Les Blancs (9 page)

(
He exits
)

CHARLIE
What will they do to him?

DEKOVEN
(
A meaningful shrug: the implication is not pretty
.
CHARLIE
stares at him
) Mr. Morris, there is a
war
going on here. Everyone else that you talk to will call it a bit of an emergency, pacification, police action—I’m sure your country is familiar with such phrases? But I assure you that what we have here is a war.

CHARLIE
And what about—Kumalo?

DEKOVEN
What about him?

(
Offstage
MAJOR RICE
’s jeep starts up and roars off
)

CHARLIE
Well, it’s been my impression that the West was using its head for a change—here. I mean Amos Kumalo
is
still in Europe? They
are
talking?

DEKOVEN
Oh, yes. They are talking.

CHARLIE
Then why—just when some hopes for progress—

DEKOVEN
Progress, Mr. Morris? For
whom?
The settlers are outraged because the Foreign Office is talking at all—and the blacks, because talk is no longer enough. Kumalo—

(
They are interrupted as an old woman in antiquated European dress, leaning heavily on a cane and supported by
MARTA
,
is ushered on from behind the Mission. She is fragile in appearance, genteel in manner; underneath there is sharp intelligence
)

MADAME NEILSEN
Willy? Where are you? (
DEKOVEN
rises and holds out an arm which she leans upon in the manner of the badly sighted
) Ah,
yes, it is you. Who do you suppose has been butchered today, Willy?

MARTA
We have a guest, Madame.

MADAME
(
Her face lighting
) Oh, so? Where indeed is the guest?

DEKOVEN
(
Gestures for
CHARLIE
to come nearer
) Mr. Morris is going to visit with us for a while.

CHARLIE
It’s a great honor, Madame Neilsen.

MADAME
Mr. Morris—Mr.
Charles
Morris. You have come to write about us. How nice. How very nice. I know your work well. Now I shall come to know you. Marta, darling, I must sit.

(
DEKOVEN
and
MARTA
help her to the couch. Congo drums of basso intensity start up offstage
)

CHARLIE
What’s that—?

DEVOKEN
(
Smiling
)
All
drums are not war drums … Not yet.

MADAME
(
To herself
) No, not war drums at all … Marta, you and Willy can get back to your work. Mr. Morris and I will be able to entertain each other nicely, I am sure.

MARTA
Very well. (
To
CHARLIE
,
looking about
) Sooner or later Eric will finally be here to see you.

(
MARTA
and
DEKOVEN
start out
)

MADAME
Yes, first will come the liquor fumes and then will come Eric.

DEKOVAN
(
At the door
) The boy can’t help it! Why must you pick after him about it!

MADAME
No, he can’t help it any more than you can help giving it to him, can he—my dear, tortured Dr. DeKoven!

MARTA
(
Plaintively
) Madame!

DEKOVEN
I’m sorry.

(
He turns and exits abruptly and
MARTA
follows)

MADAME
It is wrong of me to taunt Willy. He is a good man. Willy DeKoven is among the best of men, Mr. Morris.

CHARLIE
But, I take it, he has a weakness for slipping a little liquor to the natives.

MADAME
Well—he doesn’t give it to the natives—he gives it to Eric, which is something of a different matter. (
CHARLIE
is, of course, confused by this
) Well, Mr. Morris, I am so sorry that you had to come at such an unhappy time. And now, the drums announce a funeral. Someone important has died.

CHARLIE
Oh, you can read the drums?

MADAME
Oh, mercy yes! In the old days, I used to spend most of my hours with the women of this village. With Aquah in particular. Yes, Aquah. She was the dearest friend that I have had in Africa. It was she who taught me the drums and to speak the language of the Kwi people. I taught her a little English in return and a smattering of French. We were just getting on to German when she died. Dear Aquah! (
She saddens and then lightens again
) We used to go for long walks in the woods.

CHARLIE
(
Smiling incredulously
) You went strolling in that jungle out there with only a native woman?

