The Onion Eaters (24 page)

‘I’ll be back.’

Veronica coyly lifting her sweater over her head,
unbuttoning
three top buttons of her long sleeved underwear, pulling in her belly as it drops around her waist.
Clattering
the castanets as she weaves along the book cases and out between the playful gentlemen smiling as she sweeps by. Those whose hands were free politely clapping. Two austere elegant guests seated side by side, one’s hand on the other’s knee.

‘Alfred it’s so refreshing.’

Clementine with another glass of milk. Veronica cruising close wagging and shaking breasts. Faint night of clear sky. Shadows of mountains beyond the glistening slate roof tops. A small hunched man entering. The Monk Minor, Up from his casino in the cellar. Where roulette balls bounced till dawn. They said when his mother went on holiday he pawned her newly installed plumbing piece by piece to get started. To now move thinly through the gathering giving odds and taking bets on any human or inhuman possibility.

Clementine quietly retreating. Backwards. To stretch wearily out on a bed. Comfort me. To walk lonely into a city desperate. For the warmth of another voice. Asking your name. Thrice Glandular thank you. Or telling you the time of world it is. Half past bedlam. Put a hand up across the eyes. Feel something tugging at the flies. Two heads down there in the dark. One Veronica. Shouting.

‘Get away leave him alone.’

‘He was perfectly all right till you came.’

‘Take your hand off his penis, he’s staying here as my guest.’

Veronica shoving the figure out the door. Closing it.
Gyrating
back through the shadows. Sure footed since the roller skates and parasol. Leans down to smack my face. Softly with her breast mounds. Nicely on each cheek. Bring me back to my senses. Overloaded with the unsublime. More shouts up from the street.

‘That tiresome lout. Can you imagine Gail nearly took a
bite. Ruined our whole picnic. Horrid monster. But why waste words on him. Let me get rid of everyone.’

Voices saying goodbye. Feet moving down the hall. Steps down the stairs. Shutters closed. Battened down. Lie here. Not so much in sorrow or self inflicted bitterness. But just ready for another tuesday. To say to everyone. Pardon my disfigurement. Wrought by the constant fear of snake bite blast and bullfight. And a double robbery recently of pieces of arse. One elegant the other low slung. Erconwald somewhere in a notebook has my heat of crystallization. Even the weight of my hopes. Measured by his axiometer. Dream of a world where there are patches of surplus women. Rushing to hand out a lifetime of cool fingers tickling the back. Don’t get killed in the rush of men. Undo my laces. Push off my shoes. Hear singing out on the night. Wiggle toes for warmth while Veronica’s standing there. With her body. Weaving back and forth. Come I have in from the country. To feel your breasts and taste your arms tightening around my chest. Never know when fifty eight small minded fuckers will appear on the horizon all at once. And begin to behave repugnantly. Where do I keep my feelings. Of ferocious anger. While I make all my pleasant replies. And pray. Dear God withhold the tranquillity no longer from your harassed servant. And please. If you don’t help at least one of us soon.

‘Darling do that as soon as you can again. Then I’ll put you in my scrapbook.’

White faint dawn. Veronica’s hair hangs down. Beads of sweat on her brow. Crouching over me. Wild grin on her face. Sitting up on it pumping and grunting away. Beams across the ceiling. A bird chirping at the bread crumbs on the window sill. Hardly a second’s rest through the night. Adding grocery bills. And through the zeros stare up and see her eyes. As she speaks down into mine.

‘You are my six hundredth and eighty first man dear boy.’

Horse hooves in the street. Bottles clanking on the steps of these buildings. With big barren cold sprawling rooms. The only warmth tucked up in the attics. Had a dream of Bloodmourn. Rushing up on the bridge of an ocean liner, slapping the captain’s face, taking over the ship and
order
ing
stores of champagne and smoked salmon to be broken open on the quoit deck for third class passengers. Woke with Veronica up on top of me again. The hundreds of arms around her. The well ploughed pasture. Plenty deep for
sowing
. Sheets and blankets make us a little cave. To cavort in. While I write letter after letter to grand aunt. And get back the same reply.

Stand barefooted on cold linoleum and pee. See down into a mews. From the narrow water closet window. Horses
nibbling
hay. Thought the whinnies in the night were stray guests caught in ecstasy on the stairs. Heard fists pounding on doors. Then thudding on jaws. Growlings and rantings through the streets. And whimpers near dawn. How to get out of here. While I still have a prick left at all.

‘Dear boy aren’t you coming back to bed.’

‘I thought I might get dressed.’

‘I’ve tired you out.’

‘O no I’m all right.’

‘I really am awfully sorry. Your walk is quite decrepit. Are you sure you’re all right.’

