The Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B (4 page)

Balthazar taken from the dining room by the white aproned woman. Down the hall and up two flights of stairs. To sit in a big leather chair in the housemaster's study. The thin tall man in a dark checked coat and grey flannel trousers. A bright yellow tweed tie. And his polished boots cracked and scarred. The desk lamp spreading out its dim light as long thin fingers turned over papers. The wind brushing a fir branch against the window glassy and black.

"I am your housemaster. Who pushed you down."

"I do not know."

"The elements of leadership sometimes are found in a little scuffling. We mold little leaders here. Did you get a cup of tea."

"Yes."

"Did you enjoy your little tea."

"It was quite reasonable."

"You speak English well. Who taught you,"

"My nannie."

"Good show. You look a dear little chap."

"Do not speak to me like that."

"I beg your pardon."

"I do not want to be called a dear little chap. I am a small human being."

"I see. Well perhaps it's time we took you to your dormitory. Our small human being will be playing golf tomorrow.

Do you read your bible."

"No."

"Well we are keen on scripture here. And you must address me as sir. We are not unkind but we stand for no nonsense.

Play the game. Play it well. Play it fairly. And avoid smutty talk and companions."

"I do not understand the word smutty."

"Pity. Smutty. You will recognise it when it comes. And know we shan't stand for it."

"What is smutty."

"You mean what is smutty, sir."

"What is smutty, sir."

"That's better. Smutty. Hmmmm. A smear upon the spirit.

Concerning things between the legs. There shall be no groping there, you can be sure of that. We shall have no Frenchiness either. When smuttiness comes smite it."

"What is smite."

"Smite, smote, smitten. To strike powerfully. And here we smite smut. Let there be no question about that. Our little golfers knock it for a loop. You are a clever little chap, I can see that. But we don't want cleverness to become slipperiness."

"I do not understand
you."

"Quite simple, we run a school here to mold leaders. Boys here are of the very best families. Little princes and lords with few exceptions." "I am not a prince or lord.' "We make allowances for that. Commoners are given every opportunity.'

"I want my elephant back."

"You mean sir."

"Sir."

"We don't have toys here you know. Boys grow up here.

And we will stamp out this groping between other boys' legs.

We'll have done with that. Gung ho. That's the cry. You French tend to run under heavy mortaring. You lack gung ho."

"How dare you say that"

"What. Come come. You must learn to take criticism on the chin. Quite understandably you want to put up a little show for your countrymen. Mustn't blind yourself however. Must not do that. From this school you will bring gung ho back to France. Carry that thought with you during your years here. Up you get now. Matron's waiting in the hall. Your number is fifty seven. Always answer with your name and number. You'll get used to it here."

The matron, towels over her arm, led Balthazar along the hall, down a stair and into a high ceilinged long room. A wide shiny aisle of floorboards dividing two rows of beds standing against the grey walls. Matron stopped near one of the tall windows framing the edge of tree tops against a clearing sky. A pinkish mist of white swirling clouds over the countryside. Boys reading, polishing shoes, and tidying lockers. They focused eyes up at the ceiling or down into their laps.

"Here we are now. You'll soon muck in."

The matron in her grey tweed skirt and sweater, vast bosoms bumping Balthazar on the shoulder, patted him gently on the head. She smiled around her, nodding east and west. And disappeared out the door where a strange red light glowed from the great window of the staircase.

Balthazar reached to touch his crocodile grooming case on the blue blanket. A toothbrush and toothpaste laid upon a towel, and neatly folded across his pillow, his golden silk pyjamas. Standing now tears all dried, a taste of salt at the corner of the lips, legs atremble and cold. His lungs shuddering faintly as he caught in mouthfuls of air.

Not to look up ere some crushing horror descend at the back of one's ears. Nor move too soon ere a large monster snort new fire. But now to turn gently and up from brave but shy eyes to see. On the next bed sitting a plump little boy. His carrot haired head bent over as he sewed carefully with needle and thread. He looked up and smiled. His eyes were brown and his cheeks big and red. And in his hands, all nearly joined back together again, was Tillie.

