Brian Friel Plays 2

by Brian Friel

  Kate Rose, what Austin Morgan does or doesn’t do with –

  Rose Why are you blushing then? She’s blushing, isn’t she? Why-why-why, Kate?

  Kate (sudden anger) For God’s sake, Rose, shut up, would you!

  Rose Anyhow we all know you always had a –

  Agnes Rosie, pass me those steel needles – would you, please?

  Pause.

  Chris (to Kate) Are you tired?

  Kate flops into a seat.

  Kate That road from the town gets longer every day. You can laugh if you want but I am going to get that old bike fixed up and I am going to learn to ride this winter.

  Agnes Many about Ballybeg?

  Kate Ballybeg’s off its head. I’m telling you. Everywhere you go – everyone you meet – it’s the one topic: Are you going to the harvest dance? Who are you going with? What are you wearing? This year’s going to be the biggest ever and the best ever.

  Agnes All the same I remember some great harvest dances.

  Chris Don’t we all.

  Kate (unpacking) Another of those riveting Annie M. P. Smithson novels for you, Agnes.

  Agnes Ah. Thanks.

  Kate The Marriage of Nurse Harding – oh, dear! For you, Christina. One teaspoonful every morning before breakfast.

  Chris What’s this?

  Kate Cod-liver oil. You’re far too pale.

  Chris Thank you, Kate.

  Kate Because you take no exercise. Anyhow I’m in the chemist’s shop and this young girl – a wee slip of a thing, can’t even remember her name – her mother’s the knitting agent that buys your gloves, Agnes –

  Agnes Vera McLaughlin.

  Kate Her daughter whatever you call her.

  Rose Sophia.

  Kate Miss Sophia, who must be all of fifteen; she comes up to me and she says, ‘I hope you’re not going to miss the harvest dance, Miss Mundy. It’s going to be just supreme this year.’ And honest to God, if you’d seen the delight in her eyes, you’d think it was heaven she was talking about. I’m telling you – off its head – like a fever in the place. That’s the quinine. The doctor says it won’t cure the malaria but it might help to contain it. Is he in his room?

  Chris He’s wandering about out the back somewhere.

  Kate I told the doctor you thought him very quiet, Agnes.

  Agnes has stopped knitting and is looking abstractedly into the middle distance.

  Agnes Yes?

  Kate Well, didn’t you? And the doctor says we must remember how strange everything here must be to him after so long. And on top of that Swahili has been his language for twenty-five years; so that it’s not that his mind is confused – it’s just that he has difficulty finding the English words for what he wants to say.

  Chris No matter what the doctor says, Kate, his mind is a bit confused. Sometimes he doesn’t know the difference between us. I’ve heard him calling you Rose and he keeps calling me some strange name like –

  Kate Okawa.

  Chris That’s it! Aggie, you’ve heard him, haven’t you?

  Kate Okawa was his house boy. He was very attached to him. (taking off her shoe) I think I’m getting corns in this foot. I hope to God I don’t end up crippled like poor mother, may she rest in peace.

  Agnes Wouldn’t it be a good one if we all went?

  Chris Went where?

  Agnes To the harvest dance.

  Chris Aggie!

  Agnes Just like we used to. All dressed up. I think I’d go.

  Rose I’d go, too, Aggie! I’d go with you!

  Kate For heaven’s sake you’re not serious, Agnes – are you?

  Agnes I think I am.

  Kate Hah! There’s more than Ballybeg off its head.

  Agnes I think we should all go.

  Kate Have you any idea what it’ll be like? – crawling with cheeky young brats that I taught years ago.

  Agnes I’m game.

  Chris We couldn’t, Aggie – could we?

  Kate And all the riff-raff of the countryside.

  Agnes I’m game.

  Chris Oh God, you know how I loved dancing, Aggie.

  Agnes (to Kate) What do you say?

  Kate (to Chris) You have a seven-year-old child – have you forgotten that?

  Agnes (to Chris) You could wear that blue dress of mine – you have the figure for it and it brings out the colour of your eyes.

  Chris Can I have it? God, Aggie, I could dance non-stop all night – all week – all month!

  Kate And who’d look after Father Jack?

