by Brian Friel
HELEN: ‘My’ Gerald?
TINA: Gerald, then.
HELEN: No.
(MIRIAM sits up.)
MIRIAM: I hope to God the kids have the sense to have on their sun hats.
TINA: And no idea where he is?
HELEN: None.
(HELEN rises and gathers her flowers.)
MIRIAM: Wouldn’t you think that aul’ band would have a second tune!
TINA: Daddy said someone saw him recently in Liverpool.
HELEN: Really.
MIRIAM: Should be called the Only One Army Band.
TINA: Whoever it was said he had a beard.
HELEN: They go so limp in the sun, don’t they?
TINA: Do you ever think of him at all, Helen?
(HELEN passes TINA on her way into the living-room; as before, she hugs her briefly, only this time almost shaking her. As she hugs her:)
HELEN: For God’s sake, Tina darling, will you –
MIRIAM: Oh, smart, smart, smart!
TINA: I thought she might like to –
MIRIAM: You thought! (Calmer) Come on – we’d better get Pop’s duds laid out for him. (She sings the military music loudly as she gathers the plates. She and TINA go into the living-room. HELEN is putting the flowers in water.) Be marvellous, wouldn’t it, if you turned a nice golden colour like those women in the travel brochures? God, aul’ Charlie’d go off the head altogether! (To TINA) Are his black shoes ready?
TINA: Not yet.
MIRIAM: I’ll do them and you do the suit – okay? (To HELEN) The years may have passed but we’re still Daddy’s little beavers!
TINA: (To HELEN – in apology) Helen, I – I’m –
MIRIAM: (Catching her arm) Get me the shoe polish, duckie, will you? You keep changing where you keep things in this damned house.
(MIRIAM polishes the shoes. TINA presses the suit. HELEN goes out to the garden. FRANK enters by front door. Dressed in commandant’s UN uniform. Carrying two bottles. He pauses in the hall, looks up the stairs, calls gently.)
FRANK: Anna?
SIR: ‘Commandant Frank Butler.’
FRANK: Anna?
SIR: ‘Twelve months ago a widower, commandant of a remote barracks, surrendering hope. Today a young wife, the Hero of Hari, and certain promotion.’ (To FRANK) ‘Outstanding courage and selflessness’ – is that accurate?
(FRANK shrugs.)
SIR: You’re nervous.
FRANK: Yes.
SIR: Of what?
FRANK: I don’t know.
SIR: Can it be to do with Anna?
FRANK: Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. With myself. I’m jittery for some reason.
SIR: That’s understandable.
FRANK: And unhappy. Suddenly unhappy. Profoundly unhappy.
SIR: It’s the tension.
FRANK: Yes?
SIR: And all the fuss. All those people.
FRANK: I suppose so.
SIR: But remember – they’re here to honour you.
FRANK: I know that.
SIR: So keep calm. Keep cool.
FRANK: Yes.
SIR: Everything’s running smoothly. Everything’s in hand.
FRANK: Yes, yes. Everything’s in hand.
(He goes quickly into the living-room.)
Anna must be asleep. We’ll give her another quarter of an hour – it’s going to be a tiring evening for her. (Hands the bottles to TINA.) These are for later, in case we have some people back. Leave them on the sideboard. Did the cuff links turn up?
TINA: In the jacket pocket.
FRANK: I thought you said you looked there.
(To MIRIAM) Are those ready?
MIRIAM: Another minute. Commandant, sir.
FRANK: (To TINA) And Anna’s stuff – her dress and all
that – that’s all arranged?
TINA: Lying on the bed in Ben’s old room. Everything’s perfect. Stop fussing, Daddy.
FRANK: No, I’ll tell you what you can do: give her another ten minutes and then bring her a cup of tea.
TINA: What about yourself?
FRANK: I think I’ll take a drink instead – no, maybe I shouldn’t. Yes, I’ll take a cup of tea, too.
MIRIAM: What are they all at over there?
FRANK: Standing around, talking, drinking.
MIRIAM: Isn’t it time you changed?
FRANK: I know. And I’ve still to get a speech ready.
TINA: Helen’ll help you.
MIRIAM: (Offering the shoes) There you are.
FRANK: I don’t want them just now, do I?
(MIRIAM makes a face.)
