ruby's situation, but also the verisimilitude of what we hope to relate in the not too distant future. For we assume the irresponsibility of Belacqua, his faculty for acting with in- sufficient motivation, to have been so far evinced in pre- vious misadventures as to be no longer a matter for surprise. In respect of this apparent gratuity of conduct he may perhaps with some colour of justice be likened to the laws of nature. A mental home was the place for him.
He cultivated Ruby, for whom at no time did he much care, and made careful love in the terms he thought best calculated to prime her for the part she was to play on his behalf, the gist of which, as he revealed when he deemed her ripe, provided that she should connive at his felo de se, which he much regretted he could not commit on his own bottom. How he had formed this resolution to destroy himself we are quite unable to discover. The simplest course, when the motives of any deed are found sub- liminal to the point of defying expression, is to call that deed ex nihilo and have done. Which we beg leave to follow in the present instance.
The normal woman of sense asks "what? " in preference to "why? " ( this is very deep ) , but poor Ruby had always been deficient in that exquisite quality, so that no sooner had Belacqua opened his project than she applied for his reasons. Now though he had none, as we have seen, that he could offer, yet he had armed himself so well at this point, forewarned by the study he had made of his cats- paw's mind, that he was able to pelt her there and then
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with the best that diligent enquiry could provide: Greek and Roman reasons, Sturm und Drang reasons, reasons metaphysical, aesthetic, erotic, anterotic and chemical, Empedocles of Agrigentum and John of the Cross reasons, in short all but the true reasons, which did not exist, at least not for the purposes of conversation. Ruby, flattened by this torrent of incentive, was obliged to admit that this was not, as she had inclined to suspect, a greenhorn yield- ing to the spur of a momentary pique, but an adult des- perado of fixed and even noble purpose, and from this concession passed to a state almost of joy. She was done in any case, and here was a chance to end with a fairly beau- tiful bang. So the thing was arranged, the needful meas- ures taken, the date fixed in the spring of the year and a
site near by selected, Venice in October having been re- jected as alas impracticable. Now the fateful day had come and Ruby, in the posture of Philosopher Square be- hind Molly Seagrim's arras, sat winding herself up, while Belacqua, in a swagger sports roadster chartered at untold gold by the hour, trod on the gas for Irishtown.
So fiercely indeed did he do this, though so far from being insured against third-party risks he was not even the holder of a driving-licence, that he scored a wake of objurgation as he sped through the traffic. The better-class pedestrians and cyclists turned and stared after him. "These stream-lined Juggernauts" they said, shaking their heads, "are a positive menace. " Civic Guards at various points of the city and suburbs took his number. In Pearse Street he smote off the wheel of a growler as cleanly as Peter Malchus's ear after the agony, but did not stop. Further on, in some lowly street or other, the little chil- dren playing beds and ball and other games were scat- tered like chaff. But before the terrible humped Victoria
Bridge, its implacable bisection, in a sudden panic at his own temerity he stopped the car, got out and pushed her across with the help of a bystander. Then he drove quietly on through the afternoon and came in due course without further mishap to the house of his accomplice.
Mrs Tough flung open wide the door. She was all over Belacqua, with his big pallid gob much abused with imagined debauches.
"Ruby" she sang, in a third, like a cuckoo, "Rubee! Rubee! "
But would she ever change her tune, that was the ques- tion.
Ruby dangled down the stairs, with the marks of her teeth in her nether lip where she could persuade no bee to sting her any more.
"Get on your bonnet and shawl" said Belacqua roughly "and we'll be going. "
Mrs Tough recoiled aghast. This was the first time she had ever heard such a tone turned on her Ruby. But Ruby got into a coat like a lamb and seemed not to mind. It became only too clear to Mrs Tough that she was not going to be invited.
"May I offer you a little refreshment" she said in an icy voice to Belacqua "before you go? " She could not bear to be idle.
Ruby thought she had never heard anything quite so absurd. Refreshment before they went! It was if and when they returned that they would be in need of refreshment.
"Really mother" she said, "can't you see we must be off. "
Belacqua chimed in with a heavy lunch at the Bailey. The truth was not in him.
