The Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B (24 page)

"Myles she has the teeth in me."

"Breda now. Enough now."

"Get her hair will you Myles of this fucking tart. And pull her mouth out of me."

"Ah now I'll hear none of that bad language, if you don't mind. Enough Breda is enough now. And why wouldn't it be. Let go a holt there. Sure if it isn't enough the term has no meaning at all. The language would fall of a sudden into disuse. Let's be decent people here now. It would be war everywhere. Without decency. Why wouldn't we be decent now nearly eight o'clock of a Monday morning. Decent starts the week there now. That's the way. Keep bodies away from fighting with the souls."

Myles holding back the arms of Breda, raising her gently to her feet. Hair down over her face. As she flings back her head and shows two burning dark eyes. The landlady rolling over slowly on her side. Vast belly and breasts shifting fatly. Her face turning upwards towards Breda and hissing coming out between her bared gums.

"I've lost me dentures Myles. That creature's lost me dentures. There. Don't step on them Myles, back of you there. Scum. Do your whoring down on the Quays where you belong. In the pestilence. Dirty filthy priest corrupter, I know all about you. Take in scum off the street and it will go out as garbage."

Breda's sharp toed high heeled foot shooting out. Kicking the landlady's upraised arm. Myles pulling her backwards as she twisted and squirmed. The muscles all tight and white in her arms. A bulging pulsing great blue vein down her thin neck. The strange momentary reflex to tip one's trilby one is not wearing to this civil landlord as he entered the bedroom nodding greeting. Henley Regatta will be soon. The Boatrace on the River. The lawns mowed and rolled smooth for Wimbledon. Strawberries and cream under the parasols. And sit in the big high backed chair between the mirrors and curling balustrades of the Ritz. To take late tea on an April afternoon, quietly reading about country life. Till the menu comes with a bottle of champagne and order escargot, steak tartar and Gevrey Chambertin. While this landlady turns slowly over on her gargantuan side, drawing up her knees, her hand holding out her arm.

"Me wrist. O me wrist. It's broke. Broke it she did. I'm crippled from her. Get her away. As the changeless Christ stands before me, I'll take the kitchen knife to her if she's not out of this house before this day is done."

"Ah you're not hurt, wife, you're not hurt at all. Didn't I see it. It was a light tap of the foot.' "Dirty slut with him there in bed. Look at him will you without even a singlet on him. Myles I'm telling you now to get the garda. I'm in the urine. Pope's pee she says is it. They're both to be charged with indecent wounding and sacrilege."

"Sure all wounding is indecent but the gentleman in the bed is minding his own business. Get holt of yourself now wife. Charges are not in order now with his breakfast getting cold in front of him there on the bed."

"Them's my sheets he's lying in."

"Shut up you stupid old cow."

"Speak to me like that will you vermin. I'll have the knife to you."

"Now ladies please. Do away with the discomposure. The gentleman in the bed is red faced with embarrassment. Barging in here like this. Turning his breakfast into a tumult."

"Barging is it. That vixen tore open the door dragged me into the room by the hair and flew at me throat like a wild animal. With the piss everywhere."

"Ah Breda sure meant no harm."

"You say that when your wife lies here kilt before you."

"Nonsense now. A wee little tumble. Sure we can put a lid on this perplexing drama with a good cup of tea."

"Blood, you see the blood Myles. Me dentures wet in the disgusting urine."

"Ah to be sure, to be sure."

"Her teeth did that. Blood."

"Sure blood is no worry if there's plenty more where that came from."

"You listen to me. If she's not out of this house lock stock and barrel, by noon this day. She'll be in the courts and prison where the likes of her belong. Selling herself on the street, showing her wagging backside around this house. Enticement. And him there too in the bed. Who are you."

"Now woman enough. Sure the gentleman in the bed will think we have no manners at all."

"What do I care what he thinks. Rolling in lust with that trollop."

"Now for the sake of peace and didactics. Have a bit of control of your conversation. Can't you hold your tongue and have some charity. Breda take no mind. A most unfortunate discomposure have we here. Best soon forgotten by all. Wouldn't we be the better for it. In God's holy name. We learn by our mistakes. And who hasn't made a mistake in his time. Sure sometimes the whole of our lives are mistakes. Aren't we trying to mend them. To get from day to day. Can't we now in this room take a page out of the book of Matt Talbot, that saintly man."

