The Ginger Man

J. P. Donleavy

• Publisher: Grove Press
• Year: 2018
• Print ISBN: 9780802144669
• eBook ISBN: 9780802198167
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Literature General
• Index: Literature

"A picaresque novel to stop them all. Lusty, violent, wildly funny, it is a rigadoon of rascality, a bawled-out comic song of sex." (Dorothy Parker, Esquire)
 
First published in Paris in 1955, and originally banned in the United States and Ireland, J. P. Donleavy's debut novel has since been recognized around the world as the masterful portrait of a charming and shameless American abroad.
 
Meet Sebastian Dangerfield: husband, father, and American law student at Trinity College in Dublin. Awaiting news of his father's death and the substantial inheritance to follow, Sebastian barely has time for his studies as he chases women, avoids bill collectors, and tries to survive without having to descend into the bottomless pit of steady work.
 
In the words of Sean O'Reilly, "this man has granted himself the appalling right to say and think whatever the hell he likes. Silver-tongued seducer, hoaxer, thief, violent marauder, fantasist and drunk, he's a Yank into the bargain, the rank outsider and 'great gas' altogether. You cannot help yourself enjoying his outrageous company" ( The Irish Times).

1

Today a rare sun of spring. And horse carts clanging to the quays down Tara Street and the shoeless white faced kids screaming.

O’Keefe comes in and climbs up on a stool. Wags his knapsack around on his back and looks at Sebastian Dangerfield.

“Those tubs are huge over there. First bath for two months. I’m getting more like the Irish every day. Like going on the subway in the States, you go through a turnstile.”

“Did you go first or third class, Kenneth?”

“First. I broke my ass washing my underwear and in those damn rooms in Trinity nothing will dry. In the end I sent my towel to the laundry. Back at Harvard I could nip into a tiled shower and dive into nice clean underwear.”

“What will you have to drink, Kenneth?”

“Who’s paying?”

“Just been to visit my broker with an electric fire.”

“Then buy me a cider. Does Marion know you’ve hocked the fire?”

“She’s away. Took Felicity with her to visit her parents. On the moors in Scotland. I think the Balscaddoon was getting her down. Scrabbling on the ceiling and groans from under the floor.”

“What’s it like out there? Does it freeze your balls?”

“Come out. Stay for the weekend. Not much in the way of food but you’re welcome to whatever I’ve got.”

“Which is nothing.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way.”

“I would. Since I’ve arrived here everything has been down and these guys at Trinity think I’m loaded with dough. They think the G.I. Bill means I crap dollars or a diarrhea of dimes. You get your check?”

“Going to see about it Monday.”

“If mine doesn’t come, I’ll croak. And you’re saddled with a wife and child. Wow. But at least you get it steady. And I’ve never got it at all. Any loose women out there on Howth?”

“I’ll keep a watch.”

“Look I’ve got to go and see my tutor and see if I can find out where they hold my Greek lectures. Nobody knows, everything is secret. No more drink for me. I’ll come out over the weekend.”

“Kenneth, I might have your first woman waiting for you.”

“Yeah.”

2

It was a steep hill up to Balscaddoon. Winding close to the houses and the neighbor’s eyes having a look. Fog over the flat water. And the figure hunched up the road. On top it leveled and set in a concrete wall was a green door.

Within the doorway, smiles, wearing white golfing shoes and tan trousers suspended with bits of wire.

“By all means come in, Kenneth.”

“Some place. What holds it up?”

“Faith.”

O’Keefe went through the house. Opening doors, drawers, closets, flushing the toilet, lifting its lid, flushing it again. Stuck his head in the hall.

“Say this thing really works. If we had something to eat we’d be able to use it. They’ve got one of those big shops down there in the town, why don’t you pop down with that English accent of yours and get some credit. As much as I like your company, Dangerfield, I’d prefer it on a full stomach.”

“I’m up to my eyes already.”

“And you don’t look so hot in those clothes.”

O’Keefe jumped on the floor of the drawing room. Pulled open the conservatory door, pinched the leaves of a dying plant and went out into the garden. Standing on the shaggy grass he gave a shrill whistle as he looked down precipitous rocks to the swells of sea many feet below. He went round the narrow back of the house, looking in the windows. In a bedroom he saw Dangerfield on his knees chopping a large blue blanket with an axe. He rushed back into the house.

