‘O god.’
‘Yes. But I am sad I did not say something to you in Dublin. But how. I did not see you. What could I do.’
‘O Madam I do think you did, you must have at least felt my presence, and thereby you ignored me. I was crushed. You were so clearly with another man.’
‘And why not.’
‘We did have a deep abiding relationship. Of kindred souls. Our love had been consummated. That’s why not. That’s why it was unfaithful.’
‘What to have dinner. What nonsense.’
‘I knew by the look you gave him.’
‘What look. I don’t know who you even talk about.’
‘It was a look of love. I saw it on your face. I know that look. In the expression of your eyes. And the way you leaned towards him. And there was wine. And during horse show week as well. I know it was your lover.’
‘You know. You know nothing. Except you have a piece of grass coming out of your ear. And listen. The horn. You hear. And a cow. Go moo, moo.’
‘And there, a rooster Madam. Go cockadiddledo.’
‘Yes my little bog trotter. And my arse is frozen leaning over to talk to you. And the rain. Go drip drop. On top of us.’
‘Where do you live now in Dublin.’
‘Such conversation. You think we are having an aperitif on the boulevard. In Paris perhaps.’
‘Yes. In Paris. Now where do you live in Dublin.’
‘Ha you would so much like to know wouldn’t you.’
‘Do you live with a man. Who supports you.’
‘Ha I support me. Me I support. But the rest is none of your damn business.’
‘Madam, let’s make love.’
‘Make love. I am too, soaking fucking wet.’
‘No need Madam to get excited with such an unladylike expression.’
‘Well well. Out in zee middle of nowhere. What a thing to ask.’
‘I withdraw the request.’
‘Ah that is nice of you. Now get up.’
‘No. I shall I think Madam, just lie here. Casually let the raindrops fall, boom, bang, bing on my brow.’
‘They bloody fall on me too. My knee’s in muck. And if you don’t get up. I am.’
‘Madam if you leave me like this. I shall never never forgive you. Heavens my heart. And I do think one of my legs is gone.’
‘Ah my little broken bunny rabbit. Such an actor when you want to be, you are not that injured. With that little leg in your breeches bulging.’
‘Madam you are being uncommonly unrefined in your references.’
‘But is it not more that we are getting uncommonly fucking soaked and fucking muddy in this most unladylike and ungentlemanly fashion my darling in zee fucking wet grass.’
‘O dear, in spite of your vulgar Dublin parlance, I am smitten, Madam. That you will not make love.’
‘Ah my darling, it is not that I will not. But it is that certain time of the month.’
‘O no.’
‘O yes. But.’
‘But what.’
‘Ah but but. But.’
‘Tell me what but.’
‘It would be unladylike. As you say my expression has been. To tell you what but.’
‘That should not trouble you to be unladylike. For just the merest moment. To tell me something. That’s clearly quite important.’
‘Tell. Who said tell. I shall do.’
‘What shall you do.’
‘Ah, I shall do as I am doing. While we are mad to be here in the rain. Try to get it out of these buttons. Mein Gott, like the locks on Colditz.’
‘What is Colditz Madam.’
‘It is an old castle with big thick walls and many locks like your buttons, impossible to open.’
‘O god Madam.’
‘Ah. Too funny. Just to think once that now again, it is suddenly like it was, my dear little darling.’
‘O please. Please. Say that to me once more.’
‘Mein lieber kleiner Liebling das Gluckskind. Ich liebe dich. Sometimes only. Ich liebe dich.’
‘Ah. Ah. Now tell me what but. I don’t of course know exactly what beautiful words you are saying so softly beautifully. Only hope you’re not calling me a little fucker or something.’
‘It is that I shall teach you a lesson you shall not forget. And suck your cock like it has never been sucked before, my dear little bog trotter.’
The gates of Colditz unlocked, I did hear the banshees, the fairies, the poucas. Dancing all over the rainbow the bright side of one’s brain. Her blond hair, the smooth locks of it netted and curled so neatly up underneath her bowler. And in that dark space underneath there must be the parting straight down the middle of her head. Bouncing up and down over me with the delicious sweet grabbing of her warm soft sucking mouth. Hands stealing up under my waistcoat to squeeze pinching on the chill tips of my breasts. This woman. Comes to my rescue. Back into my pale cold world. Kneels between my legs. Akimbo. Strewn upon my back contused in adversity. Take me. So crushed those many months ago in my jealousy. Too shy to ever call you Gwendolene. Hide me somewhere in your life please. Lead me by the hand. Back to your tower. Where e’er it be. In Dublin. To ring our bell. Whosoever shall clang my goolies. Resounding. Smashing all over the sky. Call me. On this darkening day. Who doth it be who hoots. Call me. To tell what death is. That stops the heart and the blood. That chills the lips to stillness. Melts eyes into darkness. Ah god now if that’s death. I’ll lead you to plenty that are alive and living. Who said that sound. Who spoke. As the seed gushes spurting. Sucked out of me. A fountain of life. In all this long stale celibacy. Scream at the top of one’s lungs. To the ears of birds and beasts that go asleep now. Under the blankets of darkness, clouds close on this earth. Hurrying down over the hills. Sprinkling soft rain again. To wet the side of one’s head, purring in bliss. One’s cheek on the cold ground.
‘Tally ho.’
A cry. From the edge of the field. Grey strange bumps adorning an outcropping of rock. Where a face peeks up under a battered trilby hat. In the faded light the blood flooding up from her throat, blushing flagrant red across her cheeks. A flash of shy fear in her eyes. At the laughter and clapping. Shaking her fist. At the voice shouting bravo. And at least perhaps out of all the abysmal insolence all over this land, there is one less stupid fool among them. Saying not as much as Madam’s mouthful.
But bespeaking
Poetical
And intellectual
Appreciations
12
Just over the hill. In the evening shadows. And alongside a mountainous ancient hedge of holly, briar, ash and whitethorn where one called to her, Petunia gave a neigh. And another. Of purring contentment one might say. And there on the opposite hill his great dark silhouette rearing and pawing as if in victory, the mad stallion. His thundering hoofs heard above the rising cold wind, striding out along the edge of the bogland.
‘O those awful awful so ignorant people. Such idiots. I could choke their necks.’
Miss von B still complaining we mounted Petunia and I ferried us back. Miss von B’s head occasionally resting on the back of my shoulder, her arms around my waist. I did have to remind her that it was I who continued to live in this countryside and whose name would be on every groom’s, skivvy’s and farmer’s lips all over every parish.
Rashers ensconced in the library. Nervously jumping to his feet as I stuck my head in and nearly upsetting the drawer he held in his lap full of fishing flies tied by my grandfather. One did feel awfully conspicuous being watched by my ever suspicious sisters, past whom I hurried up the stairs. And following on the heels of Crooks showing Miss von B to a room. Having already, in the hall heaped more coals on my fires of jealousy, by again inviting the Mental Marquis to stay. Who was only a moment before to my relief excusing himself.