Brian Friel Plays 2

by Brian Friel

  Pause.

  Chris You’ve got some flour on your nose, Maggie.

  Maggie When I was sixteen I remember slipping out one Sunday night – it was this time of year, the beginning of August – and Bernie and I met at the gate of the workhouse and the pair of us off to a dance in Ardstraw. I was being pestered by a fellow called Tim Carlin at the time but it was really Brian McGuinness that I was – that I was keen on. Remember Brian with the white hands and the longest eyelashes you ever saw? But of course he was crazy about Bernie. Anyhow the two boys took us on the bar of their bikes and off the four of us headed to Ardstraw, fifteen miles each way. If Daddy had known, may he rest in peace …

  And at the end of the night there was a competition for the Best Military Two-step. And it was down to three couples: the local pair from Ardstraw; wee Timmy and myself – he was up to there on me; and Brian and Bernie …

  And they were just so beautiful together, so stylish; you couldn’t take your eyes off them. People just stopped dancing and gazed at them …

  And when the judges announced the winners – they were probably blind drunk – naturally the local couple came first; and Timmy and myself came second; and Brian and Bernie came third.

  Poor Bernie was stunned. She couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t talk. Wouldn’t speak to any of us for the rest of the night. Wouldn’t even cycle home with us. She was right, too: they should have won; they were just so beautiful together …

  And that’s the last time I saw Brian McGuinness – remember Brian with the …? And the next thing I heard he had left for Australia …

  She was right to be angry, Bernie. I know it wasn’t fair – it wasn’t fair at all. I mean they must have been blind drunk, those judges, whoever they were …

  Maggie stands motionless, staring out of the window, seeing nothing. The others drift back to their tasks: Rose and Agnes knit; Kate puts the groceries away; Chris connects the battery. Pause.

  Kate Is it working now, Christina?

  Chris What’s that?

  Kate Marconi.

  Chris Marconi? Yes, yes … should be …

  She switches the set on and returns to her ironing. The music, at first scarcely audible, is Irish dance music – ‘The Mason’s Apron’, played by a ceili band. Very fast; very heavy beat; a raucous sound. At first we are aware of the beat only. Then, as the volume increases slowly, we hear the melody. For about ten seconds – until the sound has established itself – the women continue with their tasks. Then Maggie turns round. Her head is cocked to the beat, to the music. She is breathing deeply, rapidly. Now her features become animated by a look of defiance, of aggression; a crude mask of happiness. For a few seconds she stands still, listening, absorbing the rhythm, surveying her sisters with her defiant grimace. Now she spreads her fingers (which are covered with flour), pushes her hair back from her face, pulls her hands down her cheeks and patterns her face with an instant mask. At the same time she opens her mouth and emits a wild, raucous ‘Yaaaah!’ – and immediately begins to dance, arms, legs, hair, long bootlaces flying. And as she dances she lilts – sings – shouts and calls, ‘Come on and join me! Come on! Come on!’ For about ten seconds she dances alone – a white-faced, frantic dervish. Her sisters watch her.

  Then Rose’s face lights up. Suddenly she flings away her knitting, leaps to her feet, shouts, grabs Maggie’s hand. They dance and sing – shout together; Rose’s Wellingtons pounding out their own erratic rhythm. Now after another five seconds Agnes looks around, leaps up, joins Maggie and Rose. Of all the sisters she moves most gracefully, most sensuously. Then after the same interval Chris, who has been folding Jack’s surplice, tosses it quickly over her head and joins in the dance. The moment she tosses the vestment over her head Kate cries out in remonstration, ‘Oh, Christina –!’ But her protest is drowned. Agnes and Rose, Chris and Maggie, are now all doing a dance that is almost recognizable. They meet – they retreat. They form a circle and wheel round and round. But the movements seem caricatured; and the sound is too loud; and the beat is too fast; and the almost recognizable dance is made grotesque because – for example – instead of holding hands, they have their arms tightly around one another’s neck, one another’s waist. Finally Kate, who has been watching the scene with unease, with alarm, suddenly leaps to her feet, flings her head back, and emits a loud ‘Yaaaah!’

