The Onion Eaters E-Book

J.P. Donleavy

• Herausgeber: The Lilliput Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2012

Beschreibung

On a cold day Clayton Claw Cleaver Clementine sets off westwards to take up residence in the vast haunted edifice of Charnel Castle. Clementine, a polite unkown unsung product of the new world and recently recovered by a miraculous cure from a long decline, alights at an empty crossroads. Standing lonely on its windswept hillside the great turrets and battlements rear in the sky …

Leseprobe

J. P. Donleavy

The Onion Eaters

THE LILLIPUT PRESS

Contents

Title Page

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

About the Author

Copyright

1

A cold misty rain descends streaking the windows down an empty shopping street. The university baleful behind its great iron gates, a light in the porter’s lodge, a faint yellow beacon at the end of a street where the massive porticoes of the bank shelter lurking figures on this barren Saturday afternoon.

Two orange beaked swans paddling up stream under an iron foot bridge arching over a river’s sour green waters. At a black door up three stone steps this grey coated gaunt figure looks east and west along the quays. To the slate roof tops and chimney pots puffing smoke over the city. Where a shaft of sunlight spreads, glistens and disappears.

Push open the door. Go down this dark corridor and knock under a sign. Enquiries. Face moist, toes and hands cold. Damp seeping through my gloves. A girl in a big purple hat and large glad smile looks up from behind a high counter.

‘Are you Mr Clementine.’

‘Yes.’

‘Mr Thorn is waiting for you. I’ll show you the way. Up the stairs.’

Her heavy blue blotched and pink legs. She holds open the door. From a dark hallway into a darker room. The floors stacked with bulging beribboned files. A desk overflowing with papers. Book filled glass cabinets along the walls. A stuffed owl on a pedestal by the window. This man standing with blond strands patted back on his head, beads of sweat on his brow. Grinning between red tinged cheeks. He turns his head towards the window and looks out upon the grey late day.

‘Mr Clementine, Clayton Claw Cleaver Clementine, is it not.’

‘Yes.’

‘Illustrious family. Elegant and unique. To say the least. Descended directly in the male line from Clementine of The Three Glands. Please, do sit down. Any stack there, of papers will do. On a quiet Saturday such as this one’s mind wanders and I was wondering, without wanting to pry, naturally. I know this medical rarity has been fully documented three balls on one man, but I mean to say, can one inherit such an incredible bit extra like that. Good Lord, Miss Jones, be gone, please, Mr Clementine and I will not be long and you can lock up.’

‘Yes Mr Thorn.’

‘Forgive me Mr Clementine, that was a dreadful slip there. Don’t be distressed. Of course no one will believe her spreading that all over the city to every Sylvia, Sue and Cynthia. But now between us. What about that. Is there any substance in this scrotal rumour. If I may coin a phrase. Yes, sit there. Pile of torts will give you more comfort than the defendants, what. I mean you understand one can’t hold in one’s curiosity. Troubling me for months. You don’t raise an eyebrow over the chap with one or, God forbid, none, but how many of your chaps will you meet in a month of tuesdays with the bit extra. I mean do having three give any discomfort.’

‘I beg your pardon.’

‘Well well, of course, one can’t contain one’s concern over a thing like that. Ah now where are those papers. I put them down. Wasn’t a second before you came in. May I trouble you to stand a moment, Mr Clementine, do please forgive me, in case you’re sitting on them. Ah to be sure. Now we’re right. The full and necessary are here I believe. Three jewels by God in your mechanism and that’s that. Very fitting your taking up where your great aunt left off. She herself is a remarkable creature. Must be nearly ninety now. I believe she’s just assumed residence in an hotel midway on another continent across the seas.’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, well. This is the key case which we are instructed to present to you. Daunting proposition if I may say so. Press simultaneously these both points. Open it comes. The big one for the main portal. Rumour is this was used to slap and slay a rapist by your great great grandmother. You wouldn’t be any the better for a clap of this across the rotundity. The other keys are arranged alphabetically down to the bottom tray, six trays in all. A few missing. To minor rooms it would seem. You are now possessed of Charnel Castle and certain lands thereabouts.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Now as a solicitor to whom matrimonial matters upon occasion do come, has the question of your added item, that is to say, the extra of which you are possessed, ever thrown confusion upon a member of the opposite sex.’

‘Yes they go out of their minds counting.’

‘To be sure, to be sure. But now to be perfectly frank, is it a case that the extra of which you are possessed has led to a little unbridled proclivity now and again. I’m thinking it must be ruddy marvellous, with one more than is standard. To be afloat as you might say on a sea of turpitude. Ah God nature is very good to the aristocracy. Now there’s one last matter I’ve nearly overlooked. You’re to pick up the dog at the station. Down there by the custom house. With the compliments of your aunt.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I’m glad Mr Clementine, to hear, that three is not a crowd in your case.’

Clayton Clementine stepping out into the moisture again. Search one’s head for various phrases to throw back at delving questions. Take a calming vision meaningless beyond belief. But a comfort to know.

That thrice

They hang

Down there.

Untangled

In the arse white

Infinity

2

Up the stone steps of the station. Between two white globes on lamp posts. Into this high grey granite edifice. Musty wide corridors under a roof held by girders. Clayton Clementine stops at a counter and open hatchway along the platform. A group of porters and attendants hovering over something huge and grey on a shelf.

‘Excuse me.’

‘And what can I do for you sir.’

‘I am looking for a dog.’

