MRS. ROONEY
Mrs. Tully I fancy. Her poor husband is in constant pain and beats her unmercifully.
[Silence.]
MR. ROONEY
That was a short knock. [Pause.] What was I trying to get at?
MRS. ROONEY
Business.
MR. ROONEY
Ah yes, business. [Narrative tone.] Business, old man, I said, retire from business, it has retired from you. [Normal tone.] One has these moments of lucidity.
MRS. ROONEY
I feel very cold and weak.
MR. ROONEY
[narrative tone] On the other hand, I said, there are the horrors of home life, the dusting, sweeping, airing, scrubbing, waxing, waning, washing, mangling, drying, mowing, clipping, raking, rolling, scuffling, shovelling, grinding, tearing, pounding, banging and slamming. And the brats, the happy little healthy little howling neighbours’ brats. Of all this and much more the week-end, the Saturday intermission and then the day of rest, have given you some idea. But what must it be like on a working-day? A Wednesday? A Friday? What must it be like on a Friday! And I fell to thinking of my silent, backstreet, basement office, with its obliterated plate, rest-couch and velvet hangings, and what it means to be buried there alive, if only from ten to five, with convenient to the one hand a bottle of light pale ale and to the other a long ice-cold fillet of hake. Nothing, I said, not even fully certified death, can ever take the place of that. It was then I noticed that we were at a standstill. [Pause. Normal tone. Irritably.] Why are you hanging out of me like that? Have you swooned away?
MRS. ROONEY
I feel very cold and faint. The wind—[whistling wind]—is whistling through my summer frock as if I had nothing on over my bloomers. I have had no solid food since my elevenses.
MR. ROONEY
You have ceased to care. I speak—and you listen to the wind.
MRS. ROONEY
No, no, I am agog, tell me all, then we shall press on and never pause, never pause, till we come safe to haven.
[Pause.]
MR. ROONEY
Never pause . . . safe to haven. . . . Do you know, Maddy, sometimes one would think you were struggling with a dead language.
MRS. ROONEY
Yes indeed, Dan, I know full well what you mean, I often have that feeling, it is unspeakably excruciating.
MR. ROONEY
I confess I have it sometimes myself, when I happen to overhear what I am saying.
MRS. ROONEY
Well, you know, it will be dead in time, just like our own poor dear Gaelic, there is that to be said. [Urgent baa.]
MR. ROONEY
[startled] Good God!
MRS. ROONEY
Oh the pretty little woolly lamb, crying to suck its mother! Theirs has not changed, since Arcady.
[Pause.]
MR. ROONEY
Where was I in my composition?
MRS. ROONEY
At a standstill.
MR. ROONEY
Ah yes. [Clears his throat. Narrative tone.] I concluded naturally that we had entered a station and would soon be on our way again, and I sat on, without misgiving. Not a sound. Things are very dull today, I said, nobody getting down, nobody getting on. Then as time flew by and nothing happened I realized my error. We had not entered a station.
MRS. ROONEY
Did you not spring up and poke your head out of the window?
MR. ROONEY
What good would that have done me?
MRS. ROONEY
Why to call out to be told what was amiss.
MR. ROONEY
I did not care what was amiss. No, I just sat on, saying, If this train were never to move again I should not greatly mind. Then gradually a—how shall I say—a growing desire to—er—you know—welled up within me. Nervous probably. In fact now I am sure. You know, the feeling of being confined.
MRS. ROONEY
Yes yes, I have been through that.
MR. ROONEY
If we sit here much longer, I said, I really do not know what I shall do. I got up and paced to and fro between the seats, like a caged beast.
MRS. ROONEY
That is a help sometimes.
MR. ROONEY
After what seemed an eternity we simply moved off. And the next thing was Barrell bawling the abhorred name. I got down and Jerry led me to the men’s, or Fir as they call it now, from Vir Viris I suppose, the V becoming F, in accordance with Grimm’s Law. [Pause.] The rest you know. [Pause.] You say nothing? [Pause.] Say something. Maddy. Say you believe me.
MRS. ROONEY
I remember once attending a lecture by one of these new mind doctors. I forget what you call them. He spoke—
MR. ROONEY
A lunatic specialist?
MRS. ROONEY
No no, just the troubled mind. I was hoping he might shed a little light on my lifelong preoccupation with horses’ buttocks.
MR. ROONEY
A neurologist.
MRS. ROONEY
No no, just mental distress, the name will come back to me in the night. I remember his telling us the story of a little girl, very strange and unhappy in her ways, and how he treated her unsuccessfully over a period of years and was finally obliged to give up the case. He could find nothing wrong with her, he said. The only thing wrong with her as far as he could see was that she was dying. And she did in fact die, shortly after he had washed his hands of her.
MR. ROONEY
Well? What is there so wonderful about that?
MRS. ROONEY
No, it was just something he said, and the way he said it, that have haunted me ever since.
