Collected Plays and Teleplays (Irish Literature) (37 page)

THE MAN WITH
FOUR LEGS
A True Tale of Terror

Players

a.) He is a youngish, debonair, well-spoken man.

b.) As the play shows, these people are all pests but it is desired that they should be as varied as possible as to age, dress, accent and manner.

PART I

The screen shows
MR. O’BRIEN
busy at his desk, which carries a heavy load of files, papers and books. There are two telephones and he frequently picks one up to originate a call or answer one. This goes on in dumb show for about five minutes but meanwhile his voice is heard on the sound track.

MR. O’BRIEN:
My name’s O’Brien. And there you see me in my office, working very hard. I mean that. There was an inexhaustible stream of matters to be dealt with, questions to be answered, perplexities to be unravelled, and problems thought out. Nothing short of sheer hard work would be any good in that situation. Anybody who even paused would be engulfed by memoranda and files as by a veritable tidal wave. I need not trouble you with any account of what sort of work it was but it is important to know that my office was in a very large building containing perhaps 500 other workers. They were all office workers of one kind or another and, for Ireland, that was a big staff. (
Pause.
)

I would say that about 400 of those people were women. (
Pause.
)

There is one thing I must emphasise at the outset, and do please believe me, or at least try to. The story I am going to unfold is absolutely true. It happened to me, and it was horrible. Looking back on it, I now see I acted with incredible stupidity. All the same, I was the victim, step by step, of a slow, malignant destiny. It could have happened to you, too. Maybe it won’t after this revelation I am going to make. Perhaps you can be wise after MY event. The experience I had was harrowing and it originated in the goodness of my heart in an attempt, for a paltry tuppence, to help the black babies in the heart of Africa. To give to the poor and unenlightened—that seems to be at least a simple and uncomplicated thing. You might imagine that it is not a thing that would lead you to see the inside of a jail. Very well. Just attend to this chronicle and try to take it seriously. (
Pause.
)

Those ladies would not leave me alone. It would be an exaggeration to say that one of them invaded my room every day of the week, but in retrospect it seems like that. The money their visits cost me was trivial enough but I detested the intrusions, the interruptions in my attempts to concentrate. What, you may ask, of the time they took off from their own work, for you may be sure that I was by no means the only person they pestered? Some supervisor was badly to blame. Still, this was the method those ladies invented for making sure they would get to heaven. (
Pause.
)

Oh well . . . I suppose we must be patient and tolerant. But let me show you what happened in practice.

(
Sound is now transferred to the actual sounds being played in the office.
)

O’BRIEN:
(
Startled by sudden opening of door.
) Oh! Hello.

MISS GLASS:
Mr. O’Brien, I hope I’m not interrupting you. I’m Miss Glass.

O’B:
How do you do, Miss Glass?

G:
I was wondering if you’d buy a ticket?

O’B:
A ticket? How much are they?

G:
Only two pence each.

O’B:
And what’s the prize? A car?

G:
Ah no. (
Giggles.
) A sleeping doll.

O’B:
What? What would I do with a sleeping doll?

G:
Oh well, if you won it your sister might like it.

O’B:
My sister has real dolls of her own and they don’t seem to do much sleeping.

G:
Well, I’m sure you have a little niece.

O’B:
I suppose so. Well, give me three tickets.

(
Miss
G
. quickly inscribes counterfoils, hands over the tickets and takes sixpence.
)

G:
Thanks very much, Mr. O’Brien. And I wish you the best of luck.

O’B:
Thanks. Goodbye.

(
On the screen appears the notice ANOTHER DAY. The scene is the same, and a slatternly elderly lady enters, speaking with pronounced Cork accent.
)

MISS O’SHAUGHNESSY:
Ah, Mr. O’Brien, I’m on the war path. We want you to help a very deserving charity.

O’B:
You are Miss—

O’S:
O’Shaughnessy.

O’B:
Well, I suppose every real charity is deserving. What’s this one?

O’S:
It’s a plan we have to buy boots for the poor newsboys.

O’B:
Hmm. I suppose you’re selling tickets?

O’S:
Yes. (
Flourishing book.
) Only threepence each.

O’B:
I’ll risk two. Put me down on the counterfoils. What’s the big prize?

O’S:
A genuine Chinese shawl. A lovely thing. Bee-eautiful.

O’B:
Very well. I suppose I can lie on it in the Phoenix Park when the weather takes up.

O’S:
Thanks very much. But ah, that would be a pity. You could hang it up on a wall in your home. It has a dragon and all on it.

O’B:
I might hang it up on the wall here, to frighten people away when I’m busy.

O’S:
Well, I know you’re busy now. Thanks. (
Departs.
)

(
Screen ANOTHER DAY.
MISS SCALLY
enters, a good-looking and rather haughty character. She smiles distantly and waves a book.
)

MISS SCALLY:
Mr. O’Brien, I’m selling tickets for a new bicycle.

O’B:
I see. How much are they?

S:
Only sixpence.

O’B:
All right. Give me two, even if I hate bikes.

