Brian Friel Plays 2

by Brian Friel

  This production transferred to the National Theatre in October 1990, with the following changes of cast:

  Kate Rosaleen Linehan

  Gerry Stephen Dillane

  Jack Alec McCowen

  Act One

  When the play opens Michael is standing downstage left in a pool of light. The rest of the stage is in darkness. Immediately Michael begins speaking, slowly bring up the lights on the rest of the stage.

  Around the stage and at a distance from Michael the other characters stand motionless in formal tableau. Maggie is at the kitchen window (right). Chris is at the front door. Kate at extreme stage right. Rose and Gerry sit on the garden seat. Jack stands beside Rose. Agnes is upstage left. They hold these positions while Michael talks to the audience.

  Michael When I cast my mind back to that summer of 1936 different kinds of memories offer themselves to me. We got our first wireless set that summer – well, a sort of a set; and it obsessed us. And because it arrived as August was about to begin, my Aunt Maggie – she was the joker of the family – she suggested we give it a name. She wanted to call it Lugh* after the old Celtic God of the Harvest. Because in the old days August the First was Lá Lughnasa, the feast day of the pagan god, Lugh; and the days and weeks of harvesting that followed were called the Festival of Lughnasa. But Aunt Kate – she was a national schoolteacher and a very proper woman – she said it would be sinful to christen an inanimate object with any kind of name, not to talk of a pagan god. So we just called it Marconi because that was the name emblazoned on the set.

  And about three weeks before we got that wireless, my mother’s brother, my Uncle Jack, came home from Africa for the first time ever. For twenty-five years he had worked in a leper colony there, in a remote village called Ryanga in Uganda. The only time he ever left that village was for about six months during World War One when he was chaplain to the British army in East Africa. Then back to that grim hospice where he worked without a break for a further eighteen years. And now in his early fifties and in bad health he had come home to Ballybeg – as it turned out – to die.

  And when I cast my mind back to that summer of 1936, these two memories – of our first wireless and of Father Jack’s return – are always linked. So that when I recall my first shock at Jack’s appearance, shrunken and jaundiced with malaria, at the same time I remember my first delight, indeed my awe, at the sheer magic of that radio. And when I remember the kitchen throbbing with the beat of Irish dance music beamed to us all the way from Athlone, and my mother and her sisters suddenly catching hands and dancing a spontaneous step-dance and laughing – screaming! – like excited schoolgirls, at the same time I see that forlorn figure of Father Jack shuffling from room to room as if he were searching for something but couldn’t remember what. And even though I was only a child of seven at the time I know I had a sense of unease, some awareness of a widening breach between what seemed to be and what was, of things changing too quickly before my eyes, of becoming what they ought not to be. That may have been because Uncle Jack hadn’t turned out at all like the resplendent figure in my head. Or maybe because I had witnessed Marconi’s voodoo derange those kind, sensible women and transform them into shrieking strangers. Or maybe it was because during those Lughnasa weeks of 1936 we were visited on two occasions by my father, Gerry Evans, and for the first time in my life I had a chance to observe him.

  The lighting changes. The kitchen and garden are now lit as for a warm summer afternoon.

  Michael, Kate, Gerry and Father Jack go off. The others busy themselves with their tasks. Maggie makes a mash for hens. Agnes knits gloves. Rose carries a basket of turf into the kitchen and empties it into the large box beside the range. Chris irons at the kitchen table. They all work in silence. Then Chris stops ironing, goes to the tiny mirror on the wall and scrutinizes her face.

  Chris When are we going to get a decent mirror to see ourselves in?

  Maggie You can see enough to do you.

  Chris I’m going to throw this aul cracked thing out.

  Maggie Indeed you’re not, Chrissie. I’m the one that broke it and the only way to avoid seven years’ bad luck is to keep on using it.

  Chris You can see nothing in it.

  Agnes Except more and more wrinkles.

  Chris D’you know what I think I might do? I think I just might start wearing lipstick.

  Agnes Do you hear this, Maggie?

  Maggie Steady on, girl. Today it’s lipstick; tomorrow it’s the gin bottle.

  Chris I think I just might.

  Agnes As long as Kate’s not around. ‘Do you want to make a pagan of yourself?’