MR. ROONEY
You lie awake at night, tossing to and fro and brooding on it.
MRS. ROONEY
On it and other . . . wretchedness. [Pause.] When he had done with the little girl he stood there motionless for some time, quite two minutes I should say, looking down at his table. Then he suddenly raised his head and exclaimed, as if he had had a revelation, The trouble with her was she had never really been born! [Pause.] He spoke throughout without notes. [Pause.] I left before the end.
MR. ROONEY
Nothing about your buttocks? [Mrs. Rooney weeps. In affectionate remonstrance.] Maddy!
MRS. ROONEY
There is nothing to be done for those people!
MR. ROONEY
For which is there? [Pause.] That does not sound right somehow. [Pause.] What way am I facing?
MRS. ROONEY
What?
MR. ROONEY
I have forgotten what way I am facing.
MRS. ROONEY
You have turned aside and are bowed down over the ditch.
MR. ROONEY
There is a dead dog down there.
MRS. ROONEY
No no, just the rotting leaves.
MR. ROONEY
In June? Rotting leaves in June?
MRS. ROONEY
Yes, dear, from last year, and from the year before last, and from the year before that again. [Silence. Rainy wind. They move on. Dragging steps, etc.] There is that lovely laburnum again. Poor thing, it is losing all its tassels. [Dragging steps, etc.] There are the first drops. [Rain. Dragging steps, etc.] Golden drizzle. [Dragging steps, etc.] Do not mind me, dear, I am just talking to myself. [Rain heavier. Dragging steps, etc.] Can hinnies procreate, I wonder? [They halt.]
MR. ROONEY
Say that again.
MRS. ROONEY
Come on, dear, don’t mind me, we are getting drenched.
MR. ROONEY
[forcibly] Can what what?
MRS. ROONEY
Hinnies procreate. [Silence.] You know, hinnies, or jinnies, aren’t they barren, or sterile, or whatever it is? [Pause.] It wasn’t an ass’s colt at all, you know, I asked the Regius Professor.
[Pause.]
MR. ROONEY
He should know.
MRS. ROONEY
Yes, it was a hinny, he rode into Jer
usalem or wherever it was on a hinny. [Pause.] That must mean something. [Pause.] It’s like the sparrows, than many of which we are of more value, they weren’t sparrows at all.
MR. ROONEY
Than many of which! . . . You exaggerate, Maddy.
MRS. ROONEY
[with emotion] They weren’t sparrows at all!
MR. ROONEY
Does that put our price up?
[Silence. They move on. Wind and rain. Dragging feet, etc. They halt.]
MRS. ROONEY
Do you want some dung? [Silence. They move on. Wind and rain, etc. They halt.] Why do you stop? Do you want to say something?
MR. ROONEY
No.
MRS. ROONEY
Then why do you stop?
MR. ROONEY
It is easier.
MRS. ROONEY
Are you very wet?
MR. ROONEY
To the buff.
MRS. ROONEY
The buff?
MR. ROONEY
The buff. From buffalo.
MRS. ROONEY
We shall hang up all our things in the hot-cupboard and get into our dressing-gowns. [Pause.] Put your arm round me. [Pause.] Be nice to me! [Pause. Gratefully.]
Ah, Dan! [They move on. Wind and rain. Dragging feet, etc. Faintly same music as before. They halt. Music clearer. Silence but for music playing. Music dies.] All day the same old record. All alone in that great empty house. She must be a very old woman now.
MR. ROONEY
[indistinctly] Death and the Maiden. [Silence.]
MRS. ROONEY
You are crying. [Pause.] Are you crying?
MR. ROONEY
[violently] Yes! [They move on. Wind and rain. Dragging feet, etc. They halt. They move on. Wind and rain. Dragging feet, etc. They halt.] Who is the preacher tomorrow? The incumbent?
MRS. ROONEY
No.
MR. ROONEY
Thank God for that. Who?
MRS. ROONEY
Hardy.
MR. ROONEY
“How to be Happy though Married”?
MRS. ROONEY
No no, he died, you remember. No connexion.
MR. ROONEY
Has he announced his text?
MRS. ROONEY
“The Lord upholdeth all that fall and raiseth up all those that be bowed down.” [Silence. They join in wild laughter. They move on. Wind and rain. Dragging feet, etc.] Hold me tighter, Dan! [Pause.] Oh yes! [They halt.]
MR. ROONEY
I hear something behind us.
[Pause.]
MRS. ROONEY
It looks like Jerry. [Pause.] It is Jerry.
[Sound of Jerry’s running steps approaching. He halts beside them, panting.]
JERRY
[panting] You dropped—
MRS. ROONEY
Take your time, my little man, you will burst a blood-vessel.
JERRY
[panting] You dropped something, sir. Mr. Barrell told me to run after you.
MRS. ROONEY
Show. [She takes the object.] What is it? [She examines it.]
What is this thing, Dan?
