by Brian Friel
Angela Forget Mr Carlin, my darlings. Put Mr Carlin out of your thoughts.
Frank God, I always hated peasants.
Trish And bloody Sligo peasants are the worst, I’m sure.
Terry He’ll come. Believe me. He’ll come.
Angela ‘Believe me – believe me’ – I suppose it’s enviable in a way, isn’t it?
Terry What is?
Angela does not answer. She goes to Berna at the end of the pier.
Angela What’s the water like?
Berna Warm. Warmish.
Angela Wouldn’t mind a swim. Brighten us all up. (She hugs Berna quickly.) And how’s the baby sister?
Berna shrugs.
You’re looking much stronger.
Berna Am I?
Angela Terry says you’ll be back in the practice in a month.
Berna That’s not true. Who’s looking after the children tonight?
Angela The McGuires next door.
Berna The whole brood?
Angela I know. Hearts of gold.
Berna I have a birthday present for young Frankie. I’ll drop it in at the weekend.
Angela You have that godson of yours spoiled.
Berna No, I’ll get Terry to leave it in. The godson has got very … tentative with me recently.
Angela You couldn’t make that –
Berna I make him uneasy. You know how intuitive children are. I think maybe I frighten him.
Angela Frankie’s dying about you, Berna.
Berna Frighten is too strong. When I reach out to touch him he shrinks away from me. I … disquiet him. Anyhow. Do you really think I look stronger?
Angela I know you are.
Berna Terry thinks the reason for my trouble is that we couldn’t have a child. That’s what he tells the doctors.
And that never worried me all that much. But it’s an obsession with him. He’s even more neurotic than Trish about not having children. A Martin neurosis, I tell him.
Angela Shhh.
Berna And he would have been so good with children. Married the wrong sister, didn’t he?
Angela Berna –
Berna Oh, yes; oh, yes. When you married Frank a little portion of him atrophied. Then he turned to me. I’m the surrogate.
Angela You’ve got to –
Berna Are you happy, Angela?
Angels hums ‘Happy Days Are Here Again’.
There are times when I feel I’m … about to be happy. That’s not bad, is it? Are you laughing at me?
Angela Of course I’m not laughing at you.
Berna Maybe that’s how most people manage to carry on – ‘about to be happy’; the real thing almost within grasp, just a step away. Maybe that’s the norm. But then there are periods – occasions – when just being alive is … unbearable.
Terry Marinated quail and quince jelly. God!
Trish The delights of the world – you have them all there.
Angela There are times when all of us –
Berna He has no happiness with me – Terry. Not even ‘about-to-be’ happiness. He should leave me. I wouldn’t mind if he did. I don’t think I’d mind at all. Because in a way I feel I’ve moved beyond all that. (She stands up.) But then what would he do, where would he go? (She moves away.)
Angela picks up the binoculars.
Terry Six months ago there was a horse called Quince Fruit running at Cheltenham. Worst mistake of my whole life. Practically cleaned me out – Quince Fruit almost ruined me.
Pause. Now Berna begins singing the verse of ‘Down by the Cane-brake’. Immediately George accompanies her. She sings in the mood George established earlier, softly, quietly, but not quite as slowly as George played the chorus. She tells the story of the song with intimacy and precision, as do the others when they sing or join in, each singing in the same quiet, internal personal way.
Berna (sings)
‘Down by the cane-brake, close by the mill
There lived a blue-eyed girl by the name of Nancy Dill –’
Terry (to Trish) Mother’s song.
Trish nods.
Berna (sings)
‘I told her that I loved her, I loved her very long,
I’m going to serenade her and this will be my song –’
Trish now sings the chorus with Berna.
Berna and Trish
‘Come, my love, come, my boat lies low,
She lies high and dry on the O-hi-o.
Come, my love, come, and come along with me
And I’ll take you back to Tennessee.’
A very brief bridging passage by George. Then Terry sings alone.
