The Ginger Man - J. P. Donleavy [53]
"Ha. Ha"
"That's true. Just because I'm big and strong. Just look at this muscle. But it doesn't mean that I can't be stricken by the insecurity that's in it Please."
"If there is even the suspicion of drink I'm having you put out."
"You're wonderful, Marion. This is frightfully good of you—"
"That's enough of that"
"Anything you say, Marion."
"And be quiet, Felicity is asleep next to the bathroom."
"Mum's the word."
Great splashing in the suds. And after a pot of tea. Marion with arms folded, hiding her breasts from his beast's eyes and watching the disappearance of a loaf of bread and package of margarine. He put his arm around her shoulders, a hand over her wrist Naked in a blanket, he pointed to the garden, a gray weird wave of leaves.
"Marion, there's food out there for sure."
On the land
A plant
On the plant
A leaf.
This man
Ate
The leaf.
14
By the use of delusive enticements, Sebastian dug in at 11, Golden Vale Park. Several nights after ten thirty, he went by circuitous routes to i, Mohammed Road to quietly pilfer divers articles. These were carried in gray bags for parcelling stout. One large mirror was traded for a bowler hat at his broker, a ruse to avoid recognition. And arrangements made with the Evening Mail for publication of thanksgiving to Blessed Oliver.
The landladies called to tea. An elderly Protestant couple, sisters, of a class living on investments. They hoped that Sebastian and Marion would keep up the garden, because they had several rare Himalayan plants given by a cousin, a member of the Royal Horticultural Society. And they would leave their Wedgwood, finding them such a delightful couple, Mr. Dangerfield a student at Trinity, well, it really made them feel secure right from the start. And we were so upset about renting at first, the sort of people one might get these days, Dublin isn't as it used to be of course, people making money with shops and these people running the country.
Sebastian with votive eyes, their loyalist words, tender drops of balm. I am deeply delighted to be dealing with these people of Protestant stock. Their spinster eyes glistening with honesty. Yes, the front gate, clumsy boors moving their things had broken it, careless bounders indeed, have a reliable man deal with it forthwith, it's been such a pleasure to have you both. Do come again. And I'm having a load of manure laid on the garden. Bye, bye.
This house was in a dead end. It was both secret and trapped. Can't have everything. And I prefer to have the coal bin out of doors. Doesn't do to hang suits over the coal. I can breathe again, grow flowers and eat for nothing. Almost
Marion said they ought to let the sitting room and it would pay half the rent. She wasn't going to slip back into poverty again and be hounded day in and out by lecherous moneymongers. Sebastian volunteered putting in the ad, on condition that they rent to a Catholic.
"I won't have a Catholic living in my house. They can't be trusted. Nor do they bathe."
"Marion. That's absolutely preposterous. Let's have a little democracy here, I say"
"I hate Catholics."
"Must forgive a little spiritual scruffiness."
Marion gave in. Sebastian sat down at the desk in the morning room and on a clean piece of paper composed:
Bed-sittingroom. The Geary. Quiet and select. Conveniences. Business girl preferred, N.D., R.C., T.T.
Simplicity. Non-dancer weeds out the fancy and flippant T.T. is always good for the respectability. However, have it understood that this is a house of freedom.
Saturday evening both notices appeared. Under Thanksgiving:
Grateful thanks to Blessed Oliver for deliverance. Publication Promised.
Monday afternoon, Sebastian collected the answers. They were good gas. Three with enclosed photographs, one rather risqué. But I shall not tolerate indecency. God forgive the Catholics.
It was a matter of selecting a good name. There was a Miss Frost. Lilly Frost. A straightforward inquiry. Send a letter and ask her to come see the