MR. ROONEY
Perhaps it is not mine at all.
JERRY
Mr. Barrell said it was, sir.
MRS. ROONEY
It looks like a kind of ball. And yet it is not a ball.
MR. ROONEY
Give it to me.
MRS. ROONEY
[giving it] What is it, Dan?
MR. ROONEY
It is a thing I carry about with me.
MRS. ROONEY
Yes, but what—
MR. ROONEY
[violently] It is a thing I carry about with me!
[Silence. Mrs. Rooney looks for a penny.]
MRS. ROONEY
I have no small money. Have you?
MR. ROONEY
I have none of any kind.
MRS. ROONEY
We are out of change, Jerry. Remind Mr. Rooney on Monday and he will give you a penny for your pains.
JERRY
Yes, Ma’am.
MR. ROONEY
If I am alive.
JERRY
Yessir.
[Jerry starts running back towards the station.]
MRS. ROONEY
Jerry! [Jerry halts.] Did you hear what the hitch was?
[Pause.] Did you hear what kept the train so late?
MR. ROONEY
How would he have heard? Come on.
MRS. ROONEY
What was it, Jerry?
JERRY
It was a—
MR. ROONEY
Leave the boy alone, he knows nothing! Come on!
MRS. ROONEY
What was it, Jerry?
JERRY
It was a little child, Ma’am.
[Mr. Rooney groans.]
MRS. ROONEY
What do you mean, it was a little child?
JERRY
It was a little child fell out of the carriage, Ma’am.
[Pause.] On to the line, Ma’am. [Pause.] Under the wheels, Ma’am.
[Silence. Jerry runs off. His steps die away. Tempest of wind and rain. It abates. They move on. Dragging steps, etc. They halt. Tempest of wind and rain.]
End
ACT WITHOUT WORDS I
A mime for one player
Desert. Dazzling light.
The man is flung backwards on stage from right wing. He falls, gets up immediately, dusts himself, turns aside, reflects.
Whistle from right wing.
He reflects, goes out right.
Immediately flung back on stage he falls, gets up immediately, dusts himself, turns aside, reflects.
Whistle from left wing.
He reflects, goes out left .
Immediately flung back on stage he falls, gets up immediately, dusts himself, turns aside, reflects.
Whistle from left wing.
He reflects, goes towards left wing, hesitates, thinks better of it, halts, turns aside, reflects.
A little tree descends from flies, lands. It has a single bough some three yards from ground and at its summit a meagre tuft of palms casting at its foot a circle of shadow.
He continues to reflect.
Whistle from above.
He turns, sees tree, reflects, goes to it, sits down in its shadow, looks at his hands.
A pair of tailor’s scissors descends from flies, comes to rest before tree, a yard from ground.
He continues to look at his hands.
Whistle from above.
He looks up, sees scissors, takes them and starts to trim his nails.
The palms close like a parasol, the shadow disappears.
He drops scissors, reflects.
A tiny carafe, to which is attached a huge label inscribed WATER, descends from flies, comes to rest some three yards from ground.
He continues to reflect.
Whistle from above.
He looks up, sees carafe, reflects, gets up, goes and stands under it, tries in vain to reach it, renounces, turns aside, reflects.
A big cube descends from flies, lands.
He continues to reflect.
Whistle from above.
He turns, sees cube, looks at it, at carafe, reflects, goes to cube, takes it up, carries it over and sets it down under carafe, tests its stability, gets up on it, tries in vain to reach carafe, renounces, gets down, carries cube back to its place, turns aside, reflects.
A second smaller cube descends from flies, lands.
He continues to reflect.
Whistle from above.
He turns, sees second cube, looks at it, at carafe, goes to second cube, takes it up, carries it over and sets it down under carafe, tests its stability, gets up on it, tries in vain to reach carafe, renounces, gets down, takes up second cube to carry it back to its place, hesitates, thinks better of it, sets it down, goes to big cube, takes it up, carries it over and puts it on small one, tests t
heir stability, gets up on them, the cubes collapse, he falls, gets up immediately, brushes himself, reflects.
He takes up small cube, puts it on big one, tests their stability, gets up on them and is about to reach carafe when it is pulled up a little way and comes to rest beyond his reach.
He gets down, reflects, carries cubes back to their place, one by one, turns aside, reflects.
A third still smaller cube descends from flies, lands.
He continues to reflect.
Whistle from above.
He turns, sees third cube, looks at it, reflects, turns aside, reflects.
The third cube is pulled up and disappears in flies.
Beside carafe a rope descends from flies, with knots to facilitate ascent.
He continues to reflect.
Whistle from above.
He turns, sees rope, reflects, goes to it, climbs up it and is about to reach carafe when rope is let out and deposits him back on ground.
He reflects, looks around for scissors, sees them, goes and picks them up, returns to rope and starts to cut it with scissors.
The Collected Shorter Plays Page 4
