Belle Moral: A Natural History

by Ann-Marie MacDonald

  VICTOR. What’s that involve, then, amputatin’ heads, are you? Is it true, Doctor, that a dog will lick the hand of the man who is vivisecting him?

  DR REID. Good day.

  FLORA is about to escort DR REID from the room.

  PEARL. Doctor, I’ve been puzzling over the ear you lent me.

  A beat. DR REID and FLORA hesitate.

  Its length is out of proportion with its width at the base where it would attach to the skull. From this, I calculate a cranial circumferance commensurate with that of a microcephalous cretin. Does this strike you as reasonable?

  DR REID [momentarily at a loss].

  FLORA [to the rescue]. Dr Reid, you shouldna’ go plyin’ the lass with freaks of nature. It’s no healthy for a young woman of child-bearing age.

  PEARL. Really, Flora!

  DR REID [reassuring bedside manner]. Now Flora, Pearl is gifted with the chief prerequisite of a scientific mind: curiosity. And what could be healthier, hm? Be sure to call me if you need anything –

  PEARL. Doctor, I’m keen to compare this specimen with others of its kind –

  DR REID [too quickly]. There are no others.

  PEARL. Where did you obtain this one?

  DR REID…. From a friend.

  PEARL. But where did the specimen originate?

  DR REID. In a remote village. High in the caucasus.

  PEARL. I shall arrange an expedition; Father’s bound to have left me an annuity –

  DR REID. I know neither the name of the village, nor if it still –

  PEARL. We’ll ask your friend –

  DR REID. He’s dead.

  PEARL. But he must have –

  DR REID. Pearl, the ear is a mere curiosity. An accident of birth. It ought to excite more pity than wonderment.

  PEARL. Accidents are the very stuff of evolution. Darwin’s work is far from done, Doctor, please. Help me.

  DR REID. I’m afraid it’s not in my line, Pearl. [Almost to himself.] Not anymore.

  PEARL. Why hide your light under a bushel? Come with me to the Caucasus.

  He gazes at her, but a dog barks, off, startling him and FLORA.

  You don’t deserve a present, Victor, but you’re my darling wee brother and I’ve got you one in spite of everything.

  YOUNG FARLEIGH staggers on, hauling a long leash which thrashes about in his grasp. The barking is louder now.

  YOUNG FARLEIGH. Shall I bring him in, Miss?

  PEARL [unable to conceal her delight]. I’ve got you a puppy, Victor.

  VICTOR. A puppy! Oh Pearl, that’s wonderful!

  YOUNG FARLEIGH. Coal black, he is, with a head so flat, you could balance a teacup.

  VICTOR. Here boy! Here – [suddenly struggling for breath].

  VICTOR can’t breathe. DR REID goes for his medical bag.

  DR REID. Take it away! Flora –!

  FLORA [rushing to assist YOUNG FARLEIGH]. Out, out with it at once!

  The leash snaps out of YOUNG FARLEIGH’S hand and whips off. He and FLORA hurry after it. DR REID injects VICTOR with a hypodermic needle. VICTOR goes limp.

  PEARL. My God, Doctor. If you hadn’t been here …

  He offers her a cigarette. She takes it, he lights it. They smoke and regain composure.

  DR REID. I’ve never seen such a severe phobic reaction.

  PEARL. Phobic? But Doctor, a dog was Victor’s one desire as a child, and it was his childhood’s tragedy that Father refused him.

  DR REID. Victor’s desire for a canine companion was thwarted by your father; and, rather than admit defeat –

  PEARL. Victor converted his desire into phobia.

  DR REID. Just so, my dear; very good.

  PEARL [flattered]. Thank you, Doctor.

  DR REID. The thwarted little boy evolved into the phobic man. Your poor father.

  PEARL. I should think Victor is in a better position to benefit from your sympathy.

  DR REID. Forgive me, I mean only to say that Victor is also in the sole position to inherit Belle Moral and pass on Judge MacIsaac’s spotless name.

  PEARL. Naturally Victor will inherit the MacIsaac estate, but I am just as capable of perpetuating the MacIsaac name.

  DR REID. You’ve always been spirited, Pearl. Your father’s one regret was that you were not born a son.

  PEARL. I was as good as any son.

  DR REID. Ay and better, more’s the pity.