‘Are you now. Would you know it if you saw it.’

‘Not exactly, just a dog.’

‘Are you able to kill a calf a day.’

‘I beg your pardon.’

‘If we’ve got the dog you’re looking for you’ll need to feed him that at least. He can’t walk but eat by God, he’d take your hand, shoe or elbow just to fill space between a hindmost molar.’

‘Is that him.’

‘It is.’

‘Hello woof woof. Big bow wow. Come here. Here doggie.’

‘It’s no use now. Stand up or walk he will not. Four of us it took to carry him here off the train with him licking the countenances off our faces. Then he gobbled down the station master’s dentures, full upper and lower like two bits of candy floss.’

Clementine inhaling a large breath to lean and peer over the counter. A little avenue opening between the porters all smiling to show this large grey shaggy animal who looked up from brown friendly eyes as his long tail beat against the shelf.

‘Hello doggie. Bow wow. Woof woof. We’ll call you Elmer. What about that.’

Elmer with tail flapping was lifted down the front steps of the station by four porters and placed in a horsecab. Past shops, pubs, cinemas and left across a bridge. Woof woof taking note of the city with his big black nose sticking out the window.

Clementine following Elmer lugged by ten hands to this cosy compartment on the train. The great canine spread across three seats. Two friendly drawling travellers referring to each other as ma and pa, peeking in, opening the door. And rearing backwards into the laden arms of their porter.

‘Land sakes alive pa that there creature is alive.’

The steam engine throbbed and tinkled, blew a whistle and clicked down the track. As we ride together all alone. There he sits, huge padded paws draped over the edge of the seat. Grey and soft they are. This woof woof’s eyes so full of trust. One day soon he should be able to walk, canter, then trot. He’s just eating now to gather up the strength to do so. Must be patient. Ah he likes to lick my shoelaces untied. We’ll get on together. And he’s getting us both plenty of privacy. One likes that.

Flat strange lands pass in the night. Faint lights in cottage windows. Lonely stations and voices in the dark. Unloading goods from the metropolis. With iron wheels rumbling on the platforms. I was instructed to tell the engine driver to stop in the morning at the Castle Crossroads.

At dawn through an open eye I see him already awake, wagging his tail, banging it against the window, smiling at me. The rumbling and roaring of the train. Through the darkness of a tunnel. Light again. And down there the sea. Good God we go across a bridge. Which is swaying. High over a silver stream down between the rocks. Stone walled little fields. A sandy bay and a purple small mountain. The train is slowing. And stopping. Next to a flattened bit of ground. Where the conductor stands with a green flag in one hand and a big key ring in the other.

‘Is this the Castle Crossroads.’

‘The very same sir.’

‘There’s nothing here, not even a road.’

‘Ah I wouldn’t go so far as to say that. Just the other side of the track now there’s this bit of road. Sure it’s been known that at various times of the week travellers do be passing. I wouldn’t be alarmed now sir.’

‘Could anyone help me with my luggage and this animal, who must be assisted’

‘Ah we’ll get the engine driver and Micko off the goods van and be giving you a hand with the beast and the bags.’

The conductor, driver and Micko, the three of them tugging, pulling and rearing back their heads from Elmer’s long licking tongue. Settling him to rest on the sandy ground where he lays his big head between his paws and gives a long contented groan.

Under a sky of moist tumbling clouds this fresh early morning blew with fragrant winds. Clementine with his faithful Elmer stood among their chattels. The whistle went, the engine puffed and the conductor waved and smiled. Micko the last passing face gave a thumbs up sign. The little train down the track over lands rising to barren brown hillsides.

Purple mountains push up into the white mist. Lacy droplets falling. Elmer sitting, his hind legs crouched. Over there in the western greyness sweeping sheets of rain beating across the tarnished heathers. Coming this way. To soak the silence and emptiness. From which one would like to hide. Between two big mothery thighs for warmth and comfort.

Elmer licks the moisture from his nose. Someday he might spring forward aloft on all fours, ears up instead of down. Good lord which way does one go. This map shows a winding road. And there, a castle and walls, ruined church, cemetery. Boundaries of Charnel Demesne. Cliffs, the sea and fathoms. Feel strange distant rumblings, the ground ashake. Elmer stank out the compartment last night. I doused this morning in eau de cologne. March forward now feeble in the knowledge that I have an axe, matches, tin cup and my ebony ivory inlaid case of toothbrushes. And rhinoceros arse shaped trousers.

Clementine told Elmer not to stir. As when a few yards away doggie attempted to rise only to collapse greyly again over the black gladstone bag. A stony road descending between rumbling walls of granite boulders. Thickets of wintry trees over mossy undergrowth stretching soft green and dark up beyond the shadows of hillsides. A steep hedged lane. A gate with a sign. Lands Poisoned.

The sound of wheels. Rounding a bend by a tall pine, a boy standing in a high sided cart rocking and swaying pulled by a donkey. Leap aside to let the roaring traffic plunge by. Must not let this wheeled invention pass without begging assistance. Boy wears tattered trousers which appear to be the lower part of a morning suit. Donkey’s ears twitch and goodness, his darkish private part seems to wag expanded. Amazing how emotions can wax in this chill inclemency.

‘Excuse me but I wonder could you help me. I’m stranded. Back there on the road. With luggage and a canine friend.’

The squeaking creaking swaying cart halts. The boy rearing up the donkey who bends his head to tear up some grass. The boy shaking his head up and down. Staring at Clementine.

