Plays 6

by Tom Murphy

  Und als sie kamen ins deutsche Quartier,

  Sie liessen die Köpfe hangen.

  Da hörten sie beide die traurige Mähr:

  Dass Frankreich verloren gegangen,

  Besiegt und zerschlagen das grosse Heer,

  Und der Kaiser, der Kaiser gefangen.

  During which, activity builds in the house as in an emergency. Ulita carrying a basin and towels as from a sick room; other servants actively engaged. Arina, worried, hanging her head, has to keep out of it. A Doctor, as from a sick room, taking a break. Kiry bringing a drink to Doctor; Vera bringing a shawl to Arina. Ulita off to sick room again, and Arina takes the opportunity of approaching Doctor.

  Arina How is he? He’s getting better, isn’t he?

  Doctor God is merciful.

  Arina What does that mean?

  Doctor He’s dying.

  Arina But you’ve been treating him for so long – the other doctors – poultices, medication!

  Doctor I wasn’t called in time. Had he been drained sooner.

  Arina (is desperate) I gave him this place! – Did you mention me to him?

  Doctor I did, as you asked.

  Arina Did you mention his nieces? Did you raise the matter of a –

  Doctor Put the idea out of your mind of his making a will. It wouldn’t stand up. I don’t know if he can even sign his name. Believe me, you would be in trouble with the law. Believe me, your other son would see to that.

  Ulita (returns) Doctor, he’s calling for you. (She continues near them.)

  Doctor (to Arina) Go and see him.

  Arina He doesn’t want to see me.

  Doctor Go and see him. And send for his nieces. I’m sure it won’t be necessary to inform his brother. I’m sure his brother is kept advised of the situation. (The last is knowing – to do with Ulita. He goes off, followed by Ulita.)

  Activity continues on the house; ghosts, Steven and Victor, resume/repeat their Heine poem and follow Anna off.

  Scene Four

  Anteroom and bedroom.

  Ulita and Kiry, both watchful, are in the anteroom. Kiry may have an expression of some concern for Paul, Ulita has none. Towards the end of the following, she has a whispered word with Kiry (‘Go and tell Peter that the situation here is critical’) and Kiry leaves, purposefully.

  The bedroom, where Paul lies in bed, is murky, airless, with a greenish light. A lamp burns in front of a holy picture and throws shadows. At the moment, Paul is looking in the direction of the lamp and holy picture, suspiciously, craftily. He’s rambling, talking to phantoms, laughing to himself, shouting angrily . . .

  Paul . . . There! See him! Kneeling – he thinks I’m dying – praying to the holy picture: ‘By the immaculate grace of the Sacred Heart, I think my brother Paul is dying.’ (He laughs into himself.) Well, I’ll have you know – are you listening?! – there’s good as well as bad in people, there’s more to life than prayers. There’s more to it than money, property, or prayers! I’ll have you know there are other things. Some believe in God, some trust in horses too . . . Good people out there, well intentioned, yes, playing music . . . Singing? Yes . . . People in the circus, trying to fly! People out there using their time, writing unintelligible poetry, putting sounds together . . . using all their time, without interest in a penny of return . . . (But) when they lose their sense of awe people turn to property . . . and religion . . . Well, I’ll have you know there’s good as well as bad. Man took up a cow’s horn, a simple cow’s horn, saw that it was good, saw that it was amazing when he blew into it, and from that simple sound what’ve you got? So, y’see! . . . (Whispering.) There! See him! Kneeling – he thinks I’m dying – praying to the . . .

  Lights dissolving – passage of time.

  Scene Five

  Anteroom and bedroom.

  Women Servants whispering what one imagines are prayers in the anteroom. Arina is entering, Vera following. And Ulita, watchful, follows them. Vera stays in the anteroom.

  Arina continues into the bedroom to engage in what she knows is a losing battle but fear and desperation driving her on. Paul is silent in bed. The lamp burns in front of the holy picture, throwing shadows.

  Arina . . . How are you, Paul? . . . How are you feeling today?

  Paul Not too bad.

  Arina Oh, that’s good! That’s good!

  Paul Not too bad. Was there a doctor here?

  Arina He’s been seeing you every day. He’ll be back again tomorrow.

  Paul Poultices.

