The Ginger Man by J. P. Donleavy Read Free Book Online Page A

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    Moving with swift irritability down the narrow stairs, stumbling into the kitchen at the bottom. Perhaps things have gotten too much for Marion and she's gone mad.
    "You idiot, Sebastian, look at me, look at the baby's things."
    Marion trembling in the middle of the kitchen floor covered with strands of wet toilet paper and fecal matter. From a gaping patch in the ceiling poured water, plaster and excrement.
    "God's miserable teeth."
    "Oh damnable, damnable. Do something, you fool."
    "For the love of Jesus."
    Sebastian stalking away.
    "How dare you walk away, you damnable rotter. This is horrible and I can't bear any more."
    Marion broke into sobs, slammed into silence with the front door.
    Walking past the parking lot, down the little hill to the station. Stand by this wall here and watch the trains go by. Just take a crap and look what happens. This damn Skully probably put in rubber pipes. Three pounds a week for a rat hole, with brown swamp grass on the walls and cardboard furniture. And Marion has to be standing right under it. Couldn't she hear it coming? And the sun's gone in and it looks like rain. Better get back to the house or it'll weaken my position. Get her a little present, a fashion magazine filled with richery.
    Marion sitting in the easy chair sewing. Pausing at the door, testing the silence.
    "I'm sorry, Marion"
    Marion head bent Sebastian tendering his gift
    "I really am sorry. Look at me, I've got a present for you. It's hot tamale with ink dressing, see"
    "O."
    "Nice?"
    "Yes."
    "Like the gold teeth of God?"
    "Don't spoil it now"
    "My little Marion. I'm such a bastard. I tell you the whole thing up there is just a bunch of roots."
    "I'll have something to read in bed."
    "I'm an incredible pig, Marion."
    "Aren't these suits nice"
    "Don't you hear me, Marion? I'm a pig"
    "Yes, but I wish we were rich and had money. I want to travel. If we could only travel."
    "Let me kiss you, Marion, at least."
    Marion arose, embracing him with blond arms, driving her long groin against his and her tongue deep into his mouth.
    Marion you're good underneath it all and not a bad feel, just irritable at times. Now go in there and cook the dinner. And I'll relax here in the chair and read my Evening Mail. I see listed conscience money. Great thing, the conscience. And letters about emigration and women who marry for quids. And here's a letter about Blessed Oliver Plunket Went up to see him there in the St. Peter's Church, Drogheda. A decapitated, two hundred and sixty year old head. Made me feel hushed. Gray, pink and battered and a glint of dead, bared teeth in the candle light. Charwomen told me to touch it, touch it now, sir, for it's great for luck. I put my finger, afeared, in the mouldy nose hole, for you can't have too much luck these days.
    Now I see them across the street coming out of the laundry. Pouring into the road, faces lining up for the tram. There's the girl with the brown eyes and dark hair, her face colorless but for handsome lips. Her legs in lisle stockings and feet in army surplus boots. Hatless and hair in a bun. Goes to the newsboy, calves knotting softly on the backs of her legs. Tucks the paper under her arm and waits in the queue.
    In my heart I know she isn't a virgin, but perhaps childless with pink buds for nipples or even if they're sucked and dark I don't mind. Wears a green scarf around her nice neck. Necks should be white and long with a blue nervous vein twitching with the nervousness of life in general. My good gracious savior, she's looking over here. Hide? What am I? A scoundrel, a sneak? Not a bit Face her. You're lovely. Absolutely lovely. Put my face on your spring breasts. Take you to Paris and tie your hair in knots with summer leaves.
    "Sebastian, it's ready, do bring in the chair."
    In the kitchen cutting a thick slice off the loaf, scraping butter out of a cup.
    "Sebastian, what about the toilet?"
    "What about it?"
    "Who's going to fix it?"
    "Marion, I beg of you, this is