‘Will you help me. Do you speak. You no speakum. I mean to say you can’t speak. Well I’m up at the crossroads. I will pay you to take me to a place called Charnel Castle, marked here on this map I have.’

The boy smashing his willow branch down on the arse of the donkey who lifts his head and trots off up the hill. The boy looking back over his shoulder. As if Clementine might have the strength left to give chase, drag him from the cart and deliver boot blows to the ribs accompanied by evil gospels in the ear. One will not again carelessly mention Charnel Castle.

Clementine trudging dripping back down and up the stony lane again to the crossroads. Elmer sitting with a silk cravat hanging from the corners of his mouth. A large hole torn in the side of the steerhide gladstone bag. Toothbrushes scattered everywhere. Each a different colour and neatly printed with a time and day of the week. This broken chewed one marked Tuesday Morning. And this Monday Noon. O my God he’s eaten the keys. Nearly all of them. Except the front door. Which mercifully won’t fit down his throat as cavernous as it must be.

Clementine suddenly looking up at a sound of laughter. Pealing out from this empty landscape. And a movement. Behind a boulder some yards away. Beyond a few whorls of mist. Thing to do is put the head down and rummage through the strewn remnants of my itinerant personal furnishings. And now suddenly look up. Ah. There. Something behind that rock. A grey battered hat peeking out. From a good hatter if I am not mistaken. So long ago now it seems that I was waking from sleep in a dry hotel room. Pray heavenwards for this rain to stop. Send dust dear God, send dates and sand accompanied by endless other parched aridities.

‘Can I be of help sir.’

Clementine rearing upwards in fright from this voice directly behind. A man attired in elegant cut blue pin stripe suit, the trouser cuffs of which hang in tatters over a pair of bespattered spats. A brown sweat stained fedora, the rim well pulled down and dripping rain fore and aft from his head.

‘Holy Christ.’

‘He is that.’

‘O boy. I mean good day.’

‘Good day to you now, a bit of softness there is.’

‘Indeed.’

‘Are you waiting for the train. It won’t be passing till noon tomorrow.’

‘I’ve just got off the train.’

‘Welcome then.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Are you just stopping here a bit.’

‘Yes I think I am. In fact I think I’m waiting for the train.’

‘Ah wise man, there’s not a living thing here save a few sheep and a herd of wild goats.’

‘I thought I saw something over there behind that rock.’

‘You saw Clarence.’

‘I did.’

‘You did.’

‘Who is Clarence.’

‘Well to tell you the truth now nobody knows who Clarence is. Except that he’s there. He lives beyond the mountains. In a windowless cottage facing out over the sea. Hasn’t been known to speak to a soul since anyone can remember. Comes out like that now and again to see what’s going on in the world. He would of course be most interested in your arrival. He’ll move along the walls in the near distance popping up every now and again to have a peer at you. He could be a comfort as there do be terrible loneliness out here. Not many would take it into their heads to pass this way if they could pass another.’

‘Why.’

‘It’s the old castle. The years of misfortune haunting it and the lands around for miles.’

‘What misfortune.’

‘Ah God a long tale of inhuman blood curdling shenanigans and indecent idolatry. Be an affront to burden a stranger’s ear with. Sure a poor girl was lost in the old castle and wasn’t she found the next day her hair nearly white and she paralysed unable to move. Steer clear of that place if you ever have a mind to head in that direction. You can’t miss it. On the side of the hill up there as you go. Blood bespattered dungeons, tunnels leading they don’t know where. Built it was by Clementine of The Three Glands. He would have at ten women a night. And feared he was everywhere for his visceral atrocities.’

‘Thank you. You’ve been most helpful.’

‘Not at all. Sure I’m the four miles down the road there, the first house you’ll come to. Should you ever be passing that way you’d be most welcome. I do be in my spare time an antiquarian. And I see there a lot of interesting equipage. That animal you have I venture to say would take most of it on his back and nearly yourself as well.’

‘He’s taking a holiday today.’

‘Is that a fact. Well if you have a mind to move, Tim will be coming this way now. You’ll hear his boots on the road. Well over the seven feet tall he is and could gather you your beast and all together and carry you in comfort. Listen now. That’s him.’

A dark shadow approaching steadily through the mist. Striding a strange gait in the centre of the road. Like great limbs of a tree his long arms swinging. Each step speeding him through the wet. With trousers ending just below his knees and jacket sleeves just below his elbows. His tiny head on top of his great shoulders.

‘Ah Tim, would you have a moment. There’s a gentleman here needing help with a few of his belongings.’

Tim veering like a ship at sea. Moving towards Clementine and Elmer who moaned and wagged his tail. Tim nodded, his lids closed over his eyes. His hands feeling round on the ground as he picks up the gladstone bags and tucks them up under his arm. And with a great swing he swept up Elmer who draped across his shoulder and licked his nose.

‘Now sir if you’ll just walk along in front of Tim wherever you’re going he’ll follow you. He’s never been known to open his eyes or speak. He’s saving these faculties for when his others might fail. Good luck and God bless.’

Clementine waving thanks. Head off now in the mist. Followed by Tim. Who’s already white haired. Maybe not from fear. An ancestor had at ten dolls a night. Might reestablish that great tradition. If one can find ten in this utter bereftness. Take time to work up to that many a night. With constant practice and gentle increases and keeping it soft and long and pliable with lotions, who knows, might even dip into the visceral atrocities as well. In one of the tunnels.