  Chris puts her face up close to the mirror and feels it.

  Chris Far too pale. And the aul mousey hair. Needs a bit of colour.

  Agnes What for?

  Chris What indeed. (She shrugs and goes back to her ironing. She holds up a surplice.) Make a nice dress that, wouldn’t it? … God forgive me …

  Work continues. Nobody speaks. Then suddenly and unexpectedly Rose bursts into raucous song:

  Rose ‘Will you come to Abyssinia, will you come?

  Bring your own cup and saucer and a bun …’

  As she sings the next two lines she dances – a gauche, graceless shuffle that defies the rhythm of the song.

  ‘Mussolini will be there with his airplanes in the air,

  Will you come to Abyssinia, will you come?’

  Not bad, Maggie – eh?

  Maggie is trying to light a very short cigarette butt.

  Maggie You should be on the stage, Rose.

  Rose continues to shuffle and now holds up her apron skirt.

  Rose And not a bad bit of leg, Maggie – eh?

  Maggie Rose Mundy! Where’s your modesty! (Maggie now hitches her own skirt even higher than Rose’s and does a similar shuffle.) Is that not more like it?

  Rose Good, Maggie – good – good! Look, Agnes, look!

  Agnes A right pair of pagans, the two of you.

  Rose Turn on Marconi, Chrissie.

  Chris I’ve told you a dozen times: the battery’s dead.

  Rose It is not. It went for me a while ago. (She goes to the set and switches it on. There is a sudden, loud three-second blast of ‘The British Grenadiers’.) You see! Takes aul Rosie! (She is about to launch into a dance – and the music suddenly dies.)

  Chris Told you.

  Rose That aul set’s useless.

  Agnes Kate’ll have a new battery back with her.

  Chris If it’s the battery that’s wrong.

  Rose Is Abyssinia in Africa, Aggie?

  Agnes Yes.

  Rose Is there a war there?

  Agnes Yes. I’ve told you that.

  Rose But that’s not where Father Jack was, is it?

  Agnes (patiently) Jack was in Uganda, Rosie. That’s a different part of Africa. You know that.

  Rose (unhappily) Yes, I do … I do … I know that …

  Maggie catches her hand and sings softly into her ear to the same melody as the ‘Abyssinia’ song:

  Maggie

  ‘Will you vote for De Valera, will you vote?

  If you don’t, we’ll be like Gandhi with his goat.’

  Rose and Maggie now sing the next two lines together:

  ‘Uncle Bill from Baltinglass has a wireless up his –

  They dance as they sing the final line of the song:

  Will you vote for De Valera, will you vote?’

  Maggie I’ll tell you something, Rosie: the pair of us should be on the stage.

  Rose The pair of us should be on the stage, Aggie!

  They return to their tasks. Agnes goes to the cupboard for wool. On her way hack to her seat she looks out the window that looks on to the garden.

  Agnes What’s that son of yours at out there?

  Chris God knows. As long as he’s quiet.

  Agnes He’s making something. Looks like a kite. (She taps on the window, calls ‘Michael!’ and blows a kiss to the imaginary child.) Oh
, that was the wrong thing to do! He’s going to have your hair, Chris.

  Chris Mine’s like a whin-bush. Will you wash it for me tonight, Maggie?

  Maggie Are we all for a big dance somewhere?

  Chris After I’ve put Michael to bed. What about then?

  Maggie I’m your man.

  Agnes (at window) Pity there aren’t some boys about to play with.

  Maggie Now you’re talking. Couldn’t we all do with that?

  Agnes (leaving window) Maggie!

  Maggie Wouldn’t it be just great if we had a – (Breaks off.) Shhh.

  Chris What is it?

  Maggie Thought I heard Father Jack at the back door. I hope Kate remembers his quinine.

  Agnes She’ll remember. Kate forgets nothing.

  Pause.

  Rose There’s going to be pictures in the hall next Saturday, Aggie. I think maybe I’ll go.

  Agnes (guarded) Yes?

  Rose I might be meeting somebody there.

  Agnes Who’s that?

  Rose I’m not saying.

  Chris Do we know him?

  Rose I’m not saying.

  Agnes You’ll enjoy that, Rosie. You loved the last picture we saw.