  Arina Yes. He’s a good doctor, better than the others, much better. He’ll make you better, you’ll see. It’s important that you get better. You have to get better.

  Paul (to himself) He’s a good doctor.

  Arina Yes. And d’you know who’s coming to see you?

  Paul Did she have affection for anyone?

  Arina (a whisper) What?

  Paul For Papa? . . . She hated Steven.

  Arina (a whisper) No.

  Paul And maybe, tsssssss – the – bloodsucker too. (Well) Whatever the soft spot there, if there was one, you know I think she was deeply ashamed of him. (Well) I was.

  Arina Do you know who’s coming to see you?

  Paul And as for what she thought of me: (Well) I never knew of a stupid man that came entirely of clever people. (He laughs.)

  Arina Your nieces, Anna and Lena, are coming to see you – Paul.

  Paul The ‘orphans’. (And a laugh into himself.)

  Arina I sent for them. They love seeing you. And I sent for His Grace, Bishop Henry.

  Paul And my brother.

  Arina No, he hasn’t been sent for.

  Paul There! The pervert!

  Arina What?

  Paul There! Bloodsucker! (He’s pointing.)

  Arina That’s your dressing gown.

  Paul There! Praying – see – now – to the holy picture: ‘By the immaculate grace of the Sacred Heart, I think my brother Paul is dying and I come into his estate.’ (He’s laughing.)

  Arina . . . Well, you haven’t made a will, have you? And as the law stands, it’s true, he is the legitimate heir. And in your present condition you can’t do anything about it. That’s why you have to get better – you have to get better: To enable you to make other arrangements: to enable you to make a will . . . Paul?

  Paul Are you here for my funeral?

  Arina No. No!

  Paul Are you not?

  Arina I assure you, assure you. So long as you live, so long as you live, there really isn’t much, really isn’t, to trouble an old woman like me. Really isn’t much. You are ill, very ill, that’s true, and it’s true everyone has to die, but I’m not here for your funeral.

  Paul And you?

  Arina And I?

  Paul Will you die?

  Arina There’s a limit to everyone’s life.

  Paul Then wait for it.

  She feels the barb. A reaction in the anteroom as to the arrival of someone downstairs, and Vera goes off.

  Arina What I’m saying is: it is the custom – for us all – while waiting for the life to come to make provision for our relatives.

  Paul Is that the custom?

  Arina Yes.

  Paul Is it?

  Arina That’s the custom.

  Paul (to himself) That’s the custom . . . Do you still hear voices?

  She doesn’t understand.

  ‘Go to the saint, go to the saint.’

  Arina (sighs and then starts to laugh) Yes, I believe I do still hear voices.

  Paul ‘There is a humour that treads the brink of tears,’ Arina?

  And though she perhaps doesn’t quite understand it, it fuels her, somehow, to further laughter, and he starts to laugh with her – a dying man and a desperate old woman. Until tiredness/pain stops him.

  Arina And I never went to visit his shrine.

  Vera returns to the anteroom; Anna and Lena, still in their travelling coats, are with her. Arina beckons them to come in and they greet one another. The
n:

  Arina Say hello to him, talk to him.

  Anna How are you, Uncle Paul!

  Paul Not too bad.

  Anna Oh, that’s good!

  Arina Kiss him, kiss him.

  Anna kisses Paul. Lena merely touches him with her fingertips and nods at him.

  Paul Not too bad.

  Anna His arms are so thin, Grandma.

  Lena (a sullen rebuke to Arina) Have you nothing left at all, no money?

  Arina Sit by him, talk to him.

  Anna We finish school forever, Uncle Paul, in three weeks’ time, then we’re going to look for work. In the arts.

  Arina Bless us, do you hear that?

  Lena Are we now going to have to live on a mountainside?

  Arina You own it. Talk to him.

  Anna We are going to devote ourselves to holy art.

  Paul (whispers, pointing) There!

  Anna We are! (Going to devote ourselves to art.)

  Paul See him – be careful! The pervert – praying to the holy picture! ‘By the immaculate grace of the Sacred Heart, I think my brother Paul is dying and I come into his . . . ’ (He’s laughing again, which moves into a moan of pain.)

