The Onion Eaters (4 page)

‘That is correct. Optimum thrill was achieved at thirty seven point nine joules. Over twice the intensity which produced frisson in myself and George using the same method.’

Erconwald’s chin raised as he listens. A blond stubble sprouting on his cheeks. He pushes gently at the base of his wine glass. Upon a finger of his right hand an emerald sits the size of a brazil nut set in Celtic silver entwinings. He stares at Rose. Who wolfed down three helpings of the haunted fish. And asked Franz to pass the gilt dessert basket. She took a potato, blew the dust from it and plunged in her teeth. She gasped. Spat out the spud. And swept it from the table top. Reaching for the finger bowl she drained it in a gulp. Franz remained quietly chewing his raw root and sipping Cointreau. Fetched up so fast by Percival that uncharitably I thought a supply must be secretly near at hand.

The evening lingers. Blackness and raindrops on the
windows.
Imelda crouched half the evening in the shadows by the fireplace pumping with a bellows. Raising a flame finally which attracts colder winds seeping into the dining room. An arctic blast presently up my trouser leg. As a pipe goes passing between these three. Upon which they suck two handed with a rather noisome frowning intensity. Always seems to be going out. They relight again. Rose smokes a cigar and between puffs lifts up her lip where she pokes a toothpick, blowing the unearthed particles to her right with a left hand cupped over her mouth. Morsels popped between floor boards will fall down into dungeons. Where the scurryings I’ve heard make me certain a vast rodent population swarms.

The creak of a chair. Franz rising. Bowing to me and the others at the table. Asking if I would mind his taking away
a plateful of food. And all now trooped through the four tattered antique filled state rooms leading to the great hall. Take my leave with Elmer. Hear the voice of
Erconwald,
George and Rose echoing away in the direction of their chambers. I pass a window of the corridor to the octagonal room. See a lantern light moving towards the front gate. Stopping by a long vehicle. The upstanding shadow of Franz’s hair. And the shadow of another figure inside the car. Making a total of two out there.

Churn my feet back and forth down between these sheets. And under Elmer curled asleep. Undressed one had to dress again to get into this bed. Nearly wore the billiard slippers as well. So cold it helps calm my mind. As one’s soul hovers above dungeons full of snakes and rats gnawing at electric cables extending from folk’s rears. Nice to see them smile as a joule or two goes charging up.

The boom of the sea. Lie and listen. High tide. Candle flickering will soon go out. No mention from the visitors about departing. May be gone before dawn. Rose flashed her eyes at me, licked her lips and went round the hall flaring out her skirt as she perused paintings and armour. I saw her lift up and peek under a steel codpiece. As
Erconwald
stood continually bowing. Heaping upon me good wishes for the night. Deep sleep, muscles replenished, the soul heartened, I do wish good person, to see you again full of joy upon your rising. Impossible to fit in a word about the god damn snakes. As he slowly backed away.
Withdrawing
as he put it from your good presence. Faint strains now. Of music. Between the explosions of sea water. An organ. Seems to come from that small window giving on the courtyard. Good God. That was a scream. Of unbelievable octave. Elmer. Wake up. Murder. Somewhere.

Clementine’s shuffling billiard slippers descending steps past the coffin room into the main corridor. Screams coming from that way. Just take this spear off the wall. If it is a spear. Can’t see a thing. What if they’re loose. The snakes. Get back to my room. And close down the iron shutter over the door. What an unspeakable but life saving thing to do. If the god damn snakes are having a field day. Or night.

Clementine, spear first, passing on the balcony over the great hall. Screams stop. Death has stilled the victim. A light and sound of feet behind and ahead. What’s this coming. Thundering down the hall. A knee high breeze with an unearthly squeal. And grunt. And has. O my
goodness.
Hit Percival. Somewhere low. It sounds like. It is.

Oscar woke me in the morning putting a steaming pail of water into the jug on my washstand. Left eye glued shut, the right opening on a sunny day showing a world. Out there of rocks bulging from a meadow sloping upwards into a purple sharp pointed mountain. And north a ragged edge of earth beyond a blue black sea. Little white caps here and there. Poor Percival last night was pole-axed. Rose came hurtling out of the shadows. After Fred. In a tight silk kimono. Her bosoms heaving up and down. Uttering language likely to lead to a breach of the peace. Already badly broken.

