The Onion Eaters (13 page)

Four days spent bouncing in Macfugger’s strange armoured estate car. Lying in soggy heathers blasting at pheasant. Nails standing with his binocs briefing me as to strategic positions to be manned in case of attack from the army of insurrection. The sun shone this noon with a blue sky rising from the west.

Lady Macfugger retiring mid morning with a demi-tasse and long cheroot which she smoked in the porcelain room. Remarking once more as I happened in there, upon my remarkable profile. She sat in a long satin gown and said she did an hour’s private thinking here each day.
Tabulating
the thieving of foodstuffs and drink by servants. Her chin high she spoke with a fluttering of eye lids. Picking up her pearls when asking a question and dropping them back and forth on her chest listening to an answer.

My arse and legs ached as Macfugger brought me
galloping
up into the hills. From where the sea lay distantly blue black. At a canter he blasted innocent rabbits. With each hit reining up his horse, forelegs churning in the sky as he laughed and shook his rifle over his head. The soft moist breezes blowing. Down through wizened oak forests
stretching
along a valley. Visions of Veronica. Standing muscles rippling across her slim waisted belly. Hands on her hips. Loose hair streaked grey over her shoulders. Long muscles on her thighs. My dear boy she said I am impoverished. You’ve got that commodious castle. Won’t you let me be your housekeeper, I’m cramped in my flat back in town. You’re so young and innocent it makes me cry. I so want to corrupt you. She executed a backwards semi circle on her skates. I lay there terrified by the world history of the pox.
And asked as she unlaced her wheeled footwear and put her parasol propped on the dresser, if she had by any chance a communicable disease. She lit up like a floodlight. The easy measured tones. Would you mind repeating that question just in case I heard you wrongly the first time. I tried to point to the volume. Said it’s in there. All about it.

‘Whatever do you mean.’

‘I mean I’ve just been reading about it.’

‘About what.’

‘The pox.’

‘How dare you. Are you lying there accusing me of
having
a venereal disease. Are you.’

‘I’m only recently out of the hospital.’

‘You’ve already said that but are you now telling me you have a disease.’

‘No. I wondered if you had it.’

‘How absolutely dare you. I could slap your face. In fact I will slap your face.’

It stung and I saw stars. Hard as one could I slapped back. Her next blow nearly sent me out of the bed. I raised the bed covers up in front of my face.

‘Hit a woman would you.’

‘You hit me. Twice.’

‘I should think so suggesting I might have VD. What kind of person do you think I am.’

‘It said in the book anyone could have it.’

‘And you blithely would go to bed with anyone.’

‘I was just going to sleep when you sailed in on your roller skates.’

‘Well forgive me. I’ll sail out just as quickly if you don’t mind. I happen to be long and close friends of the
Macfuggers.
Lady Gail Macfugger also happens to be the daughter of a marquess. And I have two close relatives Commanders of the Bath.’

The storm lashing outside. Veronica sitting back on her hands. The way one does at the beach. I commented upon the colourful parasol. And she blew a noisy breath down her nose, swept back the covers, reached to pick up her
roller skates, trod on one and spun in the air landing with a shuddering crash on the floor at the foot of the bed. Silence and now low agonizing groans.

‘Are you all right.’

‘O God.’

Out of bed. Picking one’s way in the half light. She lay on her side holding a hand to her back. Standing over this stricken human being. A large corn on her little toe which seemed crushed together with the others on her foot.

‘My ankle is twisted. O God how I hate pain.’

‘Should I help you back on the bed.’

‘Of course can’t you see I’m in agony.’

Bending and reaching behind her arm pits. Lifting her to a sitting position. With a wince and wail. Her breasts wagging forward. Crash aging her ten years. Inappropriate my penis is up but no spiritual admonishment presently shouted all over my brain keeps it down, save for foreskin at half mast.

‘If you don’t mind, just let me rest sitting a moment to catch my breath.’

‘O no I don’t mind, please do.’

‘I think I have crushed my vertebrae. What am I going to do. I’ve just been accepted representative for a sanitary napkin company. I can’t possibly start work, injured as I am.’

