Brian Friel Plays 1 (13 page)

KATE
:
It isn’t as bad as that, Gar.

PUBLIC
:
You’re stuck here! What else can you say!

PRIVATE
:
That’ll do!

PUBLIC
:
And you’ll die here! But I’m not stuck! I’m free! Free as the bloody wind!

KATE
:
All I meant was –

PUBLIC
:
Answerable to nobody! All this bloody yap about father and son and all this sentimental rubbish about ‘homeland’ and ‘birthplace’ – yap! Bloody yap! Impermanence – anonymity – that’s what I’m looking for; a vast restless place that doesn’t give a damn about the past. To hell with Ballybeg, that’s what I say!

PRIVATE
:
Oh, man …

KATE
:
I’d better go. Francis’ll be wondering what’s keeping me.

PUBLIC
:
(
Recklessly
) Tell him I was asking for him.

KATE
:
Good-bye, Gar.

PUBLIC
:
(
In
same
tone
) Enjoy yourself, Kate. And if you can’t be good – you know?

(
PUBLIC
goes
with
KATE
.)

(
Off
) Be sure to call the first one after me.

(
She
is
gone.
PUBLIC
returns
and
immediately
buries
his
face
in
his
hands
.)

PRIVATE
:
Kate … sweet Katie Doogan … my darling Kathy Doogan …

(
PUBLIC
uncovers
his
face
and
with
trembling
fingers
lights
a
cigarette
and
takes
a
drink.
As
he
does
:)

PRIVATE
:
(
Very
softly
) Oh, my God, steady man, steady – it is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the Queen of France, then the Dauphiness, at Versailles, and surely never lighted on this orb – Oh, God, Oh, my God, those thoughts are sinful – (
Sings
) ‘As beautiful Kitty one morning was tripping with a pitcher of milk –’

(
PUBLIC
attempts
to
whistle
his
song
‘
Philadelphia
,
Here
I
come!
’
He
whistles
the
first
phrase
and
the
notes
die
away.
PRIVATE
keeps
on
talking
while
PUBLIC
attempts
to
whistle
.)

PRIVATE
:
We’ll go now, right away, and tell them – Mammy and Daddy – they’re at home tonight – now, Gar, now – it must be now – remember, it’s up to you entirely up to you – gut and salt them fish – and they’re going to call this one Madge, at least so she
says
–

(
PUBLIC
makes
another
attempt
to
whistle
.)

– a little something to remind you of your old
teacher – don’t keep looking back over your shoulder, be one hundred per cent American – a packet of cigarettes and a pot of jam – seven boys and seven girls – and our daughters’ll all be gentle and frail and silly like you – and I’ll never wait till Christmas – I’ll burst, I’ll bloody well burst – good-bye, Gar, it isn’t as bad as that – Good-bye, Gar, it isn’t as bad as that – good-bye, Gar, it isn’t as bad as that –

PUBLIC
:
(
In
whispered
shout
) Screwballs, say something! Say something, Father!

Quick
Curtain

PRIVATE
:
(
Relaxing,
yawning
) Ah-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho. This time tomorrow night, bucko, you’ll be saying the rosary all by yourself – unless Lizzy and Con say it (
Joins
in
a
response
in
American
accent
) – Holy Mairy, Mother of Gawd, pray for us sinners now and at the hour … (
He
tails
off
as
his
mind
wanders
again
.) No, not this time tomorrow. It’s only about half-four in Philadelphia now, and when it’s half-nine there it’ll be the wee hours of the morning here; and Screwballs’ll be curled up and fast asleep in his wee cot – (
To
S.B.
) – right, honey? And when he’s dreaming, you’ll be swaggering down 56th Street on Third at the junction of 29th and Seventh at 81st with this big blonde nuzzling up to you – (
Suddenly
kneels
erect
again
and
responds
in
unison
with
PUBLIC
.
Keeps
this
up
for
two
or
three
responses
and
slowly
subsides
again
.)
You’d need to be careful out there, boy; some of those Yankee women are dynamite. But you’ll never marry; never; bachelor’s written all over you. Fated to be alone, a man without intimates; something of an enigma. Who is he, this silent one? Where is he from?
Where does he go? Every night we see him walking beneath the trees along the bank of the canal, his black cloak swinging behind him, his eyes lost in thought, his servant following him at a respectful distance. (
In
reply
) Who is he? I’ll tell you who he is: The Bachelor. All the same, laddybuck, there are compensations in being a bachelor. You’ll age slowly and graciously. and then, perhaps, when you’re quite old – about forty-three – you’ll meet this beautiful girl of nineteen, and you’ll fall madly in love. Karin – that’s her name – no – ah – ah – Tamara – (
Caressing
the
word
) Tamara – grand-daughter of an exiled Russian prince, and you’ll be consumed by a magnificent passion; and this night you’ll invite her to dinner in your penthouse, and you’ll be dressed in a deep blue velvet jacket, and the candles will discover magic fairy lights in her hair, and you’ll say to her, ‘Tamara’, and she’ll incline her face towards you, and close her eyes, and whisper –