"Off where? " said Mrs Tough. "Off" cried Ruby, "just off. "
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What a strange mood she is in to be sure, thought Mrs Tough. However. At least they could not prevent her from going as far as the gate.
"Where did you raise the car? " she said.
If you had seen the car you would agree that this was the most natural question.
Belacqua mentioned a firm of motor engineers.
"Oh indeed" said Mrs Tough.
Mr Tough crept to the window and peeped out from
behind the curtain. He had worked himself to the bone for his family and he could only afford a safety-bicycle. A bitter look stole over his cyanosis.
Belacqua got in a gear at last, he had no very clear idea himself which, after much clutch-burning, and they shot forward in Hollywood style. Mrs Tough might have been waving to Lot for all the response she received. Was the cut-out by way of being their spokesman? Ruby's parting gird, "Expect us when you see us," echoed in her ears. On the stairs she met Mr Tough descending. They passed.
"There is something about that young man" called down Mrs Tough "that I can't relish. "
"Pup" called up Mr Tough.
They increased the gap between them.
"Ruby is very strange" cried down Mrs Tough.
"Slut" cried up Mr. Tough.
Though he might be only able to afford a safety-bicycle
he was nevertheless a man of few words. There are better things, he thought, going to the bottle, there are better things in this stenching world than Blue Birds.
The pup and slut drove on and on and there was dead silence between them. Not a syllable did they exchange until the car was safely stowed at the foot of a high mountain. But when Ruby saw Belacqua open the dicky
and produce a bag she thought well to break a silence that was becoming a little awkward.
"What have you got" she said "in the maternity-bag? "
"Socrates" replied Belacqua "the son of his mother, and the hemlocks. "
"No" she said, "codding aside, what? "
Belacqua let fly a finger for each item.
"The revolver and balls, the veronal, the bottle and
glasses, and the notice. "
Ruby could not repress a shiver.
"In the name of God" she said "what notice? "
"The one that we are fled" replied Belacqua, and not
another word would he say though she begged him to tell her. The notice was his own idea and he was proud of it. When the time came she would have to subscribe to it whether she liked it or not. He would keep it as a little surprise for her.
They ascended the mountain in silence. Wisps of snipe and whatever it is of grouse squirted out of the heather on all sides, while the number of hares, brooding in their forms, that they started and sent bounding away, was a credit to the gamekeeper. They plunged on and up through the deep ling and whortleberry. Ruby was sweat- ing. A high mesh wire fence, flung like a shingles round the mountain, obstructed their passage.
"What are all the trusses for? " panted Ruby.
Right along on either hand as far as they could see there were fasces of bracken attached to the wire. Belacqua racked his brains for an explanation. In the end he had to give it up.
"God I don't know at all" he exclaimed.
It certainly was the most astounding thing.
Ladies first. Ruby scaled the fence. Belacqua, holding
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gallantly back with the bag in his hand, enjoyed a glimpse of her legs' sincerity. It was the first time he had had occasion to take stock of those parts of her and certainly he had seen worse. They pushed on and soon the summit, complete with fairy rath, came into view, howbeit still at a considerable distance.
Ruby tripped and fell, but on her face. Belacqua's strong arms were at hand to raise her up.
"Not hurt" he kindly inquired.
"This foul old skirt gets in my way" she said angrily.
"It is an encumbrance" agreed Belacqua, "off with it. " This struck Ruby as being such a good suggestion that
she acted upon it without further ado and stood revealed as one of those ladies who have no use for a petticoat. Belacqua folded the skirt over his arm, there being no room for it in the bag, and Ruby, greatly eased, stormed the summit in her knickers.
Belacqua, who was in the lead, halted all of a sudden, clapped his hands, spun round and told Ruby he had got it. He was keenly conscious of her standing knee-deep in the ling before him, grateful for a breather and not both- ering to ask what.
"They tie those bundles to the wire" he said "so that the grouse will see them. "
Still she did not understand.
