Brian Friel Plays 1

by Brian Friel

  TOM: (On point of tears) O my God – O my God –

  SIR: It’s your role.

  TOM: No, it’s not. No, no, no, it’s not.

  SIR: And to have any role is always something.

  (ANNA begins to lead TOM away.)

  When you’ve thought about it, you’ll agree with me.

  TOM: No, no, no –

  SIR: And you’ll do it.

  TOM: No, no –

  SIR: Oh, yes, you’ll do it. Now I think everything’s in position.

  (CHARLIE enters. Almost furtive. Almost ingratiating.)

  CHARLIE: By the way, Sir –

  SIR: You’re not needed, Charlie.

  CHARLIE: Because I’m not one of the family?

  SIR: Because we’re beginning in the afternoon.

  CHARLIE: But I was there that night, you know, and –

  SIR: Early afternoon, Charlie.

  CHARLIE: But I did come – about half eleven – to pick up Miriam.

  SIR: I know.

  CHARLIE: And I would have been here earlier, only I had to leave the baby-sitter home.

  SIR: I know.

  CHARLIE: And if I’m nervous, she’s late – I mean to say, if I’m

  late, she’s nervous.

  SIR: I know.

  CHARLIE: But I did get here before midnight. And doesn’t that make me a witness? Relevant, material, as we say.

  SIR: Charlie, if I need you, I’ll call you.

  CHARLIE: Tell you what: supposing I just sat about, you know, and looked on, I’d –

  SIR: There are no spectators, Charlie. Only participants.

  CHARLIE: Promise you – wouldn’t open my mouth –

  SIR: If your turn comes, I’ll call you.

  CHARLIE: Could keep an eye on the ledger for you.

  SIR: Charlie.

  CHARLIE: Oh, well – see you later – good luck.

  (He leaves.)

  SIR: And now to begin. The Butler home. Early evening of May 24th.

  (He sits on his low stool. Lights change. TINA enters from kitchen. The jacket of her father’s dress suit is lying across an ironing-board and she is carrying a bowl of water to clean stains. We can hear in the far distance a military band playing. TINE listens to the music for a few seconds and then hums the melody.)

  SIR: ‘Tina, the youngest of the four Butler children. The pet of the family. Singing because her father is back from the Middle East and because she has never seen such excitement in the camp before. Her life up to this has been protected and generally happy and content. True, her mother died. But that was six years ago. And Tina loves her stepmother, Anna, at least as much as she loved her mother.’

  (HELEN enters left and crosses slowly to the garden seat right. She is carrying a bunch of May flowers. As she passes the living-room TINA sees her. She calls out.)

  TINA: Helen!

  HELEN: Hello.

  TINA: It’s like a carnival, isn’t it?

  HELEN: Yes.

  TINA: The Number One Army Band – first time ever in Ballybeg!

  HELEN: I know.

  TINA: Did you have a swim?

  HELEN: What?

  TINA: Did you swim?

  HELEN: Paddled.

  TINA: Oh, you’re daring!

  HELEN: I am.

  TINA: Was it cold?

  HELEN: Can’t hear you. Come on out – it’s glorious.

  TINA: When I finish this.

  (HELEN places the flowers on the seat and picks up the broken ones. TINA exits to the kitchen.)

  SIR: ‘The eldest of the family – Helen. Twenty-seven and divorced. When she was nineteen and impetuous and strong-willed, she married Private Gerry Kelly, her father’s batman, despite her mother’s bitter and vicious opposition. The marriage lasted a few months. Private Kelly deserted and vanished. And Helen went to London. This is only her second time home since then. The last time was for her mother’s funeral.’

  (HELEN stands still.)

  HELEN: When I got off the bus and walked in there this morning the room was still stifling with her invalid’s smell. Strange, wasn’t it? And small things I thought I’d forgotten: her tiny, perfect, white teeth; the skin smooth and shiny over the arthritic knuckles; her walking-stick hooked on the back of the wicker chair. And that glass ornament on the mantelpiece that trembled when she screamed at me – (Calmly, flatly) ‘You can’t marry him, you little vixen! Noblesse oblige! D’you hear – noblesse oblige!’

  SIR: She never spoke to you again?

  HELEN: No.

  SIR: Nor to him?

  HELEN: Never to him.

  SIR: Do you still feel anger?

  HELEN: No, not a bit, I think. Not a bit.