(
Phone rings.
O’B
takes up receiver irritably as he lays a shilling on the desk and
MISS S
.
completes the counterfoils.
)

O’B:
Yes, Mr. Farrell. That’s correct. Yes. (
Long pause.
) The land is absolutely essential for the outfall works and your firm got ample notice of the situation. You can’t blame us if you now stand to lose money. You shouldn’t have built anything there, and I don’t see any prospect of compensation. (
Pause.
) The needs of the community come first. Surely you must know that. (
Pause.
) Very well. Three o’clock tomorrow. I’ll be here but it’s all a waste of time. Goodbye.

S:
That’s very good of you, Mr. O’Brien. Cheerio.

(
Screen ANOTHER DAY.
MISS CROTTY
enters, a middle-aged large woman with a heavy Dublin accent.
)

MISS CROTTY:
Mr. O’Brien, I’m getting ould and we’re all gettin ould. Some day we won’t be able to do a hand’s turn or hold down any class of a job.

O’B:
You’re Miss Crotty, I think? Yes, you speak nothing but the truth. I’m not feeling too well myself, even today. There is too much work here. Those telephones are always going off.

C:
Ah but I’m lookin ahead. I’ve been going roun here for the last few days sellin tickets for a raffle to help the Old People’s Home in Phibsboro.

O’B:
You think you might be looking for a place there yourself some day?

C:
I’m sairtin of it. Where else would I go?

O’B:
Oh well . . . you might yet marry a millionaire.

C:
I might, right enough. Or win the sweep and go and live in Monte Carlo. Look what happened Princess Grace. Tuppence each. How many will I give you, Mr. O’Brien?

O’B:
Three, I suppose.

C:
Fair enough. (
Begins scribbling on counterfoils.
)

O’B:
There’s the cash. (
Gets up.
) There’s a man waiting to see me outside. More trouble, more work, more worry. (
They leave together.
)

(
Screen ANOTHER DAY.
MISS CURRAN
enters, a nondescript, cranky sort of individual whose manner is one of gush.
)

MISS CURRAN:
Ah, Mr. O’Brien, amn’t I lucky to get you in. God bless you, I know you’re always ready to help.

O’B:
Help what?

CU:
Now don’t you know. All my life there has been only one charity for me. The Black Babies.

O’B:
Well, certainly Africa is much in everybody’s mind nowadays. You’re running a raffle, I suppose?

CU:
Indeed and I am. I run six of them every year, all on my own.

O’B:
Do you really think you will make any real impression on Africa? I don’t know how many tens of millions of people live there.

CU:
Mr. O’Brien, every little helps. Nourish and convert one youngster there, and who knows how many of his own people he will look after when he grows up.

O’B:
True enough, I suppose. How much are your tickets?

CU:
Only twopence.

O’B:
All right, I’ll take six. What’s the prize?

CU:
A lovely, rich cake, made by myself. If there’s one thing I can do, it’s bake fancy bread. It’s the sort of thing you’d never buy in a shop. Wonderful icing and almonds and all.

O’B:
Very good. There’s the money. You fill up the dockets. I must make a phone call right away. (
Picks up instrument.
) Hello . . . (
Fades.
)

(
Screen STILL ANOTHER DAY. The office door is burst open and
MISS CROTTY
rushes in, wildly excited. She rushes to the desk and grasps
MR. O’BRIEN
’s
hand.
)

MISS CROTTY:
Mr. O’Brien! Congratulations! We had the draw below just now. Congratulations! You’ve won the first prize!

O’B:
(
Also startled.
) Me? The first prize? Well, well. Miss Crotty, I don’t think you told me what the prize was. (
Pause.
) Just what IS the first prize?

C:
A donkey, Mr. O’Brien.

O’B:
A what?

C:
A grand donkey, a lovely animal.

O’B:
But . . . I’m not a farmer or anything of that kind. What am I supposed to do with a donkey?

C:
But isn’t it a grand thing to have about the house? Donkeys are so friendly and good tempered. Have you any land where you live?

O’B:
Well, there’s a field behind my place out in Blackrock. Where is this animal now?

C:
In a stable up a lane near Smithfield. Know where that is?

O’B:
Down near the Four Courts, I think.

C:
Correct. Here’s the address. I’ve written it down for you. And here’s your winning ticket. All you have to do is go down there and contact Mr. Barnes. He’s in charge of it. A most respectable man, I believe.

O’B:
(
Aghast.
) Heavens Almighty!

C:
I knew your luck would turn some day, Mr. O’Brien.

O’B:
Turn? Turn for me or against me?

C:
Poor little Neddy! He’s in good hands now.

O’B:
(
Sarcastically.
) I suppose I should thank you from the bottom of my heart, Miss Crotty?

C:
Ah not at all, don’t mention it.

O’B:
Heavens above.

FADE OUT.
END OF PART I

PART II

The camera, in a van ahead, shows
O’BRIEN
gloomily walking down the south quays on the Liffey-side footpath. After a short time he passes the camera, which continues to show him in back view, with background of the distant Four Courts. Meanwhile
O’BRIEN
’
s voice is heard on the sound track. (This episode is not absolutely necessary in the evolution of plot but would be invaluable on grounds of atmosphere and realism.
)