Myles imploring his eyes up and down to heaven. The wife struggling to her feet. And suddenly charging like a bull. Breda twisting from Myles' arms. As the lowered head of the wife hit Myles himself mid on in the stomach. Driving him backwards into the corner of the room. Breda leaping on the landlady's back.

"I'm being savaged Myles."

"Ah God you've taken the breath out of me? woman."

Breda's hands tearing open the back of the landlady's dress. Foundation apparel somewhere snapped. Or was it the crushing of plastic teeth. As the cupboard door swung open. And divers garments mixed in the melee. The landlady turned leading with her left hand and in one clawing sweep tore off Breda's dress. And the latter's small fist came crashing smack between the landlady's eyes. She went backwards landing on the breakfast tray, her ample arse spread across the cold greasy eggs and rashers. The pot of tea knocked over. The spout pouring somewhere. The little leaves drying on the blanket. And Balthazar B hiding a withdrawn head against the bed board under his white long arms and long fingered hands pressed up to his face. The landlady's shout near his ears.

"I'm scalded with the tea."

"Didn't I tell you to put a lid on this perplexing drama, didn't I tell you that woman."

"I'll cut her throat, I'll get this fork into her."

Breda one hand up across her breasts. The other holding out the broken top of a milk bottle. The women crouched. Moving forward and back. Bumping the dresser, bumping the bed. A black cat flitted by through their legs and stopped to shake its paws of pee.

"Sure let them men see your tits, go ahead now Myles there you are, there they are to be seen, you've been wanting to see them scrawny things on her long enough and there they are now. See them. Have a good look."

Myles making a swift sign of the cross. And holding up his two hands in the air. The landlady inching a left foot forward. Breda shaking the jagged glass up and down. Balthazar lowering his fingertips beneath his eyes.

"Come and get it you sow. Just take one step. Just one and I'll rip this glass across your throat."

"Myles. Myles. Just keep your eye on the man in the bed behind me. Frightened she is of the knife. Look at her. She's not so sweet and pretty now is she."

"Ah God in God's holy name now stop. It's gone far enough. Before you're both slaughtered. The man's breakfast is ruined. Sure isn't he trying to hide his eyes from this impudicity. As a professional publican I urge a settlement between the two parties. Now sir, in the bed. What do you suggest to that now. A settlement, what."

"I'm sorry, I'm just awfully ill."

"Did you hear that now. Your man here is awfully ill. Have respect now. For a man ill with his breakfast smashed all over him. It's a sickening enough scene already. Now neither of you make a move. I've had enough of this murther. Just stand as you are. Give us the cutlery woman."

"I'll give her the cutlery. In her guts. I'm dripping blood."

"Sure we all are."

"Myles there you. Don't let her get out the door. You taking her side while I'm wounded.' "Ah no one denies duplicity but there's lots of iodine for everybody. I'm moving around here now to bring a halt to hostilities. While any of us are still alive at all."

Myles pushing past the open cupboard door, moving across and slowly down by the side of the bed. His nervous hands opening and closing. A white fleshline around his throat. Groping and feeling. His eyes on the silent antagonists. My God he's hooked somehow into the bedclothes. Pulling down from me. One clings desperately in fever. And like Beefy. To the hope of sunny tinkling terraces of the London season.

"Excuse me."

"What's that sir."

"You're caught in my covers."

"Ah I beg your pardon, sure I didn't know I was pulling the bedcovers off you. I'm so distracted with the trouble. I'm sorry. It's a confused moment we have here. Sure stay there safe now on the sidelines. It's a bit cramped for manoeuvering. But I'll have this over. Please God. Give me the didactics. And we'll have a suitable settlement here. It's the use of weapons has me bothered. What harm a fingernail or a fist but cutlery and jagged glass. There'll be malicious murther. Women will you listen. Neither of you move now. And we'll see if we can't fit some sense in between you. Sure the panic is over. I can't give the infallible remedy here. But it's time for a temporary composure. We've shook ourselves free of hatred now."

"I'll dig this one's eyes out."

"O God woman hasn't enough goodwill been squandered by this reckless hate."

"Look at her. Take your last look of her. Let that excite you now. As it's been over the weeks. Don't think I'm not wise. And then plaguing me to put your thing in."

"That's improper, wife. I'll not allow that talk. In front of a stranger now. Sure lay down the arms and come to a settlement of the grievances."