6

Each fortnight Beefy's granny sent Swiss chocolate. And little blocks were pushed across to Balthazar in the dark. Lights out and Crunch the housemaster patrolled the dim corridors. At full moon he walked a rapid tight circle at the distant end of the hall, nervously entwining his hands and mumbling.

"We will stamp out smuttiness. We shall have straight little backs and sound bottoms. No smut here.'

October trees dropping their brown leaves on the wet grass. Chill damp dawn mornings the little boys rose shivering and clutching towels to hunch to the tub room. The still dark countryside out the window. Wintering thrushes asleep.

The screams and agonised faces as the white bodies cast themselves into the big baths of icy water. Contortions of sweating lead pipes held with shiny brass clips to the white tiled walls. The gurgling laughter, pushes and shoves. And threats of revenge.

"You just wait tonight. You'll feel something you won't like."

Balthazar in uniform, waiting by his bed. Beefy striding back from the wash room with his morning smile. As Balthazar enquires gently as to the way in this world.

"What will happen tonight."

"Masterdon's a big bully. He has foot rot between the toes. He'll put his larger snakes in Duffer's bed. They don't bite hard. They sometimes only give a little sting. His are only grass snakes but I am collecting adders."

Beefy over the days steering Balthazar from the lurking harms. The priest hole where they put you in up to your neck and kicked your face. The mud bath by the river where older boys commanded young boys to wrestle. Beefy said never cry or show you are afraid, the dumbest and weakest boys get the worst and they are especially horrid to princes and lords.

And this Saturday evening at the assembly room to see a tattered film on the delights of Guatemala and splendors of Veracruz. Boys chattering at the door waiting with their pillows. While Beefy below in the basement made a raid on the kitchen and stole away to a little stray dog he sheltered in the woods and called Soandso. Sunday afternoon convened to sit and copy from the blackboard the weekly letter to parents and guardians.

Dear Mother,

Yesterday was Founder's Birthday and we saw an exciting film all about Central America made by the Founder's father who explored there. On Tuesday we played golf. It was a jolly good caper. Soon we will be playing rugger. For dessert we had peaches and fresh cream. I am very happy here and very much enjoy the new friends I have made.

Balthazar

Evening prayers in a candle lit chapel this Sunday. High voices in song. Smell of wax and autumn winds bleeding through cracks of doors and windows and crevices of stone. Balthazar staring down at this hymn as the words grew faint then blurred and dimmed. Until he woke on his bed, matron bent over him, a cold compress on his forehead. Then lights out and Beefy kneeling close at his bedside.

"Are you still poorly Balthazar.' "No."

"You fainted. You must be frightened and sad.' "I want to write a letter to my nannie. And master said I can't.' "You shall. Tomorrow after golf. And then give it to me."

A stretch of blue in a bleak sky. Across the gently folding lawns the sun would speed. And sheltered south west, hidden by a canvas awning on the porch of the golf pavilion, Balthazar wrote his small scrawl.

Dear Nannie,

Today we are playing golf. The stick is too big for me and I cannot hit the ball. I now have a friend called Beefy. And his real name is Balthazar too. He is not afraid of anything and has gone far out of his way to protect me. On Founder's Birthday we had toast and dripping for tea. The big boys have torture chamber after lights out and they take their pleasure to bang the bottoms of the littler boys. They call it botty bashing and it hurts very much. Honourables get the worst thumping of all. They are the sons of lords. Nothing else is happening here. Tonight is private dormitory feast. My friend and I eat cheese he has stolen from the kitchen. There is starvation here and I am glad my friend is good at thieving. I hope you find a nice husband for yourself soon. I am sorry the man who saw the good mend in your skirt on the boat did not make your acquaintance as he would have found you awfully nice.

Balthazar

The envelope handed across to Beefy. Who tucked it beneath his sweater and set out at a trot to disappear with a wave at the edge of the wood. The trees laying great long shadows in the reddening setting sun. And a week later a letter came for Balthazar which he opened under the smile of Beefy.

