Brian Friel Plays 1

by Brian Friel

  FRANK: Tom and his silly stories. He can spin them out for hours on end. (He catches both her hands and holds her at arm’s length.) Let me look at you. My God, how I missed you. Were they kind to you when I was away? Does the family overwhelm you? Did you miss me? Let me look at you. Let me look at my beautiful, beautiful mascot.

  ANNA: What do you see?

  FRANK: What’s the serious face for?

  ANNA: Tell me what you see, Frank.

  FRANK: I see youth, beauty, directness, simplicity. My wife.

  ANNA: Anything else?

  FRANK: An ageing man trembling before her.

  ANNA: Why is he trembling?

  FRANK: With intensity. With uncertainty. Because he has never had joy like this. Because he is afraid that somehow he can’t cope with so great a joy because he is an ageing man.

  ANNA: She is trembling too –

  (He puts his fingers across her lips.)

  FRANK: Because he wants to smother her, wash her in words of love, but he can’t because he has no fluency in love words and he’s afraid she won’t understand that –

  (Again she tries to speak and again he stops her.)

  No, no, no. And he’s trembling because he’s afraid she’ll tire of a man so staid, so formal, so ponderous – tire of his earnestness – my God of this! – tire of this solemn, abject display that is the only method he knows. But you’d tell me if I ever began to disgust you, wouldn’t you, Anna? Yes, you would. You’d have nothing to say – those eyes would tell me. (Quick laugh.) I’ve a confession to make. Let’s sit down.

  (They sit on the summer seat.)

  There are nine men in this country who know everything about you!

  ANNA: What men?

  FRANK: The men that I rescued in the desert. Each time I crawled back to base with a man on my back – each trip took about half an hour – I told him about you – everything about you – your hair, your neck, your shoulders, the way you laugh – everything. Luckily most of them were too ill to listen. Not that that made any difference – I’d have told them anyway. And one of them – fellow called Driscoll, lost both his legs – I had to carry him like a baby – he kept moaning and crying for his mother and I heard myself shouting to him, ‘Shut up, Driscoll! I’m talking to you about my Anna! So shut up! Shut up!’ And he did. And he listened. So you probably saved Driscoll’s life – just as you have saved mine.

  (MIRIAM comes out.)

  MIRIAM: D’you know what Charlie was saying? You should put down spuds in this garden next year. Great for killing weeds.

  ANNA: Where’s Father Tom?

  (BEN, HELEN and TINA come out to the garden.)

  MIRIAM: In the kitchen, I think.

  HELEN: You don’t want more of his coffee, do you?

  (Laughter.)

  BEN: Every time I hear Uncle Tom mention coffee I think of that famous picnic years ago –

  HELEN: On Portnoo pier!

  BEN: That’s it.

  MIRIAM: And the two flasks! Oh, sweet Saviour!

  FRANK: He’ll hear you, Miriam.

  TINA: What was that? What happened?

  FRANK: It’s a bit unkind to poor Tom.

  BEN: Poor Tom! I might have been killed.

  MIRIAM: (To ANNA) We all drove out to Portnoo this Sunday – oh, thirteen – fourteen years ago –

  BEN: I was twelve at the time.

  FRANK: (To ANNA) The place with the lookout post on the hill above it.

  HELEN: (To ANNA) Haven’t you been there?

  ANNA: Yes, yes, I know it.

  MIRIAM: And Mammy sat with a rug round her knees and the rest of us had a swim and then we spread the cloth out on the pier for the picnic and Uncle Tom had his stuff and we had ours. And it must have been the month of June because I have a distinct memory that it was the first strawberries we’d had that season and Mammy had a carton of cream, fresh cream, and a carton of ice cream, and you know that sensation when you taste the first fresh strawberries of the season – just like the first new spuds – only lighter and –

  BEN: Tell the story, will you?

  HELEN: We had just begun to eat –

  MIRIAM: When suddenly Ben began behaving very strangely.

  TINA: Oh, that story!

  (SIR enters; listens to the story and reacts to it as the others do. As the narrative unfolds, BEN acts the part he played.)

  BEN: Hic-hup-hie-hic-hic.

  MIRIAM: Staggering across the cloth and kicking over the cups and the strawberries and the ice cream; and of course Mammy began to panic –

  FRANK: (To ANNA) We can laugh at it now.

  HELEN: ‘Epilepsy! My baby boy’s got epilepsy!’

