Well Done God! Read online

  Samuel said :

  Yes, Socrates. Pleasure becomes evil when it usurps a place in the self which demands that energy be expended in its pursuit which is out of all proportion to its true place

  Robert said :

  What, therefore, Philebus, the hell are you chasing Miss Deane for with such misapplied energy ?

  Stage now reached in meat preparation : crucial ; Samuel had four pans and three gasjets.

  Date of manufacture of gas-stove : 1884.

  State of Samuel’s mind : calmly agitated.

  Note, explanatory of hiatus imminent : Samuel being thus occupied with culinary matters, and Robert with thoughts anticipatory of the results of Samuel’s occupation and being careful lest his expectations be disappointed through disturbing Samuel, the conversation languished, and, hardly mourned, died.

  Time : Twenty-three minutes after one in the morning.

  Phase of the moon : in the third quarter.

  Characters : Miss Deane ; Samuel ; fourteen ducks ; two swans ; seven cygnets ; sundry small waterside creatures of the night ; pennypigs, a shillingsworth ; God, too, for those who would rather not be without him.

  Location : the north bank of the Grand Canal, Dublin.

  Direction of movements : Liffeywards, as regards Miss Dearie and Samuel ; stationary, as regards the birds ; hither (and, probably thither), as regards the waterside-dwellers ; poundwards, as regards the pennypigs ; in a Mysterious Way, as regards God.

  Descriptive setpiece, of a lyrical, romantic nature : it is always wonderful to live near water of any kind, whether it is sea, or river, or lake : but to live near a canal ! That is the summum bonum ! The nearly still waters clear and deep, with long bright streaming weeds swaying gently ; the shallow flow of water over the top of the lock boiling into leafgreen foam twenty feet below ; the banks so broken and irregular in the canal’s neglect ; the variety of the plants which flourish amidst this decadence ; and the swans and wildfowl that grace the silent surface. And the locks ! The locks, great narrow tunnels under the backed bridges, shaded and sombre, quiet and mysterious, calm and religious in their disuse. And the boys who fished for roach. . . .

  Quotation from FISHING IN IRELAND : “Roach are not found in Ireland except in one southwestern river system, into which they were artificially introduced in the late nineteenth century. Confusion often arises, however, amongst those ignorant of the fact that rudd are called roach in the Emerald Isle.”

  Descriptive setpiece (continued) : . . . . by the old wooden swinging arms of the locks ! Samuel had watched in the clear water the tiny redfinned fish actually biting the bread paste, had watched for hours boys at their sport with the crudest of tackle. Perhaps once a week a barge would pass through, a great event, drawing all the passersby to watch it. And Robert and Samuel had watched the lock-keeper then at his work, and many other times had talked with him, and drunk with him. But if by day the canal was a wonderful place, at night, when everything about it turned grey and silver and black under the moon, it was unsurpassed in loveliness. End of setpiece.

  Purpose of nocturnal perambulation : to take advantage of the romantic nature of the canalbank to persuade Miss Deane to forget her religious scruples for an hour or two.

  Machinations felt appropriate : Samuel carefully selected an act (sometimes called, by others, a line or ploy), from amongst his considerable repertoire of acts, built up by hard experience in amatory warfare.

  Act chosen : Number 7, Mark III, the Celtic Variant (the Whyshouldn’twesinceherewearethrowntogetherpassingshipsinthisCeltictwilightoflife?)

  Number of times act employed hitherto : 47.

  Percentage successes :

  (a) against all females : 21·42%.

  (b) against females of the Miss Deane type : 67·91 %.

  Site chosen for staging of act : a canalside bench, of the wooden variety, two reinforced concrete ends, providing comfort of minimal quality ; specially designed to discourage lengthy periods of residence.

  Miss Deane said :

  No, that won’t do at all !

  Samuel said :

  But, Miss Deane, I . . . .

  Miss Deane said :

  No !

  Reaction of Samuel : discouragement ; regrouping of forces ; quick reassessment of campaign, current act abandoned as a failure, new act quickly chosen.

  New act : Number 2, Mark IV, suitable for all Nationalities (The Sweepheroffherfeetwithpassionateembracessothatshecan’tthinkquicklyenoughtosayNoagain.)

