TOWN CLERK: I’ll enlighten you, boy. You can be up for murder and welcome. You can take a hatchet and cut your wife into two pieces. People will say you’re . . . an odd class of a man. But this business of not being sanctioned—oh, begob, that’s a different pair of sleeves. Wait and see, boy. Wait and see. As long as you live you’ll rue the day.
KELLY: (Gravely.) Oh, it’s very bad. It’s very difficult.
SHAWN: ‘Tis like havin’ insanity on the mother’s side.
THE STRANGER: (Agitated.) But I have to stay here for a while. I must have a job. I MUST HAVE A JOB. Surely you can fix me up for a few weeks, Mr. Kelly? I can’t be fired out like this without warning. It isn’t fair.
(During this speech the TOWN CLERK has again retreated to the background, whipped out his bottle and drained it in one ferocious gulp. He advances again, looking very fortified. He then adopts a most solemn attitude and gestures with his finger.)
REILLY: (Who has been listening curiously, surprised by the trend of the conversation.) I don’t know which of yez is the greatest twister, but bedad ye’re all of the one mind now. Begor, it’s changed times. (He turns.) And me own teetotal pal footless there on the sofa.
KELLY: The appointment was perfectly in order until the Department said their say.
THE STRANGER: (Very perturbed.) I don’t see why everybody should be against me like this.
SHAWN: I do, I do. ‘Tis a very serious thing not to be sanctioned. ‘Tis a very dark thing.
REILLY: It’s the worst thing that could happen to you in this life. (To THE STRANGER.) Listen, mister-me-friend. Aren’t you in digs below in Connors?
THE STRANGER: I am.
REILLY: I know you are. Try going back there tonight. Just try it.
THE STRANGER: What do you mean?
SHAWN: Ah, glory be to God, you don’t think big Mick Connors would let a man that wasn’t sanctioned spend the night under his roof?
REILLY: Not bloody likely.
SHAWN: Shure no decent man would be such an omadaun.
KELLY: (With resignation.) I’m afraid you’re in a hole, my friend. I wish I could help you but this situation is beyond me. I fear it is beyond my capacity. Some things I can do. Others—I cannot.
TOWN CLERK: (Swaying and returning to the attack.) Listen, boy. Listen now, boy, till I relate a story to you. In a certain town where I was before this we had a man that wasn’t sanctioned. Thanks be to God I only met this thing once before in my life. And do you know, I will never forget it. Never, so long as I live. Don’t be talkin’ to me.
SHAWN: (Nodding heavily.) I do, I do. I know the case well. Shure ‘tis part of the history of Ireland, man.
TOWN CLERK: (As if appalled by the recollection of it.) Ah, glory be to God, it was one of the saddest—one of the most heart-rending misfortunes that I ever knew. And I’ve seen a lot of terrible tings in me time. But this was—Ah, ‘twas terrible. Terrible.
THE STRANGER: But what have I done? I haven’t done anything wrong.
REILLY: Whatever lies was in the query form the Guards is in on it. Begob, you’ll rue the day you ever met honest Mr. Kelly. Mark that, me bucko.
TOWN CLERK: (Still absorbed in his sad recollection.) Do you know, at the present time in all Ireland I don’t suppose you have more than ten unsanctioned men. God be good to the unfortunate divils. (He turns in consternation to the others.) I’D RATHER HAVE THE LEPROSY! Do you know that? I’d rather have the leprosy.
THE STRANGER: (More anxious than ever.) Look here, I don’t like this sort of talk. What do you mean?
KELLY: (Retreating to have a look at SHAW.) I can only tell you that you have my heart-felt sympathy in your misfortune.
THE STRANGER: (Shrilly, getting really frightened.) What on earth do you mean? Will you please explain?
REILLY: (Genially.) I’ll tell you. Number One, no bed for you tonight. Number Two, no cigarettes or beer no matter where you ask for them. Number Three, no answer to any question no matter where you put it in this town. You’re a man that wasn’t sanctioned by the Department. You’ll know what that means before you’re much older or my name isn’t Reilly.
SHAWN: (Nodding.) I do, I do.
TOWN CLERK: (Reminiscently.) This other unfortunate divil had a very misfortunate wind-up at the latter end. It was kept out of the Examiner but I remember it well. He opened himself up somewhere with a bit of a shavin’-razor.
