‘Would there be any rashers, eggs and chips.’
‘Quite possibly my dear, quite possibly. A spud or two at least.’
Rashers pressing a button and knocking on the big black door. Piles of empty stout bottles. Rancid smell of cats. Bars on a large window. Light inside and voices shouting and singing. A rat scurrying into a coal cellar under the pavement. The door opening. Behind a whisky bottle, Binky’s face at the end of a long cigarette holder, peeking out the door.
‘Ah it’s you my dear. Welcome back. Even though you still owe me last month’s rent. Come in and bring your nice friends. Whose bothes I’m sure someone will be interested in. And who is this male lovely with you I’m sure I’ve seen somewhere before. And I do love the way you are attired. So many of my tenants go walking out of here in the morning in their pyjamas to return by evening in their opera cloaks. But instead of arias of course, you’ll hear nothing but a lot of choking croaking. Of pricks my dear, down the throats. Ah. That’s very nice. Thank you for the six pounds. And my girl do pardon my nudity.’
Binky’s thin shanks and arse disappearing with a mincing skip. Through another door and out into the light of this large stone paved room. Figures in little groups around the walls. A kettle steaming on a great cooking range. A copper tank in the corner. A table covered in grey parcels full of bottles. Drawn corks and broken crockery strewn everywhere. A man huddled over an egg stained plate stuffing bacon rinds in his mouth.
‘My dears, do make yourselves at home among the other dears. Too many of whom tonight I’m afraid resemble condoms full of custard. Then of course there are so many among us with arse holes like deck quoits that the two can easily fit together.’
A man rearing up out of a corner. Collar up on his coat. Hat pulled down on his head. And waving his arms.
‘Ah you’re making a great attempt at originality you poofta whore, you. But them’s all platitudes and clichés.’
Rashers leading Darcy Dancer aside. A burlap bag of potatoes and one of cabbages. A pile of wet turf stinking of cat shit.
‘Dear boy we stand next to what did keep me alive. And slightly unfrozen for miserable weeks. A sack full of Wicklow potatoes. And these mouldering cabbage leaves. And dear boy, you won’t. In this dungeon of nae hope. Promise me you won’t. Lose your faith in human nature. I do know in the present circumstances that that does sound rather sham coming from me.’
‘And I suppose too Rashers, one should keep the safe locked in which one keeps one’s silver, to prevent the thefts perpetrated by one’s friends.’
‘I deserve that, dear Darcy. I do. But borrowing is such a better word. Can’t you see looking about you in this place how one was driven to it. All the long months during which one hardly had said to one a single endearing thing. And even now, having managed a new start, when nice things are said to one, one simply does not believe them to be true. Just look at these wretches. From whence I have torn myself. Of course I was led into temptation by that pissing poet chap. Spouting his awful impertinent verse. I mean there he was, an utterly uninvited guest at Andromeda Park. Helping himself greedily to your hospitality. Stuffing his face at your expense. I did give him a piece of my mind. I said to him, I said, how dare you arrive here, creeping sneakily about and eating from my esteemed friend’s table when you have not earned the remotest right to be referred to as a friend. Fuck off out of my sight, I said. Before your arse gets kicked into the shape of your face and makes you less ugly than you are. I really did say that Darcy, you know. Of course the wretched chap paused a microsecond in chomping down his fistful of greasy sausages and glass of brandy, and suddenly turned on me to say the only thing he has ever said that has impressed me. He said, ah jesus now, wouldn’t you at least be letting me be treated as well as the horses that’s out there in the stables of this place. It did make me think Darcy. That all over Ireland, even in the worst stables, horses live better than most of the humans. It was in fact his heartfelt words which incited me to procure him as intermediary in the temporary taking of a loan of your silver. And I absolutely shall return all. Even the leather suitcases I took the liberty of borrowing in which the poet lugged away the less valuable Sheffield plate, spoons and knives. Of course I took the most precious silver back with me on the train.’
‘However, you did Rashers, despite this long elaborate tale behave like a common thief.’
‘Please Darcy, don’t use such language. I mean I have already suffered such spiritual agony over it all. That’s how the wretched poet fell through the floor. Still loaded down with some of your poorer quality cutlery.’
‘Are you bloody well now telling me my silverware is of poor quality.’
‘No. No. Never. And I assure you the better stuff is with the most reputable pawn merchant. Whose ticket I shall be at any moment placing in your hand. You see I did successfully bet the proceeds but I fear previous debt and recent expenditure have been high and I regret that I do not have sufficient funds left to repatriate the silver items back into your hopefully forgiving hands.’
‘Are you now attempting to perpetrate a further spiv con upon me.’
‘Darcy you do take such a poor view of my person. When I shall in only a moment now place in your hands my cufflinks as collateral. Each has a diamond as big as a decent sized petit pois. Also hidden in the wall is the pawn ticket that I shall also give you. I mean your continued friendship is everything to me. Everything. I know I have done the unforgivable. But who but me would have confessed to your face. Here have a nip of brandy. Do you like my flask. I’ve had it emblazoned with the escutcheon of the Earls of Ronald Ronald. You see. Two stallions rampant. With crossed erections.’
In this battered Hessian draped cavernous room, Rashers his opera cloak thrown back from his shoulders, its crimson lining blazing in the bleakness as he turns in each direction bowing and smiling to faces he has clearly bowed and smiled to before. Of course one’s compassion was also to the fore, even though between his heart rending profundities, he spoke such utter tripe and onions. But it is I suppose the way one says things which matters. And even if morally fraudulent he does have such a warmly effusive manner.
‘Of course, Darcy that stench you are noticeably recoiling from is the odour of yearly unwashed bothes. Utterly appalling isn’t it. If they didn’t assemble in these little groups, the smell of one big group would simply asphyxiate. Imagine having to face one’s breakfast every morning in such a fume. But such woe happily shall no longer assail me. As you notice by the graphic priapic and testicular designs, my dear Darcy, Lois has done the wall decor. Some of the best known pricks in Dublin. She complains of course that Binky who commissioned her has not paid her. But ah now let me a moment Darcy point out to you the various habitués. Driven by their poverty here. Valentine, that balding chap with the well rounded gut there is from that important provincial town Mullingar on the Grand Canal. You’d never know now would you that he is the former whistling champion of Ireland. Ruddy chap can polish off a stone of raw steak at a sitting. He has an equally fat sister with a pair of tits the size of the Atlantic shelf who is a champion bridge player. Regard him lecherously eyeing Sheena, poor sad whoring girl, her new name is about the only distinctive thing she possesses. I don’t know why on earth I didn’t simply leave her up there on the street pissing in her knickers. Except that I plan to wash and brush her up. Put her back on the road to respectability as a much more highly paid whore. And of course our whistling champion thinks she is free of charge.’
A cauldron of potatoes boiling on a cooking range. Rancid smells fuming variously in the fug of steam and smoke. Children’s eyes peeking in from behind a coal scuttle door. A fearful tiny auburn headed girl standing shrinking back under a water tank in the corner. Perhaps Crooks in his spare time might emulate Binky, the Black Widow’s butler. Binky his fist full of pound and ten shillings notes he collects, nakedly rushing back and forth with drinks for three terrified wide eyed American tourists.