The Onion Eaters (21 page)

The voice of Nails Macfugger shouting from the stern back into the night. Drowned by the wind and crash of the prow into large foam crested waves.

‘We’ll be back Gail. Don’t worry. Hold on.’

Clementine rushing from the wheelhouse up into the bows. Climbing over tattered lines and piles of anchor chain. Can hardly see ahead in the spray. When Franz said he could only increase and not decrease revolutions, Bloodmourn’s hand closed clutching tightly over a damp chart. Both of us shit scared ploughing on into the rising blackness ahead. No icebergs but when we run out of fuel we’ll be adrift in the steam ship lanes. And be rammed in half.

Back in the wheelhouse. Bloodmourn raging in circles fists hitting at the sides of his head.

‘You’d think Lieutenant that with all the rusted pipes and disconnected wires we could slow this tub down. I was about to write some pleasant things in the ship’s log before this happened.’

‘We’ll run out of fuel soon.’

‘You think that’s funny. While I’m commander of this ship I want no attempts to amuse on my quarter deck. Is that understood.’

‘Aye aye Captain.’

‘Or else I’ll order you below.’

‘I’m not feeling very well.’

‘Get out on deck and breathe deeply. Shake your head back and forth. Have we brandy aboard.’

‘I’ll order a search made sir.’

Clementine and the Baron tripping below decks
fishing
through lockers, between paint cans, pots, dishes and under mattresses. To unearth a bottle. Of clear pure spirit. Just as God made it. Bloodmourn said. As he quaffed a
cupful.

‘Lieutenant I’ve got the bows into the weather. But the name of this ship worries me. Novena. In the dictionary here it says nine days devotion for a religious intention. And mine right now is to avoid foundering.’

‘Captain we’re afloat on the finest teak and mahogany. Just rap the bulkhead Listen to that. Even the crappers are flushing.’

‘You mean you’ve been taking a shit on my ship when we’re at action stations. That’s a court martial offence.’

‘Bloodmourn. Please. Give the owner of the ship a chance. I mean in an emergency of course one defers to superior experience and rank but if I want to take a shit, I’m not going to go through the chain of command on a god
forsaken
ocean in peacetime.’

‘Do you know what a stetson wrench is.’

‘Bloodmourn we’re in trouble. Fighting like this on the quarterdeck can only make things worse. Good lord. A roller. Coming. It’s fifty feet high.’

Bloodmourn grabbing the wheel. A great black mountain spilling right out of the sky. The good ship Novena
heading
into this hissing darkness with a deafening thud of bow. Lights out. A roar and crash. Water pouring knee deep through the deck house. Shattering glass. Lights on again. The bow mast sticking into the wheel house. Bloodmourn with a grim lipped smile, water dripping from his face.

‘Lieutenant, the steering is functioning again.’

Clementine bent double spewing forth. Hanging his head hands agrip on the window rail.

‘Lieutenant this is no time to be seasick. Get a grip on yourself. Straighten up and fly right. If the bilge pumps aren’t working I may have to order abandon ship. Engineer, can you hear me.’

‘Yes indeed mon cher Captain.’

‘Commence bilge pumps.’

‘Ah but they are already commenced Captain.’

‘Clementine, that Franz, the man’s unbelievable. We may be able to hang on. We can lash you to the mast. What there is of it. Only last half an hour in this sea. Bligh and his boat will never have survived that wave.’

‘Captain we had better send up flares. The lifeboats what’s left of them are tinkling from the davits.’

‘Nonsense Lieutenant we have a clipper bow and cruiser spoon stern. I’ve got the gross register, net register and
standard displacement listed right here. If we made it through that wave we can make it through anything. I’ve still got a few seafaring moves up my sleeve.’

‘I’m feeling awfully sick.’

Clementine’s mouth opening, his hands entwined. Eyes closed as his throat groaned forth green bile. Huddled arms clutched across his chest. Bloodmourn taking a cup of the white spirit.

‘Drink this, it could save you.’

Clementine putting back a cupful. Lifting his head. Sad eyes watching Bloodmourn jumping from the wheel to lockers.

