by Dan Laurence
TALLBOYS [sternly] Whats this? What are you doing here? Why are you making this noise? Dont clench your fists in my presence. [She droops obsequiously]. Whats the matter?
THE PATIENT [salaaming and chanting] Bmal elttil a dah yram, Tuan.
TALLBOYS. Can you speak English?
THE PATIENT. No Engliss.
TALLBOYS. Or French?
THE PATIENT. No Frennss, Tuan. Wons sa etihw saw eceelf sti.
TALLBOYS. Very well: dont do it again. Now off with you.
She goes out backward into the pavilion, salaaming. Tallboys sits down in the deck chair.
TALLBOYS [to Meek] Here, you. You say youre the interpreter. Did you understand what that girl said to me?
MEEK. Yessir.
TALLBOYS. What dialect was it? It didnt sound like what the natives speak here.
MEEK. No sir. I used to speak it at school. English back slang, sir.
TALLBOYS. Back slang? What do you mean?
MEEK. English spelt backwards. She reversed the order of the words too, sir. That shews that she has those two little speeches off by heart.
TALLBOYS. But how could a native girl do such a thing? I couldnt do it myself.
MEEK. That shews that she’s not a native girl, sir.
TALLBOYS. But this must be looked into. Were you able to pick up what she said?
MEEK. Only bmal elttil, sir. That was quite easy. It put me on to the rest.
TALLBOYS. But what does bmal elttil mean?
MEEK. Little lamb, sir.
TALLBOYS. She called me a little lamb!
MEEK. No sir. All she said was ‘Mary had a little lamb.’ And when you asked her could she speak French she said, of course, ‘Its fleece was white as snow.’
TALLBOYS. But that was insolence.
MEEK. It got her out of her difficulty, sir.
TALLBOYS. This is very serious. The woman is passing herself off on the Countess as a native servant.
MEEK. Do you think so, sir?
TALLBOYS. I dont think so: I know so. Dont be a fool, man. Pull yourself together, and dont make silly answers.
MEEK. Yessir. No sir.
TALLBOYS [angrily bawling at him] ‘Ba Ba black sheep: have you any wool? Yes sir, no sir, three bags full.’ Dont say yessir no sir to me.
MEEK. No sir.
TALLBOYS. Go and fetch that girl back. Not a word to her about my finding her out, mind. When I have finished with her you will explain to me about those maroons.
MEEK. Yessir. [He goes into the pavilion].
TALLBOYS. Hurry up. [He settles himself comfortably and takes out his cigaret case].
The Countess peers round the corner of the pavilion to see whether she may safely return. Aubrey makes a similar reconnaissance round the corner of the hut.
THE COUNTESS. Here I am again, you see. [She smiles fascinatingly at the Colonel and sits down on her stool].
AUBREY. Moi aussi. May I – [he stretches himself on the rug].
TALLBOYS [sitting up and putting the cigaret case back in his pocket] Just in the nick of time. I was about to send for you. I have made a very grave discovery. That native servant of yours is not a native. Her lingo is a ridiculous fraud. She is an Englishwoman.
AUBREY. You dont say so!
THE COUNTESS. Oh, impossible.
TALLBOYS. Not a doubt of it. She’s a fraud: take care of your jewels. Or else – and this is what I suspect – she’s a spy.
AUBREY. A spy! But we are not at war.
TALLBOYS. The League of Nations has spies everywhere. [To the Countess] You must allow me to search her luggage at once, before she knows that I have found her out.
THE COUNTESS. But I have missed nothing. I am sure she hasnt stolen anything. What do you want to search her luggage for?
TALLBOYS. For maroons.
THE COUNTESS.
[together] Maroons!
AUBREY.
Maroons!
TALLBOYS. Yes, maroons. I inspected the stores this morning; and the maroons are missing. I particularly wanted them to recall me at lunch time when I go sketching. I am rather a dab at watercolors. And there is not a single maroon left. There should be fifteen.