Rounding a sharp corner in the road there was a grunt from the shrubberies. A pink fat pig stepped out. And took up the rear of this procession. Between these brambles overhangingthe road. Now narrowing and going upwards. A crushing strange loneliness lurking in the valley of these high hedgerows. Where those behind follow the leader all heading for the haunted castle.

The little group trudging by a high stone wall with mossy abutments, grey, green and yellow lichens on the craggy granite. A great black bird squawked overhead its wings flapping and whirring in the mists. See how the troops are to the rear. The hair along Elmer’s back standing up. First thing that dog has done denoting action.

A great barred gate. Set in a high wall. Clementine tugging at a chain. Loosening it as the rusty scales fall into the weeds below. Open up and enter this gloom and circumstance. Had such elaborate plans to live a modern go ahead kind of life. Where everything you want jumps out at you at the press of a button.

The great gate creaking open. The heavy bars with peeling scales of green paint. A potholed roadway. Ahead walls and battlements. And a door of oak if I know my wood. Behind the shelter of which I must get my wet chilled self. Together with Elmer, Tim and this nice fat friendly chap. Who is last of all. And a pig as well. Call him Fred.

Under the dripping ramparts Clementine turns the huge key in the lock and Tim puts his great white hand against the door which swings open. All of us standing in the centre of this cavernous black and white tiled hall. A stone stairway ascending four landings towards a skylight in the distant ceiling. Shadowy portraits of solemn faces and ancient instruments of war, lances, bludgeons, swords, shields and suits of armour.

And

A deep

Entrail

Chilling

Cold

3

With terrifying swiftness the afternoon turned into night. Fred the pig seemed to know his way round the castle. And I followed him. Honking up the stairs, peering into battlements, bedrooms and water closets. Until somewhere on the second floor he rushed off down the hall and out of sight.

I stood in some alarm listening as Tim’s great black boots went down the granite steps and away over the stony road. A trembling took me. Standing in a darkened library. Trying to light that candle. So hopeful on the mantel. Each match’s flame strangely dimming and going out. A nervous sob floating ceilingwards from between my lips. I was not, I am certain, the only soul in this house.

A faint western glow between the curtains. Covering a great red and green stained glass window. Cabinets stacked with trays covered with pieces of stone. Drawers and drawers of birds’ eggs. Mouldering books, bindings hanging off by threads, shelf upon shelf. Rolls of maps, sheaves of mildewed papers scattered across a vast desk. Upon which I may presently dance to improve the gaiety of this joint. Or safer and quicker open the drapes. Wide.

Clayton Clementine reached up to take a tasselled cord between his fingers. Giving it a downward tug. A wall of thick crimson fabric plummeted together with a long heavy brass rail. The first enveloping Clementine who fought like a demon till the latter clonked him unconscious on the skull.

Staggering towards the door into the great hall. Clementine putting out his hands to feel his way. Leaving a trail of plaster debris. Remnants of curtain flowing from his outstretched arms and a billow of dust rolling before him. Elmer, the five and a half foot length of him not including tail stood up erect on all fours with his ears jutting out murmuring a low growl. The first laugh today.

The big bow wow’s tail wagging. Jumps up to lick my face. With relief that I am not a ghost. Two of us can quietly weep. Without witnesses or shame. And later find somewhere to sleep. In the endless stale air and solitude. Every shutter I open a stack of dead flies tumble out. I could cavort in an angry circle, shake the clenched fists around the skull. And maybe with a stroke of good luck knock myself out again. For the night.

A squeak of floorboard and a squeal of spring in a door hinge. Clementine turning around. To face an opening door under the staircase. Beneath an apron of candlelight a liveried foot peeking out. With holes in the hose. Followed by other feet and foots. Five persons lining right up in front of me. In one nice neat row of astonishment. And strange what one’s eye sees instead. A giant thistle growing right out from the bottom step of the stairs.

‘Ahem sir.’

Three ladies, a boy and a man. The latter with a clear throat has just taken a pace forward. Inclining his head to one side. Folding the biggest hands I have ever seen across his flies. Just beneath a black thin brocaded waistcoat. Two small eyes, a monocle over one. And moisture adhering to the end of a hawked nose.

‘Ahem. And excuse me sir. And welcome. We would have had the place tidied up a bit but we had no warning of your arrival sir. May I be so bold as to present Miss Ovary the cook, Ena upstairs maid, Imelda downstairs, and Oscar the boy. I am the footman. But these years since I have been butler. Here be the keys to the wine cellars sir.’

‘O boy.’

‘He’s at your service sir.’

‘I mean o boy. O boy o boy.’

‘Yes sir, yes sir.’

‘I mean who is employing you.’

‘Well sir. We have always gone with the place as you might say. We’ve been waiting this long time for sign of you to come. Every Christmas the table has been set. Miss Ovary has done in the kitchen down there for donkey’s years. Oscar the boy is trained by meself. Ena and Imelda are apprenticed parlour maids. There hasn’t been much doing here since her ladyship left and no grander lady lived, God bless her. Meantimes we do be putting right the odd dilapidation and keeping the portals locked and the intruders at bay if you follow me sir.’

‘I’m afraid I simply cannot afford to employ anyone.’

‘Ah now sir, who said a thing about employ, wages or the like. We’re content with a roof now and again and a bit of board. When you’ve got a windfall will be time enough for talk of such a nature.’

