by David French
MARY No, we’re not scheming. (to BEN) He don’t hear too well these days, except when he ain’t supposed to.
JACOB Instead of plotting behind my back, you’d best get ready. Wiff’ll soon be here and he’s still half-naked.
MARY Well, I’m ready. Is you? I don’t see you getting dressed in a hurry.
JACOB No, I’ll wrinkle my good suit if I sits around. (then) T’row me out yesterday’s paper. I ain’t finished it yet.
MARY (winking at BEN) What’s wrong with your two feet, boy?
JACOB Not’ing. I just don’t wish to intrude, Mary. (He turns up the radio.)
BEN See? That’s what I mean, Mom. That.
MARY Never mind. Get dressed and forget it. Pretend you don’t hear. That’s what I does.
BEN crosses to the foot of the stairs, buttoning his shirt.
JACOB And change your pants. You’m not wearing old blue jeans down to the funeral parlour.
BEN Did I say I was?
MARY Leave him alone, Jake!
JACOB Uncle Wiff’ll want you for a pallbearer on Tuesday, now you’m home.
MARY Your dark suit’s still in our closet, my son. I kept it. Didn’t need to be cleaned or pressed, even.
JACOB Well, shine your shoes. Have some respect for your Aunt Dot, if you got none for yourself. (BEN goes up the stairs.) And cut your hair!
With that, JACOB switches off the radio and rises with sudden weariness. He wanders into the kitchen, looks for the newspaper on top of the fridge.
MARY A fine welcome home this is. And you wonders why he stays away?
JACOB Oh, he’ll be back, Mary, as long as you’m alive. No fear of that, my lady. He ain’t home to see me. That much is certain.
MARY Can’t you just be civil, Jake?
JACOB Civil?
MARY Yes, you’ve heard of the word. He’s only home for two days.
JACOB T’ank God.
MARY Yes, you’ll be some glad to see him go, won’t you? Then you can go back to reading his letters on the sly.
JACOB Never even asked how I was . . . T’inks more of his Aunt Dot than he do of me.
MARY That ain’t true.
JACOB Even when I was in the hospital, did I get so much as a Get Well card? Poor Billy was there every weekend. If it’d been you, Mary . . .
MARY Keep your voice down . . .
JACOB And you expects me to be civil? Well, he can kiss my ass, and you can tell him so for me. Is that civil enough?
MARY Look, Jake, don’t let’s quarrel on account of Ben, okay? We’ve been fine, ain’t we, just the two of us, until now? Ain’t we?
JACOB Not a harsh word between us. (He sits at the table with his newspaper.)
MARY So let’s keep it that way. We was never so close as when the boys left, never. (slight pause) Why, I even went to wrestling.
JACOB And who went to bingo with you and Dot once a week, rain or shine?
MARY Well, don’t spoil it then. Don’t let him be a wedge between us. Not again. (then) Go on, boy. Read your newspaper. Find somet’ing in there to complain about. (pause) I don’t t’ink I’ll go to bingo anymore, Jake.
JACOB Oh? Just when I was getting the hang of it.
MARY No. My heart ain’t in it anymore, boy. Won’t seem the same without Dot . . . (Her attention is suddenly focused on JACOB, who holds the newspaper close, then studies it at arm’s length.) “The wise man’s eyes are in his head; but the fool walketh in darkness.”
JACOB What?
MARY Ecclesiastes.
JACOB And what’s that supposed to mean, may I ask? “The fool walketh in darkness.”
MARY That’s where you’ll be, my son, in darkness, if you don’t soon get glasses.
JACOB Ah . . . (He rises and gets MARY’s glasses from a cupboard shelf. A pair with rhinestones and winged sides.)
MARY All kidding aside, Jake, you really ought to. You needs them now you’re starting back to work.
JACOB (slipping on the glasses) I don’t require glasses.
MARY Don’t you?
JACOB (crosses back to his chair, sits, reads) No. How often must I tell you? I got along without ’em this long.