After a night of such terror hope rises wearily. Rose took one end and I the other of Percival. Lugged him into the nearest room. Of some splendour with white embellished ceilings. Tapestries and carved four poster bed. A large dressing table with pots and jars, silver hand mirrors and tortoise combs. As I felt his heavy but steady pulse Percival gasped that it was her ladyship’s room in which he might breathe his last.

But just as I dry a globule of moisture from an ear lobe this apt morning, Percival comes in. With a tray aloft
bearing
a great brown pot, a plate covered with rashers, three fried eggs, tomato and stack of brown toast. A jar of
marmalade
and white bowl of golden butter.

‘Good morning sir.’

‘Percival are you all right.’

‘Fit as a cello. Didn’t the pig last night knock the knee back into permanent place.’

‘I’m delighted to hear that.’

‘Grand as it ever was.’

‘I
hope our guests haven’t departed I’d like to say
goodbye.’

‘I
would think you would have ample time sir, as I watched them a moment ago carrying in a stream of stuff that would sink a ship. And this morning there are five of them where I would swear there were only four last night. Now how’s this little spot for you here by the gun turret. Give you a view of the sea on this fine morning.’

‘What’s that.’

‘What sir.’

‘Grazing there, just by the wall.’

‘Ah that’s Toro.’

‘Good Lord. Whose is he.’

‘Yours sir by the lack of claimants but I wouldn’t ever be nearer him than I’d be to a thick wall you could get over in a hurry.’

‘Is he vicious.’

‘Ah if he has a few old cows around he’s harmless enough. I thought I’d mention sir I took the liberty of opening up an account beyond there at the shop.’

‘That’s awfully kind Percival but as I’ve told you I can’t really afford.’

‘Now sir who said anything about bills or the like. Sure when you’re ready is time enough. And if you’re not ready it’s not time enough.’

‘Percival you seem to have confidence in the future.’

‘Ah now without the present you wouldn’t have a future. And sure the present is busy making the past while the future is waiting. And there’s no harm keeping the future waiting while it’s not here yet. And when you get there what is it but you’re in the present all over again. Will you have milk first or last in the tea.’

‘I think last, please.’

‘Now I’ve got Tim giving a hand with the garden. Just beyond the wall there. We’ll be having a spud or two
before
long. With the old gun I’ll blast a few of them hares off the heather for dinner tonight. How are you with the rod sir.’

‘I beg your pardon.’

‘For the fishing.’

‘I don’t fish.’

‘That’s a pity now. There’s plenty to be had from the deep out there. And now sir I must be gone about my chores.’

Staring out the tiny window of the turret, Clementine biting into the red rashers. Laid gently upon a toasted
buttery
bread of wheat seed. Crushed sweetly between the back molars. Things not so bad. When you think. There’s no harm keeping the future waiting. Meanwhile fish, shoot and look at Toro. And if one is not mistaken this is the basket weave of Sheraton I sit on. Just like the chair in great aunt’s room. Where I sat. As Percival snored unconscious. And Rose gave me glances. Felt like a guest in my own house when she invited me to go with her down into the kitchen to make cocoa. But the eyes. Of her. Made one cautious and swiftly drowsy. I hesitated. And dead centre of that pause she said you won’t mind if I go myself and have a bite to eat.

Clementine descending the stair into the great hall. A shaft of mid morning sunlight glinting on the display of shields on the north wall. Under which stands Franz Pickle adjusting a surveyor’s tripod. As Erconwald enters the front door carrying a small statue and an apparatus.

‘Ah good person, let me welcome you on this fine day and say good morning. How are you.’

‘Fine thanks.’

‘We are I think now sufficiently unloaded. It would not do for unauthorised persons to
handle our equipage and we are storing it in a safe place.’

‘I see.’

