An Abundance of Devils

Chapter 2 [Excerpt]

     Tommy calculated that with one foot perched on each pot of boxwoods and leaning over the low stone balustrade, he could win a view of Dublin, as promised by the bellboy.  What he got was an even more breathtaking complete sweep of Fifth Avenue’s endless parade, as far as he could see to the north on his right and to the south on his left.  He proceeded carefully to step up higher, onto the pots.  To his right he could just see the two towering spires of St. Patrick’s Cathedral a few blocks away to the north.  Flags and bunting fluttered from awnings opened over many of the lower windows of the hotel, from which dozens of revelers watched.  He even spotted cranky old Molly O’Neill still selling bolivar cakes below on the corner of East Forty-sixth Street.  He amused himself with thoughts of dropping a pot of geraniums squarely and, by his estimation, deservedly on her head.        

                 Tommy finished off three bolivars and suddenly realized that the little balcony actually connected with the next room, the one into which his mother and Arthur had disappeared some fifteen minutes ago.  Noise from bands, the marching throngs, and the roaring crowd below washed high over pulsing Fifth Avenue.  White lace curtains from the adjacent room fluttered in the wind out over the balcony dressed in bunting and flags.  Tommy devilishly concocted the idea of surprising his mother and Uncle Arthur.  Planting the animated whirligig firmly in a geranium pot, he squeezed gingerly around a potted boxwood, and found himself staring into the large open window of the adjacent room.  There, Tommy saw to his horror, not a throne, but a gigantic bed hung with an opulent canopy of red velvet and gold tassels—in the middle of which the fiery-haired man named Arthur, by his estimation, was clutching and thrashing his mother violently.  Arthur had obviously ripped off her fine gray and crimson dress, which lay disheveled across a side chair.  Arthur’s clothing was strewn on the floor amongst stockings and shoes.  Tommy saw Arthur’s naked butt and heard his mother cry as he choked and crushed and mauled her before his eyes. 

                 “You leave her alone, you brute!” Tommy screamed, his face white.  He leapt into the room, startling the couple, grabbed a small chair and swung it wildly at Arthur. 

                 “Tommy, darling—no!” cried his panicky mother, trying to wrap herself into a sheet. 

                 Tommy snapped into a total rage with the chair and smashed the image of naked Arthur in a gigantic mirror as the man tried to step into his trousers.  In his frenzy, Tommy pushed over a table with a small dish that held Arthur’s smoldering cigarette.  The cigarette fell into a swag of dry lace curtains that instantly whiffed into flames that licked the walls and scampered madly.  Arthur, now trousered, grabbed a pillow and beat the flames furiously, but they engulfed the dry fabric walls, and in seconds the room filled with blinding,