Brian Friel Plays 1 (17 page)

SKINNER
:
Hi! Missus! There’s a place up here!

LILY
:
Where?

SKINNER
:
Up here! Come on! Quick! Quick!

LILY
:
Give me a hand, young fella. You’ll have to lead me.

(
He
runs
down
to
her,
grabs
her
arm,
and
drags
her
roughly
upstage.
)

SKINNER
:
Come on – come on – come on! Move, will you! Move!

LILY
:
No need to pull the arm off me.

SKINNER
:
Did you get a dose of the CS gas?

LILY
:
D’you think I’m playing blind-man’s-bluff? God, you’re a rough young fella, too.

SKINNER
:
In here. Quick. Watch the step.

LILY
:
My good coat! Mother of God, will you watch my good coat!

SKINNER
:
I should have left you to the soldiers.

LILY
:
They’d be no thicker nor you.

SKINNER
:
D’you want to go back to them, then?

LILY
:
Don’t be so damned smart.

SKINNER
:
There’s a chair behind you.

LILY
:
I can manage myself.

(
She
drops
into
a
chair
and
covers
her
face
with
both
hands.
)

LILY
:
O my God, that’s sore on the eyes. There’s someone else back there.

SKINNER
:
Where?

LILY
:
Just outside.

(
SKINNER
rushes
out
of
the
room.
)

LILY
:
Where’s this, young fella? Whose house is this?

(
SKINNER
finds
MICHAEL
on
his
hands
and
knees
and
gets
down
beside
him.
)

SKINNER
:
Come on! Get up! They’re going wild out there!

(
MICHAEL
groans.
)

SKINNER
:
Are you hurt? Did you get a rubber bullet?

MICHAEL
:
Gas.

SKINNER
:
You’re okay. Come on. You can’t lie here. Can you walk?

MICHAEL
:
Leave me.

(
Sudden
burst
of
rubber
bullets,
followed
by
screaming
and
the
revving
of
armoured
vehicles.
SKINNER
lies
flat
on
his
face
until
the
burst
is
over.
Then
he
suddenly
grabs
MICHAEL
by
the
back
of
his
jacket
and
drags
him,
face
down
and
limp,
up
to
the
door
and
into
the
parlour.
He
drops
him
in
the
middle
of
the
room,
runs
back
to
the
door,
locks
it.
As
they
enter,
LILY
uncovers
her
eyes
momentarily.
)

LILY
:
I just thought it was a young fella. Is he hurted bad?

(
After
locking
the
door,
SKINNER
moves
around
the
room,
examining
it
with
quick,
lithe
efficiency.
)

SKINNER
:
No.

LILY
:
(
To
MICHAEL
) Did you get a thump of a baton, young fella?

SKINNER
:
Gas.

LILY
:
Maybe he got a rubber bullet in the stomach.

SKINNER
:
Only gas.

LILY
:
He might be bleeding internal.

SKINNER
:
Gas! Are you deaf?

LILY
:
I like to see the blood. As long as you can see the blood there’s always hope.

SKINNER
:
He’ll come round.

LILY
:
I seen a polisman split a young fella with a baton one Saturday evening on Shipquay Street. His head opened like an orange and the blood spurted straight up – you know like them pictures you see of whales, only it was red. And at twelve Mass the next day who was sitting in the seat in front of me but your man, fresh as a bap, and the neatest
wee plaster from here to here, and him as proud of his-self. (
MICHAEL
gets
himself
into
a
sitting
position on
the
floor.
)

MICHAEL
:
Aaaaagh.

LILY
:
Are you all right, young fella?

MICHAEL
:
I think so.

LILY
:
(
To
SKINNER
) I was afeard by the way he was twisting, the kidneys was lacerated.

MICHAEL
:
That’s desperate stuff.

LILY
:
It’s a help if you cross your legs and breathe shalla.

MICHAEL
:
God – that’s awful.

LILY
:
Did you walk into it or what?

MICHAEL
:
A canister burst right at my feet.

LILY
:
You should have threw your jacket over it. They come on us very sudden, didn’t they?

MICHAEL
:
I don’t know what happened.

LILY
:
What got into them anyway?

SKINNER
:
Did no one tell you the march was banned?

LILY
:
I knew the march was banned.

SKINNER
:
Did you expect them to give you tea at the end of it?

LILY
:
I didn’t expect them to drive their tanks through us and shoot gas and rubber bullets into us, young fella. It’s a mercy to God if no one’s hurted. (
To
MICHAEL
) Where were you standing?