MADAME
Heavens yes. We used to pick herbs and berries—Aquah taught me how to make quinine. Do you know how to make quinine, Mr. Morris? It is a wonderful thing to be able to know how to do. Of course, I taught her a few things too. (
Leaning over and whispering a little devilishly
) Certain matters concerning feminine hygiene, you know … And then the change came.

CHARLIE
What change?

MADAME
The change. Some cold wind blew in over our people here and chilled their hearts to us. It is the times, you know. I’m afraid he’ll never understand it—the Reverend. And what hurt him most was that Abioseh was the first to change. Old Abioseh, the husband of Aquah, my friend—a truly remarkable man. First Abioseh—and after him the village—then the tribe. Oh, they still come to the clinic, some of them. But to this day, virtually no Kwi attend Reverend Neilsen’s services. In almost seven years I have not set foot in a hut in this village. (
Sadly
) And today
someone important has died and no one has come to tell me. For a few years Aquah’s children came. But they have grown up and gone away and now—no one comes. (
A young boy appears behind the Mission and looks quickly about to make certain he is unobserved: a sodden, fairskinned youth in the late teens, in shorts, filthy undershirt and sneakers, and—incongruously—a clean white pith helmet
.
MADAME
stiffens and stares straight ahead
) Now, sir, “Caliban” is almost upon us. He has turned on the generator and now the river breeze tells me—(
He crosses swiftly to a tree stump
)—he is crossing the compound to make certain—(
He looks from right to left, stoops and reaches into the tree stump
)—that Dr. DeKoven has left him a bottle. (
He comes up with the bottle, drinks, recaps and replaces it, and heads for the Mission
) This, sir, is Eric.

ERIC
(
In the door
) I am here, Madame.

MADAME
(
Without turning her head
) Eric. Show Mr. Morris to his room.

CHARLIE
Hello, Eric.

ERIC
Mr. Morris.

(
Manipulating his pith helmet under his arm, he picks up the American’s bags and exits
.
CHARLIE
is about to follow when
MME. NEILSEN
takes his arm
)

MADAME
I shall think you an exceedingly poor journalist, Mr. Morris, if you allow me to believe that you are in the least confounded by either the name or the complexion of our Eric. (
Settling back with finality
) Now I have said enough. Now I shall sit on the veranda and merely be quiet and old and invalid, and leave the world to its deceptions. (
CHARLIE
looks at her, hesitates—and is about to speak, when:
) I’m sure your room is ready, Mr. Morris.

(
CHARLIE
exits. The old lady sits staring dead ahead
)

(
TSHEMBE
throws his arms together straight out over his head and claps three times in the Kwi “sign” of greeting
.
ERIC
reciprocates and the two brothers embrace
)

TSHEMBE
Where is my father?

ERIC
He died last night.

TSHEMBE
(
He crosses away to look out at the dying sun
) So I missed the last goodbyes.

ERIC
(
Slips the mirror out of sight
) Each day for a month I told him you would come and then last night he no longer believed.

TSHEMBE
“Sons, sons: hurry, hurry. Do not dawdle—(
A man deeply moved
)—or you will miss your last goodbyes.”

ERIC
When I wrote you, I didn’t think that you would come at all.

TSHEMBE
As the whites say: There are ties that bind. There are ties that bind. (
A beat
) Where is our brother?

ERIC
We never see Abioseh anymore. After you went away, he went off to St. Cyprian’s.

TSHEMBE
Did you send word to him of our father?

ERIC
Yes, but I don’t think Abioseh will come.

TSHEMBE
Y
OU
also didn’t think that I would come. (
Brightening
) Eric, you’ve become a man.

ERIC
It’s been five years …!

TSHEMBE
Five years … You smoke?

(
Crosses in, opens his bag and tosses the boy a few packs of cigarettes and some newspapers
)

ERIC
American cigarettes! (
He eagerly breaks a pack
) Willy almost never has American cigarettes.

TSHEMBE
Willy—? (
A long pause, to remember
) Dr. DeKoven? (
He regards
ERIC
,
the pith helmet, filthy clothes and whiskey bottle; the other averts his eyes. He fingers the bottle, drinks, puts it down, then snatches the helmet from
ERIC
’s
head
) He gives you things—

ERIC
Yes.