The two females eye to eye. Weapons held aloft. Breda holding over herself a garment grabbed from the floor. The landlady suddenly quaking. Dropping her knife and pressing her hands up to her face. She turns and rushes out the door with a howling wail. The landlord going to Breda to take the bottle from her hand. She pulls away and flings it crashing through the window.

"Ah that's satisfactory enough. Opens the window a bit. Dry things out. A breath of fresh air coming in will cool it off. Will anyone have a smoke now."

Myles looking from face to face. The packet of Woodbines held out. A cool sweet sea air filling the room. As Breda and Balthazar shook their heads no.

"Do you mind if I have a puff. I'm sorry you've suffered the present interference and interruption. It's the missis' way to get things out of her system."

A crash from downstairs, sound of breaking glass. The watery plop of bottles exploding. Myles putting his head back and perking his ears.

"Ah let the situation run itself out now. Again apologies. I better get down there. From the sound of that last one, it's valuable stock being destroyed. Ah God, there they are. On the floor. Smashed so's you wouldn't know they were teeth at all."

Myles bending and reaching under the cupboard. Picking up the membrane pink and ivory white dentures. Holding them between his hands as he clacked the twisted uppers against the crushed lowers.

"Ah these have had their day. Wouldn't be able to chew the cream off the top of a bottle of milk. And you know, it shows you now. Just to give you folk an example of a case of come uppance. Your woman when she married me had an awful resentment as I was with a full set of me own natural teeth. And she couldn't abide it as she was without real ones of her own. She wasn't satisfied till I went to the dentist down there over the way and had every last one of mine torn out of my head and a set like her own put in. Here are hers now. Just look at that. Sure you never know where justice will strike next."

To bring

A good

Laugh

Where there

Was so much

Maim.

20

Four thirty o'clock Monday following Trinity Sunday the summery month of June. After embattled weeks of waiting. A somber Professor Elegant came down the steps of the Examination Hall. Crossing the clean knobs of cobbles to the two figures leaning against the granite stone of the Campanile. The air all perfumed with the new mown green smell of grass. Laughter of students peddling by. Professor Elegant looked at the two sad faces and said he was sorry, the appeal had failed.

All these days of hope. Sitting through the golden afternoons the window open of one's room. To hear the glad carefree voices passing below. The white pop of a tennis ball. Students calling out college gaieties through this week of June. Taken away from a leafy square that I've come to know. The beds of flowers. Daisies twinkling in the sun. And a forgiving Fitzdare. Who said please, please, you must still come. And stay with me in the countryside as we planned.

Rumours all over college. Snickering behind some hands. Little huddles as one goes by. And faces whisper turning to watch as one was past. Breda came riding on a bicycle. I smiled. I saw her from my window looking as she passed each doorway reading up and down the names. Until she came to my entrance and I heard her little knock on the door. She found a situation in Cabra. And wanted to see me now to know I was cured.

Horace brought us tea. And she had a new black coat. And stared around the rooms. And looked in books. And I gave her an armful of movie magazines. And as she sat there was another knock on the door. And in came Miss Fitzdare. Who stood and smiled to say she only stopped a minute. And Breda said she was going now. They each left quickly after the other.

And Breda said ah God how money can make you beautiful, and if you're beautiful already money can make you supreme.

I bought Breda a jewel. Flown from London and sent her by messenger in a blue velvet box. A flawless emerald big as a cashew nut, cut like a heart, on a platinum chain. She wrote a neatly printed two penny postcard in reply.

Dear Balthazar,

No one has ever given me anything like jewels before. Or even anything else I could ever call a present. This is to let you know that I would rather have you than this gem, just in case you didn't know. But as we are of opposite ends of society it wouldn't do to prolong the agony I feel. You didn't have to give me anything. This situation here is worse than my last. And I would as soon be out of here and suffering instead in pagan England.

Always yours if you ever wanted me.

Breda

Beefy disported back and forth. Unmindful he said of worldly shames. I asked of the great deed box stuffed with money. He smiled and said you'd never believe. And he introduced me to a blue black complexioned man in Front Square. Who read silently his Greek and Latin to bring them back to Africa. And had never been known to speak one word in all his time at college.