  Kate dances alone, totally concentrated, totally private; a movement that is simultaneously controlled and frantic; a weave of complex steps that takes her quickly round the kitchen, past her sisters, out to the garden, round the summer seat, back to the kitchen; a pattern of action that is out of character and at the same time ominous of some deep and true emotion. Throughout the dance Rose, Agnes, Maggie and Chris shout – call – sing to each other. Kate makes no sound.

  With this too loud music, this pounding beat, this shouting – calling – singing, this parodic reel, there is a sense of order being consciously subverted, of the women consciously and crudely caricaturing themselves, indeed of near-hysteria being induced. The music stops abruptly in mid-phrase. But because of the noise they are making the sisters do not notice and continue dancing for a few seconds. Then Kate notices – and stops. Then Agnes. Then Chris and Maggie. Now only Rose is dancing her graceless dance by herself. Then finally she, too, notices and stops. Silence. For some time they stand where they have stopped. There is no sound but their gasping for breath and short bursts of static from the radio. They look at each other obliquely; avoid looking at each other; half smile in embarrassment; feel and look slightly ashamed and slightly defiant. Chris moves first. She goes to the radio.

  Chris It’s away again, the aul thing. Sometimes you’re good with it, Aggie.

  Agnes Feel the top. Is it warm?

  Chris Roasting.

  Agnes Turn it off till it cools down.

  Chris turns it off – and slaps it.

  Chris Bloody useless set, that.

  Kate No need for corner-boy language, Christina.

  Agnes There must be some reason why it overheats.

  Chris Because it’s a goddamn, bloody useless set – that’s why.

  Rose Goddamn bloody useless.

  Kate Are Wellingtons absolutely necessary on a day like this, Rose?

  Rose I’ve only my Wellingtons and my Sunday shoes, Kate. And it’s not Sunday, is it?

  Kate Oh, dear, we’re suddenly very logical, aren’t we?

  Maggie (lighting a cigarette) I’ll tell you something, girls: this Ginger Rogers has seen better days.

  Kate It’s those cigarettes are killing you.

  Maggie (exhaling) Wonderful Wild Woodbine. Next best thing to a wonderful, wild man. Want a drag, Kitty?

  Kate Go and wash your face, Maggie. And for goodness’ sake tie those laces.

  Maggie Yes, miss. (at window) Where’s Michael, Chrissie?

  Chris Working at those kites, isn’t he?

  Maggie He’s not there. He’s gone.

  Chris He won’t go far.

  Maggie He was there ten minutes ago.

  Chris He’ll be all right.

  Maggie But if he goes down to the old well –

  Chris Just leave him alone for once, will you, please?

  Maggie shrugs and goes out the back door. Pause.

  Kate Who’s making the tea this evening?

  Agnes Who makes the tea every evening?

  Chris (at radio) The connections seem to be all right.

  Kate Please take that surplice off, Christina.

  Chris Maybe a valve has gone – if I knew what a valve looked like.

  Kate Have you no sense of propriety?

  Chris If you ask me we should throw it out.

  Agnes I’d be all for that. It’s junk, that set.

  Rose Goddamn bloody useless.

  Kate (to Agnes) And you’ll buy a new one, will you?

  Agnes It was never any good.

  Kate You’ll buy it out of your glove money, will you? I thought what you and Rose earned
knitting gloves was barely sufficient to clothe the pair of you.

  Agnes This isn’t your classroom, Kate.

  Kate Because I certainly don’t see any of it being offered for the upkeep of the house.

  Agnes Please, Kate –

  Kate But now it stretches to buying a new wireless. Wonderful!

  Agnes I make every meal you sit down to every day of the week –

  Kate Maybe I should start knitting gloves?

  Agnes I wash every stitch of clothes you wear. I polish your shoes. I make your bed. We both do – Rose and I. Paint the house. Sweep the chimney. Cut the grass. Save the turf. What you have here, Kate, are two unpaid servants.

  Rose And d’you know what your nickname at school is? The Gander! Everybody calls you the Gander!

  Maggie runs on and goes straight to the window.

  Maggie Come here till you see! Look who’s coming up the lane!

  Agnes Who’s coming?

  Maggie I only got a glimpse of him – but I’m almost certain it’s –

  Agnes Who? Who is it?

  Maggie (to Chris) It’s Gerry Evans, Chrissie.