  Rose And he wants to bring me up to the back hills next Sunday – up to Lough Anna. His father has a boat there. And I’m thinking maybe I’ll bring a bottle of milk with me. And I’ve enough money saved to buy a packet of chocolate biscuits.

  Chris Danny Bradley is a scut, Rose.

  Rose I never said it was Danny Bradley!

  Chris He’s a married man with three young children.

  Rose And that’s just where you’re wrong, missy – so there! (to Agnes) She left him six months ago, Aggie, and went to England.

  Maggie Rose, love, we just want –

  Rose (to Chris) And who are you to talk, Christina Mundy! Don’t you dare lecture me!

  Maggie Everybody in the town knows that Danny Bradley is –

  Rose (to Maggie) And you’re jealous, too! That’s what’s wrong with the whole of you – you’re jealous of me! (to Agnes) He calls me his Rosebud. He waited for me outside the chapel gate last Christmas morning and he gave me this. (She opens the front of her apron. A charm and a medal are pinned to her jumper.) ‘That’s for my Rosebud,’ he said.

  Agnes Is it a fish, Rosie?

  Rose Isn’t it lovely? It’s made of pure silver. And it brings you good luck.

  Agnes It is lovely.

  Rose I wear it all the time – beside my miraculous medal. (Pause.) I love him, Aggie.

  Agnes I know.

  Chris (softly) Bastard.

  Rose closes the front of her apron. She is on the point of tears. Silence. Now Maggie lifts her hen-bucket and using it as a dancing partner she does a very fast and very exaggerated tango across the kitchen floor as she sings in her parodic style the words from ‘The Isle of Capri’:

  Maggie

  ‘Summer time was nearly over;

  Blue Italian skies above.

  I said, “Mister, I’m a rover.

  Can’t you spare a sweet word of love?”’

  And without pausing for breath she begins calling her hens as she exits by the back door:

  Tchook-tchook-tchook-tchook-tchook-tchook-tchook-tchookeeeeeee …

  Michael enters and stands stage left. Rose takes the lid off the range and throws turf into the fire.

  Chris For God’s sake, I have an iron in there!

  Rose How was I to know that?

  Chris Don’t you see me ironing? (fishing with tongs) Now you’ve lost it. Get out of my road, will you!

  Agnes Rosie, love, would you give me a hand with this (of wool)? If we don’t work a bit faster we’ll never get two dozen pairs finished this week.

  The convention must now be established that the (imaginary) Boy Michael is working at the kite materials lying on the ground. No dialogue with the Boy Michael must ever be addressed directly to adult Michael, the narrator. Here, for example, Maggie has her back to the narrator. Michael responds to Maggie in his ordinary narrator’s voice. Maggie enters the garden from the back of the house.

  Maggie What are these supposed to be?

  Boy Kites.

  Maggie Kites! God help your wit!

  Boy Watch where you’re walking, Aunt Maggie – you’re standing on a tail.

  Maggie Did it squeal? – haaaa! I’ll make a deal with you, cub: I’ll give you a penny if those things ever leave the ground. Right?

  Boy You’re on.

  She now squats down beside him.

  Maggie I’ve new riddles for you.

  Boy Give up.

  Maggie What goes round the house and round the house and sits in the corner? (Pause.) A broom! Why is a river like a watch?

  Boy You’re pathetic.

  Maggie Because it never goes far without winding! Hairy out and hairy in, lift your foot and stab it in – what is it?

  Pause.

  Boy Give up.

  Maggie Think!

  Boy Give up.

  Maggie Have you even one brain in your head?

  Boy Give up.

  Maggie A sock!

  Boy A what?

  Maggie A sock – a sock! You know – lift your foot and stab it – (She demonstrates. No response.) D’you know what your trouble is, cub? You-are-buck-stupid!

  Boy Look out – there’s a rat!

  She screams and leaps to her feet in terror.

  Maggie Where? – where? – where? Jesus, Mary and Joseph, where is it?

  Boy Caught you again, Aunt Maggie.

  Maggie You evil wee brat – God forgive you! I’ll get you for that, Michael! Don’t you worry – I won’t forget that! (She picks up her bucket and moves off towards the back of the house. Stops.) And I had a barley sugar sweet for you.