‘Ah good person I perceive some flummoxity upon your countenance. It is we have certain sample minerals,
udometers,
hydrometers, recent and fossil brachiopoda.
Microscope.
Geiger counter. Volt meter. Plant specimens. And here I carry Brahma, the Omnipresent One. And this is an oriental water pipe. Ah but why trouble you with such trivial paraphernalia this morning. I entrust you have
breakfasted
well.’

‘Yes thank you.’

‘And voided with ease that of which you are glad to be rid. Should you have difficulty in your personal cycle, we have a most effective remedy. A herbal infusion in which there is a colloidal suspension of selected finely ground sea weeds. Two spoonfuls of the well shaken mixture will blast waste from the bowel with the splendour of the trumpet blown unrestrained. In fact we suggest this musical
accompaniment.
But I keep you. Pray let me not do that. With the sun shining.’

‘Perhaps you could tell me what your associate Mr Pickle is doing.’

‘Ah, but of course. It is unforgivable of us not to have asked your permission but you have been so kind we did not wish to trouble you further. Franz is most excited. But does not want to hop skip nor jump to conclusions. And therefore I would ask your good person if I might withhold for a short time the nature of our enquiry.’

‘For how long.’

‘Ah. Franz. How long is needed for your investigation.’

‘Seventy two hours, provided that I do not have to drill.’

‘Ah good person I see that latter word uttered by Franz has wrought again upon your countenance some further flummoxity. Please be reassured. It is core drilling to which he refers. The core withdrawn being easily replaced,
although
we may have to retain certain portions. May I
enquire.
You are single.’

‘I have three.’

‘Ah that is forward looking. And where do you keep your spouses.’

‘O wives. No I’m single.’

‘Ah. As am I. And George. But Franz has seven
daughters.
Although we have made numerous arrangements George has not yet had the good fortune to cohabit with the female homosapien. My own occasions of doing so are infrequent. I am uncircumcised. My log book records, I have it here, ah yes. Of human sexual unions. Thirteen. Twelve, with harlots. Of bestial cohabitations there have been five. I fail to have erection with women to whom I have paid court. Except in one recent case when I have inhaled the
donkey distillate prescribed by Franz when engorgement took place immediately thereafter. Although I had parental consent, the subject was under the statutory legal age for carnal knowledge. And it is with regret that a law case ensued. The three of us possess quite normal penises. Mine being the largest both flaccid and in erection. Ten point seven centimetres and seventeen point four respectively. Ah but I must not delay you.’

‘You’re staying to lunch.’

‘Ah that would be most cordial kind sir.’

‘And dinner.’

‘We are indeed most grateful.’

Erconwald reaching the ends of his sentences gives a little inclination of the head. He and George appear cleaner than Franz. Although the latter is kept busy brewing up the horny distillate. Been offered the laxative but not the
aphrodisiac.
Take with me outside the discomforting vision of the bunch of them, snakes entwined around ankles taking craps while they tickle the ceilings with their tools in extensum. Thereupon gouging in the soft plaster suggestive rude motifs.

Charnel Castle’s ivied turrets massively silhouetted against the sky. Smoke pouring from four chimney pots. Two great black birds throb wings up into the blue from a
battlement,
turn, wheel and dive with gleaming wings and zoom up again in the mild air. Bleat of sheep. Call of a lamb. From which Percival if he’s a good shot may get a chop. Or a trout may flip out for the breakfast table from a stream flowing by the castle wall. The legs want to churn and run, the arms to flail up hills. The voice to shout. To this gang who have invaded. When the hell are you leaving. Taking with you your ghosts, snakes, tripods and reek of onions.

High on the northeastern battlement. In a bright red dress. Rose standing waving down. Look behind me. No one. Wave back. How do you do. Did you get a bite to eat recently. Wow did you hear that. Rose kidding around skipping over a stack of octaves. Echoing back from
hillsides.
Across the bay. Beyond the sandy beach and boat house. Where sits the yacht. For which I now have a crew
to put aboard. Erconwald as captain. Donkey distillate in the engine to make it go.

Clementine followed by Elmer passing his guest’s lengthy motor parked outside the castle wall. Packing two spare wheels on the running boards. Upon one of which my big woof woof pees. Inside a gentleman to whom one has not yet been introduced sitting next to the driver’s seat. Staring blankly ahead. Does not even seem to see me. I’ll put him down in the engine room. Of the yacht. Where his stoicism can play an important part amid the turbines. Which from what I remember of my naval career are very noisy.