MARY What’s you wearing mine for then?
JACOB Making out the fine print.
MARY Yes, like the headlines. And you calls me vain.
JACOB Besides, I owns my own pair, if you ain’t t’rowed ’em out already like you t’reatened to.
MARY What? Those old t’ings you bought off the counter at Woolworth’s? I wouldn’t trust you to cross the street with those on.
JACOB continues to read. Pause.
JACOB (musing aloud) Is that the same Sam Morgan, I wonders?
MARY Who’d you say?
JACOB Sam Morgan. “Suddenly, at St. Joseph’s Hospital, on Wednesday, January 10, beloved husband of . . .”
MARY (snatches the newspaper from his hands) That’s enough of that! What’s wrong with you, lately?
JACOB Give that back. I wasn’t reading the obituaries.
MARY No? What was it — the comic strip?
JACOB I just happened to glance t’rough it. Give it here. I t’ought Dot might’ve been mentioned.
MARY How? She only passed away yesterday. It was too late for Saturday’s paper. She’ll be in tomorrow’s, if Wiff ain’t forgot to phone it in. (She hands back the newspaper and crosses back behind the ironing board.)
JACOB Don’t be foolish, Mary, the funeral parlour does that. And listen here, you let up on Wiff, you hear?
“Blessed are the merciful,” or is that one not in the same Bible you reads?
MARY If I had my way, he wouldn’t put his foot in the door.
JACOB Well, Wiff’s me oldest friend, and he’s welcome in this house anytime, day or night.
MARY He don’t deserve your sympathy, and he won’t get mine. As if his philandering wasn’t bad enough . . .
JACOB By the Jesus, Mary, I wouldn’t wish you for an enemy. You’m some hard case at times. Wouldn’t move you with a winch, once your mind’s set. (He returns to his newspaper. Pause.)
MARY Still can’t believe she’s gone . . .
JACOB Sam Morgan. Ain’t that a kick in the ass. We worked together a few years back, Mary. You minds him.
MARY Don’t recall.
JACOB Yes, you do so, now. Second cousin to Skipper Dick Chard from Buttercove. Married a Drudge from Tickle Harbour.
MARY Sam Morgan?
JACOB Had a glass eye.
MARY Oh?
JACOB A blue one. We was mates together over at Canada Packers, hanging doors. What a great one for fun, Sam. He’d sit on the crowded streetcar mornings, up to his old devilment, his eye in backwards . . .
MARY And he passed away?
JACOB Wednesday. They buried him yesterday, it says. Mount Pleasant Cemetery. And I never knowed he was sick, even. Never got a chance to pay my respects. (slight pause as he scans the obituary) Don’t say what he died of. But knowing Sam, I dare say he choked to death on his own eye. He’d pop it in his mouth for fun.
MARY Yes, and two guesses who egged him on.
JACOB Just fifty, Mary. Fifty.
MARY Is that all he was? That’s young, fifty.
JACOB Two years younger than us.
MARY Look, boy, put down that old newspaper and get dressed. You’re getting on my nerves. Go on.
JACOB (stands, crosses into living room, looks for photo album) Strong as a sled-horse, Sam. He’d pick up a keg of nails and lug it under his arm.
MARY Is it worth it to iron your old workshirt for tomorrow?
JACOB We was in the Church Lads’ Brigade together, years and years ago . . . (finds the photo album in a drawer) Don’t we have a snapshot here somewhere? I’m sure of it . . . The two of us in our little blue pillbox hats, khaki puttees, and blue breeches . . . “Fight the good fight.” That was our motto.
MARY Jake?
JACOB Friends dropping like flies . . . First your sister, and now . . .
MARY (sharply) Jake!
JACOB What? (He crosses to the armchair and sits looking through album.)
MARY You don’t listen. You want your workshirt ironed or not?
JACOB Well, speak up if you wants an answer. Yes, and I needs a clean pair of woollen socks as well. Is my long underwear clean?