  TINA: The twelve-year-old baby!

  FRANK: It was very frightening.

  MIRIAM: And then he fell on his face and started vomiting and Mammy began to cry and Tina started to scream –

  TINA: No wonder!

  MIRIAM: All into the car – back home like the hammers of hell – and you know those roads along the Gweebarra –

  FRANK: She knows them.

  HELEN: (To BEN) You’d passed out at that stage and uncle Tom was praying in your ear –

  MIRIAM: Straight into sick-quarters – frantic phone calls – doctors and nurses summoned –

  ANNA: What was it? What had happened?

  MIRIAM: What had happened was that little Christina here –

  TINA: I was six at the time!

  MIRIAM: – had switched Uncle Tom’s flask and our flask –

  BEN: (To TINA) Monster!

  MIRIAM: – and poor Mammy had given Ben a cup of neat whiskey!

  ANNA: No!

  HELEN: Almost killed him.

  BEN: He was never the same since.

  ANNA: Oh, poor Tom!

  BEN: Oh, poor me!

  MIRIAM: And of course he could never own up.

  HELEN: Did he know?

  MIRIAM: Did he know! Course he knew!

  FRANK: The sequel’s the best part. Tell her that.

  HELEN: That bit’s not true, Father.

  FRANK: Is it not?

  MIRIAM: Doesn’t matter if it’s true or not – it’s part of the Butler lore.

  ANNA: What’s the sequel?

  MIRIAM: Ben claims that –

  BEN: I do not!

  MIRIAM: All right – it is said that when he was lying in sick-quarters after he’d had his stomach pumped –

  FRANK: Shhhh!

  MIRIAM: – Uncle Tom came to see him.

  BEN: That bit’s true.

  MIRIAM: – leaned over him, caught him by the throat, and said, ‘Touch my flask again and I’ll break your bloody neck!’

  (They all laugh at this. Then continue talking in undertones. CHARLIE enters and stops beside SIR who is laughing too.)

  CHARLIE: What’s all the laughing about?

  SIR: Sorry?

  CHARLIE: What are they laughing at?

  SIR: They are happy.

  CHARLIE: They are?

  SIR: Yes.

  CHARLIE: They know what’s going to happen, don’t they?

  SIR: They know.

  CHARLIE: So what are they happy about?

  SIR: There’s always a gaiety at this stage.

  CHARLIE: At what stage?

  (SIR is walking towards the family. He is smiling. He does not look at CHARLIE.)

  SIR: Sorry?

  CHARLIE: What episode is that?

  SIR: Look at them – they’re so happy.

  CHARLIE: When is this supposed to have taken place?

  SIR: Yes, I’m afraid they’ve taken a few liberties.

  CHARLIE: Is this in your book?

  SIR: Some of it is, Charlie. And I’m afraid some of it is the wishful thinking of lonely people in lonely apartments. But they’re always being true to themselves. And even if they’ve juggled the time a bit, they’re doing no harm. We mustn’t be impatient with them.

  CHARLIE: Cracked, that family. Bloody cracked. Always was.

  And it’s the sa
me with my woman every time she gets back among them – she’s as bad as they are. Look at her for God’s sake! I don’t see much of that side of her when she’s at home, I can tell you.

  (He leaves quickly. SIR now joins the others.)

  TINA: Here’s Sir!

  SIR: Carry on – carry on – don’t let me interrupt.

  FRANK: Just recalling a family outing.

  SIR: Yes.

  MIRIAM: A picnic years ago.

  SIR: The famous day at Portnoo – I know – I know.

  (The gaiety ebbs quickly away.)

  HELEN: I don’t think we ever went back there, did we?

  BEN: I didn’t.

  HELEN: Not as a family group.

  MIRIAM: Not for a picnic.

  HELEN: Certainly not for a picnic.

  TINA: I was there one day last Easter. By myself.

  FRANK: And Anna and I have gone a few times, haven’t we?

  ANNA: Where to?

  FRANK: Portnoo.

  ANNA: Yes – once or twice.

  FRANK: Just for the run. But no picnic, I’m afraid.

  SIR: It’s a pretty place, Portnoo.

  FRANK: Lovely on a good day.

  SIR: Beautiful. And across the bay there’s an attractive little island.

  FRANK: Inniskeel – is that what it’s called?

  SIR: That’s it.

  FRANK: Yes.