(To TINA) Where is Helen?
TINA: In the garden. (Calls) Helen! Daddy wants –!
FRANK: Shhh – Anna. I can go out, can’t I?
(He goes out to the garden. MIRIAM looks up at the ceiling.)
MIRIAM: God, isn’t he a charmer! Sooner you nor me, daughter.
(MIRIAM goes into the kitchen. After a time TINA joins her.)
HELEN: See the conquering hero comes;
Sound the trumpets, beat the drums.
FRANK: Hah!
HELEN: (Offering a flower) For the Hero of Hari.
FRANK: Thank you.
(As he accepts it he leans over her as if he is about to kiss her forehead, hesitates, then quickly:)
Did you see the heading in today’s Donegal Enquirer?
HELEN: No.
FRANK: It’s above the photograph taken at the airport yesterday – ‘President Greets Humble Hannibal.’
(They both laugh. He sits beside her.)
God, I feel so ancient, Helen.
HELEN: It’ll soon be over.
FRANK: Walking over here from the camp, d’you know what I was thinking: what has a lifetime in the army done to me? Wondering have I carried over into this life the too rigid military discipline that – that the domestic life must have been bruised, damaged, by the stern attitudes that are necessary over – I suppose what I’m saying is that I’m not unaware of certain shortcomings in my relationships with your mother and with Ben; and indeed with you when you and Gerald decided to –
HELEN: The past’s over, Father. And forgotten.
FRANK: That’s true. Over and forgotten. (Then briskly – to their mutual relief) Any good at writing after-dinner speeches?
HELEN: Expert. What kind?
FRANK: Short and brilliant. And modest.
HELEN: Let’s see. ‘Gentlemen, I want to welcome you most sincerely, and even more sincerely to congratulate you on finding your way here.’
FRANK: Ah-ha!
HELEN: ‘I will not dwell on the modest part I played in the event which the world now calls the Siege of Hari –’
FRANK: I certainly will.
HELEN: ‘– and which brought fame and honour not only to United Nations troops everywhere –’
FRANK: But also –
HELEN: ‘– to this country and to our own illustrious army.’
FRANK: Hear, hear; hear, hear.
HELEN: ‘As for my own paltry part –’
FRANK: Silence! Silence!
HELEN: ‘– as I carried each of those nine men back to safety –’
FRANK: ‘– across those burning desert wastes –’
HELEN: ‘– my one sustaining thought was –’
FRANK: (Quickly) Do you know what it was?
HELEN: ‘– that you’d make me chief of staff as from this moment.’
FRANK: And why not?
HELEN: There you are – nothing to it.
FRANK: I knew you’d be good.
HELEN: Pleasure.
(Pause.)
FRANK: When’s your flight tomorrow?
HELEN: Eleven.
FRANK: I’ll get someone to drive you to Deny.
HELEN: I enjoy the bus.
FRANK: I’m delighted you came, Helen. And very, very grateful.
HELEN: A big occasion. A national hero.
FRANK: For a day.
HELEN: And some time before I go y
ou must tell me exactly what happened. All I know is what I’ve read in the papers.
FRANK: I’ll post you a copy of the reports I’ve got to make out for GHQ.
HELEN: Will you?
FRANK: Promise.
(Again a silence. And as before he stretches across instinctively to catch her hand. She looks at him. A moment of embarrassment. He pats her hand briskly instead.)
Well, at least they’re seeing the place at its best.
HELEN: That’s true.
FRANK: In weather like this you forget how grim it can be. When you heard about Anna and me –
HELEN: Yes?
FRANK: Were you hurt?
HELEN: Why would I be hurt?
FRANK: That I hadn’t told you about it in advance.
HELEN: No, not at all.
FRANK: We told nobody. It was all very – at my time of day I thought – just Anna and myself, and Tom. I suppose I should have told Tina, being in the house and all, but I knew Tina wouldn’t mind. And I was on the point of phoning you one night but we decided – I felt – it would be better to present you all with the fait accompli. Very impressive little ceremony it was, too; quiet, you know, simple; very – that little Franciscan church in Dublin – the one along the quay. Full of atmosphere; lovely. And we came straight back here intending to take a honeymoon later. And then, as you know, no sooner am I back than I’m off for five months. So in a way we still haven’t had a honeymoon – you’re sure you didn’t mind?