AUBREY. Oh, I can clear that up. It’s one of your men: Meek. He goes about on a motor bicycle with a sack full of maroons and a lot of wire. He said he was surveying. He was evidently very anxious to get rid of me; so I did not press my inquiries. But that accounts for the maroons.
TALLBOYS. Not at all. This is very serious. Meek is a half witted creature who should never have been enlisted. He is like a child: this woman could do anything she pleases with him.
THE COUNTESS. But what could she possibly want with maroons?
TALLBOYS. I dont know. This expedition has been sent out without the sanction of the League of Nations. We always forget to consult it when there is anything serious in hand. The woman may be an emissary of the League. She may be working against us.
THE COUNTESS. But even so, what harm can she do us?
TALLBOYS [tapping his revolver] My dear lady, do you suppose I am carrying this for fun? Dont you realize that the hills here are full of hostile tribes who may try to raid us at any moment? Look at that electric horn there. If it starts honking, look out; for it will mean that a body of tribesmen has been spotted advancing on us.
THE COUNTESS [alarmed] If I’d known that, you wouldnt have got me here. Is that so, Popsy?
AUBREY. Well, yes; but it doesnt matter: theyre afraid of us.
TALLBOYS. Yes, because they dont know that we are a mere handful of men. But if this woman is in communication with them and has got hold of that idiot Meek, we may have them down on us like a swarm of hornets. I dont like this at all. I must get to the bottom of it at once. Ah! here she comes.
Meek appears at the entrance to the pavilion. He stands politely aside to let the patient pass him, and remains there.
MEEK. The colonel would like a word with you, Miss.
AUBREY. Go easy with her, Colonel. She can run like a deer. And she has muscles of iron. You had better turn out the guard before you tackle her.
TALLBOYS. Pooh! Here, you!
The patient comes to him past the Countess with an air of disarming innocence; falls on her knees; lifts her palms, and smites the ground with her forehead.
TALLBOYS. They tell me you can run fast. Well, a bullet can run faster. [He taps his revolver]. Do you understand that?
THE PATIENT [salaaming] Bmal elttil a dah yram wons sa etihw saw eceelf sti –
TALLBOYS [tonitruant] And everywhere that Mary went –
THE PATIENT [adroitly cutting in] That lamb was sure to go. Got me, Colonel. How clever of you! Well, what of it?
TALLBOYS. That is what I intend to find out. You are not a native.
THE PATIENT. Yes, of Somerset.
TALLBOYS. Precisely. Well, why are you disguised? Why did you try to make me believe that you dont understand English?
THE PATIENT. For a lark, Colonel.
TALLBOYS. Thats not good enough. Why have you passed yourself off on this lady as a native servant? Being a servant is no lark. Answer me. Dont stand there trying to invent a lie. Why did you pretend to be a servant?
THE PATIENT. One has so much more control of the house as a servant than as a mistress nowadays, Colonel.
TALLBOYS. Very smart, that. You will tell me next that one controls a regiment much more effectively as a private than as a colonel, eh?
The klaxon sounds stridently. The Colonel draws his revolver and makes a dash for the top of the sandhill, but is outraced by Meek, who gets there first and takes the word of command with irresistible authority, leaving him stupent. Aubrey, who has scrambled to his feet, moves towards the sand dunes to see what is happening. Sweetie clutches the patient’s arm in terror and drags her towards the pavilion. She is fiercely shaken off; and Mops stands her ground defiantly and runs towards the sound of the guns when they begin.
MEEK. Stand to. Charge your magazines. Stand by the maroons.
How many do you make them, sergeant? How far off?
SERGEANT FIELDING [invisible] Forty horse. Nine hundred yards, about, I make it.
MEEK. Rifles at the ready. Cut-offs open. Sights up to eighteen hundred, right over their heads: no hitting. Ten rounds rapid: fire. [Fusillade of rifles]. How is that?
SERGEANT’S VOICE. Theyre coming on, sir.
MEEK. Number one maroons: ready. Contact. [Formidable explosions on the right]. How is that?
SERGEANT’S VOICE. Theyve stopped.
