Father of the Man

by Stephen Benatar

  HESTER

  (Ironically) You have your pride?

  TONY

  Yes—as a matter of fact.

  HESTER

  And would an extra five hundred a year go any way towards assuaging that?

  TONY

  No, of course it wouldn’t. What do you think I am?

  HESTER

  An ingrate. And a very deep disappointment to every one of us. But here’s what I’ll do. Against my better judgment I’ll even provide an extra thousand. Which will give you a whole six thousand a year. I must warn you, however, that that is my final offer. My very last word on the subject.

  TONY

  I don’t care if you provide an extra ten thousand. Or twenty. No.

  HESTER

  And can you explain your reasons?

  TONY

  Yes. It’s a matter of principle.

  HESTER

  What principle?

  TONY

  I have to make my own way.

  HESTER

  What, without any degree or qualification? And with nearly four million people out of work?

  TONY

  Plus, I don’t want to feel beholden.

  HESTER

  You wouldn’t need to feel beholden. By the time you’re thirty—and with a good degree behind you—you could be earning anything up to twenty thousand a year, twenty-five thousand, possibly even more. Then you could start paying back what we’ve given you—paying it back to your mother if not to me; we can think of it merely as a loan. But without a degree, you’ll be lucky to rise above seven or eight thousand. Ever. And what kind of a life do you suppose you’ll be able to lead on that?

  TONY

  (Pause) Money isn’t everything.

  HESTER

  Oh, what idealistic pap! I’ve got to sit down. (She sits; TONY doesn’t) You may think you’re very grown up and wise but I think you’ve simply taken up a position, dug in your heels, and aren’t man enough to say, “Well, yes, perhaps I’ve been mistaken. Perhaps I ought to be listening to my elders, ought to be grabbing at this lifeline they’re holding out to me—a loan, after all—it isn’t charity!” But your ‘pride’ won’t let you, will it?

  TONY

  (Moving abruptly towards the door) I’m sorry but I’ve got to go.

  HESTER

  You do realize, don’t you, that you’re not in love with this girl?

  TONY

  And what do you know of whether I’m in love with her or not?

  HESTER

  At best it’s just infatuation. Infatuation with her—infatuation with your own self-image, and noble stance.

  TONY

  No, it’s not like that at all.

  HESTER

  (Pause; as if genuinely puzzled) Does it mean nothing to you—absolutely nothing: all the dreams and hopes which those who love you have invested in you? Is it so terrible that they only want you to get on, to make a place for yourself in this world, carve out a fulfilling career, since they themselves know what it is to have failed? You see, I have no pride, I don’t mind telling you my life has been a disappointment—and if you asked your mother I’m sure she would say the same about hers. We have made a mess of things: largely, perhaps, because we didn’t have the opportunities: though whatever the reason is—whether it’s our own fault or simply the fault of circumstance—doesn’t in the end make a lot of difference. You have the opportunities. This is a golden age. You have the brains (Here HESTER suddenly has her tongue in cheek again) if only you would choose to employ them; you have the personality; you have the grit. Is it so wrong that your mother and I should simply wish to see our own lives haven’t been lived completely in vain—that all the waste and error have finally added up to something wonderful…in other words, my darling, to you? Because—don’t you see?—your salvation is also our salvation. Is that so horribly selfish an ambition for a mother and grandmother to entertain? Please don’t go until we’ve talked about it further.

  TONY is still standing at the door, although his determination has clearly wavered during this last speech.

  TONY

  I’ve got to go, anyway. But I’ll think over what you’ve said.

  HESTER

  Do you promise?

  TONY

  I promise. In any case, there’s nothing I can do till Monday.

  HESTER

  But when will you let us know? Tomorrow?

  TONY

  Or Sunday. Sunday at the latest.

  HESTER

  Try and make it tomorrow. You know we shan’t get any rest until we’ve heard. You’re very precious to us. We only want what’s best for you, you know that.

  TONY

  Yes.