"And not fly against the fence and hurt themselves. " Now she understood. The calm way she took it dis-
tressed Belacqua. It was to be hoped that the notice would have better success than this splendid divulgation. Now the ling was up to her garters, she seemed to be sink- ing in the heath as in a quickstand. Could it be that she was giving at the knees? "Spirits of this mountain" mur- mured the heart of Belacqua "keep me steadfast. "
Now since parking the car they had not seen a living soul.
The first thing they had to do of course when they got to the top was admire the view, with special reference to Dun Laoghaire framed to perfection in the shoulders of Three Rock and Kilmashogue, the long arms of the harbour like an entreaty in the blue sea. Young priests were singing in a wood on the hillside. They heard them and they saw the smoke of their fire. To the west in the valley a plantation of larches nearly brought tears to the eyes of Belacqua, till raising those unruly members to the slopes of Glendoo, mottled like a leopard, that lay beyond, he thought of Synge and recovered his spirits. Wicklow, full of breasts with pimples, he refused to consider. Ruby agreed. The city and the plains to the north meant nothing to either of them in the mood they were in. A human turd lay within the rath.
Like fantoccini controlled by a single wire they flung themselves down on the western "slope of heath. From now on till the end there is something very secco and Punch Judy about their proceedings, Ruby looking more bawdy
Magdalene than ever, Belacqua like a super out of the Harlot's Progress. He kept putting off opening the bag.
"I thought of bringing the gramophone" he said "and
"
Ravel's Pavane. Then
"Then you thought again" said Ruby. She had a most
irritating habit of interrupting.
"Oh yes" said Belacqua, "the usual pale cast. "
Notice the literary man.
"S'pity" said Ruby, "it might have made things easier. " Happy Infanta! Painted by Velasquez and then no more
pensums!
"If you would put back your skirt" said Belacqua vio-
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lently, "now that you have done walking, you would make things easier for me. "
How difficult things were becoming, to be sure. The least thing might upset the apple-cart at this juncture.
Ruby pricked up her ears. Was this a declaration at last? In case it might be she would not oblige him.
"I prefer it off" she said.
Belacqua, staring fiercely at the larches, sulked for a space.
"Weir he grumbled at last, "shall we have a little drink to start off? "
Ruby was agreeable. He opened the bag as little as pos- sible, put in his hand, snatched out the bottle, then the glasses and shut it quick.
"Fifteen year old" he said complacently, "on tick. "
All the money he owed for one thing or another. If he did not pull it off now once and for all he would be broke. "God" he exclaimed, executing a kind of passionate
tick-tack through his pockets, "I forgot the screw. "
"Pah" said Ruby, "what odds. Knock its head off, shoot
its neck off. "
But the screw turned up as it always does and they had
a long drink.
"Length without breath" gasped Belacqua "that's the
idea, Hiawatha at Dublin bar. "
They had another.
"That makes four doubles" said Ruby "and they say
there's eight in a bottle. "
Belacqua held up the bottle. In that case there was
something wrong with her statement.
"Never two without three" he said.
They had another.
"O Death in Life" vociferated Belacqua, "the days that
are no more. "
He fell on the bag and ripped out the notice for her inspection. Painted roughly in white on an old number- plate she beheld:
Temporarily Sane
IK-6996 had been erased to make room for this inscrip- tion. It was a palimpsest.
Ruby, pot-valiant, let a loud scoff.
"It won't do" she said, "it won't do at all. "
It was a disappointment to hear her say this. Poor
Belacqua. Sadly he held the plate out at arm's length. "You don't like it" he said.
"Bad" said Ruby "very bad. "
"I don't mean the way it's presented" said Belacqua, "I
mean the idea. "
It was all the same what he meant.
"If I had a paddle" she said "I'd bury it, idea and all. " Belacqua laid the offensive object face downward in the
heather. Now there was nothing left in the bag but the firearm, the ammunition and the veronal.
The light began to die, there was no time to be lost.
"Will you be shot" said Belacqua "or poisoned? If the former, have you any preference? The heart? The temple? If the latter" passing over the bag, "help yourself. "
Ruby passed it back.
"Load" she ordained.
