Free The Ginger Man by J. P. Donleavy

windows. Women wearing slips only. I often saw a great deal of chromium plate in the bedrooms and electric fires glaring from the walls. Also the beds were covered with satin eiderdowns, big, thick and puce.
    He got off at College Street. Swarms of people. A girl pipers' band was rounding the front of Trinity College, all green and tassels and drumming. La, de da deda la de. Followed by gurriers. This English amusement park. Must get into a public house. Where? I owe money in every one. That's one thing about me anyway, I can run up credit in a public house and that's saying a whole lot. Go up the Grafton Street, cheer me up with its wealth. But where are the rich. Just poor miserable bastards like me, have nowhere to go. Invited nowhere. Why doesn't someone invite me. Come on, invite me. You're all afraid.
    At Duke Street. Just about to cross. Foot half down from the curb. Hold on.
    On the opposite side, looking in the shoe shop. I mustn't panic. No bungle. Get to her before she starts walking again. She's staying. Stay still. Rebuffed. I'll not be rebuffed. Whoa. She sees me. She's confused. Optimum moment. Show slight surprise. I am surprised. Don't have to show it. Be natural. Brave and noble. And a gentleman, of course. A quick greeting.
    "Good evening"
    "Hello."
    "Are you window shopping?0
    "Yes, it passes the time"
    Mate in one move.
    "Come and have a drink with me."
    "Well."
    "Come along."
    "Well, there's nothing stopping me. All right."
    "Where do you live ? "
    "South Circular Road."
    "You're not Irish."
    "What makes you say that? My voice?"
    "No, your teeth. All the Irish's teeth are rotting. You have good teeth."
    "Ha, ha."
    They walked to the bottom of Grafton Street.
    "We'll go in that pub. Nice soft seats upstairs."
    "All right."
    They wait on the curb. Two beetle American cars go by. A breeze. Cool sky. Taking her hand an instant, warm knuckles of her long fingers. Just guiding you safely across. She went up the stairs before him, curious climber. White petticoat. Slight pigeon toe. The voices around the corner and in the door. Slight hush as they enter, and sit. She crosses her legs and smooths her skirt over her nice knee.
    "My name is Christine."
    "Mine—"
    "I know yours."
    "How?"
    "One of the girls in the laundry. She has a friend who works in the grocers where your wife shops."
    "Fantastic."
    "I agree"
    "Must know what I eat too."
    "Yes."
    "What?"
    "Sheep's head."
    "O aye."
    What a good-looking girl you are. White. Your body must be very white. Let me eat the lotus. I came out tonight feeling badly. How weak are our hearts. Because now I can jump with joy. The world obeys a law. Large and brown black. Eyes.
    "Do you like working in the laundry?"
    "I hate it."
    "Why?"
    "O the heat and steam and noise."
    "And what's it like where you live?"
    "O I don't know. Don't know how I can describe it. There are trees down the street anyway. That's always something. Just one of those terraced houses on South Circular Road. I live in the basement. It's quite nice though, compared to what I might have to live in."
    "Alone?"
    "Alone. I can't bear sharing."
    "What would you like ? "
    "Stout, please."
    "How long have you been working in the laundry?"
    "A few months."
    "Money?"
    "Not much. Four pounds ten."
    "Now, Christine, I think you are a most pleasant girl."
    "What do you study ?"
    "Law. This is most pleasant. I was in despair. Wretched. Beat. A walk up Grafton Street sometimes kills it. But everyone looked beat like me."
    "Wrong time. Just people looking for somewhere to go."
    "You?"
    "Just looking. I often just look. I like to feel there is some- thing in the shops I want I get off the bus at the top of Stephen's Green and walk through the park. I like that best and watch the ducks from the bridge and go down Grafton Street. Sometimes I have a coffee in one of those icecream parlors. Then I go home. That's all there is to my life."
    "No culture?"
    "Cinema, and sometimes I go sit in the back of the Gate for a