‘What’s your name.’

‘Percival sir. I have a wee bit of the staggers in the left leg, but watch now while I do this little jig. Now come on you old feet down there. La dee dee deda. I could tap dance down a rainbow. Would you think now there was a mite wrong in that limb. Would you now.’

‘No you wouldn’t.’

‘Now sir settle your mind. And let me do the worrying. That’s a fine animal. Would he be of the horse family.’

‘He’s Elmer. A dog.’

‘You don’t say. Didn’t I think he was some kind of grass eating beast. Welcome Elmer. We’ll scrape up a few of your tasty bits and morsels. He’ll take a bit of feeding. Will you reside in the King’s room sir.’

‘I don’t know, where is it.’

‘It’s the octagonal room in the end of the southwest wing. Traditional for the master of the house. A fine room facing out to the sea. I’ll get these bags up there now and give it a wipe around. Sure now Miss Ovary will have a bite to eat ready for your worship. Will you be praying this evening sir.’

‘Probably.’

‘Ena see the chapel is dusted out and the candles lit for his worship. Now sir, I see you’ve had an inopportune occurrence. In the library if I’m not mistaken.’

‘No you’re not mistaken.’

‘I’ll have a change of clothes out in no time.’

Percival making a little clap of the hands. The three ladies courtesied and Oscar gives a deep nod of the head. Ending this little confrontation of echoing voices here in the candlelight. The door squealing closed under the staircase. And a heavy long sighing moaning murmuring out of various near and distant apertures. Followed by a deep rumble.

‘What’s that.’

‘Ah it do be the waters sir.’

‘What waters.’

‘The sea waters that come up the tunnels in the high tide into the dungeons. Sends the wind rushing up. On a wild night it’s like a war down there. Now sir you’ll be wanting some beasts soon. To eat down the grass that’s got out of hand. Tim the giant is your man, great with cattle. I do meself keep a patch of a garden and know just that bit about stock rearing. Once we had the light electric in here. But it was forever throwing shocks at you. I threw a pail of water on one of them wires smoking away and didn’t a flash come up the water and knock me clear across the room. A candle is your man every time. And take this one sir, to light your way.’

Percival gone. Come Elmer. Just step over here with me and we’ll yank out this thistle, god damn it’s sharp as well as pale green and awesomely evil. Forgot to ask Percival the way to the King’s room. How do you like that. A staff. Trots out from under the stairs. With musical instruments we could have had a recital on the spot. Maybe travel abroad to pick up some change as a dance band in selected watering places. Instead of slowly starving together. In this colossus.

Clementine clearing a little space at the vast desk in the library. Writing down the names on a damp sheet. Keep a record. To share out the windfall when it comes. In the form of plunging plasters, rafters, tapestries and drapes. At least one is not alone with these moans and shudderings. Be frozen now instead of frightened to death, Among vegetations sprouting from the floors. And a nice little group of lethal looking mushrooms in this drawer. Growing out amid more maps and ledgers.

‘Excuse me your worship. Your bath is drawn.’

‘Eeee. Sorry. You gave me a fright Percival. How did you get over there.’

‘It be a passage from the pantry. Sir.’

‘In future until I get used to this place perhaps you could approach from the front.’

‘Very good sir. Now if you’ll follow me I’ll show you to your quarters.’

Clementine following. Pulling a wobbling Elmer in the flickering candlelight up the stairs of the great hall. Through a door and down a long corridor. Turning right up steps. Along another hall past doors, mouldering paintings, shelves of stacked books. Through a narrow entrance and up circular stone steps.

‘Now in there sir, is what’s known as the coffin room.’

‘Good lord. That’s a coffin.’

‘Ah it tis indeed.’

‘Is it empty.’

‘Ah for the time being I think so sir.’

A tall tapestried bed. Under a vaulted ceiling. Candles aflame in front of a mirror. Steam rising from a copper bath in the middle of the floor. Elmer lapping up a few sups. One’s pathetic wardrobe laid out. Tattered kimono. My mauve smoking jacket is about the only thing I possess which might go with this house. Other than my socks holed in heels and toes. When summer comes of course, I’ll blast a few tennis balls off a battlement in my jock strap and tennis shorts.

‘There sir. You’ll be the better for a hot bath and a dry off in front of the fire. I have at your convenient disposal a water can from out of the conservatorium. Handy for a rinse.’

‘This is quite splendid.’

‘It’s nothing. Nothing at all. And now if the whole world was against you you’d come to not a bother here. The chain and pulley there lowers an iron door thick as your fist.’

‘You don’t think it will come down by accident and lock me in.’

‘Ah never. Sure you’d have it raised up in half an hour if you put your back into it.’

‘Percival you must know a great deal of the history of the castle.’

‘Ah just the bits and pieces I hear tell about. I’m nearly reared in the shadow of the place, the other side of the mountain. You don’t want to give a mind now to the shocking scandals that have haunted the castle down through the ages. It was Clementine of The Three Glands himself beheaded sixty traitors in this very chamber. The block is there beyond in the coffin room. A fine thick piece of hawthorne. He must have had a pair of arms on him. The flood of blood must have been something shocking.’

‘O God.’

‘What’s the matter sir.’

‘Well Percival, as a matter of fact I’m just that bit apprehensive. I mean I’m new to the place.’

‘Ah now you’ll sleep like a baby. That’s what I was going to tell you. The bed there now.’

