Collected Plays and Teleplays (Irish Literature) (18 page)

(
Here the
SERGEANT
involuntarily half turns round again in amazement.
)

PETER:
That’s awful. I suppose the eyes were affected, too.

MR. C.:
Don’t be talking, man! The eyes begun to get singed and burnt at the edges. And to close up and get smaller like a hole burnt in a table-cloth by a cigarette. And as well as that the watery part dried up in a way that was something fierce, it would all remind you of a corpse or something. And all the time that sun was coming down and sitting on us like a red hot iron. Before I know where I was, the eyebrows were gone. It was the most fierce unmerciful bit of heat I ever felt in my life, hell can’t be anything half like it.

JEM:
(
After a long audible gulp.
) I see. I see.

PETER:
(
Also gulping.
) That’s awful.

MR. C.:
(
Passing his hand over his face in crazed recollection.
) It was terrible . . . terrible . . . terrible. There we were, staggering through the blank . . . brazen . . . boiling heat, the skin chipping and curling off our faces, our bodies drying up and withering into wrinkles like prunes and a hot, dry thirst coming up out of the neck like the blast from a furnace. Oh, my God, it was desperate. Do you know the first thing the lads did, nearly every one of them?

JEM:
Turn back and march for home?

PETER:
What?

MR. C.:
TOOK OFF THEIR WATER-BOTTLES AND THREW THEM AWAY! Honest to God, now, no word of a lie. I seen them being fired away by the hundred and sitting there in the sun like bits of glass with the sun comin’ on them and takin’ the sight out of your eyes. Do you know why? DO YOU KNOW WHY?

(
He turns interrogatively to each of the company in turn. Here again the
SERGEANT
half turns round involuntarily but checks himself barely in time. For the first time he sees the bottle of stout that has been placed within his reach. He lingers on it for a moment and then turns resolutely back to his note-book, where his show of writing is by now the barest pretence.
)

MR. C.:
I’ll tell you why. The water-bottles were made of metal. Some class of thin aluminium. The whole idea at the time was to do away with weight. Aluminium as thin as a sheet of paper. Well begob when that sun got to work on these bottles, I needn’t tell you what happened. First of all, the water got up nearly to boilingpoint. Even if you could hold the bottle in your hand and open it, the water would be no good to you because it would scald the neck off you. But that wasn’t the only thing. With all the staggerin’ and pullin’ and pushin’ half the lads got the two hands nearly burnt off them from touching the bottles accidentally. My God, it was fierce! Desperate! It was like walkin’ around with a brazier tacked on to your back. There was only one thing to do. (
He goes through the action of firing something away.
) Away with them no matter what else happens.

PETER:
Well, wasn’t that terrible, throwing away bottles full of water in the middle of the desert.

MR. C.:
Well, there you are, there you are.

JEM:
Of course your only way was to bury all the bottles deep down in a hole and come back for them when the thirst is at you. The water would be nice and cool below in the hole of course.

PETER:
(
Impatiently.
) Ah, for God’s sake, man. Put all the bottles down in a hole! (
He turns to his host.
) What happened after that?

MR. C.:
(
Reflectively.
) Well, of course, what happened after that is not a thing I would like to swear to because (
he taps his forehead ominously
) the heat began to have a very bad effect on number one. There is a lot of moisture and blood and so on in the brain, you know. The brain is like a wet sponge. Dry up that sponge and very queer things are going to happen.
Very
queer things.

PETER:
I suppose you’re lucky to be alive at all.

MR. C.:
(
Ignoring the remark, still lost in reflection.
) Very queer things. The first thing that happened to me was I lost me sense of direction! Didn’t know whether me head was me heels or whether I was standin’ or sittin’, do you know? To tell you the God’s truth I was fallin’ all over the place. So were the other lads—walkin’ and crawlin’ on top of each other, every man as dry as a brick with his tongue swollen out in his parched mouth half-chokin’ him. And the thirst! THE THIRST!