  Agnes (to Kate) And you look great in that cotton dress you got for confirmation last year. You’re beautiful in it, Kate.

  Kate What sort of silly talk is –

  Agnes (to Kate) And you can wear my brown shoes with the crossover straps.

  Kate This is silly talk. We can’t, Agnes. How can we?

  Rose Will Maggie go with us?

  Chris Will Maggie what! Try to stop her!

  Kate Oh God, Agnes, what do you think?

  Agnes We’re going.

  Kate Are we?

  Rose We’re off! We’re away!

  Kate Maybe we’re mad – are we mad?

  Chris It costs four and six to get in.

  Agnes I’ve five pounds saved. I’ll take you. I’ll take us all.

  Kate Hold on now –

  Agnes How many years has it been since we were at the harvest dance? – at any dance? And I don’t care how young they are, how drunk and dirty and sweaty they are. I want to dance, Kate. It’s the Festival of Lughnasa. I’m only thirty-five. I want to dance.

  Kate (wretched) I know, I know, Agnes, I know. All the same – oh my God – I don’t know if it’s –

  Agnes It’s settled. We’re going – the Mundy girls – all five of us together.

  Chris Like we used to.

  Agnes Like we used to.

  Rose I love you, Aggie! I love you more than chocolate biscuits!

  Rose kisses Agnes impetuously, flings her arms above her head, begins singing ‘Abyssinia’ and does the first steps of a bizarre and abandoned dance. At this Kate panics.

  Kate No, no, no! We’re going nowhere!

  Chris If we all want to go –

  Kate Look at yourselves, will you! Just look at yourselves! Dancing at our time of day? That’s for young people with no duties and no responsibilities and nothing in their heads but pleasure.

  Agnes Kate, I think we –

  Kate Do you want the whole countryside to be laughing at us? – women of our years? – mature women, dancing? What’s come over you all? And this is Father Jack’s home – we must never forget that – ever. No, no, we’re going to no harvest dance.

  Rose But you just said –

  Kate And there’ll be no more discussion about it. The matter’s over. I don’t want it mentioned again.

  Silence. Maggie returns to the garden from the back of the house. She has the hen bucket on her arm and her hands are cupped as if she were holding something fragile between them. She goes to the kite materials.

  Maggie The fox is back.

  Boy Did you see him?

  Maggie He has a hole chewed in the henhouse door.

  Boy Did you get a look at him, Aunt Maggie?

  Maggie Wasn’t I talking to him. He was asking for you.

  Boy Ha-ha. What’s that you have in your hands?

  Maggie Something I found.

  Boy What?

  Maggie Sitting very still at the foot of the holly tree.

  Boy Show me.

  Maggie Say please three times.

  Boy Please-please-please.

  Maggie In Swahili.

  Boy Are you going to show it to me or are you not?

  Maggie (crouching down beside him) Now, cub, put your ear over here. Listen. Shhh. D’you hear it?

  Boy I think so … yes.

  Maggie What do you hear?

  Boy Something.

  Maggie Are you sure?

  Boy Yes, I’m sure. Show me, Aunt Ma
ggie.

  Maggie All right. Ready? Get back a bit. Bit further. Right?

  Boy Yes.

  Suddenly she opens her hands and her eyes follow the rapid and imaginary flight of something up to the sky and out of sight. She continues staring after it. Pause.

  What was it?

  Maggie Did you see it?

  Boy I think so … yes.

  Maggie Wasn’t it wonderful?

  Boy Was it a bird?

  Maggie The colours are so beautiful. (She gets to her feet.) Trouble is – just one quick glimpse – that’s all you ever get. And if you miss that – (She moves off towards the back door of the kitchen.)

  Boy What was it, Aunt Maggie?

  Maggie Don’t you know what it was? It was all in your mind. Now we’re quits.

  Kate (unpacking) Tea … soap … Indian meal … jelly …

  Maggie I’m sick of that white rooster of yours, Rosie. Some pet that. Look at the lump he took out of my arm.

  Rose You don’t speak to him right.

  Maggie I know the speaking he’ll get from me – the weight of my boot. Would you put some turf on that fire, Chrissie; I’m going to make some soda bread. (She washes her hands and begins baking.)