MICHAEL
:
Beside the platform. Just below the speakers.

LILY
:
I was at the back of the crowd, beside wee Johnny Duffy – you know – the window-cleaner – Johnny the Tumbler – and I’m telling him what the speakers is saying ’cos he hears hardly anything now since he fell off the ladder the last time. And I’m just after telling him ‘The streets is ours and nobody’s going to move us’ when I turn round and Jesus, Mary and Joseph there’s this big Saracen right behind me. Of course I took to my heels. And when I look back there’s Johnny the Tumbler standing there with his fists in the air and him shouting, ‘The streets is ours and nobody’s going to move us!’ And you could hardly see him below the Saracen. Lord, the chairman’ll enjoy that.

(
MICHAEL
gets
to
his
feet
and
sits
in
the
chair.
)

LILY
:
Are you better?

MICHAEL
:
I’m all right.

LILY
:
Maybe you concussed yourself when you fell. If you feel yourself getting drowsy, shout ‘Help! Help!’

MICHAEL
:
I’m fine.

LILY
:
D’you know what they say? That that CS gas is a sure cure for stuttering. Would you believe that, young fella? That’s why Celia Cunningham across from us drags her wee Colm Damien into the thick of every riot from here to Strabane and him not seven till next May.

(
MICHAEL
coughs
again.
She
offers
him
a
handkerchief.
)

LILY
:
Here.

MICHAEL
:
Thanks.

LILY
:
Cough hard.

MICHAEL
:
I’m fine.

LILY
:
If you don’t get it up, it seeps down through the lungs and into the corpuscles.

MICHAEL
:
I’m over the worst of it.

LILY
:
Every civil rights march Minnie McLaughlin goes on – she’s the floor above me – she wears a miraculous medal pinned on her vest. Swears to God it’s better nor a
gas-mask
.

(
MICHAEL
chokes
again,
almost
retches.
)

LILY
:
Good on you, young fella. Keep it rising. Anyways, last Wednesday week Minnie got hit on the leg with a rubber bullet and now she pretends she has a limp and the young fellas call her Che Guevara. If God hasn’t said it, she’ll be looking for a pension from the Dublin crowd.

(
SKINNER
’
s
inspection
is
now
complete – and
he
realizes
where
he
is.
He
bursts
into
sudden
laughter – a
mixture
of
delight
and
excitement
and
malice.
)

SKINNER
:
Haaaaaaaaah!

(
Still
laughing,
he
races
right
round
the
room,
pounds
on
the
door
with
his
fists,
runs
downstage
and
does
a
somersault
across
the
table.
)

LILY
:
Jesus, Mary and Joseph!

SKINNER
:
Haaaaaaah!

LILY
:
The young fella’s a patent lunatic!

SKINNER
:
Haaaaaaah!

LILY
:
Keep away from me, young fella!

(
SKINNER
stops
suddenly
beside
her
and
puts
his
face
up
to
hers.
)

SKINNER
:
Do you know where you are, Missus?

LILY
:
Just you lay one finger on me!

SKINNER
:
Do you know where you’re sitting?

LILY
:
I’m warning you!

SKINNER
:
Look around – look around – look around.

(
To
MICHAEL
) Where are you? Where do you find yourself this Saturday afternoon? (
To
both
) Guess – come on – guess – guess – guess. Ten-to-one you’ll never hit it. Fifty-to-one. A hundred-to-one.

MICHAEL
:
Where?

SKINNER
:
Where, Missus, where?

LILY
:
How would I know?

SKINNER
:
I’ll tell you where you are.

MICHAEL
:
Where?

SKINNER
:
You. Are. Inside. The Guildhall.

LILY
:
We are not!

SKINNER
:
In fact you’re in the Mayor’s parlour.

LILY
:
You’re a liar!

SKINNER
:
The holy of holies itself!

LILY
:
Have a bit of sense, young fella. What would we be doing in –?

SKINNER
:
Look around! Look around!

MICHAEL
:
How did we get in?

SKINNER
:
By the side door.

MICHAEL
:
It’s always guarded.

SKINNER
:
The soldiers must have moved into the Square to break up the meeting. (
To
LILY
) When the trouble started you must have run down Guildhall Street.

LILY
:
How would I know where I run. I followed the crowd.

SKINNER
:
(
To
MICHAEL
) You did the same.

MICHAEL
:
After the canister burst I don’t know what happened.

LILY
:
So we just walked in?

SKINNER
:
By the side door and along the corridor and in here.