Candles to the Sun

by Dan Isaac

  [Bram enters with one little bag.]

  bram: Here’s the girl’s things.

  hester: That all?

  bram: Want ’em put in Star’s room?

  hester [caught short]: Star’s room? [After a pause.] Star’s gone. Yes. I reckon—you mought jist as well put ’em in there.

  curtain

  scene three

  Scene: Five years later. Front room of Bram’s cabin, a morning early in summer.

  Sunlight streaming through the open door and window give the room a much sprightlier appearance than in the preceding scene. Fern is discovered at a big wooden wash-tub in the middle of the floor, full in the stream of sunlight. She’s changed—no longer a slight, pathetic figure, she is now a robust and capable-looking woman, dressed in blue calico. She moves purposefully about, as though directed in all she does by a single driving motive. Her face wears a set, determined expression.

  After a minute Mrs. Abbey appears at the door. A scrawny affectatious gossip dressed in what she considers the height of style. A woman who obviously lords it over all whom she considers beneath her. She carries a bundle of clothes, which she deposits on the table.

  mrs. abbey: I brought you another big load of wash. Where’s Mrs. Pilcher?

  fern: She gone to the store.

  mrs. abbey: Oh, yes. Joel’s working there now, I see.

  fern: He’s clerking there.

  mrs. abbey: Now isn’t that nice! Joel never was a very strong boy so I guess the store is just the place for him— [She smiles maliciously, seats herself and takes off one of her shoes.]

  fern: Oh, Joel’s strong enough. But Hester just doesn’t want him to work in the mines—she—she—she wants him to do other things.

  mrs. abbey: Other things? Well, well, now isn’t that nice? Of course it’s sort of hard to understand what an able-bodied man could do around a mining-camp besides working in the mines . . . [She laughs affectedly.] These new shoes kind of pinch my feet. You don’t mind if I set here and cool them awhile? Do you, Fern? [She takes off both shoes.] Oh, now, what was it I wanted to speak to you about? Oh, yes. Those purple silk pyjamas of Mr. Abbey’s. They got lost in last week’s wash!

  fern [sharply]: Lost? In the wash?

  mrs. abbey: Yes, they wasn’t returned. They must’ve gotten mixed up somehow with some of Mr. Pilcher’s things don’t you think?

  fern [stiffly]: No, they couldn’t possibly of gotten mixed up with anything of Bram’s. First place, Mrs. Abbey, there wasn’t any purple silk pyjamas in the wash last week. There was just two pairs of pink ones and a pair of green ones. There was a pair of purple pyjamas split all to pieces about two weeks ago.

  mrs. abbey: My, my, I don’t see how you can remember!

  fern: I make a list of everything I take out of the bundle. If you want me to I can show it to you.

  mrs. abbey: Oh, no, that ain’t necessary, Fern. If you say so I’ll take your word for it. Of course it did seem peekyulyer—the pyjammers being missing like that—but as I was saying to Mr. Abbey—Fern’s been doing my wash for five years and I never had no reason yet to suspicion her of any dishonesty. Well, I just wish you’d be a little more careful in the future, that’s all!

  fern [with controlled anger]: I don’t see how I could be any more careful than I am, Mrs. Abbey. If you really feel that—that . . . .

  mrs. abbey: Now, Fern, you know I never thought any such thing. Me and Mr. Abbey have the greatest respect for Mr. and Mrs. Pilcher. Mr. Abbey was saying just the other day that Bram’s been with us longer’n any other man in the outfit. They call him “The Old Man of the Mines”! [She giggles behind her hand.] Think of that! And he’s still such a strong hard worker—of course they do say his eyesight’s kind of gone back on him lately—aint it Fern?

  fern: Yes.

  mrs. abbey: Well, I guess down there in the dark all the time like he is it don’t matter much whether he can see so good or not— Well, it’s just wonderful they way all the men look up to him and all, ain’t it though . . . Oh, I forgot! [She makes an excited gesture.] The most peekyulyer thing happened in the store the other day! Did you hear about it?

  fern: No.

  mrs. abbey: Well—I almost hate to tell you about it, it sounds so—awful! I was just a-callin’ for my mail when who should come in the store but that—that sister-in-law of yours—the one that—oh, what’s her name?

  fern: You mean Star?