"Chevaliers d'industrie" said Belacqua, inserting the
ball, "nearly all blow their brains out. Kreuger proved the rule. "
"We don't exactly die together darling" drawled Ruby "or do we? "
"Alas" sighed Belacqua "what can you expect? But a
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couple of minutes" with a bounteous brandish of the revolver, "the time it takes to boil an egg, what is that to eternity? "
"Still" said Ruby "it would have been rather nice to pass out together. "
"The problem of precedence" said Belacqua, as from a rostrum, "always arises, even as between the Pope and Napoleon. "
* 'ThePopethepuke'"quotedRuby"Tiebleachedher soul
"But perhaps you don't know that story" said Belacqua, ignoring the irrelevance.
"I do not" said Ruby "and I have no wish to. "
"Well" said Belacqua "in that case I will merely say that they solved it in a strictly spatial manner. "
"Then why not we? " said Ruby.
The gas seems to be escaping somewhere.
"
"We" said Belacqua "like twins
"Are gone astray" sneered Ruby.
"Are slaves of the sand-glass. There is not room for us
to run out arm in arm. "
"As though there were only the one in the world" said
Ruby. "Pah! "
"We happen to pine in the same one" said Belacqua,
"that is the difficulty. "
"Well, it's a minor point" said Ruby "and by all means
ladies first. "
"Please yourself" said Belacqua, "I'm the better shot. " But Ruby, instead of expanding her bosom or holding
up her head to be blown off, helped herself to a drink. Belacqua fell into a passion.
"Damn it" he cried "didn't we settle all these things weeks ago? Did we or did we not? "
"A settlement was reached" said Ruby, "certainly. "
"Then why all this bloody talk? "
Ruby drank her drink.
"And leave us a drop in the bottle" he snarled, 'Til need
it when you're gone. "
That indescribable sensation, compound of exasperation
and relief, relaxing, the better to grieve, the coenaesthesis of the consultant when he finds the surgeon out, now burst inside Belacqua. He felt suddenly hot within. The bitch was backing out.
Though whiskey as a rule helped Ruby to feel starry, yet somehow on this occasion it failed to effect her in that way, which is scarcely surprising if we reflect what a very special occasion it was. Now to her amazement the re- volver went off, harmlessly luckily, and the bullet fell in terram nobody knows where. But for fully a minute she thought she was shot. An appalling silence, in the core of which their eyes met, succeeded the detonation.
"The finger of God" whispered Belacqua.
Who shall judge of his conduct at this crux? Is it to be condemned as wholly despicable? Is it not possible that he was gallantly trying to spare the young woman embarass- ment? Was it tact or concupiscence or the white feather or an accident or what? We state the facts. We do not presume to determine their significance.
"Digitus Dei" he said "for once. "
That remark rather gives him away, does it not?
When the first shock of surprise had passed and the
silence spent its fury a great turmoil of life-blood sprang up in the breasts of our two young felons, so that they came together in inevitable nuptial. With the utmost rev- erence at our command, moving away on tiptoe from where they lie in the ling, we mention this in a low voice.
It will quite possibly be his boast in years to come, when Ruby is dead and he an old optimist, that at least
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on this occasion, if never before nor since, he achieved what he set out to do; car, in the words of one competent tosingofthematter,VAmouretlaMort—caesura nest quune mesme chose.
May their night be full of music at all events.
Walking Out
vJne fateful fine Spring evening he paused, not so much in order to rest as to have the scene soak through him, out in the middle of the late Boss Croker's Gallops, where no horses were to be seen any more. Pretty Polly that great-hearted mare was buried in the vicinity. To stroll over this expanse in fine weather, these acres of bright green grass, was almost as good as to cross the race-course of Chantilly with one's face towards the Castle. Leaning now on his stick, between Leopardstown down the hill to the north and the heights of Two Rock and Three Rock to the south, Belacqua regretted the horses of the good old days, for they would have given to the landscape some- thing that the legions of sheep and lambs could not give. These latter were springing into the world every minute, the grass was spangled with scarlet afterbirths, the larks were singing, the hedges were breaking, the sun was shin- ing, the sky was Mary's cloak, the daisies were there, everything was in order. Only the cuckoo was wanting. It was one of those Spring evenings when it is a matter of some difficulty to keep God out of one's meditations.