My dearest Balthazar,

I did so much appreciate your very wonderful letter. And I am so glad you have made a nice friend. He sounds quite capable. When I left you to school I came to visit my mother and father who live just outside of this town by the Grand Junction Canal. Which is not awfully grand but there is some nice countryside all round. I take long walks by the canal and I carry a bag of bread to feed the swans. I can also see the trains go by and often I think of you. I too hope I find a nice husband soon. And when he is the man in my life, you will always be the other.

It will be so nice to see you at Christmas.

Nannie 36

To sleep that night this letter tucked away under the pillow. And carried each day next to his flesh until the weeks went by and the writing grew faint and blurred and the paper curled and split. To open it again and again until finally it fell to pieces. And one whole line was left.

When he

Is the man

In my life

You will always

Be

The other.

7

The day following the great night storm in the wild year of weather which sent tiles clattering from rooftops and the belfry from the village church, Beefy made his usual speedy mission through the woods to post uncensored letters to the outside world, Balthazar running behind the heels of this chunky stalwart engine puffing the way over fallen branches, threading through bramble patches and looking back to smile encouragement to Balthazar.

And they came to the rustic shelter of pine boughs round a tree. There was a whimper and happy bark and wagging tail of little black and white Soandso. Tethered to the tree trunk jumping and licking in the piles of straw. Beefy with his jar of water, cheese and bread. And great grin as he withdrew from beneath his sweater and shirt two thick lamb chops.

"These are choice loin. They were for Crunch's supper. He will be most annoyed.'

Beefy patting Soandso on the head as he growled over his dinner. He said goodbye be a good dog, and waved back as they crossed into a haunted plantation of great ancient oaks. Black shadows of ravens high in the tree tops. Their low throated cries, strange cocking of heads and gleaming eyes. Through a thicket of rhododendrons. Until suddenly they stepped out on the village road near a cozy thatched cottage buried in roses and bramble.

"That's where Mrs. Twinkle lives. She's very nice. When Fm away on holidays she takes in Soandso. Makes him awfully fat. He gets healthy quickly again when he's back in the woods. We're invited to tea. Hers are the yummiest of scones in all of England."

With a grin Beefy pushed his letters into the red post box set in the wall. Ducking back off the road they crossed a field 38 and entered a gate and along a grassy path through rows of moisture silvered cabbage leaves. Beefy knocking at the rose bowered door. The bright orange seeds against the crumbling stone.

Inside this low roofed room a fire crackling, Mrs. Twinkle's moist eyes as she scurried about setting tea. Balthazar scooping up spoons of jam and biting through white fluffy hot scones to taste the sweet melting butter. Beefy went to the piano. His stubby little fingers rippling across the keys, his light voice raising slender music as he sang O For The Wings Of A Dove. And what nannie told in all the little evening whisperings or when we watched out or walked along the Channel shore. She said in the grey heavens over England it rains on a quiet and contented land.

"Mrs. Twinkle thank you so much for having us."

Outside warmed with late sunlight red and gold through the trees. Mrs. Twinkle, grey head and black garments at her back door. The thin white hand raised to wave. The two little friends set off again through the woods. Gaily crossing a grassy valley and along the river. Beefy putting his finger on the small paw prints in the mud round a badger hole on the side of a hill. Through the beech wood and crouching along the edge of the golf course. They swung hands and whooped. And Beefy announced.

"I do believe Balthazar that I know how to butter up old ladies."

Ahead stood the high wall of the kitchen garden. And at the giant yew tree Beefy scrambled up the twisting trunk pulling Balthazar behind. On top of the garden wall balancing. A hole in the branches of spreading boxwood tree below. Together hand in hand they jumped. Into this brief darkness. And to get up from their knees into the clutching waiting arms of Crunch and Slouch.

Light quick hearts and ashen faces. Led between the lettuce and onion beds carefully tended for masters' evening salads. Up the back stairs in the awful silence. To the dormitory to wash. Back down the great staircase. Where the strange blood red spilled from the stained glass window. Their feet making this terrible noise on the boards. Of doom and disaster. Of God nowhere to be seen. Of nann@e and her soft hair to let me rest my cheek when I weep.

"Don't be frightened Balthazar. I will do the talking.'

"Stop that whispering number sixty four.' In this dim panelled waiting room at the end of the long hall. Sofa seats and tables stacked with the school magazine. Famous old boys on the wall. The cricket and rugby elevens. Voices behind the dark oak door. Opening now. And the grim face of Slouch.