(
From
a
few
seconds
back
the
droning
prayers
have
stopped.
Now 
MADGE
leans
over
to
PUBLIC
and
gives
him
a
rough
punch
.)

MADGE
:
Your decade!

(
PRIVATE
and
PUBLIC
jump
erect
again
and
in
perfect
unison
give
out
their
decade.
Gradually
,
as
the
prayers
continue,
they
relax
into
their
slumped
position.
)

PRIVATE
:
When you’re curled up in your wee cot, Screwballs, do you dream? Do you ever dream of the past, Screwballs, of that wintry morning in Bailtefree, and the three days in Bundoran? …

(
PUBLIC
stays
as
he
is.
PRIVATE
gets
slowly
to
his
feet
and
moves
over
to
S.B.
He
stands
looking
down
at
him.
)

… and of the young, gay girl from beyond the mountains who sometimes cried herself to sleep? (
Softly
,
nervously
,
with
growing
excitement
) God – maybe – Screwballs – behind those dead eyes and that flat face are there memories of precious moments in the past? My God, have I been unfair to you? Is it possible that you have hoarded in the back of that mind of yours – do you remember – it was an afternoon in May – oh, fifteen years ago – I don’t remember every
detail but some things are as vivid as can be: the boat was blue and the paint was peeling and there was an empty cigarette packet floating in the water at the bottom between two trout and the left rowlock kept slipping and you had given me your hat and had put your jacket round my shoulders because there had been a shower of rain. And you had the rod in your left hand – I can see the cork nibbled away from the butt of the rod – and maybe we had been chatting – I don’t remember – it doesn’t matter – but between us at that moment there was this great happiness, this great joy – you must have felt it too – although nothing was being said – just the two of us fishing on a lake on a showery day – and young as I was I felt, I knew, that this was precious, and your hat was soft on the top of my ears – I can feel it – and I shrank down into your coat – and then, then for no reason at all except that you were happy too, you began to sing: (
Sings
)

(
The
rosary
is
over.
MADGE
and
S.B
.
get
slowly
to
their
feet.
PUBLIC
and
PRIVATE
are
not
aware
that
the
prayers
are
finished.
S.B
.
does
the
nightly
job
of
winding
the
clock
.)

MADGE
:
Will you take your supper now?

S.B
.:
Any time suits you.

(
MADGE
goes
to
PUBLIC
,
still
kneeling
.)

MADGE
:
And what about St Martin de Porres?

PUBLIC
:
Mm?

(
He
blesses
himself
hurriedly
,
in
confusion,
and
gets
to
his
feet
.)

MADGE
:
Supper.

PUBLIC
:
Yes – yes – please, Madge –

MADGE
:
(
Going
off
) I suppose even the saints must eat now and again, too.

(
Pause.
S.B.
consults
his
pocket
watch
.)

S.B
.:
What time do you make it?

PUBLIC
:
Quarter to ten.

S.B
.:
It’s that anyhow.

PRIVATE
:
Go on! Ask him! He must remember!

S.B
.:
The days are shortening already. Before we know we’ll be burning light before closing time.

PRIVATE
:
Go on! Go on!

