Brian Friel Plays 2 (16 page)

Rose
I don’t think so.

Maggie
Was the door left open?

Rose
They’re all right. They’re safe.

Maggie
That itself.

Agnes
We’ll get another white rooster for you, Rosie.

Rose
Doesn’t matter.

Maggie
And I’ll put manners on him early on.

Rose
I don’t want another.

Maggie
(
quick
hug
)
Poor old Rosie. (
as
she
moves
away
) We can hardly expect him to lay for us now …

Chris
Where’s that Michael fellow got to? Michael! He
hears me rightly, you know. I’m sure he’s jouking about out there somewhere, watching us. Michael!

Rose
sits
on
the
garden
seat.

Maggie
All right, girls, what’s missing? Knives, forks, plates … (
She
sees
Jack
coming
through
the
kitchen.
) Jesus, Mary and Joseph!

Jack
is
wearing
a
very
soiled,
very
crumpled
white
uniform
–
a
version
of
the
uniform
we
saw
him
in
at
the
very
beginning
of
the
play.
One
of
the
epaulettes
is
hanging
by
a
thread
and
the
gold
buttons
are
tarnished.
The
uniform
is
so
large
that
it
looks
as
if
it
were
made
for
a
much
larger
man:
his
hands
are
lost
in
the
sleeves
and
the
trousers
trail
on
the
ground.
On
his
head
he
wears
a
tricorn,
ceremonial
hat;
once
white
like
the
uniform
but
now
grubby,
the
plumage
broken
and
tatty.
He
carries
himself
in
military
style,
his
army
cane
under
his
arm.

Jack
Gerry, my friend, where are you?

Gerry
Out here, Jack.

Jack
There you are. (
to
all
) I put on my ceremonial clothes for the formal exchange. There was a time when it fitted me – believe it or not. Wonderful uniform, isn’t it?

Gerry
Unbelievable. I could do with that for Spain.

Jack
It was my uniform when I was chaplain to the British army during the Great War.

Kate
We know only too well what it is, Jack.

Jack
Isn’t it splendid? Well, it was splendid. Needs a bit of a clean up. Okawa’s always dressing up in it. I really must give it to him to keep.

Kate
It’s not at all suitable for this climate, Jack.

Jack
You’re right, Kate. Just for the ceremony – then I’ll change back. Now, if I were at home, what we do when we swap or barter is this. I place my possession on the ground –

He
and
Gerry
enact
this
ritual.

Go ahead, (
of
hat
)
Put it on the grass – anywhere – just at your feet. Now take three steps away from it – yes? – a symbolic distancing of yourself from what you once possessed. Good. Now turn round once – like this – yes, a complete circle – and that’s the formal rejection of what you once had – you no longer lay claim to it. Now I cross over to where you stand – right? And you come over to the position I have left. So. Excellent. The exchange is now formally and irrevocably complete. This is my straw hat. And that is your tricorn hat. Put it on. Splendid! And it suits you! Doesn’t it suit him?

Chris
His head’s too big.

Gerry
(
adjusting
hat
)
What about that? (
to
Agnes
) Is that better, Agnes?

Agnes
You’re lovely.

Gerry
does
a
Charlie
Chaplin
walk
across
the
garden,
his
feet
spread,
his
cane
twirling.
As
he
does
he
sings:

Gerry

Jack
(
adjusting
his
hat
)
And what about this? Or like this? Or further back on my head?

Maggie
Would you look at them! Strutting about like a pair of peacocks! Now – teatime!

Agnes
I’ll make the tea.

Maggie
You can start again tomorrow. Let me finish off Lughnasa. Chrissie, put on Marconi.

Chris
I think it’s broken again.

Agnes
Gerry fixed it. Didn’t you?

Gerry
Then Chrissie got at it again.

Chris
Possessed that thing, if you ask me.

Kate
I wish you wouldn’t use words like that, Christina. There’s still great heat in that sun.

Maggie
Great harvest weather.

Kate
I love September.

Maggie
(
not
moving
)
Cooking time, girls.

Kate
Wait a while, Maggie. Enjoy the bit of heat that’s left.

Agnes
moves
beside
Rose.

Agnes
Next Sunday, then. Is that all right?

Rose
What’s next Sunday?

Agnes
We’ll get some more bilberries.

Rose
Yes. Yes. Whatever you say, Aggie.

Gerry
examines
the
kites.

Gerry
Not bad for a kid of seven. Very neatly made.

Kate
Look at the artwork.

Gerry
Wow-wow-wow-wow! That is unbelievable!

Kate
I keep telling his mother – she has a very talented son.

Chris
So there, Mr Evans.

Gerry
Have you all seen these?