In the big room windows facing east and south. An oar high up across the wall above white shelves of bookcases. Framed parchments and degrees. Silver framed photographs on the desk of thin dark figures at a Palace Garden Party.

"Stand there. Hands behind backs. Well now this is a pretty little pitch isn't it. I said hands behind the back sixty four. Now then we have some items. Item one. You recognise this Beefy, sixty four."

"I think so sir."

"Do you pr don't you."

"I think I do. Sir."

"It would appear to be your diary. Is it."

"Could you hold it a little aside sir, the sun's in my eyes."

"Is it."

"I could be mistaken sir."

"O you could, could you. Trifle with me, will you. It is your diary. Let that fact be clearly established. And it's utterly despicable and odious."

"It is the truth."

"Quiet sixty four, answer when spoken to and not before."

"Sir I should be allowed an answer to your slander."

"Shut up. How dare you. We're only at the beginning of this interrogation. Slander indeed. How would you know the meaning of such a word."

"I do sir."

"Shut up."

"You are being uncommonly rude sir."

"I said shut up you little devil. Six strokes of the cane for every uncalled for remark. Now then. Mr. Crunch, let us proceed, you are a witness. And sixty four I wouldn't try the tricky if I were you. Upon his return from Swindon, the headmaster shall have this matter put before him for action. I shudder to think all this is taking place during the funeral of the headmaster's mother. Now then. This is your diary. Answer me, you are a masturbator."

"Yes indeed sir."

"You admit it."

"Yes sir."

"When did you begin this foul practice."

"As soon as I was able sir."

"When was that."

" I don't know sir, ever since I can remember. It has been spontaneous with me sir. It has always felt nice to pull upon sir."

"Take that down verbatim, Mr. Crunch. Now then. Do you deny it was you who chalked up the legend I am the vast masturbator on the blackboards of this school."

"Not me sir."

"Ha, not me sir, yet, page fourteen of your diary. Let me refresh your memory a bit. September 2yth. Tonight successfully succeeded in the deed. What did you mean by that. On the next morning following that entry each classroom blackboard had the said legend writ upon it."

"Sir you would allow there are many masturbators at large in this school who may have wanted to give utterance to their feelings."

"Pretty speech sixty four. Very pretty. Cunning and eloquence combined. But we're only beginning here. And you fifty seven. Shame on you to seek out such a bad companion. Of course you are a foreigner. What have you got to say for yourself."

"Nothing sir."

"Just as well. Now then. It has been established here.

Firstly, that you are the author of the legend I am the vast masturbator."

"Begging your pardon sir. The legend to which you refer as having been written on the blackboards of this school was I am the magnificent masturbator.'

"Magnificent, vast, what difference does it make. Pure pornography all of it."

"I would respectfully explain sir that there is a large difference between a vast and a magnificent masturbator. And it would be prudent if you got your facts correct."

"Six strokes of the best for that daring piece of insolence. Now then. Secondly. Stealing from the kitchen."

"I deny it sir."

"Liar. You are a liar. Mr. Crunch's two lamb chops are missing. Their disappearance not unremarkably coinciding with your absence. Your brazen effrontery is almost beyond belief. What is the motto of this school sixty four."

"Clean hands, candor and godliness sir."

"And what would you say your slippery shabby little hands have been up to."

"Perhaps no good sir."

"Quite. For once we have the truth. Too late of course to outweigh the numerous lies. Mr. Crunch have you any questions you'd like to put before I go on."

Crunch sat in his leather chair. His shoulders slumping about him. The four corners of his gold silk handkerchief drooping from his jacket pocket. Hands folded gently in his lap. And with a strange tremor to see moisture collecting over his eyes as he slowly shook his head back and forth.

"Very well. Now then. Masterdon, eighty four, claims to have seen you, sixty four, abroad outside the grounds of this school. Which is absolutely forbidden."

"What was Masterdon doing outside sir."

"You may ask that question. He had leave to purchase his weekly fruit from the greengrocer, that's what he was doing."

