Leaving Home, of the Fields, Lately, and Salt-Water Moon

by David French

  MARY You won’t go in then?

  JACOB No, I won’t go in. Satisfied? You got your own way, as usual.

  MARY T’anks, Jake. (to BEN and WIFF) Now you both heard that. (to JACOB) And I’m holding you to it.

  BEN I’ll look for a job tomorrow.

  MARY Do that. (to JACOB as she crosses into the kitchen and pours herself a tea) And you and me can take it easy for a spell.

  JACOB You’m to quit the Honeydew next Friday, don’t forget.

  MARY I will, I will.

  JACOB And see the doctor about those legs. (He sits at the table.)

  MARY I’ll make an appointment. Oh, you was right, Jake, you was right, boy. This is a night to celebrate and give t’anks. Wouldn’t you say, Will? In spite of Dot?

  WIFF I would, my dear, yes . . . (He sits.)

  JACOB But it’s only for a short spell, Mary. Get that t’rough your head. A few weeks.

  MARY Until the doctor says . . .

  JACOB No. Until Ben goes. (BEN nods to MARY.) Believe it or not Mary, I was looking forward to going back to work. That’s somet’ing you just don’t seem to understand, even after all these years . . .

  MARY I do, Jake.

  JACOB No, you don’t. What am I supposed to do — slouch about the house growing fat and lazy? I’m only fifty-two. What have I got to live for without my work? You tell me that, Mary, if you can. What have I got to live for?

  He pours WIFF another drink as the lights fade slowly to black.

  ACT TWO

  SCENE ONE

  Early next morning. On the kitchen table are two empty whiskey bottles and three glasses. One of the glasses still contains a little whiskey. There is also an ashtray overflowed onto the table.

  In the living room a song plays softly on the radio. The chesterfield has not yet been made up, and the sheets and blankets are tangled. BEN’s pyjama bottoms are tossed carelessly over the armchair.

  At rise, BEN is beside the fridge, drinking thirstily from a bottle of orange juice. He wears pyjama tops and blue jeans. He is barefoot. When he has drunk enough, he replaces the bottle and closes the fridge.

  MARY (off) Jake, is that you down there?

  BEN No, he went out, Mom. It’s me.

  MARY (off) Take the butter out of the fridge, will you, my son? And plug in the kettle.

  BEN does, as WIFF, freshly scrubbed, comes down the stairs and enters the kitchen.

  WIFF Hello, my precious. How’s your head this morning? Care for some breakfast? (He begins to prepare himself scrambled eggs and toast.)

  BEN No, thanks. I couldn’t look at food. (slight pause) Uncle Wiff?

  WIFF What can I do for you, love?

  BEN You ever have the same dream over and over?

  WIFF Yes, but I wouldn’t dare tell you, you’d t’ink for certain your Uncle Wiff belonged in a cage. For years it was always me and Veronica Lake . . . Ah, my son, we’re odd creatures. For months after Dot lost interest in me, I never looked at another woman, and yet when me and her was most happy, I wanted to drive the boots home to every beautiful woman in the street . . .

  Just then MARY comes down the stairs dressed in her “Honeydew” uniform. She is spraying with a can of lilac air freshener. BEN enters the living room.

  MARY Morning, my son.

  BEN Morning, Mom. (He sits on the chesterfield, and slips on his socks and boots.)

  MARY Morning, Wiff.

  WIFF Mary.

  MARY circles the living room spraying, then enters the kitchen and sprays.

  MARY You don’t have to do that, Wiff. I’ll make your breakfast. Sit down, boy.

  WIFF No, bless your heart, I can do it myself. I ain’t helpless.

  MARY Wiff?

  WIFF Yes, my dear?

  MARY T’anks for last night. Jake’ll listen to you before he will to me.

  WIFF Oh, don’t t’ank me, love. It was all Ben’s doing. Jake’d agree to leprosy to keep him around. You and me had little to do with it.

  MARY, smiling, deposits the can on top of the fridge and returns to the living room.

  MARY How’d you sleep?

  BEN Not too good.

  MARY Well, your first night back, that’s to be expected. You’re used to your own bed, now.

