hide out in cool country. I fry egg on street corner. Nearly get hit by taxi. Ask man directions. He runs. I phone you. You run. Make escape. Me meet Jiffy. Jiffy is big joke. Me mount his wife. She say who on me summit. Me say me on summit. She old. She like it. Me like it. Ah George. Good to see you. Pale face. Her Majesty wept when you sailed away. She knew you in your celluloid penis stage. She said."
"Goodbye Bonniface."
Smith hands and feet on the rungs of the iron ladder up out of the ice house. Musty chill. Bonniface enthroned in the corner with the leather cushion on the ice blocks. Deep down in Pomfret Manor.
"George don't go. Listen to a little song on comb and paper."
Chase out
Cheats
Rid the world
Of suffering.
Jump on
Twisters
Rid the world
Of harm.
"Goodbye, Bonniface."
"Why don't you talk about your children George. And about ShirL Don't you love them. They frighten you too. Look for money from you. I scare you. Make you want to run. As the years go by George, there is less of life to spend and the risks are cheaper. Stay."
Backstairs maid shyly sitting with Bonniface on the ice. Smith stepping back from this dark chilly scene. The many months. Of bantering. Dear sir, we will get you. The phonecalls and doorknocks. Smith climbing the ladder. Bonniface. One last shout. George. Turning round. Calvin trembling in the hand. The drink shaking out over the glass. Brown liquid lurking on the lips. Bonni-face's eye quivering in their tears. Said George. Don't go. Don't hide. From me. Bear with me. I suffer.
Smith climbing the ladder. Stepping out into the endless cellar hall. Pressing the great ice house door closed.Smell of cinders along the corridor. In a door the vast machinery of boilers. Giant asbestos covered tanks. Whoosh of great spurts of oil, billowing into flame and roaring. Need all my money for myself. Bonniface married a debutante. Lost his glasses on a delayed honeymoon with the first six month old daughter. Who in the hot afternoon of a cheap city hotel slept on Bonniface's chest as he lay snatching a few moments rest between the narrow streets. It was after lunch. The baby crapped. Late in the afternoon with heart thumping to a knock on the door Bonniface awoke. He rose. Put the baba aside and brushed feverishly away the thing on his chest. God forbid. With his hair needing to lie back more presentably, he brushed it back with his hands. Smoothing it. O Jesus. In his distracted innocence he went to the door. To greet the debutante friend of his wife. She saw the aristocratic Bonniface. Attempting to bow. She screamed and fainted. George Smith heard the commotion because he was mounting the stairs. Just having arrived in town. And as she swooned he caught her. And then saw the spectre of the Bonniface. The awful. And fell backwards down the stairs, the debutante on top, both entwined, rolling to the bottom. Where they looked back up. Spectre on the landing. The Bonniface. Covered surely in shit. And this debutante head in hands in tears sobbing. The awful. The awful. She had been presented.
Tonight George Smith climbing up the servants* stairs of Pomfret Manor. Back sadly through the kitchen, giant pig ears sticking out of the pot simmering on the stove. Through the pantry, the workers, with rolled up sleeves washing glasses. And through the swing door to the dining room. A commotion of barks. Growls and lashing of teeth and savagery. Screams. Furniture breaking. Three gigantic animals shooting by. Round the tables and chairs. Flying blood and hair. A monstrous animal locked in mortal combat with the Jiffy wolf hounds. Claws scratching up the rugs and floors as they ripped into each sharp turn. Out of the room. Into other rooms. Back again. Random voices. In the melee.
"Ouch."
"Someone has fingered my wife."
"Give me ass or give me death."
"Sure."
"Gee. Thanks."
"I didn't want to see yon die."
Smith holding elbows high up to avoid the flashing fangs. An animal bigger than the wolf hounds tearing them to bits. Smith aghast. Attempt to relish this rare marvelous sight of dog eat dog. Gawd. Recognise that one. Goliath. Miss Tomson. It's your animal. And not so many hours ago. Mr. Jiffy from person to person, with extended hand, nice to see you, glad you're here. Now gone. Fleeing in all directions.
Gently slowly down the staircase in die great hall. One hand on the banister. Breasts