  Arina (to no one) It is too late for any will. (To Anna, who is crying.) Shush! (New tone, loudly.) Well, that’s all right, let your brother have the house and land, what about the movable property: capital, effects, assets? Paul! It’s perfectly lawful to give away those matters in your own lifetime without having recourse to legal documents and without having to be accountable to anyone, for they are things that may be gained or lost, here today, gone the next. They can be let go to your brother Peter, who you keep referring to as the Bloodsucker – and other names. Or they can – in front of an upstanding witness, Bishop Henry, whom I’ve sent for – be given to your nieces who love you, whose only inheritance is an inhospitable scalp of rock halfway up a mountain. Or they can be given to me, your mother, who made you, who gave you everything in the first place . . .Paul!

  Lena (another rebuke) Why are you bothering? When Uncle Peter arrives, ask him straight out for this place. Shame him. Put it to him in public.

  Arina I should shame myself by asking? I’ll – run – my – course.

  Paul Property, land, money. That’s all she ever thought of. She sold her soul. But, at least – are you listening? – she did not emasculate her son with self-pity. I’ll have you know she did not. With a mother’s self-pity, no – alas! She had other weapons . . . She could easily have done something worthwhile with her life.

  Arina What could I have done, other than what I did?

  Paul But a tyrant can’t be wrong.

  Arina What ought I to have done? For I’d like to know.

  Paul She doesn’t know me, never did, but I know her. Watching me back then in case I’d smile. Was everything serious as that? Now watching, waiting for a smile. I know her. She put all her money on the black and it came up red.

  There has been a stir in the anteroom in reaction to the arrival of someone downstairs. Ulita says ‘The new master’, which we hear, and goes off.

  Arina is looking about distractedly.

  Anna (cued by a whisper from Lena) Grandma, the air is so heavy here, may we go downstairs?

  Arina (nods ‘yes’; absently) Say goodbye to him.

  Anna Goodbye for now, Uncle Paul!

  Lena (to Arina) This is doing no good. This is stupid.

  Arina (to no one) I fear for my sanity! – (To Lena.) You bastard imp! – (To herself .) Deliver me from evil! (She knows that Peter has arrived.)

  Peter has arrived in the anteroom. Ulita is with him, whispering to him. He shepherds Anna (weeping again) and Lena, who were about to leave, back into the bedroom, his eyes are on Arina’s back.

  Peter Tsssssss!

  He approaches her from behind, puts his hands on her waist, his chin on her shoulder:

  Mama, Mama! So this is how it is, so this is how it is! And you are my good friend, aren’t you?

  Arina This is how it is.

  Peter And it’s much too soon, much too soon. And you are downcast, I can tell, very downcast.

  Arina Not too bad!

  Peter Oh, don’t say that, oh, I can see you are! But it’s wrong, wrong, very wrong, to go sorrowing and repining against the Almighty! Questioning the Creator. You in tears too, grasshoppers! (Takes their hands.) What would God say to this? Tsssssss! Smile at once if you please and there’s an end to it! (He takes a few steps to have a quiet peep at Paul.) Though I too have grieved. Very, very, very much . . . Oh you bad, bad brother to be leaving us! (He returns.) And wasn’t he exhalted, didn’t he have notions? Didn’t he, just! All his elevations and superiority are now controverted in a single moment. Mmmm! I called several times over the years to see him and he wouldn’t see me. My brother. Is he in pain? There was no reaching out to him, was there – he’d hardly open his mouth to speak to you, Mama, would he? Now the trial date has arrived, he might be only too glad to cover up those sins of pride and haughtiness.

  Arina He isn’t dead.

  Peter No, but once sins are written down in the Book of Life they aren’t so easily scratched out?

  Arina Repentance isn’t accepted?

  Peter I hope it is, I sincerely hope so. I hope he pleads guilty, throws himself on the mercy of the court to avoid the terrible wrath. That would be the best thing for him. He never liked me. I wished him well. You and I had our fallings-out too, Mama, but I wish well to everyone. I wish well, as the Bible teaches, to those who calumniate, hate and injure me and try to cheat me out of what’s mine by right. God has good reasons for everything He does. All unseen He chose to shorten the days of my brother Steven. And now Paul. Tsssssss!