TSHEMBE
Cigarettes? (
ERIC
nods
) Whiskey even?

ERIC
Tell me about Europe. About your life there … Tshembe, please!

TSHEMBE
(
Softening. He smiles
) Well—you are an uncle. I had a son just before I left. (
Fist in the air for proud emphasis
) Eight pounds of son!

ERIC
(
Clasping his hands with delight
) You got some girl in trouble!

TSHEMBE
(
Amused
) I have a wife, Eric; and we have a son.

ERIC
(
Wide-eyed
) You are married?

TSHEMBE
(
Dryly
) Yes, people are doing it everywhere.

ERIC
You have her picture? (
TSHEMBE
tosses it, gets up, takes off his shirt and fills a basin to wash
) She—she is European!

TSHEMBE
Very.

ERIC
How old is she?

(
He is studying the photo critically
)

TSHEMBE
(
Amused—at both
ERIC
and the custom
) That is something one is not supposed to ask.

ERIC
Why?

TSHEMBE
It is a custom among her people not to.

ERIC
Why?

TSHEMBE
(
Absurdly
) Because it is.

ERIC
She’s not very handsome.

TSHEMBE
(
Shaking water from his head and taking the photo back
) It is also not the custom to say such things about other people’s wives!

ERIC
She looks older than you do.

TSHEMBE
She isn’t. Europeans—wrinkle faster. (
Looking at the photo
) She is handsome. And she has eyes that talk.

(
He kisses the picture fondly and puts it away
)

ERIC
What color are they?

TSHEMBE
Gray.

ERIC
Ugh. Like Reverend Neilsen’s.

TSHEMBE
And like your own. What is wrong with gray eyes?

ERIC
It is no color at all.

TSHEMBE
Gray eyes are all colors and hers have a lot of green in them and they are very, very beautiful.

ERIC
What color is her hair?

TSHEMBE
Red like the sunset.

ERIC
It sounds ugly.

TSHEMBE
It is striking.

ERIC
Can you see her veins?

TSHEMBE
Her what?

ERIC
Her veins. When you stand close to Dr. Gotterling, you can see her veins through her skin. Like a chicken.

TSHEMBE
(
Rubbing his body dry with raffia
) You don’t think Dr. Gotterling is strange-looking, do you?

ERIC
No, why should I? She is very—serious for a woman—but she is handsome.

TSHEMBE
Blue eyes, yellow hair, veins and all?

ERIC
(
Puzzled
) Yes.

TSHEMBE
(
Delighted at the universal absurdity of it
) What we
know—
is what we accept. (
He laughs and boxes the boy’s head
) It is like that everywhere!

ERIC
Wouldn’t you like a towel?

TSHEMBE
Raffia works up the blood better!

ERIC
(
Shrugs and opens the newspaper
) They say that Kumalo is coming home. To Zatembe.

TSHEMBE
(
Sighing
) Yes. Kumalo is coming home.

ERIC
What will he do in Zatembe?

TSHEMBE
What did he do in Europe?
Talk!
Talk, talk, talk. That is what the African does in Europe. He wanders around in the cold in his thin suits and he
talks
. You would like that part, Eric. There is a great deal of pomp. In Europe the European is—(
Playing it
)
—very
civilized. When our delegations are ushered in, and our people have said what they came to say, the Europeans have a way of looking very hurt as if they have never heard of these things before … and presently we sit there feeling almost as if it is
we
who have been unreasonable. And then they stand up—it is always the Europeans who stand up first—and they say (
With exaggerated Oxford accent and the dignity of a minuet
): “Well.
There are undoubtedly some valid things in what you have had to say … but we mustn’t forget, must we, there are some valid things in what the settlers say? Therefore, we will write a report, which will be forwarded to the Foreign Secretary, who will forward it to the Prime Minister, who will approve it for forwarding to the settler government in Zatembe”—(
Abruptly sobering
)—who will laugh and not even read it.
That
is what Kumalo has been doing in Europe.
That
is what he will do in Zatembe.