  PEARL. Victor’s not a bad fellow, he’s just a little … artistic.

  DR REID. I’m afraid it’s worse than that. Victor may be an hysteric.

  PEARL. But hysteria is a woman’s disease.

  DR REID. Right again, my dear, I’ve never heard of a case like his.

  PEARL. That’s our Victor for you. Always got to be an exception.

  DR REID. If not an aberration. [disturbed] I wonder – is it possible – have I allowed the boy’s natural high spirits – and my affection for him – to mask what ought to have been, to me as a physician, clear signs?

  PEARL. What signs?

  DR REID. The rapid oscillations betwixt melancholy and elation; his excessive sensuality; the obsession with his mother – not to mention the drink – and now this sudden aversion to animal food.

  PEARL. Victor is merely panting after the latest avant-garde craze. He was quoting Oscar Wilde just now.

  A beat. PEARL misinterprets his silence:

  Flambouyant Irishman. Dramatist. Sports a velvet cape –

  DR REID. Has Victor, to your knowledge, evinced a special fondness for any male companions?

  PEARL. There’s his old school chum, Rhouridh MacGregor. But Victor has always been more at ease in the company of ladies.

  A beat.

  Rhouridh’s not really a nihilist; just a sulky romantic. Decent chap. Carried a note into town for me just now.

  A beat.

  Dr Reid, Victor’s passing fancy for Irishmen and and anti-vivisectionists –

  DR REID. Anti-vivisectionists?

  PEARL. He considers himself an ally of the underdog.

  DR REID. And an enemy of science. Not uncommon in the inebriate.

  PEARL. This morning it was impressionists, yesterday it was mesmerists, and tomorrow it will be Egyptologists. Though it points to a flighty nature, it hardly convicts him of hysteria.

  DR REID. Admirably put. Might we not agree, however, that your brother is of a highly strung temperament. [tender] So, too, was your mother. Promise me you’ll keep a loving eye on him.

  FLORA enters, winded.

  FLORA. We’ve caught the wee beastie and tied him in the paddock. [sees VICTOR] Victor!

  DR REID. I’ve given him a mild sedative.

  FLORA. Oh. Oh, thank God.

  YOUNG FARLEIGH enters with a small silver tray. He takes a crumpled note from his pocket, places it on the tray, hands it to PEARL.

  PEARL. Excellent. Mr Abbott will come tomorrow and bring Father’s will.

  FLORA and DR REID exchange a look. YOUNG FARLEIGH sinks into a chair.

  DR REID. Pearl, I wonder if you oughtn’t to put off the will for a few days. Until your brother’s quite recovered.

  PEARL. We could wind up putting it off indefinitely if your diagnosis is correct.

  FLORA. What diagnosis?

  PEARL. Victor is morbidly effeminate, Auntie, but that’s not news. He requires a brisk dose of responsibility. Don’t worry, Doctor, I’ll make a man of Victor MacIsaac yet. One that’s fit to inherit the stones of Belle Moral.

  DR REID. Gently, Pearl.

  PEARL. I think not. Fresh air, exercise and hard work.

  DR REID. You gave me a bit of a turn just now. PEARL. How so?

  DR REID. For a moment you were your father. You were Ramsay all over.

  PEARL. Thank you, Doctor.

  PEARL exits, pleased with the compliment, but DR REID is slightly unsettled.

  FLORA. Seamus, what were you thinking, giving the lass that evil jar?

  DR REID. You know what Pearl is like once her interes
t is piqued. What would you have had me do? Whisk it away with a portentous muttering?

  FLORA. Why keep such a thing on your shelf in the first place?

  DR REID. Perhaps as a reminder. Of what might have been … had I continued my work. [Holding out his hand, summoning strength for what he is about to face.] Come, Flora. Take me to her.

  FLORA takes his hand just as PEARL enters to retrieve her camera. They part hands immediately. PEARL notices. They remain silent until she exits with her equipment.

  FLORA. Poor lassie. Her world will ne’er be the same after tomorrow.

  DR REID. There is no good reason why Pearl should have to know the truth.

  FLORA. Her brother’s bound to tell her.

  DR REID. Not if he’s half the man his father was.

  VICTOR [sprawled, comatose].

  FLORA. Poor Victor’s ne’er been able to keep a secret from anyone but himself.

