The Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B (32 page)

26

Crescent Curve was awake festooned from attic to basement aflow with flowers. Carpets laid, cupboards and shelves fitted. Sideboards and suites of bedroom furniture. All lavender waxed and ordered by Millicent's mother and the bill sent to me. To await the arrival after the honeymoon. As one listened being taken on a tour of one's own house.

"In our way of life Balthazar a wife always has her own bed and dressing room. Then there's a time and place for everything."

My shoulder was just but out of its cast. After a few weeks of married life. Three weeks in Dublin. Where there had been the French and Irish Rugby match during our stay. I tried to smile winningly over my injury. As the French players swarmed about one's wife. Saying in their language to her as she smiled back. My God what a glorious cunt she is, how can we get rid of the husband who looks like a crippled English peer. And as I whitened and tightened my lips they licked theirs at the sight of Millicent. And shook their heads at the sight of me.

A Friday lunch I saw Beefy. Up in the top of Fortnum's. I walked in. Having strolled from Knightsbridge. To find him seated there. Resplendent in his lift operator's uniform, with a general's lapels. The world so balmy. The sun slashing through trees and streets. And he could tell that I carried a tale.

"My God Balthazar, you're thinnish. You must eat more. Dog food, that's where all the nourishment is these days in England. The selected meats, liver, vitamins and minerals. Honest nourishment at an honest price. Choice lean beef finely chopped with proteins. I take a tin a day. But my God Balthazar, what's the matter."

"Beefy. I don't quite know how to put this. Millicent and I have not yet cohabited."

"Good grief. Let's order lunch."

"My collar bone broke at the first try. Been in a cast ever since. But now I'm out. She doesn't seem to want me."

"Mandamus her. To commit the act"

"I couldn't do that."

"Then annul for God's sake. Annul."

"Do you think so."

"Get your trustees on to it. If you don't annul now you condone, you could be trapped celibate for the rest of your life."

"But I don't want to annul. That's a legal step and I somehow feel her mother would shout awfully loudly in court."

"Has she seen it."

"Seen what."

"Your tool, your private member. I mean does she hold it in horror or disbelief. Is she distressed at the sight of it."

"I don't know."

"Did she scream when she saw it."

"No. I think I may have when I fell. Is this usual in a marriage."

"But of course, I mean there are some who haven't laid hand to each other in all their years. Often makes for permanent unions. You mustn't worry. First thing is to get you some dirty literature and have it around the house. Few of these filthy books. You know the sort of thing, Lola stood there as the bishop or butler advanced his sheath upon the shaft well drawn back from the rosy knob of his stiff passion. Older members of the club who don't want to be bothered stimulating the wife often just throw her one of these tomes in the dressing room. Twenty minutes before dinner is served is thought to be a ripeish time. Millicent might just pick it up and get carnal minded."

"Isn't that a little distasteful."

"It's abominable but you must. I know a shop. Good chaps. Specialists. Answer your needs in a hurry. A portfolio of the male nude may be your man. In the usual erected poses. Hate to bring up nationalities but you know how you French chaps wear white gloves so not to leave fingerprints on your pricks. Well, such photos throw English women into uncontrolled fits of passion. Buck up Balthazar. Fm now tying the last little strings on the Violet Infanta. We've decided to live at the Ritz. When I shall like any other civilised human being be able to spend my afternoons at the usual auctions. Chippendale's cheap at the moment. My trustees are delighted by my prospects. But you know I miss work on the building site. Good chaps to a man. There was a Padrick from Tipperary. Wore a chefs cap while on the job. He employed his culinary deftness he said in mixing the cement into which I always took a pee. He could fart in unison with the pneumatic drill. And goose one with the mechanical digger. I mean he could make it dance, there he was in the glass operator's cubicle playing the sticks and levers like a prodigy. He'd dig a hole into anything. Down into gas mains, electric cables, nearly every day there'd be an explosion, like open warfare. Ah but you Balthazar, you will overcome."

And parting at Piccadilly on that sunny afternoon, Bal-thazar B sped to Knightsbridge by tube. To attend a fortnightly visit to the chiropodist with nail trimming and foot massage. Later leaving the male nudes and one volume of dirty literature carelessly in Millicent's pink walled dressing room. On the afternoon of the Palace Garden Party five days later, she asked me before leaving with her mother, a propos of nothing at all, did I ever do anything sexual with other boys at school. In a black chiffon dress and an enormous black straw hat against her silken tan, she said do come and pick me up.

