The Ginger Man - J. P. Donleavy [80]
Run the curtain rod on these rungs of gates. Everything is wet and silent. White, low clouds. Some light flicking on in the houses. Here comes a milkman whistling. And I hear the roaring tram. Morning is great.
Walking down the Custom House Quay, the cobbled street filling with the rumble of carts and huge, pounding horses. Stand back and watch them go by. Taxis and hansoms collecting at the boat exit
Dangerfield leaning against the warehouse wall across the street from the third class door. Giving final attention to his clothes, little nip at the tie and the rather fashionable long collar of Miss Frost's blouse. Good to see O'Keefe again.
The passengers coming out Sebastian rapping his curtain rod against the building. He took out an oakie cake, crunched it, and ate. Stale fat. Dry and gluey.
Suddenly framed in the door, the half man, half beast, red bearded jaw, the same green shirt he left in, same trousers. Kit bag slung across his chest, same smileless sad face. He paused, looked at a newsboy suspiciously and bought a paper. He opened it quickly, closed it quickly, sticking it under his arm. He threw his kit bag strap higher on his shoulder with an awkward flick, and bending slightly forward, lowering his head, started to drive forward up the quay and stopped. Turning his head slowly. His eyes met those of the silent, austere spectre of Sebastian Dangerfield whose cadaveric lips, widening, showed his newly brushed teeth, as he leaned carefully against the bricks.
Dangerfield crossed the dung-covered street. Reached into his pocket and stretched forth his hand to the waiting O'Keefe.
"Kenneth, will you have an oakie cake?"
"I figured on this"
"On what, Kenneth?"
"Oakie cakes."
There was an evil laugh.
"Kenneth, aren't you glad to see me? To have me welcome you back to this green garden in the sea?"
"That depends."
"Come, my dear Kenneth, put down this animal caution. Just look. The commerce, barrels and barrels, steel girders and see these fine beasts, ready to be cut to size. A grand prosperous country."
" We'll see."
They walked by the huge boxes and stopped to let a drove of bullocks pass across the street through the lifting, half light The wild fearful eyes of these animals. A long line of spidery bikes, flowing along the edge of the sidewalk and the taxis and horse cabs coming up from the ship. They were cold figures passing on into this ancient, Danish city.
19
They had come to Woolworth's Cafe for breakfast Sun was out Sitting, facing one another across the white table. Bacon and eggs, tea, bread and butter. Yummy.
"Kenneth, let me hear about your travels"
"Dull"
"Did you go to a professional in Paris ?"
"No. Lost my nerve at the last minute."
"I take it then— ?"
"That I didn't have a smell"
"Quite. It's a pity, Kenneth. Something will have to be done for you. An arrangement made. Bring you to the Congo or something. How would you like a Rgmy?"
"Where's this seven quid?"
"Be all right, now. Don't worry about a thing. Taken care of. Just tell me, what else happened?"
"Nothing. I got nothing. Just nothing. Wrestling in the dark with this student and I gave that up because it wasn't getting me anywhere and was driving me crazy. The only thing that kept me from going completely around the bend was this fantastic correspondence with lady Eclair."
O'Keefe quickly slitting the soft tissued white of egg. Wiping up fat with a piece of bread. They could see from this window down into the early morning stirrings of Dublin.
"It was really fantastic. I told you about the ad for a chef. I write and get this reply written in the third person, Lady Eclair would like to know if Kenneth O'Keefe is Protestant or Catholic. I wrote back that Kenneth O'Keefe is neither and will not require to be delivered to Church on Sundays. She writes back, Lady Eclair feels that Kenneth O'Keefe should have some religion because everyone needs a church for the development of their immortal soul. So I said