  Chris Christ Almighty.

  Maggie He’s at the bend in the lane.

  Chris Oh, Jesus Christ Almighty.

  The news throws the sisters into chaos. Only Chris stands absolutely still, too shocked to move. Agnes picks up her knitting and works with excessive concentration. Rose and Maggie change their footwear. Everybody dashes about in confusion – peering into the tiny mirror, bumping into one another, peeping out the window, combing hair. During all this hectic activity they talk over each other and weave around the immobile Chris. The lines overlap:

  Kate How dare Mr Evans show his face here.

  Maggie He wants to see his son, doesn’t he?

  Kate There’s no welcome for that creature here.

  Rose Who hid my Sunday shoes?

  Maggie We’ll have to give him his tea.

  Kate I don’t see why we should.

  Maggie And there’s nothing in the house.

  Kate No business at all coming here and upsetting everybody.

  Rose You’re right, Kate. I hate him!

  Maggie Has anybody got spare shoelaces?

  Kate Look at the state of that floor.

  Maggie Maybe he just wants to meet Father Jack.

  Kate Father Jack may have something to say to Mr Evans. (of the ironing) Agnes, put those clothes away.

  Agnes does not hear her, so apparently engrossed is she in her knitting.

  Maggie My Woodbine! Where’s my Woodbine?

  Rose He won’t stay the night, Kate, will he?

  Kate He most certainly won’t stay the night in this house!

  Maggie Have you a piece of cord, Aggie? Anybody got a bit of twine?

  Kate Behave quite normally. Be very calm and very dignified. Stop peeping out, Rose!

  Rose (at window) There’s nobody coming at all.

  Silence. Then Agnes puts down her knitting, rushes to the window, pushes Rose aside and looks out.

  Agnes Let me see.

  Rose You imagined it, Maggie.

  Chris Oh God.

  Rose He’s not there at all.

  Agnes (softly) Yes, he is. Maggie’s right. There he is.

  Rose Show me.

  Kate Has he a walking stick?

  Rose Yes.

  Kate And a straw hat?

  Rose Yes.

  Kate It’s Mr Evans all right.

  Agnes Yes. There he is.

  Chris Oh sweet God – look at the state of me – what’ll I say to him? – how close is he?

  Rose I couldn’t look that man in the face. I just hate him – hate him!

  Kate That’s a very unchristian thing to say, Rose. (as Rose rushes off) There’s no luck in talk like that!

  Chris Look at my hands, Kate – I’m shaking.

  Kate catches her shoulders.

  Kate You are not shaking. You are perfectly calm and you are looking beautiful and what you are going to do is this. You’ll meet him outside. You’ll tell him his son is healthy and happy. And then you’ll send him packing – yourself and Michael are managing quite well without him – as you always have.

  Chris does not move. She is about to cry. Kate now takes her in her arms.

  Of course ask him in. And give the creature his tea. And stay the night if he wants to. (firm again) But in the outside loft. And alone. Now. I brought a newspaper home with me. Did anybody see where I left it?

  Chris now rushes to the mirror and adroitly adjusts her hair and her clothes.

  Agnes Where is he, Maggie?

  Maggie In the garden.

  Kate Agnes, did you see where I left the paper?

  Maggie It’s on the turf box, Kate.

  Kate reads the paper – or pretends to. Agnes sits beside the radio and knits with total concentration. Maggie stands at the side of the garden window. Gerry Evans enters left, his step jaunty, swinging his cane, his straw hat well back on his head. He knows he is being watched. Although he is very ill at ease the smile never leaves his face. Chris goes out to the garden where they meet. Gerry has an English accent.

  Gerry How are you, Chrissie? Great to see you.

  Chris Hello, Gerry.

  Gerry And how have you been for the past six months?

  Chris Thirteen months.

  Gerry Thirteen? Never!

  Chris July last year; July the seventh.

  Gerry Wow-wow-wow-wow. Where does the time go? Thirteen months? Phew! A dozen times – two dozen times I planned a visit and then something turned up and I couldn’t get away.

  Chris Well, you’re here now.

