More Pricks Than Kicks by Samuel Beckett Page B

success than this splendid divulgation. Now the ling was up to her garters, she seemed to be sinking in the heath as in a quickstand. Could it be that she was giving at the knees? “Spirits of this mountain” murmured the heart of Belacqua “keep me steadfast.”
    Now since parking the car they had not seen a living soul.
    The first thing they had to do of course when they got to the top was admire the view, with special reference to Dun Laoghaire framed to perfection in the shoulders of Three Rock and Kilmashogue, the long arms of the harbour like an entreaty in the blue sea. Young priests were singing in a wood on the hillside. They heard them and they saw the smoke of their fire. To the west in the valley a plantation of larches nearly brought tears to the eyes of Belacqua, till raising those unruly members to the slopes of Glendoo, mottled like a leopard, that lay beyond, he thought of Synge and recovered his spirits. Wicklow, full of breasts with pimples, he refused to consider. Ruby agreed. The city and the plains to the north meant nothing to either of them in the mood they were in. A human turd lay within the rath.
    Like fantoccini controlled by a single wire they flung themselves down on the western slope of heath. From now on till the end there is something very secco and Punch Judy about their proceedings, Ruby looking more bawdy Magdalene than ever, Belacqua like a super out of the Harlot's Progress. He kept putting off opening the bag.
    “I thought of bringing the gramophone” he said “and Ravel's Pavane . Then——”
    “Then you thought again” said Ruby. She had a most irritating habit of interrupting.
    “Oh yes” said Belacqua, “the usual pale cast.”
    Notice the literary man.
    “S'pity” said Ruby, “it might have made things easier.”
    Happy Infanta! Painted by Velasquez and then no more pensums!
    “If you would put back your skirt” said Belacqua violently, “now that you have done walking, you would make things easier for me.”
    How difficult things were becoming, to be sure. The least thing might upset the apple-cart at this juncture.
    Ruby pricked up her ears. Was this a declaration at last? In case it might be she would not oblige him.
    “I prefer it off” she said.
    Belacqua, staring fiercely at the larches, sulked for a space.
    “Well” he grumbled at last, “shall we have a little drink to start off?”
    Ruby was agreeable. He opened the bag as little as possible, put in his hand, snatched out the bottle, then the glasses and shut it quick.
    “Fifteen year old” he said complacently, “on tick.”
    All the money he owed for one thing or another. If he did not pull it off now once and for all he would be broke.
    “God” he exclaimed, executing a kind of passionate tick-tack through his pockets, “I forgot the screw.”
    “Pah” said Ruby, “what odds. Knock its head off, shoot its neck off.”
    But the screw turned up as it always does and they had a long drink.
    “Length without breath” gasped Belacqua “that's the idea, Hiawatha at Dublin bar.”
    They had another.
    “That makes four doubles” said Ruby “and they say there's eight in a bottle.”
    Belacqua held up the bottle. In that case there was something wrong with her statement.
    “Never two without three” he said.
    They had another.
    “O Death in Life” vociferated Belacqua, “the days that are no more.”
    He fell on the bag and ripped out the notice for her inspection. Painted roughly in white on an old number-plate she beheld:

    T EMPORARILY S ANE

    IK-6996 had been erased to make room for this inscription. It was a palimpsest.
    Ruby, pot-valiant, let a loud scoff.
    “It won't do” she said, “it won't do at all.”
    It was a disappointment to hear her say this. Poor Belacqua. Sadly he held the plate out at arm's length.
    “You don't like it” he said.
    “Bad” said Ruby “very bad.”
    “I don't mean the way it's presented” said Belacqua, “I mean the idea.”
    It was all the