‘What are you looking for Bloodmourn.’

‘The flag locker. Run up Q.’

‘What for.’

‘Because if we are swept somewhere into civilization and we are lying unconscious on the deck of this wheelhouse, flying Q means our vessel is healthy and we request
permission
to hold intercourse with the port.’

Nails Macfugger red hair soaked stumbling into the wheelhouse, catching his breath and slamming the hatch with his shoulder.

‘That’s ruddy right. And we’re ready to put it up every alluring unfaithful wife down every dock side street.’

‘Boatswain why aren’t you on deck keeping tackle secure.’

‘Are you out of your mind. I was nearly washed over board with the Baron.’

‘O my God Nails, is the Baron overboard.’

‘Well he’s not leading a symphony orchestra on deck at the moment I can tell you. And if you take my advice Clementine. This captain friend here of yours is going to get us all drowned.’

‘How dare you sir.’

‘For God’s sake Bloodmourn and Macfugger stop fighting. I think we’re foundering. Right now.’

‘As captain I order abandon ship.’

‘And as owner I order stand fast. Because for one I am not going to go out into that.’

‘Lieutenant as your captain I might reflect that you are a little short on seamanship but long on wisdom. I
unreservedly
withdraw that last command.’

Three gentlemen in the wheelhouse. Macfugger at the tiller. Bloodmourn shouting Mayday into the transmitter. Clementine searching for flares. The little ship crashing on. The radio dead. The stern rising up under passing waves and lurching and shaking as the screws spin free in the air. Take a couple of minutes’ silence for the Baron. Who with all his chess defences may be waging one final battle against the deeps. Perhaps the last moment is not the saddest. Mine was when they wouldn’t let me be an altar boy. Chose the chap who said he wanted to be close to God. I said I wanted to carry a big candle so I could look great and my aunt could see me. Waltzing on the altar of a Sunday.

Wave crests toppling and rolling over. Long patches of foam across the sea. White everywhere with spray.
Bloodmourn
sneaking the vessel down a trough in a broadside manoeuvre. And turning to take the big seas on the bow. Forty degrees of list. My pockets feel full of creamed spinach. Salt on the lips. Last thing you taste going down into the watery grave. Dying with a dearth of arse. Could have been Veronica’s forty first for the year. Missed piece after piece in the castle. Even Gail who was begging for an implant of tool. At the final curtain of water let Macfugger know she was pure and faithful to the last. Safe back on shore. Her husband lost. Out on a savage sea.

The deck awash. Clementine in oilskins. A chorus
singing.
Beyond the waves rising and falling. Bligh standing in the open boat less than a cable away. A white garment flying from an oar held upright. And good lord. The Baron. Still in yachting cap. Next to Bligh.

Bloodmourn now at the tiller. The good ship Novena rolling and crashing towards the distressed. The Baron
falling
over. Each time rising anew and coming to the salute. Clementine casting a line across the open water. Barechested Bligh jumping into the waves. Taking the line between his teeth and swimming back to his little choristers soothingly humming. Macfugger amidships straining out over the rails.

‘I don’t see Gail. Can you Clementine.’

‘I’m sure she’s all right.’

‘She’s not in the boat. How can that be all right.’

‘Well perhaps it isn’t.’

‘You’re damn right it isn’t. I say Gail. Where are you.’

Midnight that night a little trail of people making their way up the hill from the beach to the Castle Charnel. The lifeboat put out from along the coast taking the lot of us in tow. Breaking two hawsers tugging a fuelless Novena back to the shelter of the bay. The storm still lashing as Bligh signed autographs at the castle door, raindrops creeping through the hairs on his chest. And Macfugger disconsolate and sobbing in the great hall.

I hotfooted it up the stairs in a trail of oilskins. By the ballroom and aloft ascending the circular stone steps.
Whispering
into each room. Until I came to heavy breathing. And couldn’t hear my own. In the shadows two figures entwined on the floor. Through recent sea sick eyes one could just make out the pale moonlit fatless arse of Lead Kindly Light. As it rocked and swayed. Pumping up and down on Lady Macfugger.