‘Please. Don’t tell me. Perhaps in the morning. And I’m not quite sure I’ll want to hear it then either.’

‘Very good sir.’

‘Is there a piece of soap.’

‘Ah soap. The soap. Now the soap. Well let me see now. Soap. You know sir, I don’t think there has been much need of it around for a while now.’

‘There’s no soap.’

‘I wouldn’t say that now. I’d say that between you wanting soap now and the fact that I might not be able to lay my hand on a bit of it that there would be a gap of time affording discomfort unless sir you might on the spot now convinced yourself you didn’t need it at all.’

‘What’s that.’

‘Excuse me sir, I think there must be someone at the main door. It’s the big bell that rings down there in the courtyard below. I won’t be a minute.’

The comfort to skin, soul and future that this water gives. To lie back soaking. In the execution room. Ancestor took no shit from anyone. Chopping block’s in there to prove it. Just two months ago I stepped down the ladder of a ship. And onto a tender that bumped through the tide to a town of church steeples and bright painted houses along a river’s banks. To see the first of this land. Dropped a tear or two looking back up the black hull of the vessel on which out of a few female strangers I had made some new friends. Tossed as we were through the arse of a hurricane across a cold ocean.

‘Excuse me sir, there’s a gentleman from out of a motor car wanting to see you sir. I couldn’t catch the name it being of a foreign sound. It was about accommodation sir. Shall I tell him you are otherwise engaged.’

‘No. Tell him to wait.’

‘Very good sir.’

Poor Percival huffing and puffing, lungs wheezing chasing up and down the stairs. Keeps fitting the monocle back in his eye. It falls out every time he opens his mouth. Giving him a look of distressed astonishment. A caller at the castle. In this bereft clime resistance to intrusion lowered to nil. On the other hand always nice to flex one’s social muscles. Feel the size of this. Ladies.

Candles lit on a balcony chandelier made the great hall darker than ever. Clementine in tennis trousers, mauve smoking jacket with clashing pink cravat and billiard slippers, scuffling down the wide marble steps. Grinding in the mortar dust fallen from inaccessible interstices far above. Elmer following, deliberating, his ears hanging forward either side of his big black nose, reaching the bottom stair and promptly lying down with a weary groan.

A gentleman with sparse light hair on his high domed head stands unshivering. In an open necked shirt, skimpy sleeveless yellow sweater, his feet in green socks and black sandals. Holding his hands stiffly at his sides, he bows deeply.

‘Ah good evening, good person.’

‘Good evening.’

‘May I enquire firstly of your good health.’

‘Yes. Currently it’s untroubled.’

‘I am pleased to hear that. And also, may I comment upon the splendour of this dwelling.’

‘By all means.’

‘Clearly early Christian with its finely cut stone arched construction. Although of a later period the ribbed groined vaulting is of especial refinement. Most interesting that the geometric tracery where minutiae charms with the arabesque is not dwarfed. But permit me. I am Erconwald.’

‘How do you do.’

‘I am with three friends. We have motored some distance this day. If you could forgive me my unforgivable intrusion upon your esteemed privacy we would be most grateful for a night’s accommodation. May I offer you an inhalation. Of dried carefully selected tender parts of hemp.’

‘Thank you no, not for the moment.’

‘Then will you pardon me.’

‘Of course.’

‘One matter does trouble. Although the arabesque is not dwarfed it would almost suggest that the geometric tracery was an afterthought.’

‘Mr Erconwald.’

‘Erconwald. Just Erconwald.’

‘I’ve only just moved in. A matter of hours ago. In fact I’ve only seen two rooms.’

‘Ah. Forgive me. I have troubled and perhaps perplexed you. My most humble apologies. Truly. But of course, I will withdraw. I do most sincerely apologise for my most thoughtless inconveniencing. I am appreciative that you have not chosen to upbraid me.’

‘But surely I can help you. Even perhaps accommodate you. Please. Do ask your friends to come in. If not out of the cold at least out of the darkness.’

‘Kind person. I am most grateful. And I hearken to your courteous invitation.’

This Erconwald taking three backward steps. Bowing horizontally from the waist and momentarily wrestling with the great door lock to step out into the night. Percival emerging from the shadows flexing his big fingers as he holds up his impassioned hands.

‘Your worship I couldn’t help overhearing engaged as I was putting a few pieces of peat over there in the grate. When first I came across your man at the door he said a stream of things to me that if I could remember half them I’d have one of the greatest educations in these parts.’

‘Have we room Percival.’

‘Have we room sir. We’d accommodate them and their ancestors back through time.’

‘I mean beds.’

‘Beds. Are you asking for beds.’

‘Yes I am.’

‘Beds is it you want. We could put the contents of every cemetery for fifty miles sleeping up yonder there. And that’s a fact.’

‘Three beds will do.’

‘Very good sir. And will you select the wine.’

‘What wine.’

‘That do be in the bins sir.’

‘No kidding.’

‘I would not be given to humbug sir on a serious matter such as that. Being as I have risked life and limb for the safe repose of them cherished liquids. With marauders about here. Her ladyship loved her claret and port.’

The door bell tolling in the courtyard. Percival heading for the door giving one knee a smack of his fist and suddenly going down on the tiles on both.

‘Never mind sir, I’m all right. It’s a glancing blow that’s required. Sometimes I don’t aim properly for putting it into joint.’