‘I’m sure you’ll be all right.’

‘You’re erected, shows how much you care. O God I will be weeks in a cast, I know it.’

‘You mustn’t worry.’

‘What do you know about worry. Where your next meal is coming from. How it is to be a middle aged woman on her own in a cruel and horrid world of gossip and
ingratitude
. You don’t know what it is.’

‘Sure I do.’

‘Indeed. Accused as I was of having a disease. Hand me my parasol please. I actually think that may be slander.’

‘I didn’t mean it.’

‘Please pick me up. Very carefully. And don’t touch me with that thing.’

‘I can’t lift you then.’

‘Make it go down.’

‘I can’t.’

‘As I lie here in agony you stand there frivolously waving that in my face. It’s quite an adequate specimen but how contemptible. I have half a mind to ring for Bonaparte. This is the most insulting moment of my entire life. It means nothing to you that I may have lost a good job. Will you make that go down. Grossly impertinent at a moment like this.’

‘I’m trying. Why don’t you just let me lift you up.’

‘I’m shivering now. Take the parasol and cover yourself. I don’t want to witness another moment of your public
exhibition
showing off in that fashion.’

‘No.’

‘O lift me up then, my God.’

Clementine lifting. The lady with the parasol. Tugging under the arms. She hobbles on a left foot. Support her under the right shoulder. Move forward. Feel the side of her silky breast. Just another few feet. Make out hexagonals pink and yellow and green on the rug. Each one encircled by a chain of arrows and eggs.

‘O no no.’

Veronica crying out. Clementine digging in fingers under her shoulder as he stepped, slipped and fell. With another brief ride on a roller skate. Her body landing a heapful in his lap.

‘You incredible clot you’re trying to kill me.’

‘I am not I’m hurt now too.’

‘Why can’t you watch where you’re going when assisting someone injured.’

‘Please the skate wheels are sticking in my back. If you just shift a little.’

‘I think that this is the last straw.’

‘I’m trying to do my best. Please just roll a tiny bit to the side.’

Clementine untangling a leg. Feel this pair of spine
splintering
wheels. One still spinning attached by a sole to soft kid skin uppers. Showing her shins to advantage. When she
locomoted in. A little puffiness and dimples on the knees. Glorious contours about the thorax. A word I heard when doctors tapped me there. Got a quick feel of hers. Along with a stinging slap across the face. She takes to being an invalid. Would lift the lot of her up on the bed. But damaged something quite bizarre at the end of my spine.

‘Just slide off me Veronica.’

‘I am incapacitated can’t you see.’

‘I’ve broken my arse.’

‘Serves you right.’

‘Just roll.’

‘Roll. With my vertebrae crushed. You’re less hurt than I am with that thing most rudely sticking in my back.’

‘We’ll be here on the floor all night.’

‘You can easily pull yourself out from under. I absolutely and firmly refuse to jeopardise my vertebrae by movement.’

The curtain billowing into the room. The white lining catching spare moonlight cutting through low rushing clouds. Moist wild smells. The sea will be pounding and foaming up the tunnels of Charnel Castle. Tumbling along the body of Percival. A first night away from my new home. Locked in rigid eternity with a ladies’ sanitary
representative.
Yet to get her first order.

Stiff and sore from that night’s gavotte I wore a pillow behind my arse in the saddle. Riding a massive grey hunter up a stony trail to the top of a steep hill. Following
Macfugger’s
big black arsed stallion as he outlined his
campaign.
Surveying the sprawling house and demesne from a high outcropping with the ever ready binocs round his neck, two automatics bulging under a riding coat. With a map in his lap, pointing with his riding whip.

‘Now Clementine defensive positions can be established right along here behind this ridge of granite. Excellent
observation,
good cover and we’ll rain down mortar fire on the wretched buggers. Of course they’ll move at night. But our trip wires laid will send up flares. We have an impregnable natural defence barrier. Position the sten guns there and there. When they withdraw for a wound licking
reorganization
and rest we’ll make their little acreage rather
unpleasant.
Strum their vocal cords with sniper fire.’