Maggie
I hate them.

Gerry
I think they’re just wonderful. Look, Jack.

For
the
first
time
we
all
see
the
images.
On
each
kite
is
painted
a
crude,
cruel,
grinning
face,
primitively
drawn,
garishly
painted.

I’ll tell you something: this boy isn’t going to end up selling gramophones.

Chris
Michael! He always vanishes when there’s work to be done.

Maggie
I’ve a riddle for you. Why is a gramophone like a parrot?

Kate
Maggie!

Maggie
Because it … because it always … because a parrot … God, I’ve forgotten!

Maggie
moves
into
the
kitchen.
Michael
enters.
The
characters
are
now
in
positions
similar
to
their
positions
at
the
beginning
of
the
play
–
with
some
changes.
Agnes
and
Gerry
are
on
the
garden
seat.
Jack
stands
stiffly
to
attention
at
Agnes’s
elbow.
One
kite,
facing
boldly
out
front,
stands
between
Gerry
and
Agnes;
the
other
between
Agnes
and
Jack.
Rose
is
upstage
left.
Maggie
is
at
the
kitchen
window.
Kate
is
downstage
right.
Chris
is
at
the
front
door.
During
Michael’s
speech
Kate
cries
quietly.
As
Michael
begins
to
speak
the
stage
is
lit
in
a
very
soft,
golden
light
so
that
the
tableau
we
see
is
almost,
but
not
quite,
in
a
haze.

Michael
As I said, Father Jack was dead within twelve months. And with him and Agnes and Rose all gone, the heart seemed to go out of the house.

Maggie took on the tasks Rose and Agnes had done
and pretended to believe that nothing had changed. My mother spent the rest of her life in the knitting factory – and hated every day of it. And after a few years doing nothing Kate got the job of tutoring the young family of Austin Morgan of the Arcade. But much of the spirit and fun had gone out of their lives; and when my time came to go away, in the selfish way of young men I was happy to escape.

Now
fade
in
very
softly,
just
audible,
the
music
–
‘It
is
Time
to
Say
Goodnight’
(
not
from
the
radio
speaker
).

And
as
Michael
continues,
everybody
sways
very
slightly
from
side
to
side
–
even
the
grinning
kites.
The
movement
is
so
minimal
that
we
cannot
be
quite
certain
if
it
is
happening
or
if
we
imagine
it.

And so, when I cast my mind back to that summer of 1936, different kinds of memories offer themselves to me.
   
But there is one memory of that Lughnasa time that visits me most often; and what fascinates me about that memory is that it owes nothing to fact. In that memory atmosphere is more real than incident and everything is simultaneously actual and illusory. In that memory, too, the air is nostalgic with the music of the thirties. It drifts in from somewhere far away – a mirage of sound – a dream music that is both heard and imagined; that seems to be both itself and its own echo; a sound so alluring and so mesmeric that the afternoon is bewitched, maybe haunted, by it. And what is so strange about that memory is that everybody seems to be floating on those sweet sounds, moving rhythmically, languorously, in complete isolation; responding more to the mood of the music than to its beat. When I remember it, I think of it as dancing. Dancing with eyes half closed because to open them would break the spell. Dancing as if language had surrendered to movement – as if this ritual, this wordless ceremony, was now the way to speak, to whisper private
and sacred things, to be in touch with some otherness. Dancing as if the very heart of life and all its hopes might be found in those assuaging notes and those hushed rhythms and in those silent and hypnotic movements. Dancing as if language no longer existed because words were no longer necessary …

Slowly
bring
up
the
music.
Slowly
bring
down
the
lights.

Arkady Nikolayevich Kirsanov
,
twenty-two, student

Yevgeny Vassilyich
Bazarov
,
twenty-two, student

Nikolai Petrovich Kirsanov,
 
forty-four, Arkady’s father; estate owner

Pavel Petrovich Kirsanov,
 
forty-five, Arkady’s uncle; retired guardsman

Vassily Ivanyich Bazarov,
 
sixties, Bazarov’s father; retired army doctor

Arina Vlassyevna Bazarov,
fifties, Bazarov’s mother

Fenichka Fedosya Nikolayevna,
 
twenty-three, Nikolai’s mistress

Anna Sergeyevna Odintsov,
 
twenty-nine, estate owner; widow

Katya Sergeyevna,
eighteen, Anna’s sister

Princess Olga,
seventies, Anna’s aunt

Dunyasha,
twenties, servant in Kirsanov home

Prokofyich,
sixties, servant in Kirsanov home

Piotr,
nineteen, servant in Kirsanov home

Timofeich,
sixties, servant in Bazarov home

Fedka,
sixteen, servant in Bazarov home