  Boy Are there bits of cigarette tobacco stuck to it?

  Maggie Jesus Christ! Some day you’re going to fill some woman’s life full of happiness. (moving off) Tchook-tchook-tchook-tchook … (Again she stops and throws him a sweet.) There. I hope it chokes you. (Exits.) Tchook-tchook-tchook-tchook-tchookeeeee …

  Michael When I saw Uncle Jack for the first time the reason I was so shocked by his appearance was that I expected – well, I suppose, the hero from a schoolboy’s book. Once I had seen a photograph of him radiant and splendid in his officer’s uniform. It had fallen out of Aunt Kate’s prayer book and she snatched it from me before I could study it in detail. It was a picture taken in 1917 when he was a chaplain to the British forces in East Africa and he looked – magnificent. But Aunt Kate had been involved locally in the War of Independence; so Father Jack’s brief career in the British army was never referred to in that house. All the same the wonderful Father Jack of that photo was the image of him that lodged in my mind.

  But if he was a hero to me, he was a hero and a saint to my mother and to my aunts. They pored over his occasional letters. They prayed every night for him and for his lepers and for the success of his mission. They scraped and saved for him – sixpence here, a shilling there – sacrifices they made willingly, joyously, so that they would have a little money to send to him at Christmas and for his birthday. And every so often when a story would appear in the Donegal Enquirer about ‘our own leper priest’, as they called him – because Ballybeg was proud of him, the whole of Donegal was proud of him – it was only natural that our family would enjoy a small share of that fame – it gave us that little bit of status in the eyes of the parish. And it must have helped my aunts to bear the shame Mother brought on the household by having me – as it was called then – out of wedlock.

  Kate enters left, laden with shopping bags. When she sees the Boy working at his kites her face lights up with pleasure. She watches him for a few seconds. Then she goes to him.

  Kate Well, that’s what I call a busy man. Come here and give your Aunt Kate a big kiss. (She catches his head between her hands and kisses the crown of his head.) And what’s all this? It’s a kite, is it?

 
Boy It’s two kites.

  Kate (inspecting them) It certainly is two kites. And they’re the most wonderful kites I’ve ever seen. And what are these designs? (She studies the kite faces which the audience cannot see.)

  Boy They’re faces. I painted them.

  Kate (pretending horror) Oh, good Lord, they put the heart across me! You did those? Oh, God bless us, those are scarifying? What are they? Devils? Ghosts? I wouldn’t like to see those lads up in the sky looking down at me! Hold on now … (She searches in her bags and produces a small, wooden spinning-top and whip.) Do you know what this is? Of course you do – a spinning-top. Good boy. And this – this is the whip. You know how to use it? Indeed you do. What do you say?

  Boy Thanks.

  Kate Thank you, Aunt Kate. And do you know what I have in here? A new library book! With coloured pictures! We’ll begin reading it at bedtime. (Again she kisses the top of his head. She gets to her feet.) Call me the moment you’re ready to fly them. I wouldn’t miss that for all the world. (She goes into the kitchen.) D’you know what he’s at out there? Did you see, Christina? Making two kites!

  Chris Some kites he’ll make.

  Kate All by himself. No help from anybody.

  Agnes You always said he was talented, Kate.

  Kate No question about that. And very mature for his years.

  Chris Very cheeky for his years.

  Rose I think he’s beautiful, Chris. I wish he was mine.

  Chris Is that a spinning-top he has?

  Kate It’s nothing.

  Michael exits left.

  Chris Oh, Kate, you have him spoiled. Where did you get it?

  Kate Morgan’s Arcade.

  Chris And I’m sure he didn’t even thank you.

  Rose I know why you went into Morgan’s!

  Kate He did indeed. He’s very mannerly.

  Rose You wanted to see Austin Morgan!

  Kate Every field along the road – they’re all out at the hay and the corn.

  Rose Because you have a notion of that aul Austin Morgan!

  Kate Going to be a good harvest by the look of it.

  Rose I know you have! She’s blushing! Look! Isn’t she blushing?

  Chris holds up a skirt she is ironing.

  Chris You’d need to put a stitch in that hem, Rosie.

  Rose (to Kate) But what you don’t know is that he’s going with a wee young thing from Carrickfad.