‘I think something has happened to me around the groin.’

‘I’ve discerned something quite jolly interesting there. If you wouldn’t mind I have my camera here.’

‘I’d rather you didn’t photograph me.’

‘Come come now don’t be childish and a mumble
grumble.
Then I’ll make you breakfast.’

Clementine standing in poses various. No spoilsport.
Profiled
in the flood light. Somehow makes one feel quite saucy. Even with the little there’s left. After the lot she’s taken. And now walking back and forth surveying. Sticking out her own chest and flexing biceps before each clicking of her camera.

‘I should have been born a man you know. It’s my
overabundance
of creative power. Being a woman is simply not enough for me. Dear boy you are quite flaccid. Come come now. Make it big and strong for Veronica.’

‘I can’t I can hardly stand.’

‘O dear what a waste. Let me give it a little tickle and kiss.’

‘No please leave it alone.’

‘Well that’s gratitude. Give you the hospitality of my flat. And the total freedom of my body. I mean are you quite content to stand there and say you can’t get it up for a little picture.’

‘Yes I am.’

‘Well perhaps if you had some breakfast then. Cocoa. And some bacon and eggs. You must think me quite cruel. To insist. But my pictures are culturally meritorious. Of course, ha ha, I have had occasion to sell them. You needn’t worry I’m not selling yours. A flaccid penis is only of
in
terest
if it can be seen in full erection as well. My boy friends are quite good customers. I’d be starving to death trying to sell sanitary napkins.’

A tiny table set for two. Little bird yellow throated and blue winged joined by another pecking on the window sill. A white bowl with porridge. Veronica sits with strong hands buttering a piece of toast. Kimono open to the navel. Could do worse than have her as house keeper. Be able to mix cement and milk a cow. Arrange flowers in the great hall. Hold exhibitions of her photography in the ballroom. Could be wild. Plead loss of scenic amenity when the county
council
tries to close it down.

‘Will you come back tonight dear boy.’

‘Well.’

‘You needn’t be frightened. I’ll leave you quite alone. If you wish. You’re so shy. Quite gracefully limbed. We didn’t start out so badly. I’m actually quite a good roller skater.’

Clementine heading down the stairs two at a time into the street. Head chilled hair wet. Cycles massing down the roads. A beep beep of an automobile. Early morning smoke from chimneys sweeping grey across the city. A mist over the park. A tram roaring by. Bell clanging. Could just
barely
get it up after breakfast. Swollen painfully pink. For a portrait.

Clementine passing the glass canopy of this hotel. A holly tree growing up from the basement. Buy a paper from the newsboy. A woman in a shawl with a chill child in her arms. Sitting on the wet pavement. Turn this corner here. Find somewhere for a cup of coffee. Follow the smell of the roasted bean.

‘Clayton, Clayton, wait for me.’

Gloria. Zooming out of the hotel. Running down the street. In another clinging dress. And black coat flying open.

‘Hey hi.’

‘Hi.’

‘No kidding am I glad to see you. I mean what happened. You were there on top of me in the hay with that crazy helmet on. I mean you didn’t even have to put on the
bathing
suit. Holy God can you do it. I must have fallen asleep. I was exhausted. But I woke up looking for more. All over the castle. Why didn’t you tell me. I had to hire two taxis to get here. They had to go one behind the other. They kept breaking down.’

Clementine holding a door open into an oriental café. Climbing stairs in the bread and cake and coffee smells. Seated at a glass topped table overlooking the street. Black uniformed waitresses bringing white cups. Cream poured from little jugs into the black liquid and rising steam. Hold one’s horses for a moment. Slather on the butter balls and nip into a currant bun. Take stock. Sit down. Slap the knee caps back on. Open up the ears. And into the fray.

‘Clayton, she tried to shoot me. That Mrs L K L in the crazy chair. We’ve got to stick together. She’s following me up here to shoot me too she said. What did I do to her. Can you tell me. Those people are crazy. They’re nuts out of their minds. Do you really think she’s going to come up here after me.’

‘Yes.’

‘O my God. Tell me what I did to her. That’s all I’m
asking
. I never saw her before in my life. I’m only eight months out of college. I don’t want to die that way. Couldn’t we find a port. To go to together. I mean you’re so damn
good in the hay. Who knows I might be satisfied. By the way are you rich.’

‘In appearances, yes. But in fact, no.’

‘Gee that’s too bad. But appearances count too. I could be your constant companion. I’m easy to have around. I really mean it. Could you stop her shooting me.’

‘No.’

‘You mean you wouldn’t.’

‘I couldn’t.’