  mrs. abbey [tittering]: Oh, is that what you call her? Mmm. I never know whether to say Miss Pilcher or Mrs.—what’s the name of that man who she went to live with, that—Jake person? Well, anyway, in she comes and she walks up to the counter and starts talking to Joel when who should come following her in but that awful red-headed woman who lives in that house cross the tracks—you know—the woman they say all those—horrible things about—well, she comes up to your sister-in-law and she—oh, I just hate to tell it, it sounds so awful—well, she spits right in Star’s face! Yes, without saying a word she just comes up and spits right smack in Star’s face! Did you ever hear tell of—

  fern: Spit—in Star’s face!

  mrs. abbey: Yes, and that’s not all. Your sister-in-law, Star, she wheeled around and slapped her—yes—and then she busted out crying, Star did, and ran on out of the store and the red-headed woman ran after her lickety-split and called her a name. I just wouldn’t dare to repeat—I just wouldn’t dare!— My, my, as I was saying just the other day to Mr. Abbey, I think that red-headed woman ought to be rid out of town on a fence rail. Just imagine her calling a nice young girl like your sister-in-law Star a name like that. Can you understand it? Well, Joel, he runs out after ’em and that leaves just me and Mr. Adams there in the store by ourselves and I was just so flabbergasted I couldn’t speak for a minute and then I turns to Mr. Adams and I says, “For Heaven’s sake, Mr. Adams, what do you suppose them two women was carryin’ on like that about?”—an’ he just laughs and winks at me an’ says, “Well, I reckon it’s just a case of perfessional jealousy.” Now what do you suppose he meant by that? Honest, I must be awful dumb but I just couldn’t make head or tails of it all!

  [Fern has grimly returned to her washing. Mrs. Abbey rises, smiling with satisfaction, her tale being told.]

  mrs. abbey: Well, I really ought to be getting home now. And about those purple pjyammers, Fern, now I . . . .

  [Hester appears in door. She carries a market-basket. She is very old and worn-looking. She glances at Mrs. Abbey and gives her a cold nod, then plumps basket down on the table.]

  mrs. abbey [with renewed excitement]: Well, well, Mrs. Pilcher, how are you? You look kind of peaked!

  hester: I’m all right.

  mrs. abbey: I was just tellin’ your daughter-in-law here, the most peekyulyer thing happened the other day that I ever—

  fern [interrupting sharply]: Mrs. Abbey, when do you want this wash back?

  mrs. abbey: Why, the usual time, Fern. Why? Won’t you be able to git it done that soon?

  fern: The usual time. Good-bye, Mrs. Abbey.

  mrs. abbey: OH—oh, yes—goodbye.

  [She moves huffily toward the door, her lips compressed with disappointment at being shut off.]

  mrs. abbey: Oh, and as I was saying about those silk pyjammers of Mr. Abbey’s, if you should just happen to come acrost them in among Bram’s or Joel’s things—by accident you know . . . .

  hester [bristling]: Silk pyjammers? Among whose things? Mrs. Abbey, I’d like you to know my husband and my son, neither of them, would take anything that belonged to Mr. Abbey or nobody else, so if you’re suggestin’ anything of that kind—

  mrs. abbey: My, my, Mrs. Pilcher, you sure have got a quick tongue! [She draws herself up.] It seems like some people kind of forget—

  hester [trembling with anger]: No, I ain’t forgotten nothing. I know your husband is superintendent and runs these coal mines and I know you un your husband, but when it comes to you walking right in my own house and calling my son or my husband a thief—<
br />
  fern [interceding anxiously]: Hester, I don’t think she meant—

  mrs. abbey: Never mind, Fern. I’m not takin’ offense. Any woman that has the worries on her mind that poor Mrs. Pilcher has, with a daughter like that Star running loose around the camp—

  hester [fiercely]: That’s enough outa you! Get outa here now! Get right outa here now! Git right outa this house! And take your dirty wash with you! [She seizes bundle on table and thrusts it violently into Mrs. Abbey’s middle, pushing her toward door with it.] And your dirty tongue and git outa this house!

  mrs. abbey: What—why, I—never!

  hester: Take it all out with you, your damned silk pyjamas and things and wash ’em yourself. And you can tell your husband I said so and he can do any damned thing he wants to about it. And don’t let me ever catch you with the name of my daughter or my son or my husband on your tongue again in this house or any other house, I don’t care if your husband runs every coal mine in the State o’ Alabama! (Pause.) I’m not one of your slaves!

  mrs. abbey [choking with rage]: Mr. Abbey will hear about this! He’ll be informed how one of his miners’ wives had the impertinence to talk to me!