HELEN: Positive.
FRANK: As soon as the fuss dies down we’ll head off somewhere.
HELEN: So you should.
FRANK: France, maybe.
HELEN: You deserve a holiday.
FRANK: Or Italy. Somewhere. (Pause.) Have you and she had a chance to talk yet?
HELEN: For half an hour or so.
FRANK: Oh, good, good – yes?
HELEN: We had lunch together.
FRANK: Yes?
HELEN: Then I set her hair for her.
FRANK: Yes?
HELEN: Haven’t you seen it?
FRANK: (Sudden rush) Isn’t she beautiful, Helen? Isn’t she beautiful?
HELEN: Yes.
FRANK: Yes, and warm and open and refreshing. And so direct – so direct – so uncomplicated. Anything she thinks – whatever comes into her head – straight out – it must come straight out – just like that. So unlike us: measured, watching, circling one another, peeping out, shying back.
HELEN: Is that us?
FRANK: Oh, yes, that’s us – you, me, your mother –
HELEN: Tina?
FRANK: Tina’s special, you know that; Tina’s a baby.
HELEN: Is she? And Miriam?
FRANK: All right – maybe not Miriam.
HELEN: And Ben?
FRANK: I know nothing about him. But my mascot – I call her my mascot. A good name for her, isn’t it? – whatever she is, it’s there before you. And from the moment I met her – and I can say this to you, Helen: you’re the only person I could say this to without embarrassment … There! You see! Typical! You’re withdrawing!
HELEN: I’m not! – I’m not!
FRANK: Yes, you are. And now I’m embarrassed. It’s a family –
HELEN: Go on. Say what you were going to say.
FRANK: I can’t now.
HELEN: Say it, Father.
(Pause.)
FRANK: (Simply) What I was going to say is that for the first time in my life I am profoundly happy. (Pause.) And now you’re thinking there’s no fool like an old fool.
HELEN: No.
FRANK: (Quickly) Infinitely happier than I ever was with your mother. Is that a despicable thing to say? No, it’s not. It’s the truth. During all those years of illness she was patient and courageous and admirable. And I responded to that as best I could. Despite what Ben thinks, I did my best. But it had all withered into duty, Helen. There was no joy – the joy had gone. And that’s what Anna did – she restored joy to me – she animated me again. If I’m a hero today – whatever that silly word means – it is because of her.
HELEN: I’m sure that’s true, Father.
FRANK: And nothing would give me more pleasure than to bestow some of that joy on you.
HELEN: Me?
FRANK: If I could.
HELEN: Why me?
FRANK: Because I have a superabundance and because I sense a melancholy about my first child.
(TINA enters living-room with tray.)
TINA: (Calls) Tea, everybody!
FRANK: If that’s not too arrogant of me – is it? (He looks at her. Pause.) And now you’re convinced I’m an old fool, aren’t you?
HELEN: You keep looking for reassurance, hero.
FRANK: (Rising briskly) Do I? – it must be – because I need it. God, look at the time – and I’ve still to get dressed.
(FRANK goes quickly into the living-room. TINA is about to bring a cup of tea upstairs.)
Did you wake her up yet?
TINA: On my way.
FRANK: Take the suit with you, too.
(He sits and changes his shoes. TOM enters the hall carrying a camera.)
TOM: Hannibal!
FRANK: I can see that’s going to stick.
TOM: (Breezy, confident to SIR) You were right – I’ll do it.
SIR: I knew you would.
TOM: But maybe not as you think. You just can’t label a man a cliché and write him off.
SIR: The assessment isn’t mine.
TOM: Just watch and you’ll see. You may be surprised.
SIR: I’m watching.
(TINA goes into the hall.)
TOM: Tina, my love, are they ready?
TINA: Almost. You’re looking great, Uncle Tom.
TOM: Feeling terrific, thank the Lord, terrific.
(TINA goes upstairs. TOM goes into the living-room. MIRIAM enters from the kitchen.)
Is this all the length you are?
FRANK: Aren’t you dressing?
TOM: I’m not one of the big shots. And how are you, Miriam?
MIRIAM: Great, thanks, Father.
FRANK: Are they getting restless over there?