MARY I bought you a new pair at Eaton’s.
JACOB Did you take the pins out?
MARY I did. (chuckling) That won’t happen again. (slight pause) Jake?
JACOB What?
MARY (crosses to JACOB) About tomorrow . . .
JACOB What about it?
MARY If you’re doing this on my account . . .
JACOB Oh, for Christ’s sake, don’t start in on that again.
MARY I’m only t’inking of you, boy.
JACOB Well, you just tell the Honeydew you’m quitting on Friday. There’s no need of both of us working.
MARY But the doctor said . . .
JACOB I don’t care what he said. I’ve been off seven weeks, and that’s long enough.
MARY Another month or two won’t make no difference . . .
JACOB Never had much use for doctors the best of times. Still don’t.
MARY (crosses back to the ironing board) No, except when it’s me that’s sick.
JACOB He don’t understand what it’s like, not working. How could he? Never done a honest day’s work in his life. So don’t mention him again.
MARY All right, I won’t.
JACOB Takes out a tonsil or two and calls it work. He don’t know what work is. Christ, he can’t remove a wart without he burns it off with acid. Even Dot could do better than that. Why, you’d rub your hand across her fur coat and the wart’d drop off within a week or two — without Blue Cross.
MARY Yes, well, some good it done her, poor soul . . .
JACOB As much good as those goddamn butchers with their knives.
MARY Well, if Dot had only listened to the doctor and had her check-ups, she might be alive today. (pause) Don’t seem fair, do it? How someone that gentle could die in such pain.
JACOB (slight pause) Mary?
MARY What, boy?
JACOB I ain’t had a single pain in weeks, Mary. Not a single pain.
MARY No? I heard you the other night . . . groaning. What was that?
JACOB Heartburn.
MARY Was it?
JACOB Heartburn, I tells you.
MARY If you says so . . .
JACOB That damn margarine again. And don’t put any on my sandwiches. If you does, I’ll toss my lunch pail and all to the sparrows. And they’ll suffer. (pause)
MARY (placing iron on counter) What’s the forecast say? Did you look?
JACOB (into his newspaper) Ten above.
MARY How cold’s that if you’re high up?
JACOB Ten below, perhaps.
MARY That cold? Perhaps you’ll work inside.
JACOB Perhaps.
MARY Might they let you off early?
JACOB (teasing her) The wind’s the worst, Mary. Seen a young lad one time, lugging a pane of glass; the wind took it like a sail and off he went . . .
MARY (dismantles the ironing board, crosses to the cupboard, puts it away) T’anks for telling me, boy. I needed to hear that. Got any more good news you’re keeping back?
JACOB Fifteen stories below . . .
MARY Enough. I’ll have bad dreams tonight.
JACOB Don’t be foolish. I ain’t some young Eye-talian the first day on the job, tripping over his own toes.
MARY puts the bushel basket on the counter, puts the ironing inside it.
MARY No, you could’ve been a carpenter foreman today, if you’d a mind to . . .
JACOB Well, I ain’t, so forget it . . .
MARY You was asked often enough.
JACOB I couldn’t do figures.
MARY You can read a blueprint, can’t you? And you measures better with your eye than most can with a slide rule. You just don’t t’ink enough of yourself, Jake. You never did.
JACOB Look, the truth is I’m fortunate to be working. How many companies you suppose wants to hire you, once word gets around you got a bad heart?
MARY You could’ve been more, Jake.
JACOB What odds? I’m a damn good carpenter. Ain’t that enough? I ain’t cut out to be a slave driver.
Enter BEN, dressed in his dark suit. JACOB quickly removes MARY’s glasses, reads his newspaper.
BEN Uncle Wiff not here yet?
MARY Not yet, my son. (She crosses to BEN.) Well, look at you. Look, Jake. All growed up. Don’t you look smart. I see you borrowed one of your father’s ties. (JACOB reacts.) You looks good in a shirt and tie. Don’t he, Jake?