  SIR: And him – how real is he?

  HELEN: Gerry? That’s over.

  SIR: Altogether?

  HELEN: I’m wary. I’m controlled. I discipline myself.

  SIR: Then this homecoming was a risk?

  HELEN: In a way.

  SIR: A test? A deliberate test?

  HELEN: Perhaps.

  SIR: And you’re surviving it?

  HELEN: I’m surviving it.

  SIR: All right, Helen, you’ve tested yourself and you’ve paid your respects to your father. You could leave now.

  HELEN: No. I’ll see it through.

  SIR: Your discipline may not hold.

  HELEN: How can I be sure that I want it to?

  SIR: Only you can answer that.

  (She suddenly busies herself with the flowers. MIRIAM comes briskly through the front door, the hall, into the living-room.)

  MIRIAM: O my God – that heat!

  (Once in the living-room MIRIAM gets three plates from the sideboard and begins dividing the carton of ice cream she has brought home.)

  SIR: ‘Miriam – he middle daughter. Married to Charlie Donnelly, clerk of the district court. She has three children. She is thinking of them.’

  MIRIAM: They should be arriving home from school just about now. I hope they don’t feel altogether abandoned.

  SIR: She hasn’t seen them for three hours.

  MIRIAM: I gave them soup and sandwiches and a bar of chocolate each for lunch; and Mrs Moyne’ll have a hot meal ready for them when they get back. And she’ll stay with them until Charlie gets home from the court in Glenties. Then he’ll leave her home and come back and make them liver and bacon for their tea. And then he’ll go and collect her again and she’ll get them porridge and bread and jam for supper and put them to bed.

  SIR: They are not neglected children.

  MIRIAM: Then he’ll come and collect me and we should be home soon after midnight. He doesn’t like hanging about here – no more than I do myself.

  SIR: ‘Before she married, Miriam was a nurse.’

  MIRIAM: All the same it’s a big day for Papa and I’m glad I came. God, wouldn’t the kids love some of this ice cream!

  (SIR looks at the audience and spreads his hands.)

  MIRIAM: (Calling) Who’s for ice cream? Anyone for ice cream?

  TINA: (From kitchen) Me!

  (MIRIAM carries the tray of dishes out to the garden.)

  MIRIAM: Ice cream, Helen?

  HELEN: Lovely.

  MIRIAM: Did you ever see the likes of that crowd milling about the gates?

  HELEN: I came up the back way.

  MIRIAM: TV cameras and reporters and what-not. And Sergeant Burke trying to control the traffic and looking as if he was going to cry. And that mad wife of his with her hair dyed a bright orange, beside herself with excitement and blowing kisses into all the nobs’ cars as they pass through the gate. Sweet God – bedlam! And all the buckos from the village – the Morans and the Sharkeys and all that gang – all squinting and gleeking and not missing a bar. Oh, but there’ll be tales to be told for years to come.

  (TINA has joined them.)

  TINA: (To MIRIAM) Did you get the May flowers?

  MIRIAM: Not me – her ladyship here.

  HELEN: Aren’t they pretty?

  TIN
A: Remember – we used to gather great armfuls of them and put them up on the May altar on the landing.

  MIRIAM: In jam jars. (Passes plate.) Here.

  TINA: And bundles of bluebells that would go limp overnight and hang over the sides.

  HELEN: The smell of them through the house – a sickly smell, wasn’t it?

  TINA: And us kneeling on the lino for the prayers and easing up one knee and then the other with the pain. Do you remember, Helen?

  (Very brief pause.)

  HELEN: That meadow beyond the school’s full of flowers.

  MIRIAM: What meadow’s that?

  TINA: Phil the Butcher’s field.

  HELEN: Phil Boyle and Mary! I saw him watching me from behind the byre, but I couldn’t remember his name.

  MIRIAM: Baldy Phil and Hairy Mary – I never could enjoy meat from that place.

  TINA: Did you not speak to him?

  HELEN: No, he wouldn’t remember me now.

  TINA: ’Course he would.

  MIRIAM: God, they must be ancient, that pair.

  TINA: D’you remember – Mammy used to send us for eggs every Saturday morning –

  MIRIAM: ‘You’re to say: “A dozen eggs for Commandant Butler, please”’– hoping to get them cheap!

  TINA: And if Ben came with us, Mary’d always give him a huge kiss.