  [She drops some clothes as she flies out the door. Hester grabs the bundle Mrs. Abbey dropped and flings it after her. There is a moment’s pause. Then Mrs. Abbey appears at the door again.]

  mrs. abbey: I’ll trouble you for my shoes! [She gets them and gets out.]

  fern [with mingled fear and admiration]: Hester! You shouldn’t have acted like that.

  hester: Why not? I’ve been meek as Moses too long with that woman. It sure did my soul good to let her have it like that. Well, let her tell old man Abbey. He won’t fire Bram. He wouldn’t have the guts. Why, if Bram got fired half the men in the mines would walk out with him and old man Abbey knows it.

  fern: How about Joel’s job at the company store?

  hester [struck aghast]: OH! Oh, God! I hadn’t thought about that! [She sinks weakly into a chair.] She’ll get him fired! She’ll make Tim Adams fire Joel, won’t she?

  fern: More’n likely. Don’t worry about it now.

  hester [slowly]: No, it’s too late. I’ve gone and done it. I should’ve held my tongue. But I’m tired of it, Fern. The reason we’ve had to eat so much dirt around this camp is because we never had guts enough to th’ow it back in their faces! [Huskily.] I’m tired of it, Fern. I’m gittin’ old.

  fern: You ain’t old yet.

  hester: Ain’t old? I’m as old as those everlastin’ hills out there. That’s how old I am! [She laughs bitterly.] An the devil’s gittin’ hold of my spirit! [She rises and her voice becomes excited.] I’m gonna give ’em back as good as I git frum now on. I don’t care what happens. I’m gonna start fightin’. It’s time somebody started fightin’. Bram won’t, he’s too dumb. He’s a natcheral bo’n slave. But me, I’m gittin’ tired of it all. I’ve been around here a long time, pretty near my whole life. I’ve seen ’em live an die in this camp, their whole lives from beginning to end, digging down in the dirt and getting nothing out of it but life enough to keep on digging. That’s all. It’s time somebody did something round here besides dig in the dirt and eat it. I’m fed up! [She pants breathlessly, clutching her chest.]

  fern [after a slight pause]: I’m fed up on it too. But gittin’ sore at people like Mrs. Abbey don’t help us none. It just lost me their washing and Joel his job. I needed that washing. I needed the money.

  hester: It’s time you quit doing people’s dirty wash, Fern. You’re still young and good lookin’. There’s plenty of single men round here who’d be more’n glad to have you cookin’ their vittles fur em.

  fern: You tryin’ to get shed of me now?

  hester: I’m givin’ you good advice. No use makin’ a slave of yourself. Better get some fun outa life while you can. [She goes into the kitchen.]

  fern: I’m not lookin’ for fun. [She goes to outside door.] Luke! Oh, LUKE! [His voice is heard faintly replying.] Take the bucket and go down there by the spring and see if you can’t find a few blackberries for lunch.

  luke [off-stage]: Okay, Mom. Soon as I finish this page.

  fern: He’s still readin’. [She turns to Hester, who has come back on.]

  hester: He likes his books, don’t he!

  fern: He reads all the time. Everything he kin lay his hands on. Miss Wallace says he’s bright as a dollar.

  hester: Like John.

  fern: Yes. He’s like John was.

  hester: He’s like you, too. He’s got your quick, lively ways about him.

  fern: No, he’s like John in his ways too. He’s just like John and I’m glad of it. It’s like John was living agin.

  hester [after a pause]: John was my first son, Fern, and God only knows how it hurt to lose him, but still—I think you should try not to think so much about what’s over and done. You got life in front of you still. What’s done’s done. I remember the day that schoolteacher read us your letter about John’s death. I hated you then. I thought somehow it was all your fault, him getting killed in them mines up there. But when you come in that door the first time, an’ that awful lost look in your eyes—I know you wasn’t to blame for what happened. I see what you felt was even worse than what I felt. But that was a long time ago . . . it’s time you started living again, Fern.

  fern [wringing out a piece of wash]: I am living again—for John’s boy. Everything I do’s for him, every cent I can make so’s when he’s grown a man like John was I can pay it all back to him, what I took from his father.

  hester: You never took nothing from John.

  fern: If it wasn’t for me maybe John would’ve got what he wanted.

  hester [looking at her closely]: What did John want?

  fern: What you wanted for him and what he wanted for himself and what he never did get because he was married and had to earn a living and didn’t have no other way of earning it but digging down in the dirt for it and getting smashed down there.

