Collected Plays and Teleplays (Irish Literature) (14 page)

(
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

Thirst was first performed by the Dublin Gate Theatre in 1942.
The cast was as follows:

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 stuff 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.
)

MR. C.:
(
In agitated whisper.
) Shhh! Now for God’s sake. I think that bloody Sergeant is on the prowl.

JEM:
Begob! We’re bunched! (
He blows out candle on table.
)

MR. C
. and
PETER:
Shhh!

(
Three knocks on the door.
)

SERGEANT:
(
Outside door.
) Guards on duty! Guards on duty. Will you please open up, Mr Coulahan.

PETER:
We’ll keep very quiet.

MR. C.:
(
Loudly, in violent agitation.
) SHHHHH.

(
There is complete silence.
PETER
leans over to the remaining candle and caps the flame in his hands to hide the lights.
MR. C
.
is bent nearly double in his intent listening and keeps on Shhh-ing and waving a hand for even further silence. There is no sound at all without. Thirty seconds pass. Suddenly
MR. C
.
leaps at the candle and blows it out, leaving nothing visible save the window that is lit by the street-lamp. Almost simultaneously three loud knocks are given on the door.
)

(
The knocks are repeated, more urgently. The three remain completely still. Then
MR. C
.
moves to the counter where he finishes his drink. The knocks are given again. The bottom of the door is kicked slightly and the thick brogue of the
SERGEANT
is faintly heard shouting something.
MR. C
.
is heard sighing heavily.
)

MR. C.:
Well, that’s that, that’s that. (
He is groping for his matches, finds them and carefully lights both candles.
) Yes, that’s that.

(
The knocks are repeated even louder. He comes from behind the counter. Then moves to the door.
)

MR. C.:
Alright, Sergeant, I’m coming. (
He opens the door.
) Good night to you, Sergeant. That’s a hardy cold one for you.

SERGEANT:
(
To invisible Guard.
) That’s all right, Guard.