  Number of times act employed hitherto : 113.

  Percentage successes :

  (a) against all females : 28·35%.

  (b) against females of the Miss Deane type : 41·02%.

  Note on act Number 2 Mark IV : a very crude act, mainly employed by Samuel in his early youth ; the fact that he felt compelled to resort to it on this occasion is remarkable evidence in support of those who maintain, with some justification, it must be said, that Dublin and Guinness had had an unsettling but rejuvenating effect upon Samuel, and that his character had taken a most unexpected turn for the better, or for the worse, depending which way you looked at it.

  Site chosen for act : the area of concrete aggregate immediately in front of the seat.

  Reaction of Miss Deane to act : alarm ; initial surrender ; rapid rallying ; freeing her left arm, Miss Deane pushed Samuel away with it ; thus freeing her right arm, she struck Samuel hard on the side of the head.

  Nature of blow : solid.

  Emotion felt by Miss Deane during blow : anger.

  Consequence of blow : Samuel half fell off the bench, lost his orientation, and sat down heavily on the canal bank with one foot in the water.

  Reaction of Samuel : surprise ; followed by prompt withdrawal of foot from canal ; admiration.

  Sounds in Samuel’s head : rings and buzzes.

  Tableau : Samuel sitting still ; quietly dripping.

  Samuel said :

  And that was all the farewell when I parted from my dear.

  Literary source of last sentence : A. E. Housman, poet, scholar, shaver.

  Samuel said :

  And so farewell, Miss Deane, faithful spinster of this priest-overrun parish.

  Scene of the above statements : O’Meara’s Bar, Rathmines.

  Description of O’Meara’s Bar, Rathmines :

  The Stews,

  Grubles Street,

  Wicklow,

  Wicklow.

  Dear Sir,

  Thank you for your esteemed order of 24th inst., for the supply of one description of licensed premises, Irish, situate in lowermiddleclass district of Dublin. We have great pleasure in submitting the following which we trust will meet with your every requirement :

  Brick-built premises ; on a corner site ; just over fifty years old ; outer paintwork red in colour, with gold lettering on facia ; all grilles, shutters, etc. necessary for the strict observance of the licensing laws constructed of steel, and in a rigid manner ; an added attraction are the genuine bullet holes in the woodwork behind the counter, a proof of the part the premises played in the Troubles ; complete with not more than three barmen, of whom at least one will be certified to be a “character”; steady clientele, no tourists ; accommodating local Gardai ; unusual offices ; silver-topped pump handles ; grocery trade section well supported ; own stout bottling equipment (crown cork) ; thirty-one partially worn barstools ; eighteen glass-topped tables with appropriate sets of chairs ; the whole a very desirable property from a literary point of view.

  We look forward to receiving your favoured remittance within the next few days. Assuring you of our best attention at all times,

  We beg to remain,

  Your obedient servants,

  Kenny & Knight (signed)

  Fact-finders to Literary Ladies and Gentlemen

  Irish Atmosphere Our Speciality.

  Time the farabove statements were made : just before the Holy Hour.

  Robert said :

  Tough. It seems one has to ch
oose between the irresistible and the unresisting.

  Tone of voice employed : laconic.

  Immediately subsequently : Samuel turned back to his barbook without replying.

  Title of Samuel’s barbook : THE ASSASSIN, by Liam O’Flaherty.

  New Arrival : Just at that moment who should come in but Mick the Lock-keeper, on a spell of joint offduty from his two jobs as keeper of the lock and porter of the hotel opposite the lock, seeking to quench his thirst before the drought of the Holy Hour set in.

  Number of fingers on Mick the Lock-keeper’s right hand : three, to which must be added one thumb.

  Digit deficient : index.

  Cause of deficiency : a steel hawser of almost too human malevolence.

  Mick the Lock-keeper said : Hallo, Robert and Samuel.

  Tone of greeting : warm.

  Calefaction of greeting : 90° C.

  Samuel said :

  A small one for Mick.

  Person addressed : the barman.

  Mick the Lock-keeper said :

  Thanks. The Powers and the glory. To you, boys.

