MRS. ROONEY
I feel very cold and faint. The wind—[whistling wind]—is whistling through my summer frock as if I had nothing on over my bloomers. I have had no solid food since my elevenses.
MR. ROONEY
You have ceased to care. I speak—and you listen to the wind.
MRS. ROONEY
No, no, I am agog, tell me all, then we shall press on and never pause, never pause, till we come safe to haven.
[Pause.]
MR. ROONEY
Never pause . . . safe to haven. . . . Do you know, Maddy, sometimes one would think you were struggling with a dead language.
MRS. ROONEY
Yes indeed, Dan, I know full well what you mean, I often have that feeling, it is unspeakably excruciating.
MR. ROONEY
I confess I have it sometimes myself, when I happen to overhear what I am saying.
MRS. ROONEY
Well, you know, it will be dead in time, just like our own poor dear Gaelic, there is that to be said. [Urgent baa.]
MR. ROONEY
[startled] Good God!
MRS. ROONEY
Oh the pretty little woolly lamb, crying to suck its mother! Theirs has not changed, since Arcady.
[Pause.]
MR. ROONEY
Where was I in my composition?
MRS. ROONEY
At a standstill.
MR. ROONEY
Ah yes. [Clears his throat. Narrative tone.] I concluded naturally that we had entered a station and would soon be on our way again, and I sat on, without misgiving. Not a sound. Things are very dull today, I said, nobody getting down, nobody getting on. Then as time flew by and nothing happened I realized my error. We had not entered a station.
MRS. ROONEY
Did you not spring up and poke your head out of the window?
MR. ROONEY
What good would that have done me?
MRS. ROONEY
Why to call out to be told what was amiss.
MR. ROONEY
I did not care what was amiss. No, I just sat on, saying, If this train were never to move again I should not greatly mind. Then gradually a—how shall I say—a growing desire to—er—you know—welled up within me. Nervous probably. In fact now I am sure. You know, the feeling of being confined.
MRS. ROONEY
Yes yes, I have been through that.
MR. ROONEY
If we sit here much longer, I said, I really do not know what I shall do. I got up and paced to and fro between the seats, like a caged beast.
MRS. ROONEY
That is a help sometimes.
MR. ROONEY
After what seemed an eternity we simply moved off. And the next thing was Barrell bawling the abhorred name. I got down and Jerry led me to the men’s, or Fir as they call it now, from Vir Viris I suppose, the V becoming F, in accordance with Grimm’s Law. [Pause.] The rest you know. [Pause.] You say nothing? [Pause.] Say something. Maddy. Say you believe me.
MRS. ROONEY
I remember once attending a lecture by one of these new mind doctors. I forget what you call them. He spoke—
MR. ROONEY
A lunatic specialist?
MRS. ROONEY
No no, just the troubled mind. I was hoping he might shed a little light on my lifelong preoccupation with horses’ buttocks.
MR. ROONEY
A neurologist.
MRS. ROONEY
No no, just mental distress, the name will come back to me in the night. I remember his telling us the story of a little girl, very strange and unhappy in her ways, and how he treated her unsuccessfully over a period of years and was finally obliged to give up the case. He could find nothing wrong with her, he said. The only thing wrong with her as far as he could see was that she was dying. And she did in fact die, shortly after he had washed his hands of her.
MR. ROONEY
Well? What is there so wonderful about that?
MRS. ROONEY
No, it was just something he said, and the way he said it, that have haunted me ever since.
MR. ROONEY
You lie awake at night, tossing to and fro and brooding on it.
MRS. ROONEY
On it and other . . . wretchedness. [Pause.] When he had done with the little girl he stood there motionless for some time, quite two minutes I should say, looking down at his table. Then he suddenly raised his head and exclaimed, as if he had had a revelation, The trouble with her was she had never really been born! [Pause.] He spoke throughout without notes. [Pause.] I left before the end.
MR. ROONEY
Nothing about your buttocks? [Mrs. Rooney weeps. In affectionate remonstrance.] Maddy!
MRS. ROONEY
There is nothing to be done for those people!
MR. ROONEY
For which is there? [Pause.] That does not sound right somehow. [Pause.] What way am I facing?
MRS. ROONEY
What?
MR. ROONEY
I have forgotten what way I am facing.
MRS. ROONEY
You have turned aside and are bowed down over the ditch.
MR. ROONEY
There is a dead dog down there.
MRS. ROONEY
No no, just the rotting leaves.
MR. ROONEY
In June? Rotting leaves in June?
