dusty rickety stairs of No. 3 where he stood by the dripping rust-stained sink and banged on O'Keefe's door.
A minute passed and then the sound of padding feet and latches being undone and the appearance of a bearded, dreary face and one empty eye.
"If s you."
The door was swung open and O'Keefe plodded back to his bedroom. A smell of stale sperm and rancid butter. Mouldering on the table, a loaf of bread, a corner bitten from it with marks of teeth. The fireplace filled with newspapers, old socks, spittle stains and products of self pollution.
"Christ, Kenneth, don't you think you ought to have this place cleaned up?"
"What for? Does it make you sick? Vomit in the fireplace."
"Don't you have a skip?"
"I've better things to spend my money for than having a footman. I'm leaving."
"What?"
"Leaving. Getting out. Do you want some ties? Bow ties."
"Yes. Where are you going?"
"France. Got a job."
"Doing what?"
"Teaching English in a Lycée. Besançon, where Paul Klee's mother was born."
"You lucky bastard, you're telling the truth?"
"I'm leaving in exactly an hour from now. If you watch me very, very carefully, you'll see me fill this sack with four packs of cigarettes, a pair of socks, two shirts, a bar of soap and a towel Then I put on my cap, spit on my shoes and give them a wipe with my sleeve. I'm out that door, drop my keys off at the front gate and I'm into Bewley's for a cup of coffee, alone I might add, unless you have money to pay for yourself. Then if you're still watching, I'll saunter down O'Connell Street past the Gresham and take a sharp right at the corner and you will see my slender form disappear into a green bus marked airport and finis. Do you see what I mean?"
"I can only say I'm delighted, Kenneth"
"See ? System. The well ordered life."
Dangerfield waving a hand around the room.
"Is this what you call ordered? Hate to see you in dis-order."
O'Keefe tapping his skull.
"Up here, Jack, up here."
"What are you going to do with that jug on the dresser? Still has the price on it."
"That? It's yours. Do you know what that is? I'll tell you. A year ago when I got into this hole I was full of big ideas. Things like rugs and easy chairs and maybe a few paintings on the wall, have some of these pukka public school boys up to tea to have a look at my objets d'art. I thought things would be like Harvard only I'd be able to crack into a few of the clubs as I was never able to do in Harvard. I felt it would be best to start the furnishing with a few bedroom items, so I bought that jug for one and four as you can plainly see, and that was that. Needless to say I never cracked or rubbed shoulders with these public school boys. They talk to me but think I'm a little coarse."
"Pity."
"Yeah, pity. I'll give you the jug to remember me when I'm gone from the ould sod, sacked in with some lovely French doll Jesus. if I had your accent I'd be set here. That's 36 the whole thing, accent I'm beat even before I get my nose in. Anyway it won't stop me in France"
"I say, Kenneth, I don't want to be personal—"
"Yeah, I know. Where did I get the money. That my friend is an affair of state which is top secret"
"Pity"
"Come on, let's go. Take the ties if you want them and the jug, anything that's left for that matter. This is the last I'll ever see of this dreary setup. Never even had a fire in my fireplace. I'm twenty-seven years old and I feel like sixty. I don't know, I think I'd die before I'd go through this again. Wasted time. No degree. I think I got to four Greek lectures and two in Latin in the last six months. This place is tough, not like Harvard. These boys work day and night"
"How about these used razors?"
"Take anything. I'll be as poor as a church mouse for the rest of me days."
Sebastian gathered the bow ties in his fist and stuffed them in his pockets. Pilled a wash cloth with razor blades and several slivers of soap. On the table, a pile of penny notebooks.
"What are these, Kenneth?"
"Those are the fruits, rotten ones I might add, of my efforts to become a great writer."
"You're not leaving them behind?"
"Certainly.