"A very shy chap is this black fellow. Sat next me for months. Would only grunt or squeak. But we became awfully good friends. And then one day he handed me a bit of paper. On it written a word, sometimes two, sometimes three. One day it would be Sure Footed. Another time The Bug, Fire and Ashes, Mr. Motto, or Dandelion. I always smiled thankfully just thinking poor chap had his brain fried too long by the African sun. And next day I'd meet him grinning and shaking his head up and down. And I'd do the same. Until one day I saw an evening headline, Blue Danube Wins Thirty To One. There it was on my little piece of paper Blue Danube neatly printed out that morning by my friend Zutu. From then on I've put two fivers on every horse he's tipped."

Through these last days. The university cricket match. College races in College Park. Trinity Week Dance. Fitzdare asked me to go. Instead I got drunk and incapable. Hammering on Breda's door in Cabra where they said she'd left the day before. All across college, smiles on all the faces and sorrow on my own. Horace came that last morning as I was packing.

"Sir it's been a privilege and pleasure to be your servant. I just thought I'd let you know. You can't help getting kind of used to someone over the months. And I'm sorry now to see you go."

Two great steamer trunks packed and locked. Standing in the middle of my empty sitting room all addressed to London. A lorry came and four men carried the heavy weights down the dark stone stairs on their backs. And with a suitcase I went to the hotel up on Stephen's Green. Paying my last college bill on the way. Eighteen pounds eight shillings and eleven pence. For servant, milk, gas and electricity consumed, chamber rent, and commons fund. The amount increased by seven and six, a tardy fine due.

To watch as I have before out across these green trees, the distant slated rooftops and reddish chimney pots, to the purple mountains in the morning sun. All the mirroring windows and doorways around the square. And a letter from my trustees.

The Temple,

London, E.G. 4

Dear Mr. B,

Your letter of the twenty third instant to hand in which we are informed of your decision to follow a career in the breeding and racing of horses and further that a suitable property is urgently required for the pursuit of same. We do not at this time wish to set obstacles in your way but it is incumbent upon us to advise you to continue your studies at university. Also, having regard for the long experience necessary to successfully pursue the above occupation we would be remiss in not pointing out the grave and expensive risks in such undertaking. Furthermore, a castle and five thousand acres with deer park, having regard for outlay for stock as well as the high upkeep and considerable wage bill involved to maintain such premises in a good state of repair, could be crippling and therefore we are duty bound to take a position in the matter of advising in the strongest manner against. And we would look forward to a further and different word from you in respect to your plans.

Regarding the incident of your trespass, a settlement has been reached for the payment of two hundred pounds, fifteen shillings and four pence (£200.15. 4) damages and costs and the matter is now at an end.

Yours faithfully,

Bother, Writson, Horn,

Pleader & Hoot

Beefy waved the letter gently in the air. He stood in my long narrow sitting room as ducks from the pond of Stephen's Green flew past the window as they did at ten fifteen every morning.

"My dear boy, but of course you must rear and race horses. You must. What a jolly fine outdoor idea. Newmarket. Good hunting country. Everyone randy for miles around. Eminently sensible. Profoundly suitable. Fitzdare. I mean a great horsewoman. Two of you. Set up together. She's a good mare, would foal a few little ones. Plus, my dear boy, her stallion Dingle. Every time that chappie covers a mare you can spend a fortnight in Nice. Of course my own trustees are being very shirty. You know how one gives one's acquaintances a friendly goose up the arse as they mount or dismount horse or motor. My trustees are vastly and continuously goosing me. Not nice. I am steady in morals, elegant in manners. No peeing in bedroom basins. And still they doubt me.'

"One is now launched in life. Pick up a little London town house cheap. Throw in a few silk rugs. Little leather work around the place. With a marble hallway and staircase nothing can ever fault one's dignity. Asprey's nearby where one is able to rush to cure one's pale spirit. Me old granny has taken the news of my being sent down rather amiss. Usual old threats. Cut off the allowance, disinheritance, and the shoving of one's person into residential furnished chambers a shadowy end of Mayfair. Not nice. So much unhappiness and misunderstanding these days. I gave that rough who was pursuing Miss Fitzdare some what for. There was a whistle for a set scrum and the chap elbowed me in the ribs. Finally had to say, please don't do that. Had to settle his hash with a bolo to the haggis. And bundle him into the mud. One knows his type well. Fortune hunter. You mustn't worry. But of course you know you must propose to the precious Fitzdare immediately. Matchmaker Beefy knows the time to strike."