JACOB Just make sure you leaves the knot in, that’s all.
MARY (trying to laugh it off) He still ain’t learned to tie a knot yet. Can you beat that? Still relies on your brother to do it for him.
JACOB At least Billy takes an interest in the family. Don’t find him gallivanting all over the country.
MARY (changing the subject quickly) Suit still fits, I see . . .
BEN Yeah, but the ass is shiny. Will there be many people there?
MARY Oh, I wouldn’t worry. No one will see that, I’m sure.
JACOB (rises, puts away album) No, his father’s the only one he shows his ass to. Well, you may not have me around much longer to run down. (He starts up the stairs.) Once the heart goes . . . (He exits.)
BEN (to MARY) The what? . . . (calling up the stairs) Wait a minute. What are you talking about? Dad!
But JACOB has gone. A beat or two. BEN turns and looks at MARY, who enters the kitchen. He follows her.
What’d he mean — the heart? What’s he talking about? Is there something wrong with his heart? Mom?
MARY Sit down, Ben. And don’t be angry with me.
BEN No, I’ll stand . . .
MARY Suit yourself. (She sits, looks at her hands.) I’ve wanted to tell you ever since you walked in tonight, but I was afraid you’d come down on me for not telling you before. (She turns and looks at BEN.)
BEN I’m listening . . .
MARY I lied to you, Ben. Your father never strained his back. That wasn’t why he was in the hospital.
BEN What was it then?
MARY A heart attack.
BEN A heart at —?
MARY Back in November. And he wasn’t in the hospital for just a week. It was more like a month.
BEN Why didn’t you tell me?
MARY I had my reasons.
BEN What reasons? What possible reason could there be? Didn’t you think I cared?
MARY Wasn’t that at all. I just didn’t want you here.
BEN What do you mean, you didn’t want me here? He’s my father, isn’t he?
MARY Yes, and he’s my husband, and he comes first, now. I do what’s best for him, not you. For him, do you understand?
BEN So? What’s that got to do with it?
MARY What would you’ve done, Ben, had I told you the truth? You’d’ve been the first on the plane.
BEN So?
MARY Well, I wasn’t about to risk losing him on account of you. How was I to know what might happen if you showed up at the hospital?
BEN I wouldn’t have fought with him, for Christ’s sake. Don’t you know me better than that?
MARY It wasn’t you I was worried about, it was him. He wasn’t supposed to move, even. What if he saw you and went into one of his rages? What then? As it was, he had two more attacks in the hospital that almost finished him.
BEN (angrily) Wait a minute. You mean he almost died and you didn’t tell me?
He turns away to the sink, stands for a moment with his back to MARY. Then suddenly, violently, he smashes his fist into the cupboard door. He leans over the sink, motionless.
MARY You got his temper, all right. I hoped you’d be different . . . (pause)
BEN (turning) How’d it happen?
MARY Oh, it was stupid, stupid. We was lugging that frid
ge down off the back of the truck, just the two of us. I wish to goodness I’d never heard tell of it. Stupid old fridge.
BEN Why didn’t you have it delivered?
MARY We could’ve, if he’d just waited another day. But no, no, he’s got no patience. Had to have it right away, that very afternoon. It was too much for just the two of us. I ain’t that strong, and he knowed it. He had most of the weight on his end . . .
BEN (crosses to MARY) All right, Mom, it’s not your fault.
MARY The fridge was my idea . . .
BEN You couldn’t know . . .
MARY . . . He just let it drop, suddenly, and went inside. Stretched out on the chesterfield. Not a word out of him. I had no idea what was wrong, no idea. Started to frighten me, just lying there with his eyes closed, the beads of sweat on his forehead.
BEN Didn’t you call the doctor?
MARY He wouldn’t hear tell of it, at first. I had to practically t’reaten him, and when the doctor showed up, there was no way he was going to the hospital.
BEN That figures.