Percival crawling the remaining distance to the door. Slowly standing and wiping off his britches. Erconwald entering ushering a long haired big breasted girl wearing a thick white sweater and orange dress. Followed by two men, carrying lanterns, one with moustache, the other thin faced under a wild head of bushy hair. Both apparelled in leather patched sports coats, grey flannel trousers and black banker’s shoes. Erconwald gently raising a left supplicant hand in the faint light.

‘Ah kind person. You are truly charitable. Rose I should like to present, ah, unhappily I have not your name.’

‘Clayton Clementine.’

‘And this is Rose. Of Rathgar. To my left my associates Franz Decibel Pickle and George Putlog Roulette.’

‘How do you do.’

‘Esteemed.’

‘Charmed.’

‘Kind person I fear we put upon you. That you are too easy tempered to say any distressful word to strangers. We should not presume upon your good nature. Arrived as we are without gifts and jellies. You have but to nod your head and we will depart taking with us a comfortable memory of the moments communing here.’

‘Depart. Like hell.’

‘Ah. Rose. Be of contented heart.’

‘Contented. Stuffed in the back seat of that car out there all day. I want a bite to eat.’

Clementine nervously tugging at his cravat, moistening his lips. Rose simultaneously smiling in one direction and sneering in another. Not easy to do. She wears high sharp heels. A certain heft in her legs. Thick lipped and throaty of voice. And quite determined of spirit. Capable of man-handling her companions. Who appear most mild of gentlemen.

‘I’d like to suggest that you be my guests. Dinner will be quite shortly. Percival will show you to your rooms.’

‘Ah we are most indebted.’

A procession up the stairs. Stepping over Elmer outstretched at the bottom. Percival with candle lugging a cello case followed by Erconwald carrying a french horn. The rear taken up by the lantern carrying associates the last of whom, Franz, stops to scratch at the stone work with his thumbnail. Turns to see me watching from below, nods his head, smiles briefly and continues upward.

A peat fire glowing in the library. The dust settled and the volume of ancient air scented with a smell of the sea. Percival, beads of sweat on his brow came jangling his keys carrying his cellar book. I closed a large ledger found in a bottom drawer. With its lists of servants. Four stonemasons. Sixteen gardeners. Three boatmen. Yacht captain, eight deck hands, three engineers. And on one ancient page two dungeon keepers.

‘Nicely settled in they are sir. Facing the bay. Madam preferred being a bit off on her own. Didn’t she pick the northeast turret. You’d think she was ready for war. Skipped right out on the battlement in her bare feet.’

‘Percival I see yacht captain listed here. What is that all about.’

‘It’s the ship moored down in the boat house sir.’

‘Ship.’

‘Ah well now you wouldn’t call it a boat. Seeing as it has its own lift that will take you up and down the decks. A grand vessel. I seen them sail out on many a summer day of me youth with the guests waving back to the castle and the cannons roaring out the salutes up there off the battlements. Them were great days sir. Locked up it’s been these years. Now I don’t like to comment sir. But the lady and gentlemen. Now as I say I don’t like to comment as it’s not my place. But the one of them with the bushy hair. And the musical case I was carrying in particular. Now as I say I don’t like to comment. But wasn’t there a sign on it with do not open venomous reptiles. I thought it my duty to mention it sir.’

‘Christ almighty.’

‘Could be nothing but you wouldn’t want now to be out leaping a dance of death over the ramparts with them things after you.’

Percival leading the way through the disguised door in the library panelling. At the end of a narrow hall to go descending a circling stone stairway, Percival holding aloft a gilt candelabrum. Which could fetch a price. One will estimate later. If I get a private moment to peruse the hallmark and contour. The weight too.

Five candles flickering in the damp chill air. Under arched stone ceilings. Past a doorway heaped with ashes. Another stacked with trunks. Rooms of lead lined sinks. And coming to a crossroads. Of tunnels. From one hear washing gurgling waters and the sound of the sea. Straight on, over the stone slabs. From which a cold rises. Right through the billiard slipper and a pair of sheep socks I bought said to be waterproof and homemade straight off hedgerow briars. Percival stopping. Set in the wall a tombstone chiselled with skull and crossbones beneath a coat of arms of a human hand held up between a stag and lion rampant.

‘The tide’s out sir. There be times now when the pressure rushing this way could break an ear drum. Now you wouldn’t know this was a door would you. It’s the entrance to the wine cellars. In former times the catacombs. You’d not get through this in a hurry. Nine inches thick of local granite. But like rocking a baby we move it back and forth and now just push right here.’

The large slab rolling away revealing an oak door. I hold the cellar book and candelabrum. The weight of the latter delights. Percival opening up with three keys. Inside bins stacked upon bins. The air musty and stilled. An oasis of dark purplish glass neatly nestling in straw. Yard after yard. Tier upon tier of clarets, champagne, burgundy, among the magnums, jeroboams, rehoboams and methuselahs. And further on ports, brandies, rum, not to mention madeira and the light green glass of moselle.

‘It goes there beyond sir. They say the touch of death did no wine harm. I don’t meself know a great deal beyond the pouring and keeping but I know your belly wouldn’t ever be screaming with the thirst that your throat was cut. Now sir so long as we’re down here in the privacy I’d mention that this Mister Erconwald took me aside and let me on to the fact that the lot of them are vegetarians except the woman and strict adherents to the metric system again excepting the woman. And sir didn’t he then lift from his pocket an onion the size of a turnip and take out of it a bite big as your fist and chew as if it were the sweetest apple God ever grew.’