At eleven the phone rang. The taxi was arrived. To go out northwards from Dublin. On the Swords Road through Santry. All my shoes shined by Horace to last for years. A final cold crap done in college bog. A moment remembered by an elm tree, one day passing the playing park. Miss Fitzdare giving of her all on the ladies hockey team. Showing her splendid knees. I was just in time to see her slam the white ball when grossly fouled by a fat creature. And Fitzdare ran on to score a goal, to walk back midfield most unperturbed her hair hanging in a pony tail.

Beefy motored with me to the airdrome, his legs crossed and cap lowered over his eyes. Out past the green fields. Grey gateways to haunted houses back in the trees. He stood out on the balcony of the airport building. I walked with my glad- stone bag over the lonely concrete to the waiting grey plane. Beefy said good luck dear boy and take your tea like a man, and see you back for my monster party. I climbed up the little ladder. Beefy blew a kiss goodbye, his hair waving in the breeze. Two engines humming under the wing, its nose pointed up at the sky as we rolled along. I sat mid ships near a tiny window looking out past the strut. And we bumped down the runway and slowly up into the air.

Rising in the western sky. Dublin to the south a grey pincers biting a blue sea. As cows jumped scattering across the grass below. Hedges grow small. And beyond, the fields stretch to the heavens. Turning north now over Drogheda, the coast and Irish Sea. During the awful weeks of waiting. Fitzdare came and said but you jolly well must cheer up. I've come to take you out to Greystones. The train is in twenty minutes from Westland Row. Out by the sea you'll feel so much better. Do come please come with me. It was a Saturday. Together we went down and out my steps. Across by the lawns, out the back gate and along Westland Row. Yes that's where I learned to play harp, piano and harpsicord. She wore a light grey sweater, moss green suit, a purple line making big squares. Her string of pearls and a black silk scarf tied under her chin. A smile and laughing teeth. I think you'll like this uncle too. He's nice. The great train came pounding and throbbing into the lonely red brick station. Two round trip tickets travelling first class. Past the rusty stone of Blackrock between walls bursting with shrubs and flowers. The sorrow of these grey gravel platform stops. Carrying all my sadness further out to Sandycove. Glenageary with pink flowers in the grass. Out of a dark tunnel we came. Our hands touching on the seat. She turned and said please, before you go away to London do come to Fermanagh. And down below the tracks, grey waves of the sea on a wintry looking beach. Past green hills to Greystones. In a summer house under yew trees we sat with her uncle sipping gins and tonics. A whispering wind in that pine scented garden. A gentle rain sometimes falling. There she was. She sits. Her laughter flowing sweet. Eyes always adance. And later walking back to the station we saw nuns standing silent and dark at open windows reading in their black prayer books. She said as we passed the big house and high hedge they're all alone with their hearts and it must be calm and not unhappy. Fitzdare said when she was a little girl on holidays here she borrowed books from that public library. Tied her horse to the railing and he drank water from the trough. There across the road against the wall. My desecrated life. Up here in an airplane through these purest clouds. I fly to see her. From my beery shenanigans. Rocking in the air. Alone on this plane. Bumping over the purple grasses far below. Ponds and rivers. Blue mountains, silver streams. Gone now my rooms in Trinity. The grey expanse of college. And those terribly sad moments walking up my granite steps, haunted on the stone slabs. The afternoon the college authorities handed down their verdict. I stood at the bars of the half landing looking out back at the rugby pitch of College Park. Heard a train puffing over the tracks towards Westland Row. I held myself together. Wrapped in my arms. Climbed quickly up and entered my rooms in case anyone would come and see me there. I never wanted to be sent away. From the bootscrapers at the doorway entrance. From all the knobbly trees in the square. Where the sharp iron spears hold up the chains and one could hang from the cross bars up on the lamp posts. Horace stood by and asked if there was anything he could do. I thanked him and he left, away on his bicycle under his battered hat. I stood at my scullery window. The shattering loneliness makes the spirit well up and grieve. All this now is gone. To leave the green peace and beauty. The lovely walled silence safely away from the hurrying world. Look and see it all for the last time. The morning rescued out of Donnybrook. I lay in the warm waters. In the bath house which squats before the Dining Hall windows in Botany Bay. Under the skylight, within cubicles on the smooth tiled floor. Big hooks for clothes and I dreamt of Fitzdare lying there. All of her long white alabaster body. The tip of my pole poking above the waters. To be in you Fitzdare. Give