MRS. ROONEY
Yes, dear, from last year, and from the year before last, and from the year before that again. [Silence. Rainy wind. They move on. Dragging steps, etc.] There is that lovely laburnum again. Poor thing, it is losing all its tassels. [Dragging steps, etc.] There are the first drops. [Rain. Dragging steps, etc.] Golden drizzle. [Dragging steps, etc.] Do not mind me, dear, I am just talking to myself. [Rain heavier. Dragging steps, etc.] Can hinnies procreate, I wonder? [They halt.]
MR. ROONEY
Say that again.
MRS. ROONEY
Come on, dear, don’t mind me, we are getting drenched.
MR. ROONEY
[forcibly] Can what what?
MRS. ROONEY
Hinnies procreate. [Silence.] You know, hinnies, or jinnies, aren’t they barren, or sterile, or whatever it is? [Pause.] It wasn’t an ass’s colt at all, you know, I asked the Regius Professor.
[Pause.]
MR. ROONEY
He should know.
MRS. ROONEY
Yes, it was a hinny, he rode into Jerusalem or wherever it was on a hinny. [Pause.] That must mean something. [Pause.] It’s like the sparrows, than many of which we are of more value, they weren’t sparrows at all.
MR. ROONEY
Than many of which! . . . You exaggerate, Maddy.
MRS. ROONEY
[with emotion] They weren’t sparrows at all!
MR. ROONEY
Does that put our price up?
[Silence. They move on. Wind and rain. Dragging feet, etc. They halt.]
MRS. ROONEY
Do you want some dung? [Silence. They move on. Wind and rain, etc. They halt.] Why do you stop? Do you want to say something?
MR. ROONEY
No.
MRS. ROONEY
Then why do you stop?
MR. ROONEY
It is easier.
MRS. ROONEY
Are you very wet?
MR. ROONEY
To the buff.
MRS. ROONEY
The buff?
MR. ROONEY
The buff. From buffalo.
MRS. ROONEY
We shall hang up all our things in the hot-cupboard and get into our dressing-gowns. [Pause.] Put your arm round me. [Pause.] Be nice to me! [Pause. Gratefully.] Ah, Dan! [They move on. Wind and rain. Dragging feet, etc. Faintly same music as before. They halt. Music clearer. Silence but for music playing. Music dies.] All day the same old record. All alone in that great empty house. She must be a very old woman now.
MR. ROONEY
[indistinctly] Death and the Maiden. [Silence.]
MRS. ROONEY
You are crying. [Pause.] Are you crying?
MR. ROONEY
[violently] Yes! [They move on. Wind and rain. Dragging feet, etc. They halt. They move on. Wind and rain. Dragging feet, etc. They halt.] Who is the preacher tomorrow? The incumbent?
MRS. ROONEY
No.
MR. ROONEY
Thank God for that. Who?
MRS. ROONEY
Hardy.
MR. ROONEY
“How to be Happy though Married”?
MRS. ROONEY
No no, he died, you remember. No connexion.
MR. ROONEY
Has he announced his text?
MRS. ROONEY
“The Lord upholdeth all that fall and raiseth up all those that be bowed down.” [Silence. They join in wild laughter. They move on. Wind and rain. Dragging feet, etc.] Hold me tighter, Dan! [Pause.] Oh yes!
[They halt.]
MR. ROONEY
I hear something behind us.
[Pause.]
MRS. ROONEY
It looks like Jerry. [Pause.] It is Jerry.
[Sound of Jerry’s running steps approaching. He halts beside them, panting.]
JERRY
[panting] You dropped—
MRS. ROONEY
Take your time, my little man, you will burst a blood-vessel.
JERRY
[panting] You dropped something, sir. Mr. Barrell told me to run after you.
MRS. ROONEY
Show. [She takes the object.] What is it? [She examines it.]
What is this thing, Dan?
MR. ROONEY
Perhaps it is not mine at all.
JERRY
Mr. Barrell said it was, sir.
MRS. ROONEY
It looks like a kind of ball. And yet it is not a ball.
MR. ROONEY
Give it to me.
MRS. ROONEY
[giving it] What is it, Dan?
MR. ROONEY
It is a thing I carry about with me.
MRS. ROONEY
Yes, but what—
MR. ROONEY
[violently] It is a thing I carry about with me!
[Silence. Mrs. Rooney looks for a penny.]
MRS. ROONEY
I have no small money. Have you?
MR. ROONEY
I have none of any kind.
MRS. ROONEY
We are out of change, Jerry. Remind Mr. Rooney on Monday and he will give you a penny for your pains.