  Rose (privately) Watch out. She’s in one of her cranky moods.

  Kate Your ten Wild Woodbine, Maggie.

  Maggie Great. The tongue’s out a mile.

  Rose (privately) You missed it all, Maggie.

  Maggie What did I miss this time?

  Rose We were all going to go to the harvest dance – like the old days. And then Kate –

  Kate Your shoes, Rose. The shoemaker says, whatever kind of feet you have, only the insides of the soles wear down.

  Rose Is that a bad thing?

  Kate That is neither a bad thing nor a good thing, Rose. It’s just – distinctive, as might be expected.

  Rose grimaces behind Kate’s back.

  Cornflour … salt … tapioca – it’s gone up a penny for some reason … sugar for the bilberry jam – if we ever get the bilberries …

  Agnes and Rose exchange looks.

  Maggie (privately to Rose) Look at the packet of Wild Woodbine she got me.

  Rose What’s wrong with it?

  Maggie Only nine cigarettes in it. They’re so wild one of them must have escaped on her.

  They laugh secretly.

  Chris Doesn’t Jack sometimes call you Okawa, too, Maggie?

  Maggie Yes. What does it mean?

  Chris Okawa was his house boy, Kate says.

  Maggie Dammit. I thought it was Swahili for gorgeous.

  Agnes Maggie!

  Maggie That’s the very thing we could do with here – a house boy.

  Kate And the battery. The man in the shop says we go through these things quicker than anyone in Ballybeg.

  Chris Good for us. (She takes the battery and leaves it beside Marconi.)

  Kate I met the parish priest. I don’t know what has happened to that man. But ever since Father Jack came home he can hardly look me in the eye.

  Maggie That’s because you keep winking at him, Kate.

  Chris He was always moody, that man.

  Kate Maybe that’s it … The paper … candles … matches … The word’s not good on that young Sweeney boy from the back hills. He was anointed last night.

  Maggie I didn’t know he was dying!

  Kate Not an inch of his body that isn’t burned.

  Agnes Does anybody know what happened?

  Kate Some silly prank up in the hills. He knows he’s dying, the poor boy. Just lies there, moaning.

  Chris What sort of prank?

  Kate How would I know?

  Chris What are they saying in the town?

  Kate I know no more than I’ve told you, Christina.

  Pause.

  Rose (quietly, resolutely) It was last Sunday week, the first night of the Festival of Lughnasa; and they were doing what they do every year up there in the back hills.

  Kate Festival of Lughnasa! What sort of –

  Rose First they light a bonfire beside a spring well. Then they dance round it. Then they drive their cattle through the flames to banish the devil out of them.

  Kate Banish the –! You don’t know the first thing about what –

  Rose And this year there was an extra big crowd of boys and girls. And they were off their heads with drink. And young Sweeney’s trousers caught fire and he went up like a torch. That’s what happened.

  Kate Who filled your head with that nonsense?

  Rose They do it every Lughnasa. I’m telling you. That’s what happened.

  Kate (very angry, almost shouting) And they’re savages! I know those people from the back hills! I’ve taught them! Savages – that’s what they are! And what pagan practices they have are no concern of ours – none whatever! It’s a sorry day to hear talk like that in a Christian home, a Catholic home! All I can say is that I’m shocked and disappointed to hear you repeating rubbish like that, Rose!

  Rose (quietly, resolutely) That’s what happened. I’m telling you.

  Pause.

  Maggie All the same it would be very handy in the winter time to have a wee house boy to feed the hens: ‘Tchook-tchook-tchook-tchook-tchook-tchook-tchook-tchookeeee …’

  Father Jack enters by the back door. He looks frail and older than his fifty-three years. Broad-brimmed black hat. Heavy grey top coat. Woollen trousers that stop well short of his ankles. Heavy black boots. Thick woollen socks. No clerical collar. He walks – shuffles quickly – with his hands behind his back. He seems uneasy, confused. Scarcely any trace of an Irish accent.

  Jack I beg your pardon … the wrong apartment … forgive me …

  Kate Come in and join us, Jack.

  Jack May I?

  Maggie You’re looking well, Jack.

