A Fairy Tale of New York by J. P. Donleavy

Author:J. P. Donleavy
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Grove/Atlantic, Inc.
Published: 2007-11-30T16:00:00+00:00

18

The leaves a deepening green in the sunshine on the tree outside Christian's window. Fluttering in breezes till the end of June. The Danes celebrating Constitution Day, the Swedes giving a folk and festival dance in the park. And a nice bunch of kids dancing along the curb snapping radio aerials off the cars.

Fanny threw me out of her apartment for the fifth time. And I stayed away penniless reading a tome on job opportunity. The hunchback in his high politely pitched voice called through the door that he respected me as a gentleman and would I please pay the rent. And the pair of rude debt collectors sent by the steam ship company said we'll break this fucking door down.

Christian breakfasting in the automats pouring out unemptied coffee cups. Stealing folks' baked beans when they went looking for ketchup. Till finally getting credit from the Irish grocer round the corner by increasing the thickness of a brogue every day. With selected newspapers from the better garbage pails one sat reading in my window. Lots of action as that swell crew of youngsters dumped garbage on steps and threw bricks through the janitor's fanlight who came out shaking his fist. And once my institutional friend came by wearing white shorts sneakers and a baseball cap. With a new sign.

DOWN WITH DUST

A balmy morning a man stopped me on the steps just as I was trying to belch and sneeze at the same time. Thought by the way he wanted to make sure it was me that he was from some contest, dozens of which I'd entered. And I promptly got handed a subpoena. To appear in court, ten o'clock of a Tuesday.

Christian with a last clean shirt and unholed socks went for a swim at the Game Club. Scrubbing the dirt off his heels with a big soft brush and pine scented soap. Members waddling by with their walrus rolls of fat. Could go without eating for weeks. Just as I lay in my increasing skin and bones, wrapped in three sheets, my name was paged for the telephone.

"Cornelius."

"Yes."

"This is Charlotte Graves. I hope I haven't disturbed you.

How are you."

"Destitute."

"O what's wrong."

"I need a job."

"Why don't you go and see Mr Mott."

Christian dressed, hair combed leaping three steps at a time down into the subway. Thundering trains beating against the brain. A black gentleman sitting across. His shoulders going up and down, his fists banging on his knees as he chants man I'm gonna go, I'm gonna go, just set me alight. I'm gonna explode, I'm gonna blow the place up, I'm gonna knock the place down. Don't nobody stop me because I 'm gonna go.

Christian going. Up dark steps and along a shadowy narrow street. Standing outside this towering beige colored building. Look up at clouds passing overhead and feel the world is falling over. Chiselled in the stone above the battery of bronze doors, the huge word Mott surmounted by an eagle. The pink marble lobby. A directory on the wall and the hot shit faces scurrying by with their briefcases.

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