“Jesus Christ, Dangerfield, what are you doing? Have you gone Asiatic?”

“Patience.”

“But that’s a good blanket. Give it to me if you’re going to chop it up.”

“Now, Kenneth, watch me. See? Put this round the neck like this, tuck in the ragged edges and presto. I’m now wearing Trinity’s rowing blue. Always best to provide a flippant subtlety when using class power. Now we’ll see about a little credit.”

“You shrewd bastard. I must admit it looks good.”

“Make a fire in the stove. I’ll be back.”

“Get us a chicken.”

“We’ll see.”

Dangerfield stepped out into a deserted Balscaddoon Road.

The counter was covered with rich sides of bacon and wicker baskets of bright eggs. Assistants, white aproned, behind the long counter. Bananas, green from the Canary Isles, blooming from the ceiling. Dangerfield stopping in front of a gray haired assistant who leans forward eagerly.

“Good day, sir. Can I be of any help?”

Dangerfield hesitating with pursed lips.

“Good day, yes. I would like to open up an account with you.”

“Very good, sir. Will you please come this way.”

The assistant opening a large ledger across the counter. Asking Dangerfield’s name and address.

“Shall I bill you monthly or quarterly, sir?”

“I think quarterly.”

“Would you like to take anything with you today, sir?”

Dangerfield caressing his teeth together, his eyes darting among the shelves.

“Do you have any Cork Gin?”

“Certainly, sir. Large or small size?”

“I think the large.”

“And anything else, sir?”

“Do you have any Haig and Haig?”

Assistant calling to the end of the shop. A small boy goes behind the scenes and comes out with a bottle. Dangerfield points to a ham.

“And how many pounds, sir?”

“I’ll take it all. And two pounds of cheese and a chicken.”

Assistant all smiles and remarks. O it’s the weather. Shocking fog. No day for them ones at sea or the others either. And clapping his hands to the little boy.

“Come here and carry the parcels for the gentleman. And a very good day to you, sir.”

Up the hill, O’Keefe waiting and sweeping the packages into his arms. In the kitchen, laying them out on the table.

“How you do it, Dangerfield, I don’t know. The first time I went looking for credit they told me to come back with a letter from a bank manager.”

“It’s the blue blood, Kenneth. Now I’ll cut off a little piece of this cheese and give it to the little boy.”

Dangerfield returns to the kitchen smiling and rubbing his hands.

“What made you get all this damn booze?”

“Warm us up. I think a cold front is on the way from the Arctic.”

“What will Marion say when she gets back?”

“Not a word. These English wives are great. Know their proper place. Ought to marry one yourself.”

“All I want is my first piece of arse. Plenty of time to get snowed under with a wife and kids. Give me some of that Scotch and out of my way now while I rustle up this food. Cooking is the only work I sometimes think I’m fitted for. One summer when I was working in Newport I thought of giving up Harvard. There was this Greek chef who thought I was wonderful because I could speak aristocratic Greek but they fired me because I invited some of the boys from Harvard into the club’s bar for a drink and the manager came over and fired me on the spot. Said the staff weren’t to mix with guests.”

“Quite rightly so.”

“And now I’ve got a degree in classics and still have to cook.”

“A noble calling.”

O’Keefe flipping pots and bouncing from sink to table.

“Kenneth, do you think you’re sexually frustrated and maladjusted?”

“I do.”

“You’ll find opportunities in this fine land.”

“Yeah, lots, for unnatural connections with farm animals. Jesus, the only time I can forget about it is when I’m hungry. When I eat I go mad. I sat down and read every book on sex in the Widener Library to see how I could get it. Did me no damn good. I must repel women and there’s no cure for that.”

“Hasn’t anyone ever been attracted?”

“Once. At Black Mountain College in North Carolina. Asked me to come up to her room to listen to some music. She started to press up against me and I ran out of the room.”

“What for?”

“She must have been too ugly. That’s another thing against me. I’m attracted to beautiful women. Only thing for me is to grow old and not want it anymore.”

“You’ll want it more than ever.”

“Jesus, that isn’t true, is it? If that’s what I’ve got to look forward to I may as well flip myself off the end of the back garden out there. Tell me, what’s it like to have it steady?”

“Get used to it like most things.”

“I could never get used to it.”

“You will.”

“But what’s this little visit of Marion’s to mama and papa? Friction? Drinking?”

“She and the baby need a little rest.”