  Gerry Certainly am. And that was a bit of good fortune. Last night in a bar in Sligo. Bump into this chappie with a brand new Morris Cowley who lets slip that he’s heading for Ballybeg in the morning. Ballybeg? Something familiar about that name! So. Here I am. In the flesh. As a matter of interest. Bit of good luck that, wasn’t it?

  Chris Yes.

  Gerry He just let it slip. And here I am. Oh, yes, wonderful luck.

  Chris Yes.

  Pause.

  Maggie Looks terrified, the poor fella.

  Kate Terrified, my foot.

  Maggie Come here till you see him. Aggie.

  Agnes Not just now.

  Maggie I’m sure he could do with a good meal.

  Kate I’ll give him three minutes. Then if she doesn’t hunt him, I will.

  Gerry You’re looking wonderful, Chrissie. Really great. Terrific.

  Chris My hair’s like a whin-bush.

  Gerry Looks lovely to me.

  Chris Maggie’s going to wash it tonight.

  Gerry And how’s Maggie?

  Chris Fine.

  Gerry And Rose and Kate?

  Chris Grand.

  Gerry And Agnes?

  Chris Everybody’s well, thanks.

  Gerry Tell her I was asking for her – Agnes.

  Chris I would ask you in but the place is –

  Gerry No, no, some other time; thanks all the same. The old schedule’s a bit tight today. And the chappie who gave me the lift tells me Father Jack’s home.

  Chris Just a few weeks ago.

  Gerry All the way from Africa.

  Chris Yes.

  Gerry Safe and sound.

  Chris Yes.

  Gerry Terrific.

  Chris Yes.

  Gerry Lucky man.

  Chris Yes.

  Gerry uses the cane as a golf club and swings.

  Gerry Must take up some exercise. Putting on too much weight.

  Kate He’s not still there, is he?

  Maggie Yes.

  Kate Doing what, in God’s name?

  Maggie Talking.

  Kate Would someone please tell me what they have to say to each other?

  Maggie He’s Michael’s father, Kate.

  Kate That’s a responsibility never burdened Mr Evans.

  Chris A commercial traveller called into Ka
te’s school last Easter. He had met you somewhere in Dublin. He had some stupid story about you giving dancing lessons up there.

  Gerry He was right.

  Chris He was not, Gerry!

  Gerry Cross the old ticker.

  Chris Real lessons?

  Gerry All last winter.

  Chris What sort of dancing?

  Gerry Strictly ballroom. You’re the one should have been giving them – you were always far better than me. Don’t you remember? (He does a quick step and a pirouette.) Oh, that was fun while it lasted. I enjoyed that.

  Chris And people came to you to be taught?

  Gerry Don’t look so surprised! Everybody wants to dance. I had thousands of pupils – millions!

  Chris Gerry –

  Gerry Fifty-three. I’m a liar. Fifty-one. And when the good weather came, they all drifted away. Shame, really. Yes, I enjoyed that. But I’ve just started a completely new career, as a matter of interest. Never been busier. Gramophone salesman. Agent for the whole country, if you don’t mind. ‘Minerva Gramophones – The Wise Buy’.

  Chris Sounds good, Gerry.

  Gerry Fabulous. All I have to do is get the orders and pass them on to Dublin. A big enterprise, Chrissie; oh, one very big enterprise.

  Chris And it’s going all right for you?

  Gerry Unbelievable. The wholesaler can’t keep up with me. Do you see this country? This country is gramophone crazy. Give you an example. Day before yesterday; just west of Oughterard; spots this small house up on the side of a hill. Something seemed just right about it – you know? Off the bike; up the lane; knocks. Out comes this enormous chappie with red hair – what are you laughing at?

  Chris Gerry –

  Gerry I promise you. I show him the brochures; we talk about them for ten minutes; and just like that he takes four – one for himself and three for the married daughters.

  Chris He took four gramophones?

  Gerry Four brochures!

  They both laugh.

  But he’ll buy. I promise you he’ll buy. Tell you this, Chrissie: people thought gramophones would be a thing of the past when radios came in. But they were wrong. In my experience … Don’t turn round; but he’s watching us from behind that bush.

  Chris Michael?

  Gerry Pretend you don’t notice. Just carry on. This all his stuff?

  Chris He’s making kites if you don’t mind.

  Gerry Unbelievable. Got a glimpse of him down at the foot of the lane. He is just enormous.