  Tragic development : No sooner had Robert and Samuel and Mick the Lock-keeper toasted one another than their conversation was interrupted by the clangorous groan of the steel doorgrille announcing that those citizens who were desirous of obeying the law should leave forthwith.

  Short discussion of Irish licensing laws :

  Robert said :

  I approve of Irish licensing laws : it is good and human and civilised to have an hour’s break in a day’s drinking.

  Samuel said :

  Yes: and the Holy Hour is so conveniently timed that the afternoon post arrives at the beginning of it and can usually be dealt with in just the hour.

  Mick the Lock-keeper said :

  I would be annoyed about the break if it wasn’t everywhere ignored. Stay on drinking, boys, I’ll see to the barman for you.

  Robert said :

  We are creatures of habit, Mick.

  Samuel said :

  And the post from England arrives in a few minutes.

  Robert said :

  And we are inveterate letter writers and readers.

  Mick the Lock-keeper said :

  See you at four then, boys.

  Samuel said :

  On the dot, Mick.

  Position of letterbox : 4’ 7” above the top step.

  Type of letterbox : long, narrow, scarcely practical ; the short side horizontal ; missives despatched therein incarcerated on verso in rectangular box of wooden construction.

  Contents of box on day under consideration :

  (i) For Miss Deane : a pastoral circular warning her to make sure that there were adequate facilities for following her religion in any country to which she might be thinking of emigrating ; an invitation to avail herself of Curran’s Kleenkid Nappy Service ; and a letter confirming her week’s booking at an Irish Holiday Camp in a month’s time.

  (ii) For Robert : a slightly obscene personal letter from Peewee Placent, a college friend ; two letters from rival cornchandlers, touting ; and a letter from his mother, promising to send him a food parcel the next day.

  (iii) For Samuel : a final demand from a library for a book borrowed some six months previously ; a passionate letter from a late lover, saying she had made a mistake and asking if Samuel would forgive her ; a badly-taken suggestion that his Life could be Transformed through reading the Rosicrucian pamphlet ETERNAL TRUTHS FROM ANCIENT LANDS.

  Magnanimous gesture : the reader is offered a choice of endings to the piece.

  Group One : The Religious. (a) The quickest conversion since St. Paul precipitates Samuel into the joint bosoms of Miss Deane and Mother Church. (b) A more thorough conversion throws Samuel to the Jesuits. (c) A personally delivered thunderbolt reduces Samuel to a small but constituent quantity of impure chemicals.

  Group Two : The Mundane. (a) Samuel rapes Miss Deane in a state of unwonted elation. (b) Miss Deane rapes Samuel in a state of unwonted absentmindedness. (c) Robert rapes both of them in a state of unwonted aplomb (whatever that may mean).

  Group three : The Impossible. The next post contains an urgent recall to England for (a) Samuel (b) Robert (c) both ; on account of (i) death (ii) birth (iii) love (iv) work.

  Thank you.

  These Count as Fictions

  Curly hairs are to be found embedded in the soap every morning. I could of course buy my own soap and keep it safely hairless in my room when I am not washing : but the terms of my sub-tenancy are such that Linen shall be provided and (as under similar agreements I have heretofore entered into) the description Linen inaccurately but legally includes soap. So why should I provide my own ? But this is the reason my lodging is less than satisfactory : every morning there is at least one curly hair fully or partly embedded in the green soap. I do not know whether this depilation has taken place to the undoubted loss of a female or of a male. It may be that there is an immutable natural law that male curly hair circles to the left, or anticlockwise, and female hair vice versa. Or the former clockwise, and the latter vice versa. If I knew this law, I could perhaps apply it after careful scrutiny to ascertain which end might have the bulb of what appears to be fat which often adheres to the root of an unseated hair. But I do not know the law even if it exists (which seems unlikely) and I am not really interested in whether these hairs have been misplaced by a male or a female fellow-lodger. Nor would I be prepared to peer closely enough at them at that hour in the morning, when I am often near to disgust. I scrub at them with the nailbrush, but usually this only embeds them even farther.