  SIR: And when the tide’s out, you can walk out to it – out to the island.

  FRANK: So I believe – I’ve never done that.

  SIR: Actually you don’t walk out from Portnoo. You go from Narin just over the road.

  FRANK: I see. No, I’ve never done that.

  SIR: Yes. A pretty place, Portnoo. Very pretty place.

  (Pause.)

  ANNA: Shouldn’t we get on with it?

  SIR: Take your time – I’m in no hurry.

  FRANK: Perhaps we should.

  SIR: There’s no rush.

  MIRIAM: Yes, let’s start.

  FRANK: I think we should.

  SIR: If you would like to make a fresh pot of tea or –?

  ANNA: Let’s start! Let’s start!

  SIR: Whatever you say …

  FRANK: Yes, the sooner the better.

  SIR: Very well. (Opens his ledger.) Where would you like to resume? (Waits – no answers.) Anyone got any preference? (TOM bursts in from the kitchen.)

  TOM: I’ve remembered another use he had for that brass ferrule. You know how people in chapel like to sit spread out in those long pews? Well, he used to go hopping up along the aisle and whatever unfortunate was at the end of the seat he’d prod him – (Sees SIR.) Oh! You’re back!

  SIR: Only a few minutes – that’s all.

  TOM: (Looking around) Are we ready to – to go?

  SIR: If you are.

  TOM: Me. Oh, I’m – certainly, certainly. Any time you’re ready, I’m – I’m – (He fades out.)

  SIR: If no one else has any suggestions, may I propose that we do the reasonable thing – in other words carry on almost immediately after we left off; that is to say, just before the return of Frank and Anna and Tom from the reception. Does that suit everybody?

  (No answers.)

  And Tom!

  TOM: Sir?

  SIR: (Smiling) I’ll keep watching.

  TOM: (Uneasily) Oh yes, yes, do – do that.

  (TOM exits quickly – in his confusion going off left instead of right.)

  SIR: Not that way, Tom. Over this – (TOM has gone.) I don’t think we need those things, do we? (He picks up empty coffee mugs, the Enquirer; adjusts the chairs.)

  MIRIAM: I’m not needed, am I?

  SIR: Not for the time being, thank you. Nor Helen, nor Tina. (Looking round the set.) That’s more like it, isn’t it?

  (SIR returns to his stool. HELEN and TINA and MIRIAM move off. Then ANNA. Finally FRANK. FRANK is thinking himself back to the scene that SIR has called for. As he passes BEN:)

  BEN: Talking about that silly picnic –

  FRANK: (To himself) Let’s see. We left the mess. I drove. Anna was beside me. Tom was in the back –

  BEN: No, no, the Portnoo picnic – coming home in the car – you were driving and I was lying across Mother’s lap – I suppose I was drunk, for God’s sake –

  FRANK: (Only now aware of him) What’s that?

  BEN: And you k-k-k-– and you kept –

  SIR: ‘It is now 3.45 a.m. –’

  BEN: My head was on your knees – and you had one hand on the driving wheel – and your other hand kept s-s-s-s-– your other hand kept –

  SIR: Frank.

  FRANK: Sir?

  SIR: You’re off at this point.

  FRANK: Yes, I know that. (Irritably to BEN.) What is it? What is it?

  BEN: With your other hand, your free hand, all the way home you kept stroking my face, my face, my cheeks, my forehead –

  SIR: Gentlemen, I’m sorry. I must insist.

  FRANK: (To BEN) Not now, later, please –

  BEN: But what I want to tell you, Father, and what I want you to know is that I –

  FRANK: (Leaving) Some other time.

  SIR: ‘It is now 2.45 a.m. Tina is sleeping in bed. Helen is getting her case ready. Frank, Anna and Tom are driving home from the reception – Frank and Anna in front, Tom in the back –’

  (He is interrupted by TOM, who has discovered that he exited the wrong way. He is now crossing in front of SIR.)

  TOM: Sorry – sorry – beg your pardon.

  SIR: Take your time. No rush.

  TOM: Looking for matches.

  SIR: And did you get some?

  (TOM taps his jacket pocket.)

  Fine – fine. No hurry. We’ve all the time in the world. (Calls) Ready now, Frank?

  FRANK: (Off) Yes.

  SIR: (Calls) And Anna?

  ANNA: (Off) Ready.