PUBLIC
:
(
In
the
churlish,
off-hand
tone
he
uses
to
S.B
.) What ever happened to that aul boat on Lough na Cloc Cor.

S.B.
:
What’s that?

PRIVATE
:
Again!

PUBLIC
:
That aul boat that used to be up on Lough na Cloc Cor – an aul blue thing – d’you remember it?

S.B.:
A boat? Eh? (
Voices
off
.) The Canon!

PRIVATE
:
Bugger the Canon!

(
The
CANON
enters;
a
lean,
white-haired
man
with
alert
eyes
and
a
thin
mouth
.
He
is
talking
back
to
MADGE
in
the
scullery
.)

CANON
:
Hee-hee-hee – you’re a terrible woman.

S.B.
:
Well, Canon!

CANON
:
That Madge … hee-hee-hee.

PUBLIC
:
Good night. Canon.

CANON
:
She says I wait till the rosary’s over and the kettle’s on … hee-hee-hee.

S.B.
:
She’s a sharp one, Madge.

CANON
:
‘You wait,’ says she, ‘till the rosary’s over and the kettle’s on!’

PRIVATE
:
Hee-hee-hee.

S.B
.:
Pay no heed to Madge, Canon.

PRIVATE
:
And how’s the O’Donnell family tonight?

CANON
:
And how’s the O’Donnell family tonight?

(
PUBLIC
sits
when
the
CANON
sits
.)

S.B
.
:
Living away as usual. Not a thing happening.

PRIVATE
:
Liar!

CANON
:
Just so, now, just so.

S.B
.:
Will we have a game now or will we wait till the supper comes in?

CANON
:
We may as well commence, Sean. I see no reason why we shouldn’t commence.

S.B
.:
(
Setting
the
board
) Whatever you say, Canon.

CANON
:
Hee-hee-hee. ‘You wait,’ says she, ‘till the rosary’s over and the kettle’s on.’

PRIVATE
:
She’s a sharp one, Madge.

S.B
.:
She’s a sharp one, Madge.

CANON
:
It’ll be getting near your time, Gareth.

PUBLIC
:
Tomorrow morning, Canon.

CANON
:
Just so, now. Tomorrow morning.

PRIVATE
:
Tomorrow morning.

CANON
:
Tomorrow morning.

S.B
.:
Here we are.

CANON
:
Powerful the way time passes, too.

S.B
.:
Black or white, Canon?

CANON
:
(
Considering
the
problem
)
Black or white …

PRIVATE
:
Black for the crows and white for the swans.

CANON
:
Black for the crows and white for the swans.

PRIVATE
:
Ha-ha! (
He
preens
himself
at
his
skill
in
prophecy
.)

S.B
.:
Have a shot at the black the night.

CANON
:
Maybe I will then.

PRIVATE
:
Can’t take the money off you every night.

CANON
:
Can’t take the trousers off you every night. Hee-hee-hee.

PRIVATE
:
(
Shocked
)
Canon O’Byrne!

S.B
.:
You had a great streak of luck last night, I’ll grant you that.

CANON
:
(
A
major
announcement
)
D’you know what?

S.B
.:
What’s that, Canon?

CANON
:
You’ll have rain before morning.

S.B
.:
D’you think so?

CANON
:
It’s in the bones. The leg’s giving me the odd jab.

S.B
.:
We could do without the rain then.

CANON
:
Before the morning you’ll have it.

S.B
.:
Tch tch tch. We get our fill of it here.

CANON
:
The best barometer I know.

S.B
.:
Aye. No want of rain.

CANON
:
Before the morning.

S.B
.:
As if we don’t get enough of it.

CANON
:
The jabs are never wrong.

PRIVATE
:
(
Wildly
excited
) Stop press! News flash! Sensation! We interrupt our programmes to bring you the news that
Canon Mick O’Byrne, of Ballybeg, Ireland, has made the confident prediction that
you
’
ll
have rain before the morning! Stand by for further bulletins!

CANON
:
‘You wait,’ says she, ‘till the rosary’s over and the kettle’s on!’

S.B
.:
Usual stakes. Canon?

CANON
:
I see no reason to alter them.

S.B
.:
What about putting them up – just for the first game?