  BEN It wasn’t the bed, Mom.

  MARY Hardly slept myself.

  BEN (as he helps MARY fold the sheets and blankets) How come? I thought you’d sleep okay last night.

  MARY No. Your father kicked and twisted all night. Wonder I ain’t black and blue, or scratched to pieces. Never cuts his toenails.

  BEN Where’d he go?

  MARY Out back. He’s warming up the truck.

  BEN What for?

  MARY He drives me to work.

  BEN Oh.

  MARY Not that he needs to . . . I suppose he feels funny, still in bed with me off to work. (The sheets and blankets are now folded.) I’d better see what he’s up to. He ought to’ve been in by now. (then) Wiff? Is Jake out back?

  WIFF One second, maid, I’ll look.

  As WIFF looks out the kitchen window, MARY folds BEN’s pyjama bottoms neatly over the back of the armchair.

  No, no sign of him, Mary. (He returns to making his breakfast.)

  MARY Where could he be at? (She crosses to the living-room window, looks out.) No, there he is, shovelling the sidewalk. Without gloves, as usual. (She watches.)

  BEN (crosses to the window) I’d’ve done that. Next time get me up okay?

  MARY No, leave it be. He’s got to have somet’ing to do. (quickly) Don’t let him see you . . .

  BEN Why not?

  MARY Look how he leans on his shovel . . .

  BEN He looks old, Mom. I noticed that last night. Smaller . . .

  MARY Come away, now, before he catches you. (as she moves away from the window) You want some breakfast?

  BEN No. Just a coffee. I’ll get it. (He follows MARY into the kitchen. As she cleans the table of the whiskey bottles, glasses, and ashtray, he unplugs the kettle and makes himself a mug of instant black coffee.) . . . Mom, remember that dream I mentioned? I had it again this morning, the same one.

  MARY Oh?

  BEN Yeah. I think it woke me. I haven’t been able to shake it off.

  MARY Is it that bad, my son?

  BEN It never made any sense before I came home. I think it does now.

  MARY You any good at dreams, Wiff?

  WIFF Not me, maid. Dot was the one. (He crosses to the table with his plate, sits.)

  BEN It’s always the same, Mom . . . I’m on a brass bed, a big brass bed like the one we had back home when I was a kid. Remember?

  MARY (to WIFF) He always t’ought it was gold. The way it shone.

  BEN Whatever happened to it?

  MARY Oh, we left it back in Bay Roberts, my son, along with all that other old junk we never knowed was antiques.

  BEN (as he sits at the table) . . . Anyway, the bed’s sitting at a crossroads, two dirt roads, and I can see a cliff behind me, and the sea beyond that.

  MARY Might be Conception Bay.

  BEN Except I’m the same age I am now. It’s a beautiful day, summer, and I’m just lying there on the bed at this crossroads, wide awake, looking up at the blue sky, the sun sparkling on the bedposts . . . Suddenly the sky’s full of butterflies, all different colours, millions of beautifully coloured wings . . . and then . . .

  MARY Yes? (She crosses to BEN.)

  BEN Then two people without faces, a man and a woman . . .

  MARY A man and a woman?

  BEN Yeah, they come up one road and look at me and go down the other . . . and suddenly the sky’s black, it’s night, and the butterflies become snowflakes, and I’m running, really scared for some reason, stumbling along this snowy road, running home, running like crazy, and all I know is that I have to get home fast because . . . (He pauses.)

  MARY (sitting) Because what, my son?

  BEN Because something . . . terrible is happening there, and I don’t know what . .
. something terrible . . .

  BEN and MARY stare at one another. A beat. Then JACOB enters offstage and slams the door. He stamps his feet and begins to cough a hacking cough.

  MARY I wish he wouldn’t smoke. Sometimes he can’t catch his breath when he goes outside.

  WIFF Another reason he shouldn’t be working up high.

  JACOB (appearing in the hallway, wearing his coat and cap; he sniffs) Goddam place smells of lilacs! (He hangs up his coat and cap in the closet.)

  MARY Now if I hadn’t sprayed, he would’ve complained it smelled of cigarettes. Contrary as the day is long. (to BEN) Was he cross before he went to bed last night?