One was mystified by the faintly scheming way she looked. I walked the afternoon slowly down through Green Park. The rows of cars all lined up. A loudspeaker calling them one by one. I stood by the Palace gates. The crowds of commoners standing aside to let through the chauffeured cars. The splendour and elegance passing by. Top hats, monocles, ebony canes and fluttering tails. Silks and hues and flowing veils. And many many pearls. And finally Millicent grim with fury. Where was the car to come in and pick her up. What did I mean by leaving her to this disgrace. And I suddenly said shut up.

There was silence on this warm evening as we walked towards home. Up Constitution Hill, the Palace tinted crowds thinning through Belgravia. Their high heels, wide hats and powdered noses. Puffs of low white clouds. A westerly wind blowing a smell of new mown grass across the fresh green of the park. Along Grosvenor Crescent, the pillared porches, the high walls painted cream. Across Belgrave Square and through an empty echoing West Halkin Street. And one took comfort from the calm mellow brick of Knightsbridge where the moss lies quietly between the paving stones.

In my little study off the drawing room I went to check through my cellar book and enter newly arrived wine. And as usual to stack up and count the bills. Pouring in from Fortnum's and Harrods. From dress and shoe shops up and down Bond Street. And Millicent came in. Walked over as I sat with my pencil and paper weights. She gave me a little push and I drew back.

"How's the shoulder."

"I think it's fine."

"Come upstairs."

"What for."

"Don't ask me questions. Just come upstairs."

I climbed up the stairs following Millicent into her pink and blue bedroom. Reviewing in my mind the legal interpretation of the presentation of one's member. Private and erect. To the spouse present and duly open eyed. In this so silent house. There were couples sunning on the grass in the park. Others wrapped in arms. Millicent's wide black garden party hat on her dressing table. Two foot stack of magazines by the bed. And she in her stockinged feet. The big blue diary next her telephone. Booked every day for lunch and tea and all the fashion shows. She pulls the curtains across on the window. Complained of the man across the street spying with binoculars. She could see the lens gleaming behind leaves of a plant he grew for camouflage. And I had walked in upon her once having a bath, to get a piece of her Paris soap. And she clutched her arms across her breasts and said get out of here. I made believe as I paused in the mirror that I was examining my eyebrows for dandruff. I had spent that day watching the men from Harrods come and go. With the latest samples in materials. Her mother brought friends to see our curtains and view the bathrooms, all four, and our big fat towels. Milli-cent's glass shelves covered in bottles of scent, her wardrobe full of shoes, handbags and scarves. And I sat staring at my laundry frayed cuffs, my missing buttons and holes in my socks. A man came to do her hair. And meals arrived from a restaurant. When one evening more than anything else in the world I wanted chicken kedgeree and rhubarb crumble. I asked her to make it. She just looked at me and said how dare you be so thoughtless and cruel. Now she looks at me, and is taking off her clothes.

"Balthazar we'll go into your bedroom so we don't upset my bed."

