The Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B Page 3

  The library of Uncle Edouard's house where the Baron, festooned with pitons and coils of rope, clung photographed to the sides of mountains and waving from gondolas prepared for the ascent. The grandfather clock with its little ship rocking the seconds away on a tempestuous sea, struck ten o'clock. And Balthazar sat upright at a sudden sound of loud barking, growling and screaming. He stepped out past the open thick oak door and tip toed up the spiral stairs. Other hurrying feet through the halls and coming up from the kitchen. At the floor above and down the hall from the ablution room, the open door of Uncle Edouard's bedchamber flanked by the two terror stricken servant girls. Sound of glass breaking. Anatole pushing by followed by Odette, and Balthazar peeking between the two.

  In the panelled bedroom a canopied four poster festooned with blue satin and crimson tassels. Fifi, Uncle Edouard's unseen strange mistress of the rubbery white skin and kinky hair, clutching bedclothes high to her naked shoulders. The dogs Esme and Putsie flying round like a wheel and tearing at each other's throats. The bright red eiderdown rent. The room afloat with feathers and the growling and slashing and clacking of teeth. The two dogs from the back of a sofa chair leaping to the mantelpiece and felling the photographs. Brushes, perfume bottles tumbling as the doggies sailed across the boudoir table, to briefly sally half way up the only thin panel of green brocaded wall.

  The little group aghast. Fingernails in mouths, where a tremulous joy tugged in the corner of lips at the sight of this canine chaos. Anatole in pursuit and tripping over a stool to bounce on his long nosed face. As Fifi raised the cry.

  "Edouard, Edouard."

  Heavy padding feet coming down the hall. Hunter balloonist explorer Uncle Edouard appeared dripping water from hairy shoulders, a towel held wrapped around his middle. The gathering making way for the master of the house.

  "My God Fifi it is like a blizzard."

  "Stop them."

  "What happened."

  Uncle Edouard pursuing the doggie antagonists as they travelled up and down the chaise longue, skidding across the inlay. Now locked in each other's jaws and rolling under the bed.

  "Ah ha. It is the Yukon once more."

  "Stop them."

  "Of course I am. How did it start."

  "Esme was sleeping under the eiderdown and Putsie went to crawl in there as well. There was the confrontation in the dark."

  "Yikes."

  Anatole with a fire tongs forcing them out from under the bed and with a flash of hands Uncle Edouard on his knees seized both doggies by the scruff of the neck and stood triumphantly holding them high and apart from each other in either hand. The two snarling animals shaking and snapping in the air.

  A great awful silence. Fifi, eyes wide, slowly raising her hands to cover her face. A little victory smile on the face of Anatole. Slow intakes of breath as the two servant girls covered mouths with their spread out fingers. And Odette the cook announcing.

  "But Monsieur le Baron is naked."

  There are

  More of

  Merry matters

  Later.

  5

  And Monday this fading September his mother returned from Bad Gastein in the Austrian Alps. Pierre came to collect Balthazar in a long silver motor. The thermometer on the ivy clad wall of Uncle Edouard's courtyard read seventeen degrees centigrade. And Pierre put a knuckle under the chin of the passing thin dark servant girl with her basket full of vegetables.

  "Ah my sweet you would be a nice little pigeon out of your coop."

  The swallows dipped and swooped over the dark greenness of the chestnut trees. And the car went detouring a long route down Avenue d'lena past the Palais de Chaillot. Where nannie had taken Balthazar to see the fountains Uncle Edouard called the grand pissoir and Balthazar said who makes all that wee wee.

  This afternoon to take tea and petits fours on the window seat of the salon in the big house off Avenue Foch. A soft sunlight passing down the grey rooftops and spreading warmth amid the coloured cozy cushions. Little dog Spot jumped and licked Balthazar's face and knees. His mother kissed him on the cheeks and brushed back his hair with her hand. Her skin browned and smooth. And Balthazar frowned and turned away from the swellings of her breasts. A cigarette at the end of a long holder she tapped with a gleaming sharp nail. To raise her chin and look down her cheeks from her fluttering white lidded eyes.