  HESTER

  (Now standing, walking halfway to the door and holding out her arms to him) And, darling, you’re not leaving without kissing your silly old granny goodbye? You know that even in the best-regulated circles people have their little…disagreements. It’s only because they care about each other and feel so dreadfully concerned. You need to look at what’s beneath those sometimes, I confess it, ill-considered words, rather than at the unclear, hasty things they express. Even grandmothers aren’t altogether perfect.

  ELLEN

  You surprise me. (This, as TONY returns to kiss HESTER)

  HESTER

  (Releasing TONY from a somewhat overlong embrace) And, as you go, don’t forget to look in on your mother. She’s in my bedroom. I think she may still be feeling…just a little unhappy.

  TONY

  I wouldn’t have forgotten. And I’ll also look in on Mr Davis.

  HESTER

  No, that isn’t necessary. Not if you’re late.

  TONY

  Except that I told him I would.

  HESTER

  Oh, then of course you must.

  TONY

  Besides, I’d like to. (Goes to kiss ELLEN) Goodbye, Aunt Ellen.

  ELLEN

  Why the return of the ‘aunt’? It was Ellen only a short while ago.

  TONY

  I’m sorry. Force of habit. Ellen.

  ELLEN

  (Lightly) Yes, you mustn’t regress. I’ve greatly enjoyed talking to you. Visit me sometimes. I’m nearly always at home.

  TONY

  Yes. Yes, I will.

  ELLEN

  And when you say you’ll do a thing, we all know that you mean it.

  TONY

  I hope so. See you both. (To HESTER) Thank you for the tea.

  HESTER

  God bless you, my darling. I’ll be in great suspense while awaiting your verdict. Do make it as merciful as you can. Besides as quick as you can. Don’t forget that at my age even a single day can make a difference.

  TONY nods; goes out. HESTER sits—sighs—pauses.

  HESTER

  (Cont; pleasantly) What were you both talking about?

  ELLEN

  Oh, this and that…I think, Hester, I may as well be on my way, too.

  HESTER

  I thought you were staying to supper.

  ELLEN

  (Patting her stomach) No, I’ve had enough tea to last me for a week. At home I never bother much with tea…unless I’ve a visitor. In particular a young one. (Gets up)You’ll say goodbye to Flora for me? I’m sorry that she’s so upset.

  HESTER

  Thank you. But I’m sure she’ll soon be feeling better. Very soon, one hopes.

  ELLEN doesn’t respond to this. They kiss each other on the cheek. HESTER starts to rise.

  ELLEN

  No, no, don’t get up. I’ll see myself out.

  HESTER

  (Sinking back again) Well, if you’re sure, dear…I can’t deny that I’m a little tired.

  ELLEN

  It’s been a tiring afternoon.

  HESTER

  Yes. But he is only nineteen. It would be surprising if one didn’t occasionally have such little contretemps.

  ELLEN looks at her a moment—then again takes the rose from the vase, puts
it in her mouth and does the same snazzy tango to the door. To the same tune.

  HESTER

  (Amused) What on earth are you doing?

  ELLEN

  (Taking the rose from her mouth) The tango, for heaven’s sake! Don’t say you didn’t recognize it?

  She repeats the dance, back across the room, once more replacing the rose in its vase—then back towards the door. Now singing the words.

  ELLEN

  “Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets, and little man, little Lola wants you! Make up your mind to have…no regrets; recline yourself, resign yourself; you’re through!” Oh, I forgot my handbag. (She goes back to collect it, from the floor beside her chair, then again dances to the door) “I always get what I take aim for—and your heart and soul are what I came for…” (Now with Lola’s Spanish accent very much accentuated) “You’re no exception to the rule. I’m irresistible, you fool—give in! Give in! Give in!” There! Doesn’t that remind you of the Café de Paris in the old days? (Leaves, then puts her head back round the door) Just singing for the supper that I never got!

  HESTER

  Ah, is that what it was? I thought you might merely have gone gaga.