you joy without pain or heartbreak. One knows of other college sorrows. Of only two weeks ago. A man jumped from his window and splashed his brains on the cobbles of Front Square. A scholar passing in the midnight found him there. When other night times Beefy stole pears out of the Provost's garden. And daytimes the sun did shine in on my life. To let grow up such strange dreams before the verdict was handed down. Of glowing golden cities to the east, waiting for the step of my foot when my moment would come to travel at the close of the academic year. After the last postings of white sheets of paper on the boards. Final meetings of unions and societies. I was glad through the days of Advent and Epiphany. And watched as a scroll was handed to Fitzdare. On a grey cold Wednesday. The awarding of the Diploma for Women in Religious Knowledge. And I could not sleep that night and awoke early in the chill for my one and only religious moment. I washed staring out across the empty square. With combed wet hair and sniffling nose I hurried along the gleaming street. Cold out and cold within. Briskly on frigid feet in damp socks to chapel. Eight thirty o'clock. Hoping for some little warmth from one's gown. Black light fabric sweeping aside with the breeze of walking. All the tiny warmths escape. The chapel smelling of its timber. The engines tremble this airplane. Make these moments always keep. Take them with me wherever I go. As I did that morning to hear the voices singing. The cheeks of Beefy's face puffed in song. After a night of sin. He goes all better all beautiful. About his ways. Under the stained glass eyes of God up there at the end of the chapel. And behind him College Street, a yeast company, and wandering citizens. God has such big shoulders and long flowing white hair. Please look down on me now. Dry away the helpless sips I took of friendly impurity. Make me good and worthy of Fitzdare. I seem so unclean. Only one charge put down for baths on my college account. The curtain fallen. On university years. Ireland down below. Where waits Fitzdare. Able to recite all Chordate characteristics. A ventral heart. Blood contained in vessels. And saucy minded, all I can recall is the tail extended beyond the anus. For which I would listen for her lips to say. Anus. She said it bravely and abrupt. Her cheeks slightly coloured. In all my zoological knowledge anus always stood four letters alight on the wasteland blank of my mind. O Balthazar if s so easy to remember. A dorsal hollow nerve cord. In Amphipoda, the carapace is absent, the eyes are sessile and the uropods styliform. And upon that academic instant I struck out. We sat across our afternoon coffee in the stained glass no smoking room up Grafton Street. I said come to Paris. Her face went beet red. I panicked holding my hand over my heart, fingers perusing the embroidery of my linen hanky. I stumbled on in a broken hoarse voice unable to stop. We could go spooking around my father's country house all shuttered up for years. Inside the big brooding walls and iron gate. Or go to the races at Chantilly. Separate suites at the Raphael. She looked down at her folded fingers. And said yes, she'd come anywhere with me. I sat stunned in this long silence. Our bodies together between the sheets. Tears came hopelessly carefree out my eyes. I had to turn my face away. And found all the afternoon dowagers staring. I got up and hurried out. My God what's wrong with me. So afeared and frightened by her courage. To ask her come away with me. And she says yes. I told Beefy. He said my God marry her before you get corrupted in evil ways. Take her not to Paris but in marriage, dear boy. She will look splendid in mountain climbing gear. Two of you. Out there on the crags, fussing over outcroppings. Sighing in ravines. Dear boy the two of you have so much to learn. The foldings of the mountains. Follow her up the icy peaks and not me into hell. Each banging with your little hammer. And down there I see some rolling mountains. The pilot shouts out his little open door. Descending now. Fasten your seat belt please. Belfast is on the right. Loughs lie in a green flat gleam. Ragged coast. He says there is the River Lagan. Can't believe Fitzdare will be there. Just waiting. As Belfast sits in a valley, faint smoke hovering above. Light green the world once was. We go lower and lower now. To turn fluttering in over the rolling fields. Wind whistling by windows. Closer and closer. Farms and barns. Tilled brown acres and yellow ones. The hedgerows pass. The wet runway. Hares scattering across the grass. The bumping wheels. And one sits back again. Low cream coloured buildings. Like dead sun and sand. A summer sea so many years ago sucked in from beneath the soles of my feet. Waves washed around my ankles, my young skin white and blue. And once when nannie lay in foam, the sea washed up between her legs. I said is that hair there, like sea weed and she rolled over on her face. And the water came up around my knees. Now past all those years, from the summers sprang blond autumn trees. As this aircraft stops. And the pilot smiles. A little bumpy coming in but we're safely here.