  DR REID. We must see that he does. We must also see that your unfortunate guest is returned to her rightful lodging as soon as possible. And Flora, get rid of that slavering cur.

  They exit. PUPPY barks in the distance. He stops, VICTOR wakes with a jolt. Recovers, only to be startled at the sight of YOUNG FARLEIGH.

  VICTOR. Young Farleigh. Young Farleigh.

  He doesn’t wake. VICTOR tosses him the flask, he catches it.

  [enjoying himself] Go ahead. Go on. I’m to be master of Belle Moral and as such I order you to stop respecting me. Let’s drink, comrade. Let us toast the inevitable decline of me and my bourgeois kind. Let us speak together as equals. And while you’re at it, fetch me slippers.

  YOUNG FARLEIGH [toasting]. Aonaibh ri cheile. [pron. ehnev ree kaylee] [drinks]

  VICTOR. “Aonaibh ri cheile”. What does that mean?

  YOUNG FARLEIGH. Tis Gaelic.

  VICTOR. I know “tis Gaelic”, what in hell does it mean?

  YOUNG FARLEIGH. Call yourself a Scot. [another drink]

  VICTOR. When are we going to be rid of you? Snoolin’ about the house, muttering Gaelic incantations, scorching the toast. And you’re too decrepit to be out winkling in the night.

  YOUNG FARLEIGH. Speak for yourself. [another drink]

  VICTOR [logical]. I would but I haven’t a clue who that is. There was a time, not so long ago, when man asked the question, “What is the meaning of life?” Now we ask, “Is there a meaning?” Look at me. I’m useless. But perhaps uselessness will turn out to have some evolutionary value. I can’t know. Perhaps in a hundred years all the useful people will die of a plague that infects only those with a work ethic, and the useless will inherit the earth.

  Pleased with himself, VICTOR reaches for the flask but YOUNG FARLEIGH keeps it and recites Robbie Burns with passion and surprising vigour.

  YOUNG FARLEIGH. “Wee, sleekit, cow’rin, tim’rous beastie,

  O, what a panic’s in thy breastie.

  Thou need na start awa sae hasty,

  Wi’ bickering brattle.

  I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee,

  Wi’ murd’ring pattle.

  I’m truly sorry man’s dominion

  Has broken Nature’s social union,

  An’ justifies that ill opinion

  Which makes thee startle

  At me, thy poor earth-born companion

  An’ fellow-mortal.

  Pause.

  But Mousie, thou art no thy lane,

  In proving foresight may be vain;

  The best laid schemes o’ mice and’ men

  Gang aft a-gley.

  An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain

  For promised joy.

  Still thou art blest, compared wi’ me.

  The present only toucheth thee.

  But och! I backward cast my e’e

  On prospects drear.

  An’ forward, tho’ I canna see,

  I guess an’ fear.”

  A beat. VICTOR is awestruck.

  VICTOR. Are you my real father?

  YOUNG FARLEIGH. Are you askin’ me if you’re a real bastard?

  They laugh. YOUNG FARLEIGH gets up, crosses to VICTOR, hands him the flask, then punches him in the nose. VICTOR cries out in pain.

  That’s for insulting your mother.

  He goes to leave but VICTOR stops him, and speaks from the heart:

  VICTOR Young Farleigh. Who was she? She was beautiful. She was a painter. That’s all I have of her. I haven’t even got the old shawl she wrapped me in.

  A beat.

  YOUNG FARLEIGH. Aonaibh ri cheile. [pron. ehnev ree kaylee]

  Scene 6 The Attic Stairs

  A closed door at the top of a narrow staircase. The door opens. DR REID. emerges. He descends a few steps, then stops, sets down his medical bag and sits, devastated. FLORA emerges, pulls the door closed, then turns and sees DR REID.

  FLORA. Seamus … Come. I’ll make you cup of –

  DR REID. Flora.

  A beat. She sits next to him, as he tries to collect his thoughts.

  This is her haim.

  FLORA. Seamus. She canna byde here, not if –

  DR REID. No, of course not, you’re right, it’s too too much to ask of you –

  FLORA. ’Tisn’t that. Ramsay said she was to be cared for – elsewhere – throughout the course of her natural life.

  DR REID. To be sure, to be sure, but … what do we know of the place where she has been housed all these years?