REILLY: (Shrugging.) Damn the chance of this fly-be-night opening his neck. Only decent people take their own lives. Many’s a time I’ve felt like it meself.
THE STRANGER: (In a low voice.) And why did this man commit suicide?
TOWN CLERK: Yerrah, shure the man couldn’t get his fare to America and what else could he do?
SHAWN: There was once an unsanctioned man in me own part of the country, years—ah, years and years ago. The same day the letter came from the Department, he was on his way across the great blue ocean. Where did the poor gawm go but Boston, a place that is full of the grand sea-divided exiles of our land. Well, do you know, the first hotel he walked into it was thrown in his face. The hall-porter, do you know, was from my part of the country too. And the poor unfortunate man was put out on the street again.
TOWN CLERK: Shure I know that case. He had to fly off to Mexico and spend the rest of his days living with dagoes and all classes of wild men.
THE STRANGER: (Bursting out with great nervousness.) But supposing I don’t want a job? Supposing I have enough to live on for a while? Supposing I lived here very quietly and never went out and never spoke to anybody?
TOWN CLERK: Live where, man?
THE STRANGER: Where? . . . Anywhere. If they won’t let me stay where I am . . . couldn’t I live with Mr. Kelly? Couldn’t I, Mr. Kelly? Just for a few months till you take your seat? What’s wrong with that?
KELLY: (Horrified.) O, no thanks, that wouldn’t do at all. Wouldn’t do at all, at all.
THE STRANGER: But WHY?
KELLY: The clergy wouldn’t have it in the first place.
SHAWN: I do. Father Healy is very strict about unsanctioned men in the parish. He says it gives great scandal.
THE STRANGER: (Now thoroughly upset.) THE CLERGY? What have
they got to do with it? THE CLERGY?
REILLY: If you’re in this town tomorrow morning Father Healy will have a word to say to you. He’ll pack you out quick enough.
THE STRANGER: (Shrilly.) What? A priest?
KELLY: If you try to stay here you’ll have no life, man. Nobody will talk to you.
THE STRANGER: (Forgetting himself in his anxiety.) But I HAVE to talk to people. That’s my job. I have to talk to them, to persuade them, to make them do what I want—I mean, I like talking to people . . . (He breaks off in confusion.)
TOWN CLERK: You’ll have to do your talking to the Mexicans, like the other fella. (The telephone rings and REILLY darts over to answer it.)
REILLY: What? This is Reilly. Yes, he’s here. (He listens.) I see. (He puts down the receiver looking very surprised.)
KELLY: Who was that?
REILLY: That was Guard Shanahan. He’s on his way up to ask a lot of questions about that query form and he says there’s going to be a Petition.
KELLY: A Petition——?
REILLY: Yes, a Petition. You’re not a T.D. yet. There was some monkey-work. When the last two boxes of votes were opened they were full of ashes. (He turns to the others.) What do you think of that?
TOWN CLERK: (Astonished.) Ashes? Well, begor . . . that’s extraordinary.
KELLY: (Incredulously.) A petition? Ashes! Well, upon my word! Upon my word!
TOWN CLERK: (Briskly to hide uneasiness.) Well, do oo now, if there’s a Guard comin’ up here with his notebook and pincil I tink I’ll mosey off and have a nice bottle of stout for meself. Cheery-pip, lads!
(Exit.)
THE STRANGER: (Now thoroughly scared.) I have nothing to hide, gentlemen. If the police wish to see me I am at their service. I’d better get my c
oat . . . I’ll be back in a moment.
(He opens the press at back of stage, unnoticed by all save KELLY. Revealed are the rows of delf, etc. He quietly closes it behind him.)
REILLY: (Exploding venomously as he gets ready to depart.) Well, I’m a happy man tonight. I’ve smashed to smithereens the lousiest twist, the dirtiest ready-up, that was ever tried on in this town. I have fixed the hash of that customer gone out, whoever the hell he is. And if I know anything (To KELLY.) damn the T.D. you’ll ever be (sneering) . . . Mr. Chairman, sir!
(There is silence. SHAWN remains sprawled on his chair, delighted with himself. KELLY remains prostrate on his chair, his head bowed. Immediately the general gloom is punctured by a very abrupt and bad-tempered entrance on the part of HANNAH.)
HANNAH: Well, this is a nice house! Drunken thollabawns turning the place into a bear garden and herself upstairs with a nervous breakdown from the carry-on ye had between the lot of ye in this room!