(
He passes his hand in a crazed way over his face and head.
PETER
and
JEM
give loud audible gulps.
MR. C
.
then takes up his drink and takes a long appreciative draught.
)

MR. C.:
I’ll tell you how I knew I was fallin’ down in the sand. I began to suffer the agonies of the damned from me nails. I got some very fine red hot sand under them. Me nails started to singe and burn and get thin and broken at the edges.

(
Here the
SERGEANT
hastily puts the nails of his right hand in his mouth.
)

MR. C.:
Me nails began to crack. I tried to put them into me mouth but there was no room, me mouth was stuffed tight with the dry swollen tongue. By this time the rubber was nearly all gone of the shoes and I was practically walkin’ in me bare feet with the red hot sand in under me toe-nails and makin’ a flitters of me feet.

JEM:
Begob you were in right order there, why didn’t you turn the rifle round and give yourself a bullet in the head, sure any life would be better than that.

(
MR. C
.
buries his face in his hands. He has apparently reached the worst part of his recollection and can scarcely bring himself to talk about it. There is a pause. Then
MR. C
.
continues in an almost wailing voice.
)

MR. C.:
But the torture we got from the nails and feet was nothing. Nothing, nothing, NOTHING. It was the thirst, man alive, the thirst, THE THIRST!

JEM:
The thirst is a thing that troubles us all. Every wan of us. (
He gulps audibly.
)

MR. C.:
From falling about in the sand we all began to get a layer of fine sand on the tongue and the roof of the mouth and half-way down the neck. And the thirst that began to rise in me was something too desperate to talk about.

PETER:
Dear, dear, dear. (
He gulps
.)

(
Here the
SERGEANT
again stirs uneasily and steals a side-long glance at the bottle of stout. He is weakening.
)

MR. C.:
(
Lost in recollection.
) Of course by this time I was half off me head. I was driven crazy with the thirst and the sand and the heat. Nothing would do me but start thinkin’ to meself about all the nice long cool drinks I could have—buttermilk and iced water and beer—not glasses or jugs of it but buckets and buckets, big baths and tanks full of it. I pictured to meself a big river of beer coming out of a hole in the wall and me runnin’ up and putting me head under it, getting it all over me face and neck, swallyin’ away like hell at it for hours and lettin’ it run down me neck and clothes to wash away all the grit and sand and thirst and let it soak in under me nails until I was all like a bit of blottin’-paper—rotten with beer—rotten and soaked with beer through and through, and THROUGH roarin’ mad and drenched to the skin and under it with beer.

(
Here
JEM
and
PETER
take long gulps. The
SERGEANT
has at last turned fully round to look
MR. C
.
in the face. He is unnerved.
)

MR. C.:
(
Resuming.
) I could see in me minds eye the big vat above in Guinness’s and meself divin’ into it with the mouth open and swallyin’ . . . swallyin’ . . . swallyin’ . . . swallyin’ away for hours, lettin’ the brown porter run down me neck until I was fit to burst. . . . Until I was nearly dead from drinkin’ the lovely wet, cold, brown, lovely porter!

(
Here the
SERGEANT
makes a loud incoherent noise, turns slowly and deliberately, lifts the glass of stout that is beside him and drinks it off in one long appreciative draught. The others look on in complete silence. He looks at the empty glass, puts it down smartly, on the counter and waves at
MR. C
.
to convey that a fresh round should be served. Then he wipes his mouth carefully with the back of his hand.
)

SERGEANT:
Does anybody mind if I sing “The Rose of Tralee”?

(
They all sing.
)

RHAPSODY IN
STEPHEN’S GREEN:
THE INSECT PLAY

Characters in the play

Rhapsody in Stephen’s Green
was first performed (
as The Insect Play
) by the Gate Theatre Company at the Gaiety Theatre, Dublin, on 22 March 1943. The cast was as follows:

GREEN ANTS, RED ANTS, ORANGE ANTS,
ANTS OF THE GAEL AND ANTS OF THE PALE
.

Directed and Produced by Hilton Edwards

Settings by Molly MacEwen