  MIRIAM: A rub of her beard!

  TINA: And he always cried and then she’d give him a duck egg for himself and Daddy used to say he cried just to get the duck egg – d’you remember?

  MIRIAM: Oh, sweet God!

  TINA: D’you remember, Helen?

  (As HELEN passes her she hugs her briefly. Pause.)

  HELEN: Yes. Yes, I remember.

  MIRIAM: God bless Mammy and make her healthy again. God bless Daddy and have him transferred to Dublin.

  TINA: We all had that bit.

  MIRIAM: God bless Uncle Tom and make him a good priest. God bless Helen, Ben and Tina. And God bless me and give me bigger thighs than Josie McGrenra. And I got them.

  TINA: What’s this my rhyme was? God bless Mammy, Daddy, Uncle Tom, Helen, Miriam, Ben and Stinky Bum Blue.

  MIRIAM: Who?

  TINA: A rag doll. Still have her. God bless the Irish army and make it strong and brave.

  (MIRIAM and HELEN laugh.)

  HELEN: Tina!

  TINA: That’s true. And look at Daddy! And God bless me and take me up to heaven before my tenth birthday.

  MIRIAM: Weren’t you lucky you were ignored!

  (HELEN and TINA speak together.)

  TINA: Sorry – go ahead.

  HELEN: I was just going to ask you, do you see Ben often?

  TINA: You know Ben.

  MIRIAM: Yes!

  TINA: Whenever he takes the notion. When Daddy was out in the Middle East he called in maybe a couple of times a week. But now that he’s back –

  MIRIAM: Did you know that Charlie got him a job driving the mobile library? Surely to God that wasn’t too taxing on him. And he stuck it for how long? Four days. Walked out without as much as a by your leave. Left the bloody library van sitting out in the bogs beyond Loughcrillan. Oh, that fella!

  HELEN: Do they speak at all?

  TINA: Daddy and him? When they meet. If they have to.

  HELEN: I thought I might have run into him when I was down at the shore. Where has he got his caravan?

  TINA: God knows where you’d find him. Sometimes he works on the boats. Or does odd days labouring. And then he disappears for weeks – I don’t know where he goes – Scotland – Dublin. But he always comes back. Always,

  MIRIAM: Like malaria.

  TINA: But if he’s around and hears you’re here he’ll be sure to call.

  HELEN: I hope so.

  MIRIAM: Listen to me – let there be no romantic aul’ chat about brother Ben. He’s a wastrel – a spoiled mother’s boy. And if he turns up today to ruin the biggest event in Father’s life I’ll soon send him packing. So. (Lights a cigarette.) Sure you’re not smoking?

  HELEN: Positive.

  TINA: Three years off – isn’t she great?

  MIRIAM: Magnificent. Tell us about London.

  HELEN: It’s all right. The same office job, the same landlady since I went there.

  MIRIAM: Digs or a flat?

  HELEN: Digs.

  TINA: Mrs Zimmermann from Zürich.

  HELEN: If she thinks I need cheering up she says: ‘Come and have a cup of coffee with me, Mrs Kelly. I have a most funny joke to impart to you.’

  MIRIAM: (Finishing ice cream.) That was good. Does she feed you well?

  HELEN: Very well.

  TINA: And her four cats and her seventeen canaries and her son, a medical student.

  MIRIAM: How do you know all that?

  TINA: We write occasionally.

  MIRIAM: If the Donnellys get a card at Christmas they feel honoured.

  HELEN: We’re finished with cats and canaries and we’re into Pekinese dogs now. And the son’s a successful young doctor –

  TINA: Jean.

  HELEN: Jean – with a large practice. And the confidential stories she insists on telling me about him and his private life and his patients – I can’t stop her.

  TINA: Is he handsome?

  HELEN: In a way.

  MIRIAM: Well?

  HELEN: And married.

  MIRIAM: Bugger him – that’s him scrubbed. Oh, isn’t that just perfect.

  (TINA and MIRIAM stretch out in the sun. HELEN sits upright.)

  TINA: It’s almost too hot for me.

  MIRIAM: Don’t know when I sunbathed last.

  TINA: Glorious.

  MIRIAM: We’ll come out in blisters.

  TINA: Yes, nurse.

  MIRIAM: Any olive oil in the house?

  TINA: Kitchen.