SHAWN: (With great compassion.) Ah, the grand . . . fine . . . religious . . . soft-hearted woman. ‘Tis off home I’ll bring meself this minute and lave her to her prayers.
HANNAH: (Belligerently.) Aw, we’ve had enough chat out of you.
SHAWN: (Rising and waddling out.) I do, I do. Goodbye to yeh, Mr. Chairman. I do, I do.
HANNAH: (To KELLY.) And I’m talkin’ to you too. Yourself and your friend on the sofa. (KELLY looks up uncomprehendingly.) I’m going to make a pot of good . . . strong . . . black coffee. That’ll give yez all the power to walk again.
(She bustles over to the press into which THE STRANGER disappeared. She throws it wide open, again showing the rows of delf. There is no trace of THE STRANGER. While taking out the cups she half turns her head and keeps on scolding.)
Because walk out of this house is what the pair of ye is going to do, and in double quick time, too. The divil himself couldn’t make more trouble than the pair of ye. (Exit with coffee pot and cups.)
(KELLY is left alone with the inert SHAW. He mutters the word ‘Petition’ a few times and gradually seems to recover. Still muttering the word, he rises unsteadily to his feet and takes a casual look at the press. His eyes are staring.)
KELLY: Ashes? . . . A Petition? . . . A Petition? (He strides about feverishly.) A Petition? (He becomes defiant.) To the devil with their petition! TO THE DEVIL WITH THEIR PETITION! Simply because I choose to make a few Christian principles the basis of my scheme of life, they hate me—they loathe me—they seek to fling me aside . . . TO RUN ME OUT OF PUBLIC LIFE! But they will not succeed—do you hear me?—THEY WILL NOT SUCCEED. I owe a debt to this old land that bore me. That debt I will repay. THAT DEBT I WILL REPAY. And no contemptible conspiracy, no insidious intrigue, no treachery or trickery shall stand between me and my rightful place in the free parliament of the sovereign Irish people. IN . . . THAT . . . NATIONAL . . . ASSEMBLY I will lift a fearless and unfettered voice to lash and castigate the knaves and worse than knaves who have sold out the old land on the altar of mammon, I will assail without mercy the gombeen men, the time-servers, the place-hunters (he takes up his hat) the fools and flunkeys and godless money-changers—I’ll outwit them all and destroy them, DESTROY THEM FINALLY. . . .
(In a transport of oratory, he has left the room towards the end of the speech. Instantly the devil has re-entered from the press, this time attired in the ceremonial robe of black used in the Prologue. He has a document in his hand. The light goes down until he is standing only in a green spotlight, a figure of great horror. His lips begin to move and immediately the voices of the other characters are heard. The voices can be those of the characters themselves but it will appear that the devil is mimicking them with diabolical skill.)
SHAWN: Sure didn’t he marry a grand big heifer of a woman. I do, I do. I do, I do.
KELLY: I will speak my mind freely and fearlessly in the parliament of the Irish people—and without regard to political expediency, the dictates of vested interests, or the crack of the party whip!
TOWN CLERK: Come out and have a glawsheen, it’s tin to tin.
KELLY: I won’t be bought—do you hear me?—I WON’T BE BOUGHT!
REILLY: There’s a dirty ready-up here and I’m not going to stand for it! I’M NOT GOING TO STAND FOR IT!
SHAWN: The grand . . . fine . . . nice . . . religious-minded woman. I do, I do.
KELLY: (Shouting.) Just because I make a few simple Christian principles my rule of life, they hate me—THEY HATE ME!
SHAWN: (Very softly.) I do, I do. I do, I do.
THE STRANGER: Not for any favour . . . in heaven or earth or hell . . . would I take that Kelly and the others with me to where I live, to be in their company for ever . . . and ever . . . and ever. Here’s the contract, his signed bond. (He shows the document and tears it up savagely.) I WANT NOTHING MORE OF IRISH PUBLIC LIFE! (Pause; he turns away, suddenly weary.) I’m tired. I’m going home.
BLACK-OUT AND CURTAIN
THIRST
(short version)
Characters in the play
MR. C[OULAHAN].
JEM
A Publican
PETER
THE SERGEANT
Customers
Thirst was first performed by the Dublin Gate Theatre in 1942.
The cast was as follows:
MR. C[OULAHAN].