  BEN No.

  WIFF He was telling jokes, love.

  MARY First t’ing he noticed when he opened his eyes this morning, was the venetian blinds in the bedroom was dusty. Done not’ing but complain ever since.

  JACOB (entering the kitchen) Ain’t my breakfast ready yet? You’ve had all morning for Christ’s sake.

  MARY (to BEN) What’d I say? (to JACOB, as she rises) No, and Wiff made his own. I just got downstairs.

  JACOB Wiff.

  WIFF Duckie.

  MARY Sit down, boy. I’m just making the tea.

  She puts three tea bags into the teapot and pours in hot water. BEN takes the newspaper off the counter and spreads out the want ads on a corner of the table. JACOB watches him a moment.

  JACOB (to BEN) Well, you’m up bright and early this morning. Can’t wait to step into my shoes. (to WIFF) Look at him. (He remains standing.)

  BEN (running his finger down the want ad columns) I couldn’t sleep, that’s all.

  JACOB Makes no bloody wonder, after last night. You keeps drinking like that, you’ll have the d.t.’s. I t’ought you could put it away fast, Wiff.

  BEN Get serious. I only had a few.

  JACOB A few?

  BEN He drank two to my one, didn’t he, Uncle Wiff?

  WIFF Leave me out of it, duckie.

  JACOB He calls that a few, Wiff. Picked up some fine habits out west, I see. Nineteen years old . . .

  BEN Twenty.

  JACOB Twenty, is it?

  BEN I’ll be twenty-one soon.

  MARY All right, just stop it, the both of you. Stop it. What’s you want for breakfast, Jake? Bacon and eggs?

  JACOB Home one night, and staggering off to bed . . .

  MARY Is you hungry or not?

  JACOB Hungry? How the hell would I be hungry? I lost my appetite the day I stopped working. A bird could live on less.

  MARY Well, sit down and have a cup of tea, at least. You’re making me nervous.

  JACOB (sitting) I suppose you’m working Wednesday, Wiff?

  WIFF Oh, yes, boy. Sooner the better. Best t’ing for me right now. Too much time on my hands is no good. Allows you to t’ink too much . . .

  JACOB You can say that again, Wiff. I never could sit on my ass for very long, even when I was laid off. Feel every minute, if I ain’t active. Every goddamn minute. (He looks at BEN.) Ain’t that Saturday’s paper?

  BEN Yeah.

  JACOB This is Monday. What’s the good of Saturday’s paper to you? Why don’t you look at last summer’s? (BEN says nothing.) What a way he goes about t’ings, Wiff. My Christ. And he went to university, too.

  BEN Lay off, will you? I’ll get the other papers, later. It’s not going to hurt if I look, is it?

  JACOB No, don’t give me no heed, I’m uneducated.

  MARY (changing the subject, as she crosses to the table, puts down a cup of tea for JACOB and WIFF) I’m surprised the t’ree of you never slept in. It must’ve been late when you come to bed.

  JACOB Who said it was late?

  MARY I t’ought it was. I never heard you come to bed.

  WIFF It was only one, Mary.

  MARY That’s late for Jake.

  JACOB It might’ve been, when I was working. Not now. I can stay up to all hours, now.

  MARY (changing the subject again) More coffee, Ben?

  BEN (looking curiously at JACOB) No, thanks, Mom.

  JACOB (to BEN) What’s you staring at? Never seen me face before?

  BEN What’s wrong with you this morning? All you’ve done is bitch.

  MARY (to herself, as she crosses back to the counter and pours her own tea) Worse than an old woman.

  JACOB (to BEN) I don’t like to be spied on, for starters. Is that good enough?

  MARY That ain’t what’s bothering you. Own up to it.

  BEN Who was spying on you?

  JACOB The two of you.

  MARY Oh, we was not.

  JACOB Liar. I seen you at the window. Next you’ll be telling me I’m blind. I ain’t some specimen under glass, Mary.

  MARY Did I say you was?

  JACOB Then don’t watch me like a goddamn hawk. (then) Tea’s like bark.