Millicent taking a towel and passing through the dressing room. A breeze blowing against the curtain in my open window. And one of the most marvellous things in the world is to be in bed on a train speeding through the night time countryside after a hot summer day and have moist cool air blow through the sheets. I thought on a day such as this there must have been sun bathing nude in the garden. But now the sun was sinking and may have sunk. She takes off her slip and lays it across my pile of zoology books. Waits like women sit and wait in Paris antique shops, spiders in a web. I feel a little breeze under my armpits. Millicent standing there stark naked. A sight I have never seen. Her triangle of dark brown curly hair and her soft swell of belly and navel like a small inlaid ear. My eyes closed as I saw her breasts. To think all this time both those things have been there. Lips dry. No voice in me. She beckons me with her finger. There are big 336 leeches in the River Eure flowing through Chartres. Mind runs riot. I'm tempted to call for a taxi to take me across this carpet. Feel like an Algerian trying to sell a piece of Africa in an empty side street. With the vision now of all my trustees seated round. Intoning in ecclesiastic voices, the Lord blesses the dead who have done the brave thing instead of the smart. They take out pencil and paper. To make a proper record of proceedings. Mr. B has presented his member expanded to eighteen centimeters and the opposite partner in the marriage has not yet screamed. Mr. Pleader with opera glasses, Mr. Horn with callipers and Hoot with racing form. My mirror there. Where there is so much to see. As she leans right down and grabs it with her mouth. I stand with nervous hands at my side at attention. Looking down on her gleaming brown head of hair. Uncle Edouard said for something which is priceless a woman should charge nothing. Paid such a price already until this change in her. Tanned all over by the infra red of her bathroom ceiling. And sometimes away racing in the afternoon, I had visions of all her former admirers beating a path to the door. Drinking one's wines and gobbling down the caviar. Hands all over one's undressed wife. The lover's bare toes twiddling the knobs of my gramophone. The mysterious little absences one noticed among the wine bins. Which make me wonder now. How much blowing could go on without my knowing. Millicent carries her arse as if it were the last one on earth. Shops all through the morning till she needs a rest and goes to a shoe emporium to sit and buy shoes. The cold clarity of her nudity makes me thank God I have eye lids to close. Times she sat when I looked at her. All she wants to do is go out and dance in front of the world. Far from the cooking carrots and undusted window sills. To rush to a fitting for a brassiere. Why worry. There are still some immortal mistakes I cherish. Let the brain steam. And trustees record that it's now in her mouth. Beefy knows exactly when not to wear white shoes. And the postal boundaries all over London. Those where one can safely walk with holes in the socks and find cads who use brown envelopes. The boundary stone set in the curving sidewalk of Pembridge Square and Moscow Road. Where and when Beefy winces as he steps into Paddington. The world never knows you're so lonely. When you're leaning by some dark iron railings outside a slightly opened window. Listening to piano playing. Uncle Edouard said people look for arse when they look for art. And a little band of ruffians with a baby carriage walked by with a tame goose waddling after them. They looked for money and I gave them half a crown. I would stand solemn and prolonged at that red and brown brick world, transfixed by Sloane Street, Pont Street and Beauchamp Place. The white cheese cloth behind the polished windows, the turrets and transoms on the rooftops, the blackened tiles on the gables. And up high the odd weather vane veering above the whining traffic. I can't believe it's going into her down through the soft moist parting between her legs. As she gives out a frightening long howling groan. With the trace of a smile. Heard all over Knightsbridge. Never knew it meant so much to her. Been glad to slip it in before. Stayed by the hand of protocol and ceremony and broken collar bone. Gained in my first attempt. One is taught to be so nice. Wait till asked. Don't do that. And get nothing for the hesitation. When people seem to like it better if you elbow them around. I told her to shut up. I was just as aghast as she. Groans getting even louder now. What on earth am I doing to her. Playing a dirge down her nervous cord. The whole neighbourhood listening to the notes. And it's getting that kind of dark when the world can hear you pull your penis. The same one that Beefy said his building mate stained green on St. Patrick's Day. Now that I've got it in must make no mistakes, yet no one gets to the grave without tripping a few times. Her legs locked around my waist. Ankles waving her feet I see in the mirror. She must be a woman. But will never flick a spud into the boiling water. Or take needle to one's flies. With a wrist flicking beat up a mayonnaise. But she is as Beefy said, by merely shifting her hind quarter fractionally abaft, taking one's noble carboniferous tool eight miles up her Jeroboam. This Wednesday. A 338 chime from my study clock below. The groans roll out longer and louder from her parted lips. Echoing back across the gardens. Voices below. Each thrust a sound peals out. Her legs wrapped around me like two snakes. When you think she's mad. Someone you've never met before. She strolled out today between the parsons in gaiters and much purple cloth. I saw a big blue prison van go by with the eyes staring out from the little windows. And uniforms passing out the Palace gates where one might ask not the rank but what's your nation. A smile on Millicent's face. Where whenever I close my eyes. Is it you Fitzdare. As I come near where I will go diving diving down. Parting air with my hands. Brushing away Dublin raindrops. Hear bells ringing. Just like a front door. I told Mil-licent's mother I would on no account have chimes to be modern. A bell would do. She said do forgive me. I did and it was another invitation to come charging in with all her friends just to say hello we've only time for a drink. But after two they always stayed for three or four. And later I was handed the whopping bill at a restaurant. Followed by the warnings of one's trustees. Dear Mr. B, for the sake of future reserves we would advise some restraint in current expenditure. Who knows one day one might have heirs. As o my God I go with everything crashing into her. And she gives out with a long echoing howl and one hears the ringing and ringing of bells. World falls down. A dust rises up. Voices saying, I say there, I say there, you in there, we are citizens out here. And you will be punctured at the end of her last long piercing groan. Tightening and swallowing the length of my organ. Tell Beefy what the nude male pictures with white gloves have done. And the voices who cry out I say there, in there and murder most foul. What. What murder. Whose are those noises. And the knocks on the dressing room door. A voice says do we have to break it down. Good Lord. What's this. Don't get nervous. The nightmare continues. Sound of fiddling of keys. In Millicent's automatic lock to keep me out. And a knock and hands hammering now. Balthazar B unravelling from his wife's arms and legs, rolling from the bed and standing up. Crossing the purple carpet to the dressing room door. To say to the other side press the button on the lock. And it opens slightly ajar. For there are. Distinctly people there. A nearby strange face with grey hair.