The township arrived in carts, in prams and on donkeys. Lanterns swinging. Their faces downcast at the lack of disaster. I was introduced to three tourists, Mr and Mrs Utah, both in big brown shoes and hats. And a bright eyed girl shivering in a tight white dress. All staying at the hotel. They followed the commotion rushing through the town. And sir we’d kinda like to look round the castle when it’s daylight out here sometime.

Nails Macfugger roared and bellowed as Lady Macfugger slowly came down the grand staircase. Her hands
trembling.
Wishing she was only a ghost. As she said. O there you are Jeffrey. And Macfugger’s hand grabbed her by the hair dragging her forward across the hall and crashing her through the library doors. During the screams I tried to stop my cheeks from smiling.

And next morning I woke sneezing, hands blistered, arms sore and legs stiff. Charlene leaving my tray without a word. After breakfast came Percival. Said local reporters were in the great hall to get the news. Spread by the lips far and wide. About the brilliant seamanship and bravery of those aboard the Novena. Now gently at anchor in the bay.

‘By God sir you’re a name overnight in the community. Human durability has been put on the map.’

The Lady Macfugger had both eyes blackened and a lower bicuspid knocked out. Her nose out like a football and her lips bruised and swollen. She sat in the Porcelain Room on a pale green chair in a long purple gown. Just a tiny slender inkling of her splendid ankle showing. Dark glasses over eyes and her nose covered with gauze and bandage. She smiled as I came in with a box of chocolates.

‘Very good of you to come and see me all poorly like this.’

Bonaparte shuffling in. Deep growling grunts of apology pouring the absinthe. A cold late morning sunlight through a pink window pane. Mist clearing down the low fields and meadows. Crows cawing through the treetops. Gail’s cigarette sending a curling smoke slowly to the ceiling.

‘Jeffrey has hardly said ten words to me. I used to sit here an hour now I sit here most of the day. Would you just see that the door’s locked please. The motto is don’t get caught. And I did the first time. You’re the only one I know I can turn to. What should I do.’

‘Sit tight. He’ll get over it. You’ll both feel better the next time he catches you.’

‘O God what a thought. He’s so consumed I don’t think he’ll notice the next time. He simply goes berserk. He’s done it right out there in the middle of the park. I couldn’t see everything with my opera glasses but it was pure frenzy. I sit here quaking and quite sick to my stomach. But why I asked you to come was just to say that I’ll keep the part of the bargain I made. How much money do you need.’

Strange apparitions arise. Hope given to heap on the hopelessness. Stand looking upwards at the rising mountain of debt. Just like the barren slopes where Clarence skips with his latest in sexual knowledge. Manufactured
constantly
below in the Castle Charnel. Where all the faces lurk grinning in the tunnels and corridors. Happy to be a guest. Flattering my beleaguered munificence as they pass me in the halls like a bunch of ungrateful inlaws laden with trays fresh up from the kitchens.

‘I don’t know how much I owe.’

‘Doesn’t Percival keep books.’

‘No.’

‘What about bills.’

‘I’ve never been sent one.’

‘You must ask. They’ll never send one. It’s not considered polite.’

Shotgun blasts echoing out in the park. Lady Macfugger rushing to the window with her opera glass. Little puffs of white smoke. Three figures near a tree. A sigh from Gail’s lips. Plonking back on her chair. Replacing her dark
spectacles.