The jeroboam of champagne Percival hefted from the catacombs was put standing with the gilt serving bowls and sauce boats on the massive mahogany sideboard of the dining room. Which without warning collapses. The champagne cork bursting from its wire cap. To draw my attention to the fine quality of the chandelier into which it shot dislodging a crystal slamming down into my soup. Freely splashing my cravat and smoking jacket lapels. Rose seated not far away on my right managed to quell a satanic grin flickering on her face.

‘Ah sir that reminds me I forgot to mention you don’t want to step over them chalk lines I’ve got marked on the floor in various places as you’d go down through faster than the fastest elevator invented.’

‘Thank you. Is the wine ruined.’

‘Not a bit of it sir, frothing it is with life.’

‘I do apologise to you all.’

‘Ah good person there is no need.’

Sitting here assembled in much silence. Through the soup course of cabbage leaves and potatoes. A tureen of which was carried by Oscar and ladled out by Percival. Rose making considerable noise shovelling it between her lips. Having declared frequently on the long way to dine.

‘I can’t wait to get a bite to eat.’

When Percival announced dinner he withdrew. Leaving me leading folks from the library in and out of chambers and corridors trying to reach the dining room. Which I found finally by following Elmer. Whose big black nose fastened to some dog delighting aroma. During the search Erconwald remarked upon the pointed trifoliated arches. Derivative he said of the Khufu pyramid. The influence of which could be seen again in the pointed segmental arch over the mullioned bay windows of the dining room.

A stuffed enormous python hanging extended from a minstrels’ gallery, open mouthed down into the room. Made Elmer growl. And raised a subject which had me swallowing amounts of saliva and beeping out farts uncontrollably. Muted by a conveniently located rent in the upholstery into which they sneaked.

Conversation not improving with the appearance of fish. Large and reptilian buried beneath a white sauce. Coiled on a platter I detect as Meissen. How does one raise the question. What the hell are you doing bringing a bunch of god damn poisonous snakes into my house.

The guests draining their glasses. As quickly as they were refilled by Oscar. Who neatly and swiftly pours from the big bottle. Mr Roulette frequently looks my way, raises his glass, nods and smiles. They all appear far too complicated to be criminals. And I seem to be the only one sizing up the cutlery. Solid silver. With the crest of the hand, lion and stag.

‘Erconwald.’

‘Good person.’

‘I don’t seem to have caught what it was you and your associates do.’

‘Ah. I am delighted you have enquired. We are humble scientists.’

‘O. That’s interesting.’

‘Franz, if he will permit me to say, is an organic chemist, isolator of some of the world’s rarest smells. You are best known for your work Franz on putrefaction.’

‘I agree.’

‘And George, may I speak for you.’

‘Certainly.’

‘Ah George, mild and sweet George. Whose ancestor Putlog invented the scaffold. George, good person, is a physicist. As am I. But we are now perusing matters somewhat outside our profession. Which I am not at liberty to comment upon. But good person we tire you with such talk.’

‘O no you don’t.’

‘Ah then there is Rose. Ah Rose. A while ago producing an opera we held a singing contest won by Rose. She is able to reach through six octaves and now has been trained as a baritone. By George. May I be permitted to describe you further Rose.’

‘You do what you like.’

‘Ah. Rose is ninety two point five centimetres around the chest across the nipples unengorged. At the waist across the navel she is seventy five centimetres. The hips across the apex of the buttocks measure one hundred two and a half centimetres. She displays an unusual and remarkable neoarciform from the waist as it sweeps out to encompass the hip. The upper thighs are smooth, the appearance of hair beginning four inches above the knee and increasing in presence towards the ankles. The feet normal in every other way have webbing between the toes. And you good person, perhaps you would tell us something of yourself.’

‘Well, I don’t have my measurements handy. But I hail from Chicago.’

‘Ah, the Indian name. Means wild onion. A city built on a shallow alluvial basin. Important in trade and industry. But do continue.’

‘There’s not much else to say.’

Percival taking away the remains of the fish. Which one keeps tasting again and again in the mouth. I called for port. Heaps of it. A Jeroboam. As just down the table my eyes lit upon a woven silver gilt dessert basket. Full of potatoes. Sprouting pale green tubers sticking out from wrinkled skins. And through one of which the mouth of Franz presently makes its biting way. Deep into the raw. One is I think quite rightly scared. Be glad to get through dessert and onto the cigars and aged potables. And fathom before it is too late. The insides of the cello case.

‘Are any of you interested in zoology.’

‘If I may speak Mr Clementine, Franz who is uncircumcised is an amateur herpetologist and all of us have taken an interest in the field.’

‘O.’

‘No true reptile or animal of a poisonous nature exists here. This has made the natives spiritually overconfident. The resulting blind faith has produced on the roads a phenomena of unlit vehicles colliding in the night. Restoration of the country’s caution would be interesting. And could be brought about by exposing the population to a lurking but constant threat of danger both fatal and unfamiliar. Electricity is already treated with carefree disregard. To our attention have come several cases of electricians licking live wires in the same manner as the farmer spits on his palms prior to taking up his shovel. In one case a co-axial cable introduced into an orifice, do forgive me Rose, carried current much in excess of a lethal amount. The subject professed obtaining a frisson from the procedure. Which we did not dispute or discourage. Is that correct Franz.’

‘That is correct. Optimum thrill was achieved at thirty seven point nine joules. Over twice the intensity which produced frisson in myself and George using the same method.’