Meet My Maker the Mad Molecule by J.P. Donleavy

Author:J.P. Donleavy [J. P. Donleavy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781843512066
Publisher: The Lilliput Press
Published: 2011-09-17T04:00:00+00:00

In My Peach Shoes

She was dressed in the best she had. I went to meet her going on the long highway. I heard from sources she was tickled pink to go out with me. Naturally I felt big time. I was going straight north. Saw the police parked all fat in blue waiting for speeders. They looked at me from behind the sunglasses. You’ve never seen such bellies in blue. I looked back with that air I’ve got, that I know somebody who knows somebody who’s something and you better watch out. It made no impression and I kept going north on the bright whistling concrete.

Big tents spread out in the trees on every side. I think I saw banners and bass drums. And there she was, covered with her haystack hair. And I wiggled my toes. I have always paid peculiar attention to shoes. And these peach ones I was wearing made me feel smooth. With a neat breath I put an inch extra on my chest and smiled. And she smiled. The smile she used as a child. What a real mouth and large teeth, her wide straw hat over her straw hair. And a worried frown as she peered at my shoes.

The restaurant with its flat roof and factory windows. And we walked down and down to it. My arm held for hers. To the white covered table in the sunken garden. She in her lacy white dress as the waiters went to and fro. This late high sunned afternoon. When all the deep grass is white and warm. And deep enough to hide. Perhaps my shoes. With their peach I was proud of.

But when we sat on the chairs that were iron and filigree and the table tin with holes. Doubts about my taste were evident. I could only go sad and touch the silver salt and pepper things and pretend that I was starting a fashion. Didn’t she know peach was really the snazz. No. She did not know. I walked away and left her there.

I went up the wide steps from this old but lavish eatery. The waiters worrying in and out their kitchen door. The head man looking at me depart and down his nose towards my tootsies. All the others had come clothed in furs and lace, women in white, men in black with employees hurrying round them everywhere.

And she sat all alone waiting for me to come back. With her pinkly colored nail she touched the table things one by one. Nothing came for her to eat. That’s embarrassing in a restaurant. She pitied my bad taste. And she’s not getting anything to taste at all. I flew the banner of a hero in my heart but outside where others could see me I was a heel.

Watching through the window. Waiters passing out the peach melba. Trays and trays of clotted cream. Yummy. She sits silent. The head man comes and whispers. Now she cries quietly. Waiters come take the things away.

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