‘O God it’s so tense. I’ve been thinking of going away. He lies prone in the front hall and with the door open and telescopic sights he shoots neighbours’ sheep a mile away who merely stick a head through a fence. He tramps the house at night. The servants are terrified. Even the
insurgents
are at bay. He’s never without a gun. Clicking the safety on and off. Bonaparte takes a ghoulish delight to see him shoot down a chandelier from the ceiling. Any second I expect to find him in here amidst the porcelain.
Splintering
it with a shower of lead. He likes you. Thinks you’re one of the last pure princes of the blood royal. But God help any poacher. He wouldn’t stand a chance of saving his life. And Jeffrey waits behind walls. For the defiant ones. He calls them. They humanly manure the vista approaches to the house. Usually balancing their droppings on awkward points of stone. Just to let you know they’ve been there. In the rose garden or outside the French windows. An ugly little game. Things are bad enough without them being embarrassing as well. The people are quite wretched.
Jeffrey’s
fond of saying one’s food tastes better surrounded by poverty. But dear me one’s spirit does not soar. Their souls are screaming to get out from their wretched minds and
bodies. Jeffrey’s one of them himself. Brutal and callous. Submerged under a rather splendid veneer. But I don’t want to lose him.’

On the granite steps of Macfugger House between the tall sweating pillars. The green ground dropping away. Down towards trees, great dark leafy mushrooms towering over the grass. The grey grey clouds cramped in the heavens. Listen for souls. When they sound. Bellowing out in the night. Thudding through ditches. Squeezing out the bitter drops of hate. To scar and sour the soil. Step between them. To kiss goodbye this sad woman on the end of a bandaged nose.

The hairiest of the exprisoners waiting at the wheel of Erconwald’s motor parked on the gravel. With tyres on and the engine back in. His voice quiet and charming. Asking what’s troubling me. Ask him an answer for a question.

‘What advice do you give another man’s unfaithful wife.’

‘Be unfaithful again, Mr Clementine. It only counts the first time.’

Now with a chauffeur and body guard. Up over the rocky mountain road. Deep gullies gouged by the storm. The afternoon dying. Each clump of golden blossomed gorse a little outpost sheltered coconut perfumed in the barren wastes of endless brown bog. Night comes. Ghosts awake. Out of the watery wild grassy stubbles. Lights along streets. Of another land. Windows yellow with half drawn shades. Look in as you walk by. A man in shirtsleeves reads a
newspaper.
Leans to take up something in his hand. A wife steams a window cooking. Two children play with trains. A heart needs a haven to go on beating. Sail but a little distance on an outburst of anger. Into calm. Where the
sadness
stills. And you look for a smile.

Tiny dots of lights aglow. Charnel Castle sitting shadowy above the alley of tree tops. The exprisoner said rain
gutters
of valuable lead blanket the battlements. Sending the water down spouts into big tanks for the laundry. Where Charlene scrubs what’s left of my threadbare underwear. Winter seems always coming instead of going. Lady
Macfugger
wrote on a slip of paper coloured bright green. Put
it in an envelope handed to me and smiled. Said don’t open it for a week. All the bruising of her elegant lips. Pounded under a husband’s fists.

Percival opening the door. A chair ready in the library at the fire. A decanter of port and dish of biscuits and cheese.

‘Ah sir I hope you don’t mind, I took a lovely couple and a young woman on a tour of the castle. From the snake pit to the chapel. A Mr and Mrs Utah. They were beside themselves over the dungeons. The grandest thing they’d ever seen. You wouldn’t mind now if they joined you for dinner. They have a great interest to see how the gentry lives secluded on their own.’

‘I’m not living like gentry, Percival.’

‘Tonight you are. I have a pair of old satin pantaloons, black silk hose and ballroom slippers laid out in your
chamber.
With a cutaway coat and frilled shirt you’ll look
smashing,
and just like your lofty grace. Sure we’ll give you a shepherd’s crook. We’ll put on such a dog they won’t know what hit or bit them.’

The dining hall cleaned and polished since the blast. Percival intoning make way for his grace as he preceded me with candelabra down the grand staircase. Guests
assembled
in the great hall. Mrs L K L in a flowing sari in her sedan chair. Franz surrounding his excavation with linen embroidered screens. Everyone doing their bit. Putlog trumpeted the organ. I carefully parted my hair and brushed my teeth. Splashed disinfectant under the oxsters. Took each slow measured step. To sit once again at the head of the table. And look down at the faces. All dressed fit to kill. Ominously enough.