  ELLEN

  Oh, I’ve thought that for years! Perhaps it runs in the family. One of its more appealing characteristics. (Goes)

  HESTER suddenly wilts. Is evidently dead beat. But after a short time arouses herself and, with an effort, stands.

  HESTER

  Must go to see how Flora is. (Heads for the door; stops) Or perhaps I’d better wait until he’s gone? Sighs) Oh, Tony, Tony, Tony!…Still. What can you expect? At nineteen? (Stands irresolute, thinking about something) At nineteen…

  She goes and sits; then almost at once rises again; crosses to radiogram, looks for a certain record, puts it on turntable.

  HESTER

  No, Ellen, this is not a tango! (It is Elgar’s Chanson de Matin. For a while she listens to it reflectively) Nineteen…

  Then she returns to her seat. The lights go down. When they come up again, most of the stage is in darkness. We can just see HESTER sitting in her armchair on the periphery but she is well outside the pool of light that illuminates the centre. Here we discover the nineteen-year-old HESTER, dressed in the style of 1923. She is circling restlessly around the perimeter of this small space, happy, excited, evoking the impression of somebody soon to be granted a release.

  MAX walks into the pool of light; it is in fact a summerhouse. He’s about forty—not a particularly robust or young-looking forty—but quietly attractive.

  MAX

  Ah, Hester, you got here first. (She runs to him; they embrace, then draw apart) Stand still a moment. Let me look at you. You know, even after nearly four weeks, I still can’t quite believe it.

  HESTER

  Tell me again about the ways in which I’ve changed over these past five years.

  MAX

  No matter how often I tell you, I can’t do the transformation justice.

  HESTER

  But try.

  MAX

  My darling girl, you were fourteen years old. I remember you only as a sweet and serious and appealing child—

  HESTER

  Sweet? You never said sweet before. I’m not sure I care too much for sweet. Nor serious either, come to that. You might as well tell me I was insipid and dull and have done with it. No, Max, you must do better than this. You have done better than this.

  MAX

  You’re like a child listening to a favourite fairy tale. You can’t bear to have even one sentence altered.

  HESTER

  So, then, why do what I can’t bear?

  MAX

  The trouble is I can’t remember how I’ve phrased it in the past. Was I all right with ‘appealing’?

  HESTER

  Appealing is…well, so-so. Bewitching would be better. Striking. Captivating. Irresistible. But I certainly hope I shan’t be required unendingly to prompt.

  MAX

  Ah, me. Did I happen to say before…?

  HESTER

  What?

  MAX

  …that you’ve become tempestuous!

  HESTER

  No, you didn’t. But don’t think you’re going to provoke me. At least that isn’t dull.

  MAX

  No, my dearest, there’s nothing about you that I recall as dull. So will tempestuous find favour?

  HESTER

  Yes, that’s…acceptable. At least it’s a thousand times better than moody—or sulky, Have you noticed how Agnes and Ellen are most terrible sulkers? But even so. Is appealing and tempestuous as much as I’m going to get?

  MAX

  Oh, not at all.

  HESTER

  So?

  MAX

  So heaven help us. What a demanding little minx you are. Please don’t forget there were six of you—and that you were all very much of an age.

  HESTER

  Upon my word, there’s gallantry!

  MAX

  And truth—which counts for more than gallantry.

  HESTER

  Well, now. I might agree with you, if there were any truth in what you said. All right, we were six; that much we can let you get away with. But since our ages, dear Uncle Max, happened to range from fourteen down to eight…

  MAX

  Don’t call me that, my dearest girl—please. For one thing, it makes me feel so old.

  HESTER

  Well, we’ll see. It depends on whether you can remember ever referring to me as unusually intelligent. You did once, you know.

  MAX

  Oh, I remember that exceedingly well.

  HESTER

  Where?

  MAX

  How can I say where? I know I’ve thought it about you so often it’s hardly surprising if I’m a bit foggy as to where I actually said it.

  HESTER

  (Laughs) Well, that at any rate is one you’ve wriggled out of quite successfully. And if not with truth, at least with gallantry. And resourcefulness. And ingenuity. And invention. In short—I almost admire it.