  "You will like little English boys. They all go away from their country castles to school. They go in big black cars. Their nannies go too with boxes of goodies. Chocolate and jams, biscuits and turkish delights."

  "I want to stay with Uncle Edouard."

  "Absurd. He is a great fool.' "He is not."

  "He was but one day in America off the boat before he was sold a bridge to Brooklyn. He wanted to jump by parachute into the river, privately. It was too bad he was arrested."

  "He is an explorer."

  "What. For little tidbits of fluff he picks up on the boulevards to call mistresses. At school you will be taught golf. And that will be nice. You will write often to your mommie, won't you."

  "No."

  "Why."

  "Because I don't like you."

  On the lonely grey Tuesday. Rain pouring on Paris. Dreams at night of eels with other eels' tails sticking out of their mouths in a whole great ocean of long grey devouring things waving up like seaweed to bite at one swimming and swimming. And in the morning dressed. Gusts of wind bending the branches and turning up the silver sides of leaves. Uncle Edouard at the bottom of the iron staircase in the courtyard. Patting Balthazar on the head.

  "Ah little boy you must not mind, one day it will all only seem as a dream. Remember you go to learn about fair play in England. There they make life like a game and they say play the game. I am glad you have liked it here and you will come back of course."

  The big long black motor stopped in the courtyard. Pierre, his father's chauffeur, stepping out. Inside sat nannie. And suddenly Balthazar turned and ran. Up the stairs and down the hall. And nannie, Pierre and Uncle Edouard went searching up through the house. Pierre found him a half hour later crouching hidden in a laundry basket. Struggling and tugging, he was pulled along, his small black shoes digging and dragging on the carpets. His hand catching wherever he could hold and with the other he squeezed his elephant Tillie tightly to his cheek.

  Down the iron stairs again to the courtyard, kicking Pierre's 24 shins. The big arms holding him firmly, like the night he was grabbed up from the dark country road. Uncle Edouard's voice and strange sad wave as the others of the house watched from a window.

  "O do not hurt the little boy, do not hurt him please."

  The kicks rained upon Pierre's leather gaitered shins. And he swept Balthazar up and laid him into the arms of nannie. Her tear streaked face as she sat nodding out the car door. A civil goodbye to Uncle Edouard who stood solemnly holding up a motionless hand. The motor pulled out the gates and turning right, crossed over Avenue Kleber to speed towards the Arc de Triomphe. When suddenly nannie put her hand to her lips and called through the little fanlight to Pierre to please go back down to the white house off Avenue Foch again.

  Nannie's dark blue cape flew out from her as she ran through the gate and went tripping up the steps. Beyond the glass within the shadows of the house, Balthazar saw her handed a white envelope. Figures following as she stopped a moment under the ivy entwined glass canopy that shielded the grey steps from the pouring rain. Nannie rushed to the open car door and waved back to the figures emerging on the porch. With a great sigh she tucked the envelope in her bag. Pierre leans forward to release the brake and says to Dunkirk.

  With a honk of the squawking horn, the big black car, streaming rain, rolled away from the shuttered house in the little square. Under the canopy cook waved and maid waved and Balthazar in the car's back window stuck out his tongue. Slowly the women on the porch dropped their hands to suddenly raise them again. As Spot the little brown eyed dog came dashing between their skirts and down the steps after the c
ar. Which went faster and faster. And Balthazar screamed stop stop.

  Through puddles across grass verges along the Bois to Porte Maillot. The wet little brown and black creature watching up at the back car window as its small legs churned away on the grey cobbles. All along the Boulevard heading north. Pedestrians stopping to turn and look from under their umbrellas. And Balthazar said o nannie nannie please wait for him, please.

  At a grey deserted cross road, the tired little dog came to a stop. He stood there looking left and right and growing smaller and smaller. To leave a bleak empty space behind on the road. Through the flickering of Balthazar's tears all the way to Chantilly and across the river Oise.

