The Ginger Man - J. P. Donleavy [28]
My dear Chris, don't worry now.
She got up with her lovely legs, and poured the milk into the pot. For Ovaltine and biscuits.
At one a.m. just before he left he said he liked her so much. Gentle girl. And my dear Chris, I have my problems too. I think I am being choked to death by paper. Bills before breakfast and I do so want to have my breakfast first. And Sebastian, how did you ever get into such a mess. Miscalculation, my dear Chris and misunderstanding.
He kissed her hand as he left. And walked through the night by the canal, counting the locks and bulging waterfalls.
The story was, Marion, I missed the last tram. Just going down Nassau Street at a ferocious clip. Couldn't possibly get it. I'm in poor condition for running so I went back to Whitington's rooms in college. Smart bloke that, great help with the law of contract You're a liar, I know when you're lying,
Marion, what is there left for me to say then ?
On other evenings, Chris and he went for long walks and one Friday on her payday they went to the Grafton Cinema Cafe where on the top floor they dined mid shaded lamps and open medieval windows. It was so comfortable and full of rest and peace and better than home. Chris so insisted on paying. But I did not want to make a bad impression by appearing to be unconcerned. And after, we walked down along the quays and across the canal locks to Ringsend, the emptying mouth of Dublin. All black.
He had taken the tram home at eleven. Chris left him at the stop. Marion in the scabrous seat. Looking up from a copy of Woman's Home Companion that a barber had given him. There was a sign of gladness in her. But padded conversation out of my mouth. And she asked him would he like some warm milk with sugar in it All right They talked about America and mansions.
When they were going upstairs he noticed flowers on the box beside the bed. Marion undressing before the little mirror. Brushing her hair. His name in her plaintive voice.
"Sebastian?"
"What?"
"Sebastian"
Pausing, looking at the dresser, wrinkling the cloth with the brush.
"Sebastian, what do you think is happening to us?"
A shock ran through his body, rigid for a second and he drew his knees up in the bed. Slow rising sheet
"How do you mean ? "
"I don't know. Just happening. We don't talk to each other. I hardly see you."
"See me? Of course you do."
"You know what I mean."
"What?"
"Be with me, sort of. I feel cut off."
"It's only till my exam."
"I know, but you come home so late."
Marion poking the doth in little hills. His lungs light
"You may have to study but there's no response when I do see you."
"What do you mean?"
"Response—it's as if you didn't love me."
"Absurd."
"Don't mock me, please, Sebastian, I've got feelings just as you have. I can't help being English. Nor can I help feeling desperate left alone here and then at night too. I don't want to fight or argue any more. What's going to become of us and Felicity ? Won't your father help us ? "
"I can't ask him till we're really desperate."
"But he's rich."
"I can't"
"But you must I won't mind if every once in a while you go out and even if you drink. But I'd rather you studied at home. You have every evening after six. You used to. And if we could only be a little happier when we're together. That's all I'm asking. Just that."
"There's great strain."
"But who has to bear it all. I stay in this dreary house day after day, seeing nothing but these damp horrid walls. If we could only get out into the country for a few days, see some green fields and feel free instead of hiding behind the kitchen door in mortal fear of that frightful Mr. Skully. He called last night."
"What did you tell him."
"To see you."
"O."
"How can I put him off ? I think he was drinking too. Even had the nerve to say the front knocker could be polished. He has an excuse to walk in here any time he wants. It's such a hideous feeling. I don't like his eyes. He has no character. I even wrote to Father. But you know how hard things are for them now."
"Quite."