JERRY
Yes, Ma’am.
MR. ROONEY
If I am alive.
JERRY
Yessir.
[Jerry starts running back towards the station.]
MRS. ROONEY
Jerry! [Jerry halts.] Did you hear what the hitch was?
[Pause.] Did you hear what kept the train so late?
MR. ROONEY
How would he have heard? Come on.
MRS. ROONEY
What was it, Jerry?
JERRY
It was a—
MR. ROONEY
Leave the boy alone, he knows nothing! Come on!
MRS. ROONEY
What was it, Jerry?
JERRY
It was a little child, Ma’am.
[Mr. Rooney groans.]
MRS. ROONEY
What do you mean, it was a little child?
JERRY
It was a little child fell out of the carriage, Ma’am. [Pause.] On to the line, Ma’am. [Pause.] Under the wheels, Ma’am.
[Silence. Jerry runs off. His steps die away. Tempest of wind and rain. It abates. They move on. Dragging steps, etc. They halt. Tempest of wind and rain.]
End
Embers
A piece for radio
Sea scarcely audible.
Henry’s boots on shingle. He halts.
Sea a little louder.
HENRY
On. [Sea. Voice louder.] On! [He moves on. Boots on shingle. As he goes.] Stop. [Boots on shingle. As he goes, louder.] Stop! [He halts. Sea a little louder.] Down. [Sea. Voice louder.] Down! [Slither of shingle as he sits. Sea, still faint, audible throughout what follows whenever pause indicated.] Who is beside me now? [Pause.] An old man, blind and foolish. [Pause.] My father, back from the dead, to be with me. [Pause.] As if he hadn’t died. [Pause.] No, simply back from the dead, to be with me, in this strange place. [Pause.] Can he hear me? [Pause.] Yes, he must hear me. [Pause.] To answer me? [Pause.] No, he doesn’t answer me. [Pause.] Just be with me. [Pause.] That sound you hear is the sea. [Pause. Louder.] I say that sound you hear is the sea, we are sitting on the strand. [Pause.] I mention it because the sound is so strange, so unlike the sound of the sea, that if you didn’t see what it was you wouldn’t know what it was. [Pause.] Hooves! [Pause. Louder.] Hooves! [Sound of hooves walking on hard road.
They die rapidly away. Pause.] Again! [Hooves as before. Pause. Excitedly.] Train it to mark time! Shoe it with steel and tie it up in the yard, have it stamp all day! [Pause.] A ten-ton mammoth back from the dead, shoe it with steel and have it tramp the world down! Listen to it! [Pause.] Listen to the light now, you always loved light, not long past noon and all the shore in shadow and the sea out as far as the island. [Pause.] You would never live this side of the bay, you wanted the sun on the water for that evening bathe you took once too often. But when I got your money I moved across, as perhaps you may know. [Pause.] We never found your body, you know, that held up probate an unconscionable time, they said there was nothing to prove you hadn’t run away from us all and alive and well under a false name in the Argentine for example, that grieved mother greatly. [Pause.] I’m like you in that, can’t stay away from it, but I never go in, no, I think the last time I went in was with you. [Pause.] Just be near it. [Pause.] Today it’s calm, but I often hear it above in the house and walking the roads and start talking, oh just loud enough to drown it, nobody notices. [Pause.] But I’d be talking now no matter where I was, I once went to Switzerland to get away from the cursed thing and never stopped all the time I was there. [Pause.] I usen’t to need anyone, just to myself, stories, there was a great one about an old fellow called Bolton, I never finished it, I never finished any of them, I never finished anything, everything always went on for ever. [Pause.] Bolton. [Pause. Louder.] Bolton! [Pause.] There before the fire. [Pause.] Before the fire with all the shutters . . . no, hangings, hangings, all the hangings drawn and the light, no light, only the light of the fire, sitting there in the . . . no, standing, standing there on the hearthrug in the dark before the fire with his arms on the chimneypiece and his head on his arms, standing there waiting in the dark before the fire in his old red dressing-gown and no sound in the house of any kind, only the sound of the fire. [Pause.] Standing there in his old red dressing-gown might go on fire any minute like when he was a child, no, that was his pyjamas, standing there waiting in the dark, no light, only the light of the fire, and no sound of any kind, only the fire, an old man in great trouble. [Pause.] Ring then at the door and over he goes to the window and looks out between the hangings, fine old chap, very big and strong, bright winter’s night, snow everywhere, bitter cold, white world, cedar boughs bending under load and then as the arm goes up to ring again recognizes . . .