  And this next morning out on the Channel a smell of fumes of oil and breath and vomit. As Balthazar led nannie out along the ship's rail and they stood against the bulkhead lashed by sheets of wind and mists of spray from a grey wild sea. A gentleman stood a little away and smiled at nannie.

  "Why does that gentleman look at you like that and smile nannie.' "It is what gentlemen do."

  "He is looking at your skirt where you have your big mend.' "Yes."

  "Why."

  "Because he thinks that perhaps I would make a good wife who can cook and sew."

  The deck heaving in the long curving foaming swells speeding on the sea. Nannie held a hand to her mouth as she vomited. Balthazar gave her his hanky and put an arm close around her. Pierre in his dark suiting and gleaming leather gaiters was drinking brandy two decks below in the first class bar.

  In the grey dark tumbling heavens ahead were explosions of light flashing up from the horizon. The sound of crashing chairs and pots and broken glass as the little ship pitched and crashed into the rising walls of water. Nannie gave out with anguished gasps through the brown and green liquids spewing from her mouth.

  A steward came and helped take nannie back to the cabin where she lay eyes closed on the bunk. At a little lamp Balthazar read the newspaper, his stockinged legs crossed jigging his black gleaming silver buckled shoe. He rang for a lemon flavoured mineral water and a thin piece of ham between slices of white bread. Brought by the gentle white jacketed steward. Who smiled kindly and bowed and said he would be delighted to be of further help if anything was needed for madam. And Balthazar smiled and said he called you madam nannie.

  Balthazar clutching the broad wood railing on deck. Ahead the white cliffs and sea gulls soaring in the grey sky. Dark castle walls on the hill. Two little lighthouses atop the ends of the great concrete breakwaters. Fishermen in yellow and black oil skins waved and pointed at the tossing packet boat and crouched as a wall of sea crashed. Ships' bells cutting speed. And in the strange silence the little vessel heaved between the lights and across into the sheltered waters.

  The safe harbour full of fishing boats and bereft coasters. Under hovering bleak cranes, lines were cast to shore. Dark sheds and railway sidings. The grey slate roofs of the red bricked buildings on the hillside. All chill wet and grim and England.

  Pierre signing yellow sheets of paper for a grey uniformed man. Black dressed and capped customs with gold circles around their sleeves. The strange tall hats on the ruddy faced smiling policemen. Nannie no longer green but white and wan as Balthazar helped her unsteadily down the bumpy gangway.

  Another grey uniformed man bowed them welcome into the big black car. To bump across the dockyard and between two tall great green wooden gates. Through the town with bricked in flower gardens in front of the houses all called Sunnyside. And suddenly out to the gently rolling green hills and hedgerowed fields. Why is England so small nannie and all the trees in the fields with the cows.

  Nannie read out directions to Pierre from a book. Stopping to see signposts through little villages neat silent and green. Up over hills and under canopies of trees. To take tea at an inn. Hot scones and strawberry jam. Pierre across the hall nodding about to cloth capped men in tweed jackets with little knots of scarfs tied at their throats. They stood in the smoke close under twisted ancient beams and swirled tall jars of drink.

  "Nannie they look like they drink wee wee."

  "That's a very naughty thing to say."

  At this great entrance with lions and shields high up, a drive went winding between thick green shrubberies. On and on turning and twisting until they came into a clearing. A great grey massive building. A group of boys their white knees and short trousers. Led hangdog along the road. And who turned and looked at him as the big car passed. To stop beside a tall brown door at the top of three granite steps.

  "I don't want to stay here, nannie. I don't like it."

  "You will like it. Look see, other little boys there. Nice little English boys."

  Inside the lost gloomy greyness a group of heads crowded at the window looking out. Grins on the front row faces. Pierre's feet crunching on the gravel, unloading trunk and tuck box. Nannie pressing the big brass button. A grey haired woman opening the door. Balthazar shrinking in the car. Nannie returning down the wide grey steps, her face and eyes white and tearful.

  "Come Balthazar."

  "No."

  "You must. You must for me."