A narrow path descending through a wood of beech, pine and sycamore. Sound of lapping water. In the shadows a great slate roof of a large stone building jutting from the steep hillside out into the bay. A set of steps to a door under eaves. Here we go. Open this padlock. And push. Good Lord. It’s got a funnel. Two lifeboats. Be my first command. After all my years of naval training. To the rear march. Step over the bulkhead. Toss your oars. This is your captain speaking, give way together belay abaft and keep your luff. You swabies.

Clementine standing in the semidarkness. Saluting and smiling in the wheelhouse. Putting his fists tight around the helm. Could head this thing out through those doors. Smash slicing through the mountainous swells, sea spray on the face. Castle cannon blasting once more. Setting a route for the unknown. Brave mariner with a few selected female deck hands navigating a calm but titillating course while sunning on the uncluttered foredeck out there. And in here a leather cushioned chair for the captain to relax while one is underway. With some rather risqué marine sauciness.

With lighted matches, Clementine explored the ship. Ninety eight feet overall. Twenty one of your feet across the beam. Giant diesel in the engine room. Packing twelve cylinders. Even a little tool table with wrenches, vise and drill. Elevator an upright coffin with a mirror to comb hair. Could fit two deeply in love. Salt stained portholes of the main saloon. Flowered sofas and stacks of yellow covered
geographical magazines. A crapper here and a crapper there. In which Elmer samples the rusty water, and rushes up and down the gangway. Chewing on the carpet, peeing on a stair. Take Rose off the parapet, down a dram of
donkey
distillate, turn this vessel into a ship of shame.

Clementine tapping a barometer on the mahogany
panelling
of a large stateroom amidships. A double bed covered with a tattered canvas sail. A cough just to my rear. Making only a small area of hair stand up on the back of my head. As one gets used to the random terrors. And Erconwald. Slowly bowing and taking off a white yachting cap.

‘Ah good person forgive me. I did see you disappear in this direction. And I came aboard but to ask a question. Which I hesitatingly do as we have already taken
generously
of your hospitality and a further imposition is
unthinkable
but pray, some friends have arrived, both of them people who will please you. And here. Humbly I offer, with the compliments of Franz, myself and George, a vial of the donkey distillate. When Franz has completed his
precipitation
of essences from reproduction fluids of the mamba, we shall of course, upon its meeting with satisfaction in our tests, put it at your immediate disposal.’

‘Thank you. Your friends are they just passing through.’

‘Ah. Passing through. Ah. Perhaps that might be
answered
by a brief description. He is Lead Kindly Light. His wife is a woman of cultivation. They have long
involved
themselves with kindnesses to those imprisoned. And they are accompanied by three exprisoners. Some women of course prefer to cohabit with the stored up passions of men incarcerated for many years.’

‘There are five of them.’

‘Ah yes to be sure. But I see dear good person that you are dismayed. I would not want that. Pray say the word and we shall depart. But may I say first that Rose wishes for me to send you her compliments. She discerns good person, as certainly do I, your nobility and your abundant humanity. Of which we, your most humble servants, gratefully
partake.
I withdraw to await your word.’

Clementine stumbling through the companionway and
up out of the damp mustiness. To climb the steps again of the boathouse. Go out the door into the sunshine and rush back up the hill. In the library, thumbing through the dictionary to the letter m. And listed below mama’s boy and above mambo, the word mamba. Any of several
tropical
venomous snakes attaining a length of twelve feet and dreaded because of its lightning quickness and fearless readiness to inflict its fatal bite.

Clementine leaning heavily upon the edge of the desk. Inlaid diamonds of ivory surrounding a green leather top. Sneak back into the world by the skin of my foreskin, get somewhere to live and one is set hysterically dancing
between
a lot of slashing fatal fangs. Which strike even if you didn’t do a god damn thing to it. Like step on its head. Which you can’t do because of its lightning speed. And twelve feet of writhing deadliness waiting to inject into one’s tegument.