“I think her old man must be wise to you. How did he ever screw you out of two hundred and fifty notes? It’s no wonder you never got it.”

“He just took me into his study and said sorry son, things are just a little tight at the moment.”

“Should have said dowry or no marriage. He must have dough, an admiral. Give him the stuff, like to provide for Marion the way she’s accustomed to. Could have touched him with a few of those rosy ideas of yours.”

“Too late. This was the night before the wedding. I even refused a drink for strategy. However, he waited a good five minutes after the butler left before pleading poverty.”

O’Keefe spins holding the chicken by the leg.

“See, he’s shrewd. Saved himself two hundred and fifty nicker notes. If you had been on your toes you could have told him you had Marion up the pole and with a birth imminent you needed a little nest egg. Now look at you. All you need to do now is flunk your law exams and bingo.”

“I’m all right, Kenneth. Little money and everything’s all right. Got a house, wife, daughter.”

“You mean you pay rent for a house. Stop paying rent, no house.”

“Let me pour you another drink, Kenneth. I think you need it.”

O’Keefe filling a bowl with bread crumbs. Night outside and the boom of the sea. Angelus bells. Pause that refreshes.

“This, Dangerfield, is your blood for which your family will starve and which will finally send you all to the poor house. Should have played it cozy and married strictly for cash. Come in drunk, have a quick one and whoops, another mouth to feed. You’ll be eating spaghetti as I had to as a kid till it comes out of your eyes or else you’ll have to take your English wife and English kids and screw back to America.”

The chicken, trussed, was laid reverently in the pan. O’Keefe with a smack of the lips pushed it in the oven.

“When that’s ready, Dangerfield, we’ll have chicken à la Balscaddoon. You know, this is a pretty spooky house when it gets dark. But I don’t hear anything yet except the sea.”

“Wait.”

“Well, ghosts won’t bother me on a full stomach and certainly never if I had a full sex life. Do you know, at Harvard I finally got Constance Kelly in my power. There was a girl who strung me along for two years till I found out what a fraud American womanhood was and I squeezed her right under my thumb. But I can’t figure it out. I never could get it. She’d do anything but let me in. Holding out for wealth on Beacon Hill. I would have married her but she didn’t want to get stuck at the bottom of the social ladder with me. One of her own kind. Jesus, she’s right. But do you know what I’m going to do? When I go back to the States when I’m fat with dough, wearing my Saville Row suits, with black briar, M.G. and my man driving, I’m going to turn on my English accent full blast. Pull up to some suburban house where she’s married a mick, turned down by all the old Bostonians, and leave my man at the wheel I’ll walk up the front path knocking the kid’s toys out of the way with my walking stick and give the door a few impatient raps. She comes out. A smudge of flour on her cheek and the reek of boiled cabbage coming from the kitchen. I look at her with shocked surprise. I recover slowly and then in my best accent, delivered with devastating resonance, I say Constance . . . you’ve turned out . . . just as I thought you would. Then I spin on my heel, give her a good look at my tailoring, knock another toy aside with my cane and roar away.”

Dangerfield swinging back in the green rocking chair with a wiggle of joy, head shaking in a hundred yesses. O’Keefe striding the red tiles of the kitchen floor, waving a fork, his one live eye glistening in his head, a mad mick for sure. Perhaps he’ll slip on one of the toys and break an arse bone.

“And Constance’s mother hated my guts. Thought I’d suck her down socially. Would open all the letters I’d write to her daughter, and I’d sit in Widener Library thinking up the dirtiest stuff I could imagine, I think the old slut loved them. Used to make me laugh thinking she’d read them and then have to burn them. Jesus, I repel women, damn it. Even this winter down in Connemara visiting the old folks, my cousin, who looked like a cow’s arse wouldn’t even come across. I’d wait for her to go out and get the milk at night and go with her. At the end of the field I’d try to nudge her into the ditch. I’d get her all breathless and saying she’d do anything if I’d take her to the States and marry her. I tried that for three nights running, standing out there in the rain up to our ankles in mud and cow flop, me trying to get her in the ditch, knock her down, but she was too strong. So I told her she was a tub of lard and I wouldn’t take her to East Jesus. Have to get them a visa before you can touch an arm.”

“Marry her, Kenneth.”

“Get tangled with that beast of burden for the rest of me days? Be all right if I co...

Table of contents

• Cover Page
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
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