Terry (sings)
‘Down by the cane-brake some happy day
You’ll hear a wedding bell a-ringing mighty gay.
I’m going to build a cabin and in a trundle bed
There’ll be a blue-eyed baby and all because you said –’
Chorus sung by Frank, Berna, Trish and Terry. Then Trish alone:
Trish
‘Down by the cane-brake that’s where I’ll stay
Longside of Nancy Dill till we are laid away.
And when we get to heaven and Peter lets us in
I’ll start my wings a-flappin’ and sing to her again –’
Chorus sung by Frank, Berna, Trish, Terry and Angela. Then a final cadence from George. Brief pause.
What time is it?
Terry Just after three.
Trish Night, everybody. See you in the morning. ’Bye.
Again they all retreat into their privacies. Angela looks through the binoculars.
Terry (passing behind Angela) Tennessee still there?
Angela Lost it again?
Terry Still there. ‘Believe me.’
She shrugs and smiles. Terry looks around at them all. Then he addresses them.
I know – I’m sorry – it’s a mess. And when we were planning it, it seemed a wonderful idea. It still is a wonderful idea. And there’s still a good chance we’ll make it – a very good chance. Carlin will come. I honestly … Anyhow … sorry, sorry …
Pause.
Trish (sits up) I know when I was in Sligo before! Seventeen years ago – at a bridge congress.
Terry Donegal, Trish.
Trish No, Sligo. At the old Great Southern Hotel. My partner was a man –
Frank Here he comes! There he is! Look! Look!
Trish What? – who? –
Frank The boatman! Carlin! With his boat! He’s here! He’s bloody here!
Suddenly everybody is excited, agitated. They all talk at the same time:
Trish Who’s here?
Terry Carlin.
Berna Oh God!
Terry Where is he?
Trish Who’s Carlin?
Angela I don’t believe it.
Terry Great – terrific! Are you sure, Frank?
Berna (anxious, agitated) Oh God! – Oh my God! –
Angela The bastard – where is he?
Trish Where, Frank? Where?
Angela I don’t believe it.
Berna Oh my God!
Terry Is he alone? Quiet, please!
Berna Oh my God, Angela –
Terry Where is he, Frank?
Trish Can you see him?
Angela I don’t believe it.
Terry Where is he, Frank?
Frank ‘Wolf!’ cried the naughty boy. ‘Wolf.’
Trish What? Where is he?
Frank ‘Wolf – wolf.’
Berna He’s not there at all?
Frank ’Fraid not. Woke you up all the same, didn’t it?
Terry (quiet fury) That is not funny, for Christ’s sake.
Trish Oh, Frank, how could you?
Frank Joke.
Angela (calmly) Damn you, Frank.
Frank A joke – that’s all.
Terry Not funny at all, Frank.
Frank Sorry.
Trish Oh, Frank, that was cruel.
Frank Sorry – sorry – sorry. For God’s sake, wha
t’s eating you all?
Again they retreat into themselves. And as they do George plays ‘Regina caeli, laetare, alleluia; quia quem meruisti portare …’ He breaks off mid-phrase. Silence.
Angela (suddenly, with great energy) All right, everybody! Story time! So we’re stuck here! We’re going nowhere! We’ll pass the night with stories.
Trish Good for you, Angela. Yeah–yeah–yeah–yeah!
Angela ‘Once upon a time’ – who goes first? Terry!
Terry I don’t know any stories.
Trish Yes, you do. He’s a wonderful story-teller.
Angela We’ll get him later. You start off, Trish.
Trish Let someone else start. I’ll go second. Berna, tell us one of your law stories.
Berna All right. Let me think of one.
Trish A clean law story! We’ll come back to you. Frank – ‘Once upon a time –’
Frank Pass.
Terry Get it over with, Frank.
Trish Come on, Frank. Be a sport. It’s only a bit of fun.
Frank Later. After Berna.
Angela I think George wants to go first.
Frank What about yourself, Terry?
Terry Couldn’t tell a story to save my life.