TOM: Just waiting breathlessly in the ante-room to get a glimpse of you.
FRANK: Go to hell.
TOM: (To MIRIAM) Hoping to touch his sleeve as he passes.
FRANK: (Leaving) Give him a drink, Miriam.
TOM: The way he said that you’d think my tongue was hanging out. Nothing for me, thanks.
MIRIAM: It’s a thirsty day.
TOM: Honestly. How’s Charlie?
MIRIAM: Great.
TOM: Pity you didn’t bring the kids – they’d have enjoyed the band.
MIRIAM: Isn’t there chaos enough? Have you seen Helen yet?
TOM: Where?
MIRIAM: Here.
TOM: She’s not!
MIRIAM: Arrived this morning.
TOM: Well, good Lord! Why did nobody tell me? (He goes out to the garden.) I’ve only just heard.
HELEN: Father Tom! It’s good to see you!
(He embraces her.)
TOM: It’s great to see you, Helen. How are you? Show me – you’ve lost weight.
HELEN: I don’t think so – have I?
TOM: The answer I want is: as a matter of fact I have, Uncle Tom, and so have you.
(They both move into the living-room.)
HELEN: Well, as a matter of fact, Father –
TOM: Don’t tell me. I know. I know.
MIRIAM: Looking powerful, isn’t he?
HELEN: You are.
TOM: I’m grotesque. Food, drink and sloth – they’re killing me. The question is: will I survive until next November?
HELEN: Why then?
TOM: That’s when I retire. And even if I last six months more, what’s to become of me then? Kicked out of the only world I’ve known for forty years – I’ll be lost. D’you know who I met the other day? Jackie Sheridan – Daddy knows him – chaplain down at Athlone all his life. Retired last y
ear; living with a widowed sister in Waterford. And d’you know what he does to pass the time? Studies all the death notices in the morning paper and spends the rest of the day writing letters of condolence to the relatives. Black strangers! Honestly. Terrifying, isn’t it? What d’you think of Anna?
HELEN: That was always an old trick of yours.
TOM: Trick? Trick? What trick?
HELEN: The disarming chatter and then the sudden, probing question.
MIRIAM: She’s wise to you, Father Tom.
TOM: (To MIRIAM, who is laughing) Is that fair? D’you think that’s fair? (To HELEN) Well, I think she’s terrific. And sure the world knows Frank’s terrific.
HELEN: So they’ll make a terrific couple.
TOM: (To MIRIAM) Lord, hasn’t she got sharp!
MIRIAM: England smartens them up all right.
TOM: I didn’t mean that at all.
HELEN: Yes, you did.
TOM: Tell me, girls, I want your advice. The powers that be have some kind of a notion that on a night like this I always get plastered.
MIRIAM: Tch-tch-tch.
TOM: Wait – wait – wait! Now – should I confirm that notion for them? Or should I stay sober and confound them? I could, you know.
HELEN: Confirm them?
TOM: Confound them!
MIRIAM: Do that then, Father.
TOM: Should I?
MIRIAM: Anything to confound them.
TOM: That’s it then. Settled. (To HELEN) What are you looking sceptical about?
HELEN: Not a thing – not a thing.
(FRANK enters in his dress uniform. TINA behind him.)
FRANK: Anna’ll be down in a minute.
(The following lines – MIRIAM’s, TOM’s, HELEN’s, TINA’s – all overlap.)
MIRIAM: (Clapping) Well – well – well – well!
TOM: Ah, the prince himself!
HELEN: Very smart – very smart indeed!
TINA: Three cheers for the hero!
TOM: (Sings) For he’s a jolly good fellow –
FRANK: Stop – stop – stop – stop – stop!
ALL TOGETHER: For he’s a jolly good fellow;
For he’s a jolly good fellow;
And so say all of us.
TOM: Everybody outside for a picture!
TINA: A photo – hurrah – hurrah – hurrah – a photo!
(They move to the garden – talking – still singing/humming ‘Jolly Good Fellow’. Comments like: ‘My God, look at my dress’, ‘Anybody got a comb?’, ‘You’re fine’, ‘Where do you want us to stand?’ etc., etc.)
TOM: Over here, please, everybody. You in the middle, Frank. Miriam, you and Tina on one side.
FRANK: Where? Here?