Holloway . . . [long pause] . . . yes, Holloway, recognizes Holloway, goes down and opens. [Pause.] Outside all still, not a sound, dog’s chain maybe or a bough groaning if you stood there listening long enough, white world, Holloway with his little black bag, not a sound, bitter cold, full moon small and white, crooked trail of Holloway’s galoshes, Vega in the Lyre very green. [Pause.] Vega in the Lyre very green. [Pause.] Following conversation then on the step, no, in the room, back in the room, following conversation then back in the room, Holloway: “My dear Bolton, it is now past midnight, if you would be good enough—,” gets no further, Bolton: “Please! PLEASE!” Dead silence then, not a sound, only the fire, all coal, burning down now, Holloway on the hearthrug trying to toast his arse, Bolt
on, where’s Bolton, no light, only the fire, Bolton at the window his back to the hangings, holding them a little apart with his hand looking out, white world, even the spire, white to the vane, most unusual, silence in the house, not a sound, only the fire, no flames now, embers. [Pause.] Embers. [Pause.] Shifting, lapsing, furtive like, dreadful sound, Holloway on the rug, fine old chap, six foot, burly, legs apart, hands behind his back holding up the tails of his old macfarlane, Bolton at the window, grand old figure in his old red dressinggown, back against the hangings, hand stretched out widening the chink, looking out, white world great trouble, not a sound, only the embers, sound of dying, dying glow, Holloway, Bolton, Bolton, Holloway, old men, great trouble, white world, not a sound. [Pause.] Listen to it! [Pause.] Close your eyes and listen to it, what would you think it was? [Pause. Vehement.] A drip! A drip! [Sound of drip, rapidly amplified, suddenly cut off.] Again! [Drip again. Amplification begins.] No! [Drip cut off. Pause.] Father! [Pause. Agitated.] Stories, stories, years and years of stories, till the need came on me, for someone, to be with me, anyone, a stranger, to talk to, imagine he hears me, years of that, and then, now, for someone who . . . knew me, in the old days, anyone, to be with me, imagine he hears me, what I am, now. [Pause.] No good either. [Pause.] Not there either. [Pause.] Try again. [Pause.] White world, not a sound. [Pause.] Holloway. [Pause.] Holloway says he’ll go, damned if he’ll sit up all night before a black grate, doesn’t understand, call a man out, an old friend, in the cold and dark, an old friend, urgent need, bring the bag, then not a word, no explanation no heat, no light, Bolton: “Please! PLEASE!” Holloway, no refreshment, no welcome, chilled to the medulla, catch his death, can’t understand, strange treatment, old friend, says he’ll go, doesn’t move, not a sound, fire dying, white beam from window, ghastly scene, wishes to God he hadn’t come, no good, fire out, bitter cold, great trouble, white world, not a sound, no good. [Pause.] No good. [Pause.] Can’t do it. [Pause.] Listen to it! [Pause.] Father! [Pause.] You wouldn’t know me now, you’d be sorry you ever had me, but you were that already, a washout, that’s the last I heard from you, a washout. [Pause. Imitating father’s voice.] “Are you coming for a dip?” “No.” “Come on, come on.” “No.” Glare, stump to door, turn, glare. “A washout, that’s all you are, a washout!” [Violent slam of door. Pause.] Again! [Slam. Pause.] Slam life shut like that! [Pause.] Washout. [Pause.] Wish to Christ she had. [Pause.] Never met Ada, did you, or did you, I can’t remember, no matter, no one’d know her now. [Pause.] What turned her against me do you think, the child I suppose, horrid little creature, wish to God we’d never had her, I use to walk with her in the fields, Jesus that was awful, she wouldn’t let go my hand and I mad to talk. “Run along now, Addie, and look at the lambs.” [imitating Addie’s voice.] “No papa.” “Go on now, go on.” [Plaintive.] “No papa.” [Violent.] “Go on with you when you’re told and look at the lambs!” [Addie’s loud wail. Pause.] Ada too, conversation with her, that was something, that’s what hell will be like, small chat to the babbling of Lethe about the good old days when we wished we were dead. [Pause.] Price of margarine fifty years ago. [Pause.] And now. [Pause. With solemn indignation.] Price of blueband now! [Pause.] Father! [Pause.] Tired of talking to you. [Pause.] That was always the way, walk all over the mountains with you talking and talking and then suddenly mum and home in misery and not a word to a soul for weeks, sulky little bastard, better off dead. [Long pause.] Ada. [Pause. Louder.] Ada!
Krapp's Last Tape and Other Dramatic Pieces Page 5