In Macfugger House courtyard, grooms lined up
shouldering
shot guns carbines and rifles. One gardener with a pitch fork another with a scythe and two more standing over a pair of rusty mortars. I lurked near the open door of the hay barn as Macfugger strutted back and forth on the wet grey cobbles shouting out commands, a sten gun resting across his arm.

‘We’re outnumbered just about five to one. But
manoeuvreability
and observation is the key to the modern land battle. I know you will all be a lot of good chaps and that treachery will never cross your minds. Not because you would get your fucking heads blown off personally by me but because the name Macfugger has echoed in these hills and valleys since the beginning of time and no bunch of vagrants is going to creep in around here where fuckers for centuries have feared to snoop. Attention. To the right shoulder. Arms. About face. To the left flank. March. Come on you cunts. Left flank.’

Macfugger counting cadence slapping his riding crop against his boot. The dark clothed group of troops, coats held closed with bits of string, battered fedoras on heads, knocked off and picked up as they collided and recollided in the blaze of commands from Captain Macfugger. Who took wild swipes at the chickens scattering between the confused legs of his platoon.

‘Halt. For God’s sake halt. Wipe that grin off your face Kelly. Now listen to me. To move a force efficiently takes coordination. That means keeping in step. And marching in the same direction. An about face is executed on the ball of the right foot. Not the left with half of you slapping each other’s face with rifle barrels. Murphy take three paces forward and get rid of that scythe. Now then. Fall in. Attention. Left face. Forward. March.’

Back and forth across the stable courtyard. Macfugger flanking his troops, stamping his feet. The sun breaking through. Rain puddles glinting. My own parade grounds were dry and dusty. Pounding in tight sweaty leggings.
Staring at the back of the neck ahead. Wondering when the Christ this mad drudgery would ever end. I was best as an overall strategist. The bold winning stroke delivered
without
warning with overwhelming superiority. Making an enemy run for his life. Clutching his backside. But they forced me to train to one day be an admiral chained to charts down in the bowels of a ship, sipping and chewing freshly made coffee and biscuits.

Macfugger dismissing his troops. Striding with shoulders back across the courtyard. Stopping and confronting a rooster fluttering its wings and taking little threatening leaps at him in the air. A black boot swiftly coming upwards into the white fluffed feathers of its breast. The bird arcing up into the air landing ten yards away where it lay gasping through its open beak for air.

‘Did you see that Clementine that god damn bird
attacking
me. Damn nuisance when things don’t know who’s boss. Well I’m getting that lot into shape. Drill some soldiering into them yet. Produce a battle classic of the few against the many. They need a little gung ho. Their strongest
feature
as troops is of course, their natural greed for
destruction.
Especially polished antiques. My ruddy arm’s broken holding this sten gun. Puts the fear of God into them. When I gave them a demonstration. Six bottles blasted out of the sky with my forty fives, three shots each from the left and right hand, they stood around thunderstruck for ten minutes. Think it’s time now for tea.’

Veronica arriving on the arm of Bonaparte. Carried as she was to safety that first evening by wheelchair pushed by Macfugger. Who upon confronting our two piled up prostrate contorted bodies doubled into paroxysms of laughter and promptly fell sideways against the bedside table knocking whiskey and mineral water upon us. Later, recounting the story to me which he did every couple of hours, he accompanied the telling by crippling slaps on the back, loudly saying by God there was your opportunity with the female form sublime.

Seated to China tea and watercress sandwiches. Silver bowls of bon bons. Veronica festooned in chiffon scarves
throwing back her head and sniffing in the air. Trying to shake something out of her mind. Macfugger smiling into his cup. One wants to streak away over the rocky mountain road towards home. Before it is reduced to ashes or turned into a mine or oil well. With mambas entwining loose about the drilling rig.

‘By God a house full of cripples. Like my grandfather in his wheelchair. Never put foot outside Macfugger House during the last twenty five years of his life. Except once when there was a fire in a chimney. Even then he refused to budge off the front porch. Only exercise he got was
picking
his false teeth out of the soup each day. Always took a spoonful that was too hot and spit the whole thing out teeth and all. Kept a pincers to lift out his dripping
bicuspids.’