Brian Friel Plays 1 (57 page)

MANUS:
Maypole.

(
Again
MAIRE
ignores
MANUS
.)

MAIRE:
God have mercy on my Aunt Mary – she taught me that when I was about four, whatever it means. Do you know what it means, Jimmy?

JIMMY:
Sure you know I have only Irish like yourself.

MAIRE:
And Latin. And Greek.

JIMMY:
I’m telling you a lie: I know one English word.

MAIRE:
What?

JIMMY:
Bo-som.

MAIRE:
What’s a bo-som?

JIMMY:
You know – (
He
illustrates
with
his
hands
) – bo-som – bo-som – you know – Diana, the huntress, she has two powerful bosom.

MAIRE:
You may be sure that’s the one English word you would know. (
Rises
)
Is there a drop of water about?

(
MANUS
gives
MAIRE
his
bowl
of
milk.
)

MANUS:
I’m sorry I couldn’t get up last night.

MAIRE:
Doesn’t matter.

MANUS:
Biddy Hanna sent for me to write a letter to her sister in Nova Scotia. All the gossip of the parish. ‘I brought the cow to the bull three times last week but no good. There’s nothing for it now but Big Ned Frank.’

MAIRE:
(
Drinking
)
That’s better.

MANUS:
And she got so engrossed in it that she forgot who she was dictating to: ‘The aul drunken schoolmaster and that lame son of his are still footering about in the hedge-school, wasting people’s good time and money.’

(
MAIRE
has
to
laugh
at
this.
)

MAIRE:
She did not!

MANUS:
And me taking it all down. ‘Thank God one of them new national schools is being built above at Poll na gCaorach.’ It was after midnight by the time I got back.

MAIRE:
Great to be a busy man.

(
MAIRE
moves
away.
MANUS
follows.
)

MANUS:
I could hear music on my way past but I thought it was too late to call.

MAIRE:
(
To
SARAH
) Wasn’t your father in great voice last night?

(
SARAH
nods
and
smiles.
)

MAIRE:
It must have been near three o’clock by the time you got home?

(
SARAH
holds
up
four
fingers.
)

MAIRE:
Was it four? No wonder we’re in pieces.

MANUS:
I can give you a hand at the hay tomorrow.

MAIRE:
That’s the name of a hornpipe, isn’t it? – ‘The Scholar In The Hayfield’ – or is it a reel?

MANUS:
If the day’s good.

MAIRE:
Suit yourself. The English soldiers below in the tents, them sapper fellas, they’re coming up to give us a hand. I don’t know a word they’re saying, nor they me; but sure that doesn’t matter, does it?

MANUS:
What the hell are you so crabbed about?!

(
DOALTY
and
BRIDGET
enter
noisily.
Both
are
in
their
twenties.
DOALTY
is
brandishing
a
surveyor’s
pole.
He
is
an 
open-minded,
open-hearted,
generous
and
slightly
thick
young
man.
BRIDGET
is
a
plump,
fresh
young
girl,
ready
to
laugh,
vain,
and
with
a
countrywoman’s
instinctive
cunning.
DOALTY
enters
doing
his
imitation
of
the
master.
)

DOALTY:
Vesperal salutations to you all.

BRIDGET:
He’s coming down past Carraig na Ri and he’s as full as a pig!

DOALTY:
Ignari,
stulti,
rustici
– pot-boys and peasant whelps – semi-literates and illegitimates.

BRIDGET:
He’s been on the batter since this morning; he sent the wee ones home at eleven o’clock.

DOALTY:
Three questions. Question A – Am I drunk? Question B – Am I sober? (
Into
MAIRE
’s
face
)
Responde – responde!

BRIDGET:
Question C, Master – When were you last sober?

MAIRE:
What’s the weapon, Doalty?

BRIDGET:
I warned him. He’ll be arrested one of these days.

DOALTY:
Up in the bog with Bridget and her aul fella, and the Red Coats were just across at the foot of Croc na Mona, dragging them aul chains and peeping through that big machine they lug about everywhere with them – you know the name of it, Manus?

MAIRE:
Theodolite.

BRIDGET:
How do you know?

MAIRE:
They leave it in our byre at night sometimes if it’s raining.

JIMMY:
Theodolite – what’s the etymology of that word, Manus?

MANUS:
No idea.

BRIDGET:
Get on with the story.

JIMMY:
Theo
– theos
– something
to do with a god. Maybe
thea –
a
goddess! What shape’s the yoke?

DOALTY:
‘Shape!’ Will you shut up, you aul eejit you! Anyway, every time they’d stick one of these poles into the ground and move across the bog, I’d creep up and shift it twenty or thirty paces to the side.

BRIDGET:
God!

DOALTY:
Then they’d come back and stare at it and look at their calculations and stare at it again and scratch their heads. And cripes, d’you know what they ended up doing?

BRIDGET:
Wait till you hear!