  [There is a long pause during which Hester busies herself with preparing some vegetables at the table. Fern wanders over to the open window.]

  fern: Luke’s running down the hill to the spring lickety-split. Hear him? He’s whooping at the top of his lungs. And beating on the blackberry bucket like it was a drum.

  hester [going to the window]: I can’t see. The sun’s in my eyes.

  fern: I reckon he must be playing Injun or something.

  hester: I can’t see for the sun. It’s too bright.

  fern [after a moment]: Now he’s running back up. What legs he’s got!

  hester [excitedly]: Yes, I kin see him now. He’s—oh! [She turns away from the window and goes slowly to the store, her face drawn into a look of agony.]

  fern [her eyes still on the boy]: He’s got to the top now. He’s shinning up that big cottonwood tree. Maybe I better call him off. He might fall.

  [She turns toward Hester. Notices her suffering.]

  fern: Hester, what’s the matter with you? You’re white as goat milk!

  hester [getting up stiffly]: Nothing’s the matter with me.

  [She resumes her work. There is another long pause. Then Hester seems to forget what she is doing. Her hands move slower and slower at their occupation and her eyes take on a dreaming expression.]

  hester [as if to herself]: John used to run down that same hill on bright summer mornings. It hit me all of a sudden. The warm sweet smell of the grass . . . .

  the curtain falls slowly

  scene four

  Scene: Five years later. Front room of Star’s cabin.

  Star’s cabin is in startling contrast to Bram’s. The keynote of Bram’s was a stark, almost barren simplicity. This room is gaudy and expressive in every detail of Star’s own personality. Architecturally it is practically the same as Bram’s, but garish drapes, calendar pictures, photos of movie stars, kewpie dolls, fancy silk pillows work a complete transformation. In the back wall are one or two large windows opening on the dusk
y street. In the right wall—or wherever it will best suit the action—is the front door, opening on another street, the cabin standing at the intersection. Both windows are wide open as the scene begins and Star, gaily dressed for the evening, moves about the room as though flaunting herself to the public view. Crowds are passing around the corner on their way to the Saturday night dance or frolic at the miners’ meeting houses. Drunken men shout ribaldries and give catcalls as they pass by the two roads. Shrill- voiced women make caustic commentaries. Star smiles with nervous defiance as she overhears these voices. She lights a cigarette. Sometimes she hums to herself. She has a tense, anticipatory air, as though she were definitely waiting for something to happen—or someone to arrive.

  Ethel Sunter enters through the open door. Ethel is a homely spinster of strong but thwarted sex impulses, sublimated into a state of almost constant religious ecstacy. Her acts of charity are not prompted so much by a natural good will as by a sense of Christian duty. She is suspicious of all. She peers inquisitively about the room.

  star [disappointed]: Oh, hello, Ethel.

  ethel: Good evenin’. [She picks up some cards from the table and gasps.] I see you been playin’ cards.

  star: No, that’s just an old deck I tell fortunes with.

  ethel: Fortunes! That’s wickedness. Only the Lord can tell what’s coming.

  star: Then I sure wish he’d hurry and tip me off. Now that Jake’s dead, I’d kinda like to know what’s coming next. Set down.

  ethel: I can’t stay but a minute. I brought you somethin’ to eat. Just scraps.

  star: Thanks. I can use ’em.

  ethel: I didn’t git to the funeral.

  star: Naw. I noticed you wasn’t there Ethel.

  ethel: It was the first layin’ under I missed in this camp in nigh on ten years. You see I heard as how Jake Walland wouldn’t even profess belief on his death bed, and under them circumstances I couldn’t see my way clear to anticipate in his uh—preferment.

  star [languidly]: Naw, I reckon you couldn’t.