Robert Hennessy
JEM
William Fassbender
PETER
Sean Colleary
THE SERGEANT
Liam Gaffney
The curtain goes up on the bar. It is after hours. Light from a distant street-lamp shines faintly on the window. The bar is lit (very badly) by two candles which are set on the counter, one of them stuck in a bottle. The publican, MR. C., who is suitably fat and prosperous in appearance, is leaning over the centre of the counter talking to PETER, who is sitting on a stool side-face to the audience. JEM, who is in the nature of a hanger-on, is away in a gloomy corner where he can barely be discerned. Both customers are drinking pints; the publican has a small whiskey. The curtain has gone up in the middle of a conversation between PETER and the publican.
MR. C.: (Dramatically.) And do you know why? (There is a pause.) Do you know why?
PETER: Begor, Mr Coulahan, I couldn’t tell you.
MR. C.: (Loudly, lifting a bottle and pouring.) Because he’s no good—that’s why—no bloody good at all! (Finishes pouring bottle.) And another thing—(Dramatic pause.)
(He finishes his drink in one gulp. Turns to the shelves for the whiskey bottle and noisily fills himself another. As the talk proceeds he is occupied with pulling two further stouts to fill up the customers’ glasses. PETER smokes and bends his head reflectively. JEM is silent save for drinking noises. He shows his face for a moment in the gloom by lighting a cigarette.)
MR. C.: He has a brother from the County Galway that comes up every year for the Horse Show, a hop-off-my-thumb that you wouldn’t notice passing you on the stairs, all dressed out in fancy riding-breeches. Last year he turned up in the uncle’s pub beyond in Drumcondra, complete with fountain-pen . . . and cheque-book. Gave your man as his reference. (He pauses ominously.) My God, the unfortunate bloody uncle. (He laughs hollowly.) The poor unfortunate bloody uncle. Twelve pounds fifteen shillings he was stuck for. Thirteen pounds you might say—thirteen pounds that he spent a good month of his life gathering together by the sweat of his brow! Now for God’s sake—did you ever hear anything like it?
JEM: (Who has a strong Dublin accent.) Oh, the cheque-book is the man. Manny’s the time I wished to God I had one of me own!
PETER: (Slyly.) Of course, that crowd digs with the other foot. It’s a lot of money to be stung for, there’s no doubt. Some publicans are very foolish.
MR. C.: Digs with the other foot? If you was to ask me—they dig with both feet! Whatever suits their book at the time, they’ll dig with that one. And they do all the digging in other people’s pockets! (Sips whiskey.) Sure, I believe your man’s wife was up for lifting stuf
f out of Slattery’s.
PETER: (Surprised.) Is that so? I didn’t hear that.
MR. C.: Certainly, man. Certainly she was.
JEM: Begob, half the town’s wheelin’ stuff outa that place night and day, they do be bringin’ hand-carts up there, some of them.
PETER: (Reflectively.) It’s funny how some families seem to go all the one way. It’s some sort of a streak. It’s in the blood, I suppose.
JEM: Aye, it’s the blood right enough.
PETER: There’s a bad ugly streak in that crowd—although every one of them got a good education. All at the Christian Brothers, no less.
MR. C.: (Turns to bottle behind him and pours himself another whiskey.) Don’t be talking, man! Sure it’s up in Mountjoy jail I’d have every one of them, and that’s where they’ll be yet—doing a stretch of seven years apiece for grand larceny and robbery and thievery and every crime in the calendar. And wasn’t there another brother that skipped to America after sticking up a bank in the Troubles—all in the name of Ireland. (He moves to cash register.)
JEM: Begob, Mr Coulahan, and I forgot about the bank stick-up!
MR. C.: Sure we put up with far too much in this country. (Sighs.) And there’s a certain other gentleman comes in here for his pint that ought to be locked up too, a very . . . very . . . respectable . . . gentleman—(He breaks off.) What was that?
(Noise.)
JEM: Eh, what’s that?
PETER: (Startled.) What? I heard nothing.
(COULAHAN moves to shelves.)
MR. C.: Shhh! Shhh! For God’s sake! It’s the Guards!
PETER and JEM: The Guards! The Guards! Begob! We’re ruined!
(PETER and JEM duck behind counter.)
MR. C.: Shhh.
(He blows out one of the candles, completely obliterating JEM. He tiptoes to the window and listens with bent head.)
Collected Plays and Teleplays (Irish Literature) Page 9