‘Hey come on what kind of guy are you. I’d be shot down.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Well pardon me for minding. What is this a conspiracy. I should have known. By the way you know your feet smell and your shirt was green under the armpits. And you should see a dentist too. And forget what I said. You’re no big lover.’

‘That wasn’t me who was on top of you.’

‘O come on now. What are you ashamed.’

‘No just avoiding false pretences.’

‘Now wait a minute. You mean it wasn’t you.’

‘No.’

‘O boy. You could be right. That’s the best yet. I thought you had got smaller suddenly. Hey wow. Who was it. I’m going to underline that one in my diary. Zang bang. That really explodes me. Here I am all the way back in taxi. Even when I’m helping them to put back on the wheels. Thinking of you like my lover. Hey why are we fighting. We’re friends.’

Down through the throng on the street Shopping and cruising. Faces whispering by. Gentlemen with red curly hair and poppy in the buttonhole poised with notebook noting each shoe flapping by untied. Rushing after the
culprit
with a summons. Sky brightening. Gloria pleased and smiling. Holds my swinging hand. Says we’re brothers. And got to stick together. As I head now towards the bank. Watching out for a bullet. That might part chums.

High dome. Long counters. Tiled cool floor. A gentleman says come this way. Gloria sits on a stone bench. Unfolds my newspaper and crosses her tan fleet legs. Lead Kindly
Light gets the arse and gives me friends. Through this little door. Go with the note I didn’t open for a week.

Mr Oboe sitting with a pencil pressed on its point on a pad of paper. Smilingly standing. Hair parted in the middle. Offering his hand. Collar glistening. Picture of a steam ship behind his head on the wall.

‘Lady Macfugger has told me about you your highness. A little short for the moment are you. We’ll fix that in a hurry. No trouble about that. Please be seated.’

‘Thank you.’

‘How do you like it over here. Bit quiet for you I suppose.’

‘No it’s been quite piquant.’

‘Is that so. Well can I on behalf of our bank extend to you our most convenient welcome. I’ll just have our Mr Bop fit you out with the necessary cheque books. Large or small size.’

‘Large please.’

‘Well do feel free to make full use now. Nothing as
tiresome
for a bank totalling up pittances. Making alterations and additions to your castle are you. Keep you busy. How are you for some ready cash at the moment.’

‘Not awfully good.’

‘What would you like.’

‘Could I have ten.’

‘But of course, you can have a hundred if you like.’

‘Well a hundred would be fine.’

Bows and smiles out the door. One hates to leave that man. Something about him that makes one feel at ease. Says come back and call any time. Always like to see you. If you’re caught short at the races just give us a tinkle and we’ll organise a bundle for you in time for the next runners. And do please give Lady Macfugger my regards.

Stand in the sunlight. Hold my face up to the warmth under the sky and squeeze this roll of fresh new notes in the pocket We all give Lady Macfugger our regards. The clammy hands lift. That go clamping and grabbing on you. Need a barber, a hair wash and manicure. Superficials first and later the inessentials. Dear Gail I now know what
Jeffrey
means. How could anyone do without you.’

‘Gosh you’re cheered up.’

‘Yes. I am you know.’

‘It’s nice.’

‘Yes. I’m going to have my hair cut.’

‘Can I watch.’

‘Yes.’

Gloria at Clementine’s elbow. Making way down the steps of a likely place. Nice plate glass door with a curtain. An invitation please step in. Grey moustached barber
twirling
his white cape. Before tucking it around my neck.
Standing
back. Surveying the subject.

‘Now how would you like it sir. The tonsorial art is like conducting a symphony. In the hands of the maestro it’s but a few trumpet blasts there around the ears. A bit off the back with a few throbs of the cello. Not so as you’d ever miss it. A little virtuoso of the vibro scalp stimulator as a coda. It’ll have the blood forming whirlpools around your every follicle. Madam just find yourself a seat there and be comfortable while we get on with the symphonic variation on a theme that would clip every hair the right length once and for all.’

Clementine sitting wrapped in white. Your maestro
commencing
with the scissors. A molto adagio lopping off of a cascade of hair from the top. Gloria sucking in her breath with a smile. Her eyes closing. Elbows slowly flapping. Mouth opening. Gasping. Head wagging back against the wall. Magazines falling to the floor. The maestro turning from his podium to look. In the direction of this present prone percussionist.

‘Ah God I’ll get the hot towels to her. The lady’s having an attack of something.’

Maestro opening his cabinet. A bundle of towels falling
out. Gloria sliding down, legs quivering akimbo on the floor. Maestro packing the cotton softness under her head.

‘It’s a fit she must be having. With the smile of death on her face. We’re too late for the doctor. The poor innocent creature. Never knew when her moment had come.’