The Ginger Man - J. P. Donleavy [43]
"Look Marion, all right. Now we know that you have everything your way. I know the drivel in that letter. Probably sent you a check."
"As a matter of fact, he did."
"Told you that I've always been a bastard."
"Quite."
"Expelled from schools."
"Yes."
"All right. What are you going to do ?"
"Move from here, instantly."
"Where?"
"I'm going to see an agent this morning."
"What about the lease?"
"That's your doing."
"You stupid bitch."
"Go right ahead. Say anything you want. It matters nothing to me. By the way, you've left half my sweater on the stairs."
"Now, Marion, let's understand each other. I don't fed that this fighting is going to get us anywhere"
"It's certainly not going to get you anywhere"
"Now look, how much is the check."
"That's my business"
"I've got to get my typewriter out of the pawn, I must have it for my notes"
"Ha. Ha. Ha"
Marion's mocking head back, disdainfully shutting eyes. The blue vein, handsome and large on the blonde throat Pink slip and her shanks shifting the slippers, grinding the coal dust on the floor.
"Supposing I admit to a few indiscretions."
"Indiscretions? That really is amusing you know."
"Now that we have a chance to start over again."
"We do, do we? O we. It's we now."
"I'm thinking about the lease."
"You signed it"
Sebastian turned and went quietly up the stairs. Tip toe, tip toe. Dragging the wool string behind. Into the bedroom. Dropping the purples, pulling on the trousers. Tied a knot in the sweater. Put his sockless feet into shoes. A jacket for the respect that was in it. And my dear pair of golfing shoes. Pity, but must to the pawn. Ten and six for sure. Now my dear Marion, I'll give you a little something to think about.
In the toilet, Sebastian forced a board up from the floor. He hammered a nail through the lead pipe with the heel of his golfing shoe. He went quietly down the stairs. Marion saw him pass out the hall. The door squeaked shut.
I'll say one thing. She's not going to pull this stuff much longer. This is final If she wants it this way, this way it shall be.
In this bitterness and hazy hatred. No cozy road to the swelled udders. This is at the midnight of everything. Because when I was living in America I had a lot of good things. I never had to think about hot water. I went to my dub where it was running rampant Stand under a shower and let it beat the head. Soothed me. Ease and comfort and quiet is all I want. And on this damn tram I'm riding into the face of debt and other things as well. I'm a college student standing on the chapel steps with the white paper which says I know the law of Contract and can be paid starvation wages for a year. My certificate that I won't steal from the open till but I'm a gentleman and I'll dose the till after rifling it.
Four o'clock on this oblong Tuesday. Sebastian pushing through the door of a secret public house, moved cautiously to an empty space at the bar. Bartender suspiciously approaching him.
"I want a triple Irish, Gold Label. Quickly please."
"Sir, I'm afraid I can't serve you"
"You what?"
"Can't serve you, sir, rules of the house, you've had enough to drink."
"I've had enough to drink? What on earth do you mean?"
"I think, sir, you've had sufficient unto your needs now. I think you've had enough now."
"This is contemptible."
"Peacefully sir, now. Keep the peace. When you're sober sir, now, be very glad to serve you. Little sleep. You'll be fine."
"Frightful outrage. Are you sure you're not drunk yourself?"
"Now sir, a place and time for everything."
"Well for Jesus sake."
Sebastian turned from the bar pushed out through the door and along the street. In dazed condition. Along the pavement by shop windows with pens and pencils and stone steps to Georgian doors and black spokes of fences and by a tea shop with gray women clustered at the tables. So I'm drunk. Strangled Christ. Drunk. Nothing to do but suffer this insult as I have suffered so many others. It will die away in a few years, no worry about that. I'm going on a tram ride. Dalkey. That nice little town out there on