Brian Friel Plays 1 (63 page)

YOLLAND:
Tobair Vree.

OWEN:
That’s what you want?

YOLLAND:
Yes.

OWEN:
You’re certain?

YOLLAND:
Yes.

OWEN:
Fine. Fine. That’s what you’ll get.

YOLLAND:
That’s what you want, too, Roland.

(
Pause.
)

OWEN:
(
Explodes
)
George! For God’s sake!
My
name
is
not Roland!

YOLLAND:
What?

OWEN:
(
Softly
)
My name is Owen.

(
Pause.
)

YOLLAND:
Not Roland?

OWEN:
Owen.

YOLLAND:
You mean to say –?

OWEN:
Owen.

YOLLAND:
But I’ve been –

OWEN:
O-w-e-n.

YOLLAND:
Where did Roland come from?

OWEN:
I don’t know.

YOLLAND:
It was never Roland?

OWEN:
Never.

YOLLAND:
O my God!

(
Pause.
They
stare
at
one
another.
Then
the
absurdity
of
the
situation
strikes
them
suddenly.
They
explode
with
laughter.
OWEN
pours
drinks.
As
they
roll
about,
their
lines
overlap.
)

YOLLAND:
Why didn’t you tell me?

OWEN:
Do I look like a Roland?

YOLLAND:
Spell Owen again.

OWEN:
I was getting fond of Roland.

YOLLAND:
O my God!

OWEN:
O-w-e-n.

YOLLAND:
What’ll we write –

OWEN:
– in the Name-Book?!

YOLLAND:
R-o-w-e-n!

OWEN:
Or what about Ol-

YOLLAND:
Ol- what?

OWEN:
Oland!

(
And
again
they
explode.
MANUS
enters.
He
is
very
elated.
)

MANUS:
What’s the celebration?

OWEN:
A christening!

YOLLAND:
A baptism!

OWEN:
A hundred christenings!

YOLLAND:
A thousand baptisms! Welcome to Eden!

OWEN:
Eden’s right! We name a thing and – bang! – it leaps into existence!

YOLLAND:
Each name a perfect equation with its roots.

OWEN:
A perfect congruence with its reality. (
To
MANUS
) Take a drink.

YOLLAND:
Poteen – beautiful.

OWEN:
Lying Anna’s poteen.

YOLLAND:
Anna na mBreag’s poteen.

OWEN:
Excellent, George.

YOLLAND:
I’ll decode you yet.

OWEN:
(
Offers
drink
)
Manus?

MANUS:
Not if that’s what it does to you.

OWEN:
You’re right. Steady – steady – sober up – sober up.

YOLLAND:
Sober as a judge, Owen.

(
MANUS
moves
beside
OWEN
.)

MANUS:
I’ve got good news! Where’s Father?

OWEN:
He’s gone out. What’s the good news?

MANUS:
I’ve been offered a job.

OWEN:
Where? (
Now
aware
of
YOLLAND
.) Come on, man – speak in English.

MANUS:
For the benefit of the colonist?

OWEN:
He’s a decent man.

MANUS:
Aren’t they all at some level?

OWEN:
Please.

(
MANUS
shrugs.
)

He’s been offered a job.

YOLLAND:
Where?

OWEN:
Well – tell us!

MANUS:
I’ve just had a meeting with two men from Inis Meadhon. They want me to go there and start a hedge-school. They’re giving me a free house, free turf, and free milk; a rood of standing corn; twelve drills of potatoes; and –

(
He
stops.
)

OWEN:
And what?

MANUS:
A salary of £42 a year!

OWEN:
Manus, that’s wonderful!

MANUS:
You’re talking to a man of substance.

OWEN:
I’m delighted.

YOLLAND:
Where’s Inis Meadhon?

OWEN:
An island south of here. And they came looking for you?

MANUS:
Well, I mean to say …

(
OWEN
punches
MANUS
.)

OWEN:
Aaaaagh! This calls for a real celebration.

YOLLAND:
Congratulations.

MANUS:
Thank you.

OWEN:
Where are you, Anna?

YOLLAND:
When do you start?

MANUS:
Next Monday.

OWEN:
We’ll stay with you when we’re there. (
To
YOLLAND
) How long will it be before we reach Inis Meadhon?

YOLLAND:
How far south is it?

MANUS:
About fifty miles.

YOLLAND:
Could we make it by December?

OWEN:
We’ll have Christmas together. (
Sings
)
‘Christmas Day on Inis Meadhon …’

YOLLAND:
(
Toast
)
I hope you’re very content there, Manus.

MANUS:
Thank you.