  Balthazar came from the car. His black little overcoat wrapped tightly round him. Blue Tillie clutched to his breast. A bell tolling time in a spire above the roof. Pierre carrying his trunk and box into the shadowy hallway. And Balthazar following nannie to the click of heels down the long panelled hall as a tall thin man approached. Smiled. Offered down a hand to Balthazar. And nannie suddenly turned and bent to touch her lips on the silken blond hair. And then she and Pierre were gone. The sound of the car starting and fading away in this lonely ungentle world.

  "Come Balthazar, meet some of your dormitory mates. That's a good chap, this way."

  In an oaken door. A large room of high windows, tables, chairs and benches. The wood gouged with initials and names. The walls kicked and scarred. A banana peel on the window sill and a plate of carrots on the floor. And a little group, the grinners at the window. Who approached unsmiling and sidled round like grazing cattle. One hand was put forward in greeting.

  "There you are, this is Balthazar. He is from France, boys. Welcome him. No nonsense now. Beefy is another Balthazar but we call him Beefy, don't we Beefy. And you Duffer when you stop picking your nose you show Balthazar here the way about. What is the ablative of fossa."

  "Fossa sir."

  "Good chap."

  The door closed. The little

  The door closed. The little group grinning again. Duffer feeling the fabric of Balthazar's overcoat. A small dark boy of glittering eyes stepped close to touch Tillie's pink trunk and Balthazar twitched his shoulder away.

  "New boy."

  Balthazar looking round at the hard faces and stepping back and squeezing close Tillie.

  "New boy give us this elephant. We don't have toys here.

  New boy. You must give us this elephant."

  "No."

  "New boy give us this elephant."

  "No."

  The little circle tightened about Balthazar. Of narrow eyed boys. Pudgy hands reaching and pulling at Tillie tightly clutched in the crook of his arm.

  "Give us this elephant new boy if you know what's good for you."

  Balthazar clenching his jaw. A thump thump thump in his breast. Laurel leaves touching the squares of window pane beyond the teeth showing faces. A grimy hand tugging at Tillie's trunk. Other fingers prising open the crook of his elbow. The figures closed in. Breathing up against his eyes.

  Balthazar shaking himself back and forth from the grasping hands and turning towards the door for escape where another grinning monster stood with big lips open.

  "You can't get out of here new boy."

  Balthazar raised a little fist and struck out in front of him. The faces closed in again. A hand pushed hard at his chest. He went backwards over a boy crouching behind his knees. Tillie pulled from his hands as he fell. His head banged the floor and stars danced across a sudden blackness. His eyes opened and abov
e him Tillie's grey stuffing dropped down as it was stretched and torn to pieces between the laughing hands.

  Balthazar rose shouting and flailing his arms. The door handle turning. A sudden scuffling commotion. Then silence. A row of little boys seated gently at their desks, perusing Latin and Greek grammars, faces contorted in thought. All the studious eyebrows raised towards the opening door.

  "What's this nonsense going on in here. What's the dreadful meaning of this."

  Balthazar was led away. Down the long dark corridor. His chest trembling with his breath. Through a swing door into a large room with panelled walls and ceiling. A great crystal chandelier on a chain. A woman in a white apron brought a cup of brown tea. And slice of buttered toast. He sat alone among the dining tables. Out the window a terrace. Faint shouts and smack of a stick against a ball. A hill sweeping steeply down to the tops of trees. The sky was grey and purple and flashed with light and there came a distant rumble of a thundery world.

  Balthazar taken from the dining room by the white aproned woman. Down the hall and up two flights of stairs. To sit in a big leather chair in the housemaster's study. The thin tall man in a dark checked coat and grey flannel trousers. A bright yellow tweed tie. And his polished boots cracked and scarred. The desk lamp spreading out its dim light as long thin fingers turned over papers. The wind brushing a fir branch against the window glassy and black.

  "I am your housemaster. Who pushed you down."

  "I do not know."

  "The elements of leadership sometimes are found in a little scuffling. We mold little leaders here. Did you get a cup of tea."

  "Yes."

  "Did you enjoy your little tea."

  "It was quite reasonable."

  "You speak English well. Who taught you,"

  "My nannie."