  FLORA. It’s … decent.

  DR REID. But you’ve ne’er seen it, ne’er –

  FLORA. Young Farleigh –

  DR REID. And he is the only one who ever visited.

  FLORA, ashamed.

  Now, now, that was Ramsay’s decision.

  FLORA. But I didna wish to visit, Seamus. I kept awa’. I promised Régine I would look after the children. But the truth is, all these years, I’ve wished her dead. And God forgive me, I wish it still [weeping].

  DR REID. You’re only human, Flora, you did your best. [regretful] And so did I. But we’ve a chance now to do a bit better, eh? [a beat] Flora, what if she were to come live with me? As my patient? She would have the best of care. My laboratory overlooks the sea. You could visit, or not, as you pleased. And you could rest easy in your mind.

  A beat.

  FLORA. Victor would have to agree.

  DR REID. That’s certain. I may need your help on that front. The lad has conceived a mistrust of me as a physician – not surprising, given his mental … [delicate for FLORA’S sake] fragility.

  FLORA. Fragility? Surely he’s more headstrong than fragile.

  DR REID. I’d have said so myself before the events of this morning. [urgent] Flora, he is so like his mother. Sensitive, passionate …

  FLORA. Niver say it, Seamus.

  DR REID. I dread the morrow. For the lad will be master here and, as such, he’ll have to be told.

  FLORA. I dinna relish the telling.

  DR REID. Nor do I, lest the shock precipitate another fit.

  FLORA. Why must he be told at all? Ach, I ought ne’er to’ve brought the poor creature haim–

  DR REID. Nay, Flora, you did the right thing. The humane thing.

  FLORA. I ought to’ve turned to you sooner, Seamus, I know it, but I beg of you now, dinna desert us in our hour of need.

  DR REID. I’ll never desert this family, Flora.

  Scene 7 Pearl’s Study

  Night. PEARL is at her desk with the jar and a pile of open books. PUPPY’S nose jostles her elbow from behind the desk.

  PEARL. Lie down. Down.

  PUPPY jostles her once more.

  [matter-of-fact] I’ll have to get Young Farleigh to drown you, I suppose.

  PUPPY’S tail wags from behind the desk. She pats him on the head.

  There. [business-like] Now bugger off.

  A knock at the door.

  What?!

  The door opens, FLORA puts her head in.

  FLORA. Do go to bed, pet.

  PEARL. I can’t, Auntie, I�
��m working.

  FLORA [sees the dog]. There it is, oh thank goodness. Here, come now, come. Come.

  PEARL. He won’t come, he’s stupid as a post.

  FLORA. Well he canna stay, not with Victor’s phobia.

  PEARL. I’ll not allow him near Victor, Auntie. FLORA. You’re no thinkin’ to keep him?

  PEARL. Certainly not. [Concealing her eagerness.] Just overnight.

  FLORA. I dare say Dr Reid would disapprove.

  PEARL. What were you two whispering about so passionately this morning?

  FLORA doesn’t answer.

  Nevermind, Auntie, I know and I don’t mind a bit.

  FLORA. You don’t? You do? What don’t you know?

  PEARL [teasing, affectionate]. He’s courting you. Holding hands, and who knows what joukerie-pawkerie –

  FLORA. Pearl –

  PEARL. And you needn’t be jealous of the ear. It was a purely platonic gift.

  PUPPY sniffs the jar, PEARL taps his nose.

  FLORA. Ach, Dr Reid never – he was merely – he was comehitherating with me over some woman’s trouble.

  PEARL. What woman?

  FLORA. Why, me.

  PEARL. Auntie, you’ve no taken ill. You have. [stricken] Oh, Auntie –

  FLORA. Now, pet I’ve no’ took ill, it’s just … the change.

  PEARL. Oh.

  FLORA. Ay. [Mopping her brow.] No need to worry your head, that’s a long way off for you.

  PEARL. Any of your shortbread about, Auntie?

  FLORA. Victor ate it up.

  PEARL. Damn him.

  PUPPY knocks over the jar with his paw.

  Off, I said. [On second thought:] Here. [Holding the jar out to him.] What do you make of that?

  FLORA. Pearl! [covering] It’s bedtime. You don’t want to be baggy-eyed and forfochen when Mr Abbott arrives first thing in the morning.