  Lena Uncle Peter! If Uncle Paul dies, do you think you’ll be able to manage this estate on top of the very big estate you have already? Do you wish it on yourself?

  Peter Grasshopper, it’s not what I wish but what the law commands, and I must obey. I value my good name above everything so I do my duty no matter what, even when it’s a heavy burden. If a man didn’t have a cross to bear, he’d forget himself and fall into sinful ways. And this estate joins my own one: the two belong together. Indeed, since Townsend’s became mine, your place, grasshoppers, the mountainside, is the natural extension of the tract in that direction. (Of Paul.) Does he suffer much?

  Arina Not so very much! In fact the new doctor gives us great hope. (A lie.)

  Peter Well, there you are for you then, that’s splendid! But, just in case, I’ll stay for a few days. It’s a family concern, I can maybe advise on certain matters, offer some words of comfort in his ear, and help with the – arrange whatever. You’ll allow me that, won’t you?

  Arina It’s not for me to allow: I’m only a guest here too.

  Peter I’ll do my duty. Before I sit with him I’ll say a little prayer over here first. (He tiptoes to the holy picture and kneels before it.)

  Arina (goes to Paul’s bedside) Paul, if I’ve done you any wrong, forgive me, for Christ’s sake.

  Paul (referring to the kneeling figure of Peter) See! Do you see him now? Satan! (And he laughs.)

  Anna is crying, servants are crying and praying, Peter continues praying. Kiry, Priest, Anthony are entering. Ghosts – Steven and Victor – appear. Paul joins them.

  Thus ends Act Two.

  Act Three

  Scene One

  Farmhouse on the mountainside, a rude place. An old peasant Woman talking to herself, perhaps with knitted hat and a shawl across her shoulders, is pouring soup from a saucepan into two bowls. She takes up one of the bowls.

  Woman (not really distinguishable) Take this one in to Her Ladyship and tell her to get up. (She stops, pauses. Then:) Did something happen?

  We come to realise it is Arina. She takes the bowl off. She returns and takes the second bowl for herself. She pauses again.

  Arina What has happened? . . . I’m old, is it? . . . No one ever dared think of me as old . . . It’s the last few years
of cold and damp up here. And the curse of being idle has me stupid. (She is taking her bowl of soup to a chair. She pauses again, this time to address the emptiness of the place, reprimand absent ghosts.) Where are you now? – Where’s your dirty songs? ‘Cherrymaid it’s time for fun!’ Spouting. Poetry. (She sits, drinking her soup. The chair commands a view of the plain below.) I ruled that place well. People down there were frightened of me. People like to be ordered . . . Plenty to do down there. And there’s years of work left in me . . . Do you know I don’t know. There’s been a queer decline in activity. It’s dying out, is it? That’s what it was all for? Aw, that can’t be! . . . (She looks at what she’s eating.) Cabbage soup . . . The stores of food I promised myself . . . soup with goose giblets . . . And you’d sleep safe and sound down there as you might in Christ’s bosom, without fear at night of thieves, ghosts, that howling outside, without fear of the candle falling over, the spark from the hearth to burn the place down . . . Or that wretch, devil, waking me up – whatever he wants of me – knocking, scratching behind the board in the wall . . . (Well) I’m going back down there. Oh, I am! Who has more right? Yes! . . . But bowing the head? Me? To a son? Son – is that what he is? – ‘Tsssssss!’ . . . (Then, pathetically:) And God would reward you, my dear, for being kind to your old mother . . . And she would love you, my dear, as now the only child she has left.

  She’s near tears, resisting tears; she’s agitated; and now short little steps, almost at a run, as if to get away from herself (like a dog scurrying from an internal pain), and to put away the bowl.

  She recovers herself and now she returns to her vantage point of the plain, shouting, angrily:

  I’ll go down there and to summon you I’ll send messengers flying, and when they drag you before me I’ll be standing on the top step of that building, the townland assembled round looking up at me, to hear me denounce you!

  Now she is backing away from her vantage point of the plain: someone is approaching in a car.

  Anna comes in, as from a bedroom, barefooted and wearing some kind of nightdress. She is now a grown woman, striking. As always, her gentle nature; now too, though, a marked vulnerability: something is wrong, something has befallen her that she is concealing, that she is unable to reveal.