  SIR: Good. Where was I? Ah – ‘– Tom in the back. Ben is alone in the living-room. He is moving around.’ And that seems to be all the directions I’ve got. A bit abrupt, isn’t it? Could you carry on from there? Thank you.

  (He sits on his stool. The lights change. BEN is alone in the living-room.)

  BEN: There was a fellow in my class at UCD; Sproule – Harry Sproule; from Tipperary. Horsey people. Had a brother doing arts and another doing law at the same time. And each had a flat of his own. And the three of them never met during term – not even once. Didn’t even travel together. Strange, wasn’t it? Harry Sproule. (He fingers the ornament.)

  HELEN: (Off) What’s that?

  BEN: Called his father and mother by their Christian names. Spoke of them warmly – as if they were friends of the family. (Pause.) Did you ever think what it must have been like for Anna coming into our family? (He circles around the wicker chair, looking at it.)

  HELEN: (Off) I can’t hear you.

  BEN: (Not as loud) With our bloody boring reminiscences and our bloody awareness and our bloody quivering sensibilities. There must be another way of ordering close relationships, mustn’t there? (Shouts) Mustn’t there?

  (HELEN enters. A cigarette in her mouth. Very brisk. She lifts a book and then goes to the radiator, where her tights are spread.)

  HELEN: Mustn’t there what?

  BEN: I’m saying we’re a very closely knit family.

  HELEN: I don’t know. Are we? I suppose so. Does it matter? Tights drying on a radiator and no heating on!

  BEN: Maybe I should go now, Helen.

  HELEN: Go where?

  BEN: Leave. Before they get back.

  HELEN: Whatever suits you.

  BEN: I’d just like to see him for one minute, give him my congratulations and then clear off.

  HELEN: (Firmly) Listen to me. You’ll stay where you are. When he comes you’ll shake his hand, say your piece, and then leave. Right? Can’t wear these tomorrow.

  BEN: I think I’ll take a drink. No, maybe I shouldn’t. You’ll be here, won’t you?

  HELEN: What do you want me to do, Ben
? Stand at your side and hold your hand and stroke it?

  (She runs upstairs.)

  BEN: Helen, I’ve already apologized –

  (But she is gone. He is wretched.)

  God! (Rehearsing) Congratulations, Sir, I’m really proud of – (Pause.) Very well done, Frank. Great work.

  Splendid – (Pause.) When I heard it on the radio, Father, I was so th-th-th-th-thrill – Oh Christ!

  (The voice of TOM off. Approaching, singing very slowly and very drunkenly.)

  TOM: We’re here because we’re here because we’re here because we’re here.

  (BEN rushes to the drinks. Uncorks a bottle, puts it to his head, corks it again. Then sits in the armchair right of fireplace. TOM arrives at the front door. He knocks loudly on it three times. BEN leaps up instinctively, nervously – then sits again.)

  Right door – wrong house.

  (He stands back and examines the façade.)

  Right house – wrong door.

  (He begins singing again. Comes into the garden doing an absurd advancing-retreating dance as he crosses the stage. Finally, very shortly after ANNA’s entrance, he falls into a deck chair and falls asleep. While TOM is dancing, ANNA enters. She goes straight into the living-room. At first she does not see BEN.)

  BEN: You’re very late.

  ANNA: What are you doing here?

  BEN: Just to congratulate –

  ANNA: Get out! Get out!

  BEN: What’s wrong?

  ANNA: My head’s splitting – that’s what’s wrong! I’m at my wits’ end – that’s what’s wrong!

  (FRANK enters the hallway. He is elated, assured, exuding confidence.)

  FRANK: Helen! Helen!

  ANNA: Get out, Ben, for God’s sake!

  (Before BEN can make up his mind, FRANK enters.)

  FRANK: I know she won’t have gone to bed. She may have –

  (He stops suddenly when he sees BEN. They stand looking at one another. Pause.)

  BEN: I was passing and I just dropped in …

  FRANK: Yes?

  (Pause.)

  BEN: I heard all about it on the radio and read all the stuff in the papers – and for your sake I was really very – it was just great. (Holds out his hand.)

  Congratulations.

  FRANK: (Very formally) Thank you.

  (Then suddenly FRANK opens his arms and embraces BEN warmly.)

  Ben! Thank you, son. Thank you.

  (HELEN enters from kitchen.)

  Do you see who’s here?

  HELEN: Naturally.

  FRANK: Naturally.