(
YOLLAND
holds
out
his
hand.
MANUS
takes
it.
They
shake
warmly.
)

OWEN:
(
Toast
)
Manus.

MANUS:
(
Toast
)
To Inis Meadhon.

(
He
drinks
quickly
and
turns
to
leave.
)

OWEN:
Hold on – hold on – refills coming up.

MANUS:
I’ve got to go.

OWEN:
Come on, man; this is an occasion. Where are you rushing to?

MANUS:
I’ve got to tell Maire.

(
MAIRE
enters
with
her
can
of
milk.
)

MAIRE:
You’ve got to tell Maire what?

OWEN:
He’s got a job!

MAIRE:
Manus?

OWEN:
He’s been invited to start a hedge-school in Inis Meadhon.

MAIRE:
Where?

MANUS:
Inis Meadhon – the island! They’re giving me £42 a year and …

OWEN:
A house, fuel, milk, potatoes, corn, pupils, what-not!

MANUS:
I start on Monday.

OWEN:
You’ll take a drink. Isn’t it great?

MANUS:
I want to talk to you for –

MAIRE:
There’s your milk. I need the can back.

(
MANUS
takes
the
can
and
runs
up
the
steps.
)

MANUS:
(
As
he
goes
)
How will you like living on an island?

OWEN:
You know George, don’t you?

MAIRE:
We wave to each other across the fields.

YOLLAND:
Sorry-sorry?

OWEN:
She says you wave to each other across the fields.

YOLLAND:
Yes, we do; oh, yes; indeed we do.

MAIRE:
What’s he saying?

OWEN:
He says you wave to each other across the fields.

MAIRE:
That’s right. So we do.

YOLLAND:
What’s she saying?

OWEN:
Nothing – nothing – nothing. (
To
MAIRE
) What’s the news?

(
MAIRE
moves
away,
touching
the
text
books
with
her
toe.
)

MAIRE:
Not a thing. You’re busy, the two of you.

OWEN:
We think we are.

MAIRE:
I hear the Fiddler O’Shea’s about. There’s some talk of a dance tomorrow night.

OWEN:
Where will it be?

MAIRE:
Maybe over the road. Maybe at Tobair Vree.

YOLLAND:
Tobair Vree!

MAIRE:
Yes.

YOLLAND:
Tobair Vree! Tobair Vree!

MAIRE:
Does he know what I’m saying?

OWEN:
Not a word.

MAIRE:
Tell him then.

OWEN:
Tell him what?

MAIRE:
About the dance.

OWEN:
Maire says there may be a dance tomorrow night.

YOLLAND:
(
To
OWEN
) Yes? May I come? (
To
MAIRE
) Would anybody object if I came?

MAIRE:
(
To
OWEN
) What’s he saying?

OWEN:
(
To
YOLLAND
) Who would object?

MAIRE:
(
To
OWEN
) Did you tell him?

YOLLAND:
(
To
MAIRE
) Sorry-sorry?

OWEN:
(
To
MAIRE
) He says may he come?

MAIRE:
(
To
YOLLAND
) That’s up to you.

YOLLAND:
(
To
OWEN
) What does she say?

OWEN:
(
To
YOLLAND
) She says –

YOLLAND:
(
To
MAIRE
) What-what?

MAIRE:
(
To
OWEN
) Well?

YOLLAND:
(
To
OWEN
) Sorry-sorry?

OWEN:
(
To
YOLLAND
) Will you go?

YOLLAND:
(
To
MAIRE
) Yes, yes, if I may.

MAIRE:
(
To
OWEN
) What does he say?

YOLLAND:
(
To
OWEN
) What is she saying?

OWEN:
Oh for God’s sake! (
To
MANUS
who
is
descending
with
the
empty
can.
)
You take on this job, Manus.

MANUS:
I’ll walk you up to the house. Is your mother at home? I want to talk to her.

MAIRE:
What’s the rush? (
To
OWEN
) Didn’t you offer me a drink?

OWEN:
Will you risk Anna na mBreag?

MAIRE:
Why not.

(
YOLLAND
is
suddenly
intoxicated.
He
leaps
up
on
a
stool,
raises
his
glass
and
shouts.
)

YOLLAND:
Anna na mBreag! Baile Beag! Inis Meadhon! Bombay! Tobair Vree! Eden! And poteen – correct, Owen?

OWEN:
Perfect.

YOLLAND:
And bloody marvellous stuff it is, too. I love it! Bloody, bloody, bloody marvellous!

(
Simultaneously
with
his
final
‘bloody
marvellous
’
bring
up
very
loud
the
introductory
music
of
the
reel.
Then
immediately
go
to
black.
Retain
the
music
throughout
the
very
brief
interval
.)