DOALTY:
They took the bloody machine apart!

(
And
immediately
he
speaks
in
gibberish – an
imitation
of
two
very
agitated
and
confused
sappers
in
rapid
conversation.
)

BRIDGET:
That’s the image of them!

MAIRE:
You must be proud of yourself, Doalty.

DOALTY:
What d’you mean?

MAIRE:
That was a very clever piece of work.

MANUS:
It was a gesture.

MAIRE:
What sort of gesture?

MANUS:
Just to indicate … a presence.

MAIRE:
Hah!

BRIDGET:
I’m telling you  – you’ll be arrested.

(
When
DOALTY
is
embarrassed – or
pleased – he
reacts
physically.
He
now
grabs
BRIDGET
around
the
waist.
)

DOALTY:
What d’you make of that for an implement, Bridget? Wouldn’t that make a great aul shaft for your churn?

BRIDGET:
Let go of me, you dirty brute! I’ve a headline to do before Big Hughie comes.

MANUS:
I don’t think we’ll wait for him. Let’s get started.

(
Slowly,
reluctantly
they
begin
to
move
to
their
seats
and
specific
tasks.
DOALTY
goes
to
the
bucket
of
water
at
the
door
and
washes
his
hands.
BRIDGET
sets
up
a
hand-mirror
and
combs
her
hair.
)

BRIDGET:
Nellie Ruadh’s baby was to be christened this morning. Did any of yous hear what she called it? Did you, Sarah?

(
S
ARAH
grunts:
No.
)

BRIDGET:
Did you, Maire?

MAIRE:
No.

BRIDGET:
Our Seamus says she was threatening she was going to call it after its father.

DOALTY:
Who’s the father?

BRIDGET:
That’s the point, you donkey you!

DOALTY:
Ah.

BRIDGET:
So there’s a lot of uneasy bucks about Baile Beag this day.

DOALTY:
She told me last Sunday she was going to call it Jimmy.

BRIDGET:
You’re a liar, Doalty.

DOALTY:
Would I tell you a lie? Hi, Jimmy, Nellie Ruadh’s aul fella’s looking for you.

JIMMY:
For me?

MAIRE:
Come on, Doalty.

DOALTY:
Someone told him …

MAIRE:
Doalty!

DOALTY:
He heard you know the first book of the Satires of Horace off by heart …

JIMMY:
That’s true.

DOALTY:
… and he wants you to recite it for him.

JIMMY:
I’ll do that for him certainly, certainly.

DOALTY:
He’s busting to hear it.

(JIMMY
fumbles
in
his
pockets.
)

JIMMY:
I came across this last night – this’ll interest you – in Book Two of Virgil’s
Georgics.

DOALTY:
Be God, that’s my territory alright.

BRIDGET:
You clown you! (
To
SARAH
) Hold this for me, would you? (
her
mirror.
)

JIMMY:
Listen to this, Manus. ‘
Nigra
fere
et
presso
pinguis
sub
vomere
terra
…’

DOALTY:
Steady on now – easy, boys, easy – don’t rush me, boys –

(
He
mimes
great
concentration.
)

JIMMY:
Manus?

MANUS:
‘Land that is black and rich beneath the pressure of the plough …’

DOALTY:
Give
me
a chance!

JIMMY:
‘And with
cui
putre
–
with crumbly soil – is in the main best for corn.’ There you are!

DOALTY:
There you are.

JIMMY:
‘From no other land will you see more wagons wending homeward behind slow bullocks.’ Virgil! There!

DOALTY:
‘Slow bullocks’!

JIMMY:
Isn’t that what I’m always telling you? Black soil for corn.
That
’s
what you should have in that upper field of yours – corn, not spuds.

DOALTY:
Would you listen to that fella! Too lazy be Jasus to
wash himself and he’s lecturing me on agriculture! Would you go and take a running race at yourself, Jimmy Jack Cassie! (
Grabs
SARAH
.) Come away out of this with me, Sarah, and we’ll plant some corn together.

MANUS:
All right – all right. Let’s settle down and get some work done. I know Sean Beag isn’t coming – he’s at the salmon. What about the Donnelly twins? (
To
DOALTY
) Are the Donnelly twins not coming any more?

(
DOALTY
shrugs
and
turns
away.
)

Did you ask them?

DOALTY:
Haven’t seen them. Not about these days. 

(
DOALTY
begins
whistling
through
his
teeth.
Suddenly
the
atmosphere
is
silent
and
alert.
)

MANUS:
Aren’t they at home?

DOALTY:
No.

MANUS:
Where are they then?

DOALTY:
How would I know?

BRIDGET:
Our Seamus says two of the soldiers’ horses were found last night at the foot of the cliffs at Machaire Buidhe and … (
She
stops
suddenly
and
begins
writing
with
chalk
on
her
slate.
)
D’you hear the whistles of this aul slate? Sure nobody could write on an aul slippery thing like that.