  MAX

  Thank you.

  HESTER

  But it was here, you evil man—here in this summerhouse. We were having a long conversation about the War, just the two of us, and about Mr Asquith and Mr Lloyd-George and you told me you’d never come across any fourteen-year-old so intelligent or with such very decided, well-informed views. You said that all my sisters were outshone by me as if they’d been five small candles flickering in the sun.

  MAX

  Did I say that? Did I use such a cliché?

  HESTER

  I’ve never forgotten it.

  MAX

  (Looking about him) At least I remember how this old summerhouse provided such an excellent trysting place…Or, at any rate, if I don’t remember it exactly, I most certainly ought to. You’ve reminded me often enough; been so incredibly patient with me.

  HESTER

  And the reason we never got discovered? (As if wanting, however needlessly, to emphasize her determination in the teeth of a male-dominated society) Because I informed the others the place was full of spiders. Naomi and Agnes became convinced it was a breeding ground for black widows. Probably even dreamed about it.

  MAX

  Oh, Hester, you didn’t? So beautiful and yet so cruel? Besides—Ellen would never have swallowed that. And Ellen…Ellen would never have invented such a frightening story.

  HESTER

  Don’t speak to me of Ellen! And don’t pull that long and disapproving face—I tell you that I shan’t stand for it! The thing is, we didn’t want to be disturbed, did we? And short of putting up a sign on the door…? (Pause; now a lot more tender) And do you remember how every time we came in here you would treat me so completely like an adult and talk to me about all manner of things? About books you’d read and plays you’d seen and the sort of life that actors and actresses sometimes led in private—and about King Edward and his mistresses and Jack the
Ripper and ladies of easy virtue—

  MAX

  Oh, Hester, no I’m sure I didn’t!

  HESTER

  Oh, Maximilian, yes I’m sure you did! I don’t say that you yourself ever brought these subjects up but when I asked you questions, you never pretended that you hadn’t heard. So don’t grow old-maidish on me now! Mother would have had a fit if she could have heard some of the answers which you gave—and as for Father, if he’d been alive…!

  MAX

  Your father, yes; there I would agree with you. But your mother wasn’t—isn’t—in the least straitlaced.

  HESTER

  Well, admittedly, she might seem different to a brother than to a daughter.

  MAX

  I suppose that’s true. But I still don’t think she’d have had a fit at anything she heard me say.

  HESTER

  (Coyly) What about at anything she saw you do?

  MAX

  What do you mean?

  HESTER

  Don’t you remember how you used to sit me on your knee?

  MAX

  Good God, Hester, you make it sound…I don’t know what…like something sordid.

  HESTER

  Sordid? Oh, it was never that—forgive me if you thought for one moment…I’m only teasing, can’t you see that? For me it was so far from being sordid…It was so lovely to sit on your lap, it was thrilling, it was…heaven. Then as now, I used to treasure up my thoughts of it and bring them out whenever I felt wretched. I’d draw such reassurance from them, such energy, such strength…

  MAX

  And, after all, what could have been more natural between any uncle and his niece who were always such very good friends? I also used to push you on the swing, I remember, and run beside you in the paddock, while you cantered round it on your pony—

  HESTER

  Yes, but you used to push the others too at times and give them piggybacks and allow them to come bicycling with us. (Laughs) I used to get so cross.

  MAX

  (Laughs too) Like I say. A minx.

  HESTER

  I hope you didn’t kiss them!

  MAX

  Hester! (More softly) What do you think?

  HESTER

  Ah…And I also think you haven’t finished telling me—or even started telling me—about this grand transformation that you found.

  MAX

  (Impetuously) I’m glad you drew such strength and reassurance from all the time we spent together! I know that I did.

  HESTER

  (Shaking head) No, that isn’t true. How could it be? Otherwise you wouldn’t have gone away and left me for five years. You wouldn’t have said—(Mimicking)—“Well, there were six of you, you see, and you were all very much of an age…” So be careful…Uncle Max. I know you better than you think I do.