"It would appear sir you have me dead to rights."

"Appear. We have indeed got you dead to rights sixty four. I understand your grandmother is your guardian and you are an orphan. What happened to your parents may I ask. I think these are questions quite pertinent under the circumstances. Speak up.'

"My mother was killed in a hunting accident sir. My father took to drink as he loved her very much. He drank his estate sir and died from an onslaught of creditors.'

"Yes you do sir. My granny refused to help him and she is very rich sir. I put the shilling in the gas meter sir."

"What are you talking about."

"My father sir. He gassed himself in an oven in a room in Glasgow. Overlooking the traintracks to Edinburgh, sir. I was but a mite then. He gave me the shilling to put in the meter in the hall. My father locked me out of the room. And he was dead when the police came."

"Are these lies sixty four, are you having us on."

"He speaks the truth, Mr. Slouch."

"I see. All right. Both of you can stand at ease. Of course it is very sad. There is no question about that. None. But if we were to let sentiment intrude upon justice where would we be. Where would we be sixty four."

"I guess up to our necks in injustice sir."

"Yes, well that's one way of putting it. Let's get on. Your granny, sixty four, is she your father's mother."

"No sir, she is the mother of my mother."

"In short then, your father's mother in law."

"Yes sir and she was most cruel to him sir."

"That may be. Our concern now is that your grandmother will be taking up this matter."

"No sir. She will not. As she has little to do with me. She lives very north in Scotland where the Romans never conquered. My trustees will. They are in London. And they will be alarmed sir.'

"And so they should be. And pray what are they trustees for."

"My mother's father sir built ships. And his ancestors before him. They built many of the ships sir, which defeated the Spanish Armada.
^"

"To be sure. I think we may be getting slightly off the point here.'

"No we're not sir."

"What do you mean."

"I mean sir, my trustees who administrate my fortune were going to leave a packet to the school."

"What. Mr. Crunch, what do you know about this."

"They were sir to hold the sum in escrow pending my passing out successfully from the school."

"Escrow, escrow. Do you even know what the word means."

"It's from the old French sir, escroe. A bond or roll of writings."

Balthazar with half lifted right hand moistening his lips and leaning into the hollow late sunlight.

"That is true."

"You keep quiet fifty seven. One of you talking is quite enough. Of course we all know sixty four you're head of your form. It would appear we have two little budding barristers here. What. But I am quite satisfied sixty four that you are at the moment seizing upon an opportunity to weave a new web of lies. And when this little matter is res judicata you can reflect upon it when pleading someone's case in Chancery."

"Upon my word of honour sir, my trustees are very powerful sir."

"Word of honour. O we are foxy aren't we sixty four. Very very foxy. Do we think we are foxy sixty four."

"I am not foxy sir. I have merely stated that should I be sent down it would make my trustees look with displeasure upon the school.
^"

'Threats, eh. This school has long been quite nearly a living facsimile of Debrett. And such as you, bragging about and tabulating your vile pollutions. And most inglorious of all, two commoners breaching the school rules, its very codes, thieving.'

'Tray sir, my friend Balthazar has never thieved and it was I who led him off the school grounds and he did not know he was out of bounds.'

"Well now we finally have a confession. One wonders where I'd be without a witness here. Two commoners indeed.'

"Nobility sir has never prevented an Englishman from ratting. And pray sir, I am listed in Debrett."

"Are you indeed. Sixty four you will be amused to know that it so happens that we possess a copy of Debrett. What about that. Just behind you there, Mr. Crunch, at the end of the shelf. O I don't think we have quite finished here, not by a long chalk. Trustees. Armada. Packet. Packet of lies. That's your packet. Ah thank you, Mr. Crunch. Now sixty four under whose nobility do we enquire for you."

"Sir if it is the most recent edition."

"It is."

"I am listed fourth line from the bottom page 362 sir."

Sound of groaning horsehairs unflexing as Mr. Crunch shifted position. The long trailing whistle of a curlew out across the grasses. Now the month when the last of all the swooping swallows are gone. And Beefy through the night times said hear Balthazar, that hoot is the little owl and that shriek is the barn owl and they'll be grabbing up the rats and forest mice.