  Every other Friday now I go down to the richer quarter of the city, to the home of a man who gives me money. He pays me for opening his letters, making a decision as to whether or not certain matters in them will interest him, and replying accordingly. He does not give me money regularly : perhaps once every six months enough to keep me for about a month. He may soon stop doing so altogether. Every time I go I think that he may dismiss me this time ; or the time after. But I am used to thinking like that. I ensure that my other occupations give me the same feeling. In this insecurity lies my security. If I knew that in a year’s time I would be doing a particular thing, then I would probably suffer some kind of neurosis. At least, that is how I feel about it. I am healthy now, in my not knowing. I am very careful about such things.

  He trusts my judgment this man whose letters I open. I do not know why, but it is very pleasing that he trusts me and it makes me feel I am earning my money, however irregularly it comes. And the irregularity does not matter, for I feel I have successfully lived so far and there is just as much chance of future success : I usually have enough money for tonight and tomorrow, the rent is paid in advance, and it is therefore convenient to regard what he owes me as saving, even as investment. For he is so very good with money. He sits in a graceful chair of skilfully-wrought japanned ironwork, and strokes the Burmese cat which neatly occupies the full area of the catmat on his lap. This slight ashgrey cat is most uncatlike in that it will without provocation attack me. Why me, I ask myself, I am not a stranger after coming to this house so many times : if it has a memory it must recognise me as the short man in old clothes who comes to open letters for its master. It is possible that cats are incapable of the concepts of shortness and age, however. Certainly the cat attacks me without my doing anything to provoke it, and I conclude it does so because of personal distaste for my presence : which is reasonable enough. I have learnt not to let a free hand dangle casually by my chair as I consider my decisions on the contents of the letters, for if I do the cat will suddenly spring and savage it quite severely. Twice this has happened, and the wounds required dressing almost until I came here the next time. The motives of the cat do not interest me. The eduction and study of motives in general I find largely without point : events, attitudes, feelings, states of mind are what I am concerned with, and not with the forces which may prompt them. Given motives are too often guesses, and I have bett
er uses for my imagination. Rarely do I ask myself Why ? anything : if I do, the question is almost always rhetorical. I just keep my hands out of the way of the cat.

  This man whose letters I open. Recently some crisis in his business affairs abroad resulted in far more foreign mail being sent to this address. He asked me to undertake the extra work. I was glad to do so, for I thought it would mean some little extra money. He did not say it would. It is seven visits since the crisis, now once a fortnight instead of once every three weeks before it, and fifteen since he last paid me : so I do not yet know how much, if any, more money I shall receive. Neither do I know of course when it will come. But it has never failed to come yet. The extra work at first made me feel that he could now manage less well without me than before, but recently I have begun to feel that he may well decide that there is so much work that it justifies employing someone who would be able to come more frequently than he might think I could. Rightly or wrongly, I see I preserve my insecurity. It is the better way.

  The worst part of this job is sealing the envelopes which the senders enclose for notification of my decision. I have been brought up to regard the putrescent taste of fishbone glue as in some way a penance, but now that used on foreign envelopes causes a certain uneasiness, guilt almost, in me. Vanilla and Mint (both pepper- and spear-) are the commonest flavours to be tasted but there are others which are both less definable and even less welcome. My employer, I think, has no idea that I am inconvenienced by these flavours ; at least there is no sign that he might provide a machine (a simple watercontainer with a roller in it, for instance) to alleviate my discomfort. I shall not ask him for such a machine. Before coming here I invariably buy a small packet of paregoric cough sweets to suck while I am working.

  Generally by the middle of the afternoon I have dealt with all the mail which has accumulated during the previous thirteen days. I am then free to leave. The man has never yet failed to smile as I go in appreciation of what I have done for him. I leave by the side door of his house, turn left, and walk down a slope towards the sea : watching my footing, for the pavements here I have more than once found to be treacherous. The richer quarter of this city lies near the sea, and on these fortnightly occasions I permit myself as if to wander along the municipal promenade, surveying the overstocked flowerbeds. I do not look at the sea : it makes me apprehensive. I have constantly to adjust my gaze to the left or to the ground in order that I may not have sight of the sea. Even the quays, the sight of which would fill me with quiet pleasure in the old days, I now cannot bear. Instead, I occupy my mind with statements the truth of which interests me, such as Form follows function, or it might be on another occasion Everything is merely or exactly the absence of its opposite. Or sometimes I will tell myself You can’t have it all ways : at least at once.