  MIRIAM: Where?

  TINA: Bottom press.

  MIRIAM: I suppose you wouldn’t go for it?

  TINA: Too lazy.

  MIRIAM: Me, too. God, the big snout’ll be like a beacon.

  (TINA laughs.)

  We get one hot day every five years and it goes to our heads.

  Oh, perfect – perfect –

  (HELEN looks at them for a few seconds. Then, very suddenly, she goes down to SIR. Addresses him in urgent undertones.)

  HELEN: It’s not right! It’s not right!

  SIR: Yes, it is.

  HELEN: No, it’s not. It’s distorted – inaccurate.

  SIR: I would tell you. Trust me.

  HELEN: The whole atmosphere – three sisters, relaxed, happy, chatting in their father’s garden on a sunny afternoon. There was unease – I remember – there were shadows – we’ve got to acknowledge them!

  SIR: Why?

  HELEN: Because they were part of it.

  SIR: Don’t you think they’re aware of them? They’re thinking the very same thing themselves.

  (HELEN looks up at her sisters.)

  Believe me – it’s exactly right. (Pause.) Go on – join them again.

  (HELEN goes back. Stands looking at them.)

  TINA: (Her eyes closed) Do you have to go back tomorrow?

  HELEN: Afraid so.

  TINA: Hardly worth your while for one night, was it?

  HELEN: I’ve paid my respects to the Commandant.

  TINA: When you phoned you were coming he was really thrilled.

  HELEN: And I saw you two, didn’t I?

  MIRIAM: A sight that has driven strong men to distraction. (She sits up.) God, that’s too much for me. And you met our new stepmother.

  TINA: (Sitting up) And she liked her – didn’t you, Helen? So there!

  MIRIAM: So what?

  TINA: So she thinks she’s beautiful – that’s what. And so do I.

  MIRIAM: All I ever said –

  HELEN: Shhh!

  MIRIAM: Damn the hair I care if she hears me or not. I just think she’s far too young for him and that the quiet of this backwater’ll drive her bonkers. You and her and a batman running this house �
�� I mean what the hell do you do all day?

  TINA: She loves Ballybeg – she told me.

  MIRIAM: As for himself, you’d hardly describe him as a court jester, would you? I mean he’s set in his ways and damned selfish and bossy and –

  TINA: Selfish? After the way he nursed Mammy for years?

  MIRIAM: So well he might.

  TINA: What does that mean?

  HELEN: Will you both keep your voices down!

  TINA: (To HELEN) What does she mean by that?

  MIRIAM: That this bloody wet hole ruined her health and that he wouldn’t accept a transfer – always waiting for the big promotion that would be worthy of him and that never came. Clonmel, Templemore, Mullingar, Kilkenny – they all came up at different times and he wangled his way out of them – not important enough for Commandant Butler. Well, he’ll probably get what he wants as a result of this ballyhoo and I wish him luck – I really do – himself and his child bride, I’d strip in a minute, only those Sharkey stallions would be sure to be peeping over that hedge.

  TINA: What any of us thinks isn’t important. What is important is that he loves her and she loves him.

  MIRIAM: Mother of God! Would you grow up, child.

  TINA: And they’re perfectly happy together.

  MIRIAM: Married for five months and out of that they’ve been together all of what? – ten days?

  TINA: Amn’t I right, Helen?

  MIRIAM: Unless the daily love letters count – do they?

  TINA: Amn’t I right, Helen?

  MIRIAM: How would she know? She’s a stranger here.

  (Suddenly sorry, she jumps up and kisses HELEN.) Sorry, sorry sweetie – I didn’t mean that. Really. I’m a coarse bitch. Always was. You know that. Sorry. (She sits down again.) As mother used to say – (Grand accent) ‘Miriam, you’re neither a Butler nor a Hogan. I’m afraid you’re just – pure Ballybeg.’

  (HELEN and TINA laugh. MIRIAM closes eyes again.)

  Not a day passes but I thank God for that eejit, Charlie Donnelly.

  (Military music in the distance – the same piece as before.)

  She always called him ‘Charles’. But I think she liked him.

  TINA: Of course she did.

  MIRIAM: But how could she? Maybe because his Uncle Mickey was land steward to the Duke of Abercorn.

  (They listen to the music. MIRIAM hums with it.)

  TINA: I suppose you never hear from your Gerald, Helen?