Angela Have you a story to tell, George?
Trish What’s wrong with you all? You go first, Angela. Then a clean law story. Then Frank. Then –
Angela George?
George Yes?
Trish Then me. Then Terry –
Angela George will go first. Tell us your story, George.
Trish Right – I’ll kick off.
Angela (to George) ‘Once upon a time –’
Frank Stop bullying, Angela.
George moves into the centre of the group.
Trish This woman had ten children, one after the other, and –
Angela Right, George?
Terry Angela –
Angela (to George) Ready?
Trish And the ten children all had red hair like the –
Angela (to Trish) Please, (to George) ‘Once upon a time –’
Silence. George looks at each of them in turn. Then he plays the first fifteen seconds of the third movement (‘Presto’) of Beethoven’s Sonata No. 14 (‘Moonlight’). He plays with astonishing virtuosity, very rapidly, much faster than the piece is scored, and with an internal fury; so that his performance, as well as being dazzlingly dextrous and skilful and fast – because of its dazzling dexterity and skill and speed – seems close to parody. And then in the middle of a phrase, he suddenly stops. He bows to them all very formally, as if he had given a recital in a concert hall.
George Thank you. Thank you very much.
He now removes the accordion and puts it in the case. Pause.
Trish (almost shouting, very emotional, close to tears) Are you satisfied now? Happy now, are you? Do you see, you all? – not one of you is fit to clean his boots!
George now spreads out a sleeping-bag and lies on top of it. Trish spreads a rug over him. Pause.
Berna I’m going for a swim. Anybody coming?
Terry Please, Berna; not now.
Berna Angela?
Terry That water could be dangerous, Berna.
Angela Wait until daybreak. I’ll go with you then. I’d love a swim, too. As soon as it’s daylight.
Frank comes down from the catwalk. He goes to Terry.
Frank Waiting – just waiting – waiting for anything makes you a bit edgy, doesn’t it? Sorry about that wolf thing.
Terry makes a gesture of dismissal and continues looking through the hampers.
It wasn’t meant cruelly. Just stupid.
Terry Brandied peaches and Romanian truffles. Christ. I order two hampers of good food and they fill them with stuff nobody can eat. (He holds up a bottle.) Drop of brandy?
Frank If you had some whiskey.
Terry Should have.
Frank Can’t take it neat though.
Terry (searching hamper) Of course – everything except water. (He points to a shallow hollow on the floor of the pier where water has gathered.) Is that rain water or salt water?
Frank dips a finger and tastes it.
Frank We’re in business. (He scoops some water into a paper cup and makes a drink. Toasts:) Happy birthday, Terry.
Terry That was yesterday.
Frank Was it? All the same.
Terry How’s the book coming on?
Frank The finishing post is in sight … at last. Time for it, says you, after three-and-a-half years.
Terry Great.
Frank I know I shouldn’t say this but I hope – God damn it, I pray – this is going to be the breakthrough for me. And some instinct tells me it will. Well … maybe … touch wood.
Terry You’ve told me a dozen times – I’m sorry – clock-making through the ages – is that it?
Frank Terence!
Terry Sorry.
Frank The Measurement of Time and its Effect on European Civilization.
Terry Ah.
Frank I know. But they assure me there is a market for it – not large but worldwide. It is fascinating stuff. I never seem to thank you for all your help, Terry.
Terry Nothing – nothing. Another splash? (He pours more whiskey into the cup.)
Frank How can I thank you adequately? Only for you I’d still be sitting in that estate agent’s office. Instead of which – ta-ra! – the thrilling life of a journeyman writer, scrounging commissions. Angela going back to lecturing after all these years – that was a huge help, too, of course. And the poor girl hates it, hates it. But your support, Terry, every bloody week – magnanimous! I hope some day I’ll –
Terry Don’t talk about it. Please.
Frank A new Medici.
Terry Is that a horse?
Frank You know very well –
Terry I’d put money on that myself!