Belacqua leaned all his spare weight on the stick and took in the scene, in a sightless passionate kind of way, and his Kerry Blue bitch sat on the emerald floor beside him. She was getting old now, she could not be bothered hunting any more. She could tree a cat, that was no
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bother, but beyond that she did not care to go. So she just remained seated, knowing perfectly well that there were no cats in Croker's Gallops, and did not care very much what happened. The bleating of the lambs excited her slightly.
My God, it occurred to Belacqua, I must be past my best when I find myself preferring this time of year to the late Autumn.
This vivid thought, quite irrefutable as he recognised at once, did not so distress him that he was unable to move on. Past the worst of his best, there was nothing so very terrible in that, on the contrary. Soon he might hope to be creeping about in a rock-garden with tears in his eyes. Indeed proof, if proof he needed, that he was rather elated than distressed, appears in his taking his weight off the stick and moving forward; for the effect of a real derelic- tion was always to cast him up high and dry and unable to stir. The bitch walked behind. She was hot and bored.
Slowly he raised his eyes till they were levelled at his destination. Tom Wood, it graced like a comb a low hill in the distance. There he had assignation, but only in the sense that an angler has with the fish in a river. He had been there so often that he knew all its ins and outs, yet he could not have given a name to its timber. Oak, he supposed vaguely, or elm, but even had he looked he would not have been any wiser. This country lad, he could not tell an oak from an elm. Larches however he knew, from having climbed them as a little fat boy, and a young plantation of these, of a very poignant reseda, caught his eye now on the hillside. Poignant and assuasive at once, the effect it had upon him as he advanced was prodigious.
He thought if only his wife would consent to take a cicisbeo how pleasant everything would be all round. She knew how he loved her and yet she would not hear of his
getting her a cicisbeo. He was merely betrothed, but al- ready he thought of his fiancee as his wife, an anticipation that young men undertaking this change of condition might be well advised to imitate. Time and again he had urged her to establish their married life on this solid basis of a cuckoldry. She understood and appreciated his senti- ment, she acknowledged that his argument was sound, and yet she would not or could not bring herself to act accordingly. He was not a bad-looking young fellow, a kind of cretinous Tom Jones. She would kill his affection with her nonsense before the wedding bells, that would be the end of it.
Turning this and cognate anxieties over and over in his mind he came at length to the southern limit of the Gal- lops and the by-road that he had to cross to get into the next list of fields. Thus, large tracts of champaign, hedges and ditches and blessed grass and daisies, then the deep weal of road, again and again, until he would come to the wood. The wall was too high for the bitch at her time of life, so he helped her across with a vigorous heave on the grey hunkers. This gave him pleasure if he had stopped to analyse it. But himself, he made short work of the obstacle, thinking: what a splendid thing it is when all is said and done to be young and vigorous.
In the ditch on the far side of the road a strange equi- page was installed: an old high-wheeled cart, hung with rags. Belacqua looked round for something in the nature of a team, the crazy yoke could scarcely have fallen from the sky, but nothing in the least resembling a draught- beast was to be seen, not even a cow. Squatting under the cart a complete down-and-out was very busy with some- thing or other. The sun beamed down on this as though it were a new-born lamb. Belacqua took in the whole outfit at a glance and felt, the wretched bourgeois, a paroxysm
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of shame for his capon belly. The bitch, in a very remote manner, stepped up to the cart and sniffed at the rags.
"Cmowathat! " vociferated the vagabond.
Now Belacqua could see what he was doing. He was mending a pot or a pan. He beat his tool against the vessel in his anxiety. But the bitch made herself at home.
"Wettin me throusers" said the vagabond mildly "wuss . "
'n meself
So that was his trousers!
This privacy which he had always assumed to be in-
alienable, this ultimate prerogative of the Christian man, had now been violated by somebody's pet. Yet he might have been calling a score, his voice was so devoid of ran- cour. But Belacqua was embarrassed in the last degree.
"Good evening" he piped in fear and trembling, "lovely evening. "
A smile proof against all adversity transformed the sad face of the man under the cart. He was most handsome with his thick, if unkempt, black hair and moustache.