  MARY Why don’t you just come out with what’s eating at you and get it over with?

  JACOB Eating at me? What in Christ’s name could be eating at me, Mary? I’ve got it all to my liking, now.

  MARY Well, there’s no need to put us all t’rough this. Next t’ing you’ll take after Wiff.

  WIFF (quickly) I’m just going, my dear. Just on my way out the door. (He half-rises but JACOB stops him with a gesture.)

  JACOB How many men you suppose would leap at the chance not to work? Most would give their eyeteeth. Bet Wiff would, if Dot was still alive.

  MARY All right, I’ve took all I can. If you wants to go to work so bad, go . . . Go! . . . Did you hear what I said?

  JACOB (glancing at BEN) Ah . . .

  MARY I won’t stop you this time, if this is how you intends to carry on. I can’t take much more. I’ll pack your lunch pail, if you likes. (She steps to the fridge and takes down his lunch pail.)

  JACOB You will, like hell! (He jumps up, follows her, snatches the lunch pail from her hands, and smashes it on the floor.) There! (Silence. MARY bends down and picks up his lunch pail and opens it. She removes the thermos and shakes it. It rattles.) Now see what you made me do! (He rushes out to the hall closet.) Can’t leave well enough alone for a second, can you, Mary? My good t’ermos. (He returns to the kitchen, struggling to put on his coat and cap.)

  MARY Don’t be foolish, boy. Where do you t’ink you’re off to?

  JACOB Out. And I don’t know when I’ll be back — if ever. Find your own way to work.

  He exits the kitchen door, slamming it behind him. MARY rushes after him.

  MARY (off) Jake! Wait! Your rubbers! . . . (Slowly, MARY returns, closing the door. She walks to the counter. We hear the truck drive off. As she picks up her teacup . . .) Well, I got my wish, didn’t I . . . And now it’s started . . .

  BEN What has?

  MARY What I was afraid of . . .

  Slow fade to black. Music.

  SCENE TWO

  Lights up. Early the same evening. The kitchen table has been set for four. MARY is alone onstage, standing at the living-room window. The curtains are pulled aside slightly, and she stares out at the street. Finally, she draws the curtains, crosses and enters the kitchen, checks the oven.

  MARY (to herself) Where could he be to? (Offstage, the front door opens and closes. MARY darts to the table, quickly scoops up the plates, and begins slowly and casually to reset the table, humming a little tune. BEN enters the hallway, carrying a book. He removes his things and crosses to the archway, thumbing his book. MARY, turning.) Oh, it’s you . . . I t’ought it might be your father.

  BEN Why? Isn’t he home yet?

  MARY No.

  BEN What time is it?

  MARY Just after six. I’m worried sick. It ain’t like him to miss his supper. He’s always home at five sharp, no odds what.

  BEN I wouldn’t worry, Mom. He’ll be back. You know how he talks.

  MARY What if he had an accident with the truck? I’m afraid to turn on the radio, in case . . .

  BEN Look, you’re getting all worked up for nothing. If anything did happen, they wouldn’t p
ut it on the radio before notifying us.

  MARY (returns and sits at the table) I’ve always knowed where he was, at all times. This is the first time I wouldn’t know where to reach him in case of an emergency. The first time since we was married . . .

  BEN (crosses into kitchen) Is Uncle Wiff here?

  MARY No.

  BEN So maybe he’s with him.

  MARY I t’ought of that. Did Wiff say where he was going to this morning?

  BEN No. (then) Yeah, wait a minute, he did. He said he was going to the cemetery to pick out a plot.

  MARY They might be at the Oakwood together. He may’ve dropped in for a beer and seen Wiff. He’d soon forget the time.

  BEN Why don’t you phone?

  MARY No. He don’t like that. Makes him feel foolish, he says, in front of the other men. Would you?

  BEN All right. In a few minutes, okay? Give him a while longer. (He crosses to the fridge and gets a Coke.)

  MARY I’ll get changed then. Keep an eye on the oven, will you? I won’t be long. And yell up if he comes in. (She crosses to the archway, then remembers, crosses back.) Oh, by the way, how’d it go today? Any luck? You get a job?