Frank Thanks. That’s all I can say. Thank you. (He finishes his drink rapidly and makes another.)
Trish puts a pillow under George’s head.
Trish Lift your head. Good. Are you warm enough? That’s better.
Frank I annoyed Trish a while ago. She said I was cheap, joking about apparitions out there.
Terry She has her hands full.
Frank Tough life. Courageous lady.
Terry Yes. So – the clock book – when is it going to appear?
Frank Another apparition. This time next year, we hope. Actually I was thinking of doing a chapter on apparitions – well, visions, hallucinations, whatever.
Terry In a book about clocks?
Frank Time measurement, Terry! Did you know that the accurate measurement of time changed monastic practices in the Middle Ages, when Saint Conall and company flourished out there? See? You never knew that! Before that monks prayed a few times during the day – a casual discipline that depended on nature – maybe at cock-crow, at high noon, when it got too dark to work in the fields. But Saint Benedict wanted more than that from his monks: he wanted continuous prayer. And with the invention of clocks that became possible.
Terry But there weren’t clocks then, were there?
Frank No, no; crude time-pieces; sophisticated egg-timers. But with these new instruments you could break the twenty-four hours into exact sections. And once you could do that, once you could waken your monks up at fixed hours two or three times a night, suddenly – (He claps his hands.) – continuous prayer!
Terry What has that to do with apparitions?
Frank Think about it. At the stroke of midnight – at 2.00 a.m. – at 4.00 a.m. – at 6.00 a.m. – you chase your monks out of their warm beds. Into a freezing chapel. Fasting. Deprived of sleep. Repeating the same chant over and over again. And because they’re hungry and disoriented and giddy for want of sleep and repeating the same droning chant over and over again, of course they hallucinate – see apparitions – whatever. Wouldn’t you?
Terry (laughing) Frank!
Frank Honestly! Medieval monks were always seeing
apparitions. Read their books. And all because of the invention of time-pieces. A word of warning, Terry. Be careful at matins – that’s just before dawn. That’s when you’re most susceptible.
Terry Is that going to be in your book?!
Frank Maybe. Why not? Anything to explain away the wonderful, the mystery.
Terry But you don’t believe a word of that, do you?
Frank How would I know? But there must be some explanation, mustn’t there? The mystery offends – so the mystery has to be extracted. (He points to the island.) They had their own way of dealing with it: they embraced it all – everything. Yes, yes, yes, they said; why bloody not? A rage for the absolute, Terry – that’s what they had. And because their acceptance was so comprehensive, so open, so generous, maybe they were put in touch – what do you think? – so intimately in touch that maybe, maybe they actually did see.
Terry In touch with what? See what?
Frank Whatever it is we desire but can’t express. What is beyond language. The inexpressible. The ineffable.
Terry To spend their lives out there in the Atlantic, I suppose they must have been on to something.
Frank And even if they were in touch, even if they actually did see, they couldn’t have told us, could they, unless they had the speech of angels? Because there is no vocabulary for the experience. Because language stands baffled before all that and says of what it has attempted to say, ‘No, no! That’s not it at all! No, not at all!’ (He drinks rapidly.) Or maybe they did write it all down – without benefit of words! That’s the only way it could be written, isn’t it? A book without words!
Terry You’ve lost me, Frank.
Frank And if they accomplished that, they’d have written the last book ever written – and the most wonderful! And then, Terry, then maybe life would cease! (He laughs. Brief pause.) Or maybe we’ve got it all wrong as usual, Terry. Maybe Saint Conall stood on the shores of the island there and gazed across here at Ballybeg and said to his monks, ‘Oh, lads, lads, there is the end of desire. Whoever lives there lives at the still core of it all. Happy, happy, lucky people.’ What do you think?
Frank is now very animated. He laughs again. He drinks again.
Terry That’s us – happy people.
Frank (calling) Come and join us, Conall! It’s all in place here! (to Terry) Well – why not?
Terry Indeed.
Frank (laughs) Despite appearances.