  Jack Yes? I expected to enter my bedroom through that … what I am missing – what I require … I had a handkerchief in my pocket and I think perhaps I –

  Chris (taking one from the ironing pile) Here’s a handkerchief.

  Jack I thank you. I am grateful. It is so strange: I don’t remember the – the architecture? – the planning? – what’s the word? – the lay-out! – I don’t recollect the lay-out of this home … scarcely. That is strange, isn’t it? I thought the front door was there, (to Kate) You walked to the village to buy stores, Agnes?

  Kate It’s Kate. And dozens of people were asking for you.

  Jack They remember me?

  Kate Of course they remember you! And when you’re feeling stronger they’re going to have a great public welcome for you – flags, bands, speeches, everything!

  Jack Why would they do this?

  Kate Because they’re delighted you’re back.

  Jack Yes?

  Kate Because they’re delighted you’re home.

  Jack I’m afraid I don’t remember them. I couldn’t name ten people in Ballybeg now.

  Chris It will all come back to you. Don’t worry.

  Jack You think so?

  Agnes Yes, it will.

  Jack Perhaps … I feel the climate so cold … if you’ll forgive me …

  Agnes Why don’t you lie down for a while?

  Jack I may do that … thank you … you are most kind …

  He shuffles off. Pause. A sense of unease, almost embarrassment.

  Kate (briskly) It will be a slow process but he’ll be fine. Apples … butter … margarine … flour … And wait till you hear! Who did I meet in the post office! Maggie, are you listening to me?

  Maggie Yes?

  Kate You’ll never believe it – your old pal, Bernie O’Donnell! Home from London! First time back in twenty years!

  Maggie Bernie …

  Kate Absolutely gorgeous. The figure of a girl of eighteen. Dressed to kill from head to foot. And the hair! – as black and as curly as the day she left. I can’t tell you – a film star!

  Maggie Bernie O’Donnell …

  Kate And beside her two of the most be
autiful children you ever laid eyes on. Twins. They’ll be fourteen next month. And to see the three of them together – like sisters, I’m telling you.

  Maggie Twin girls.

  Kate Identical.

  Maggie Identical.

  Kate Nora and Nina.

  Rose Mother used to say twins are a double blessing.

  Maggie Bernie O’Donnell … oh my goodness …

  Kate And wait till you hear – they are pure blond! ‘Where in the name of God did the blond hair come from?’ I asked her. ‘The father. Eric,’ she says. ‘He’s from Stockholm.’

  Agnes Stockholm!

  Rose Where’s Stockholm, Aggie?

  Kate So there you are. Bernie O’Donnell married to a Swede. I couldn’t believe my eyes. But the same bubbly, laughing, happy Bernie. Asking about everybody by name.

  Maggie goes to the window and looks out so that the others cannot see her face. She holds her hands, covered with flour, out front her body.

  Chris She remembered us all?

  Kate Knew all about Michael; had his age to the very month. Was Agnes still the quickest knitter in Ballybeg? Were none of us thinking of getting married? – and weren’t we wise!

  Rose Did she remember me?

  Kate ‘Rose had the sweetest smile I ever saw.’

  Rose There!

  Kate But asking specially for you, Maggie: how you were doing – what you were doing – how were you looking – were you as light-hearted as ever? Every time she thinks of you, she says, she has the memory of the two of you hiding behind the turf stack, passing a cigarette between you and falling about laughing about some boy called – what was it? – Curley somebody?

  Maggie Curley McDaid. An eejit of a fella. Bald as an egg at seventeen. Bernie O’Donnell … oh my goodness …

  Pause.

  Agnes Will she be around for a while?

  Kate Leaving tomorrow.

  Agnes We won’t see her so. That’s a pity.

  Chris Nice names, aren’t they? – Nina and Nora.

  Kate I like Nora. Nice name. Strong name.

  Agnes Not so sure about Nina. (to Chris) Do you like Nina for a name?

  Chris Nina? No, not a lot.

  Kate Well, if there’s a Saint Nina, I’m afraid she’s not in my prayer book.

  Agnes Maybe she’s a Swedish saint.

  Kate Saints in Sweden! What’ll it be next!

  Rose Mother used to say twins are a double blessing.

  Kate (sharply) You’ve offered us that cheap wisdom already, Rose.