At Clementine’s right, Gloria the girl in the tight white dress. Now in tight lavender. With a great black belt with a great brass buckle. Big brown bright eyes in a square face. Oscar tip toeing widely around Lead Kindly Light. Already turning pages deep in a tome. The Baron nodding to faces up and down the table. Rose sporting a pre glacial feather cape next to Mr Utah in his rimless spectacles. As this girl leans towards me smiling.

‘It’s wonderful here everything is so rustic.’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m going to touch you because I’ve heard you’re a prince.’

‘I feel like one with you seated there.’

‘O hey can you throw a line. But I think the whole place is just wonderful. What’s that whistle.’

‘A curlew. A long beaked bird. Nests in the fields. Flies by night.’

‘O God. A bird.’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s just really terrific. You don’t know how lucky you are to live here like this. In a whole great castle so full of history. And even with champagne. You know right away I’m feeling a deep affinity for you. No kidding. It’s like this whole world here is a revelation. All these really happy people. They’re so real.’

A stream of dark purple wine. Poured. From a decanter. Splashing from the table out of a glass and down on Gloria. With one lifted eyebrow in apology from Charlene. Who handed over a napkin and withdrew.

‘I’m sorry, your dress.’

‘O no it’s all right. She didn’t mean it. I’m an heiress. It doesn’t matter.’

Avocados down on the train from the capital. Specially imported. A crate of prawns in a crate of ice. Specially selected. Slabs of mutton. Specially sliced. From a sheep recently bleating. Piles of potatoes. Leaves of cabbages. The molar crunched smell of onions. Smilingly devoured by Erconwald and associates engaging Mr and Mrs Utah in a blaze of conversation. As other inmates reach between the sauce boats for condiments. And Gloria sighs.

‘Prince it’s kind of like everyone is so mature. Right in the arms of nature. The surroundings are so normal. That’s the fifth glass of wine I’ve had. I just want to be here. To
concentrate.
To experience this freedom. O God let me just hold your hand. Under the table. Fast. O God.’

Gloria bending her head forward. Closing her eyes. Her whole body shivering. Whispering from her lips.

‘God. I’m coming. I’m coming. I’m coming.’

‘I beg your pardon.’

‘Yes. Yes. I’m coming.’

Putlog to my left. Beads of sweat on his face. Eyes
popping.
His fork into a potato lifting it to his lips. Chewing as he watches Gloria. Grind hips in the seat of her chair, head lolling on her shoulders. Breath gasping from her smiling mouth in a last quiver. A chance here to ask Putlog was his recent tempo andante or larghetto. Better first see if Gloria has slipped a disc or burnt out a cartilage.

‘Good lord. Are you all right.’

‘I’m wonderful, just so wonderful. O I never want it to finish. It was just wonderful.’

‘O maybe you didn’t know what happened. I had an orgasm. I have them all the time like that. I guess you people maybe don’t have them over here.’

The ladies withdrew. Bligh asked permission to have his confession heard. During a slack moment in the chapel. Mr Utah took off his glasses and polished them in a napkin. Before she left table Gloria said she was from Sandusky. And asked if she could meet me somewhere alone.

Port poured. Bligh recounting the brave exploit of the rescue. And what chance did the human body have out there on the waves. It wouldn’t be like wood which could float.

‘What do you mean float.’

‘I said float.’

‘Wood can sink.’

‘I said it floats.’

‘Well you’ve said enough then.’

‘By God say that just once more.’

I stood. The table stood. Percival announced that his graceful worship would take leave and join them much much later. I slipped out. With a certain breezy freedom about the legs. Heart beating casually. To get to the
cloisters.

‘Gloria.’

‘I’m here. I nearly got lost. I’m just loving all these old stone walls.’

‘Good.’

‘Gee I hope you understood. Sometimes I just can’t
control
myself. Want to see me do it again. Do you. Just watch. I’ll get right down here on the stone. And stretch right out. Can you see me.’

‘Yes.’

Gloria extended, arms in a cross. Hair spread behind her. A whiff of meadow on the evening air. Seagulls float by. A beast coughs. And Elmer growls downwind
wondering
who it is out here. He knows every smell in the castle. More than a few of which are his own.