MEEK. Number two maroons ready. Contact. [Explosions on the left]. How is that?
SERGEANT’S VOICE. Bolted, sir, every man of them.
Meek returns from the hill in the character of an insignificant private, followed by Aubrey, to the Colonel’s left and right respectively.
MEEK. Thats all right, sir. Excuse interruption.
TALLBOYS. Oh! You call this an interruption?
MEEK. Yessir: theres nothing in it to trouble you about. Shall I draw up the report, sir? Important engagement: enemy routed: no British casualties. D.S.O. for you, perhaps, sir.
TALLBOYS. Private Meek: may I ask – if you will pardon my presumption – who is in command of this expedition, you or I?
MEEK. You, sir.
TALLBOYS [repouching the revolver] You flatter me. Thank you. May I ask, further, who the devil gave you leave to plant the entire regimental stock of maroons all over the hills and explode them in the face of the enemy?
MEEK. It was the duty of the intelligence orderly, sir. I’m the intelligence orderly. I had to make the enemy believe that the hills are bristling with British cannon. They think that now, sir. No more trouble from them.
TALLBOYS. Indeed! Quartermaster’s clerk, interpreter, intelligence orderly. Any further rank of which I have not been informed?
MEEK. No sir.
TALLBOYS. Quite sure youre not a fieldmarshal, eh?
MEEK. Quite sure, sir. I never was anything higher than a colonel.
TALLBOYS. You a colonel? What do you mean
MEEK. Not a real colonel, sir. Mostly a brevet, sir, to save appearances when I had to take command.
TALLBOYS. And how do you come to be a private now?
MEEK. I prefer the ranks, sir. I have a freer hand. And the conversation in the officers’ mess doesnt suit me. I always resign a commission and enlist again.
TALLBOYS. Always! How many commissions have you held?
MEEK. I dont quite remember, sir. Three, I think.
TALLBOYS. Well, I am dashed!
THE PATIENT. Oh, Colonel! And you mistook this great military genius for a half wit!!!
TALLBOYS [with aplomb] Naturally. The symptoms are precisely the same. [To Meek] Dismiss.
Meek salutes and trots smartly out past the hut.
AUBREY. By Jove!!
THE COUNTESS. Well I ne – [Correcting herself] Tiens, Tiens, tiens, tiens!
THE PATIENT. What are you going to do about him, Colonel?
TALLBOYS. Madam: the secret of command, in the army and elsewhere, is never to waste a moment doing anything that can be delegated to a subordinate. I have a passion for sketching in watercolors. Hitherto the work of commanding my regiment has interfered very seriously with its gratification. Henceforth I shall devote myself almost entirely to sketching, and leave the command of the expedition to Private Meek. And since you all seem to be on more intimate terms with him than I can claim, will you be good enough to convey to him – casually, you understand – that I already possess the D.S.O. and that what I am out for at present is a K.C.B. Or rather, to be strictly accurate, that is what my wife is out for. For myself, my sole concern for the moment is whether I should paint that sky with Prussian blue or with cobalt.
THE COUNTESS. Fancy you wasting your time on painting pictures!
TALLBOYS. Countess: I paint pictures to make me feel sane. Dealing with men and women makes me feel mad. Humanity always fails me: Nature never.
ACT III
A narrow gap leading down to the beach through masses of soft brown sandstone, pitted with natural grottoes. Sand and big stones in the foreground. Two of the grottoes are accessible from the beach by mounting from the stones, which make rough platforms in front of them. The soldiers have amused themselves by hewing them into a rude architecture and giving them fancy names. The one on your right as you descend the rough path through the gap is taller than it is broad, and has a natural pillar and a stone like an altar in it, giving a Gothic suggestion which has been assisted by knocking the top of the opening into something like a pointed arch, and surmounting it with the inscription ST PAULS. The grotto to the left is much wider. It contains a bench long enough to accommodate two persons: its recesses are illuminated rosily by bulbs wrapped in pink paper; and some scholarly soldier has carved above it in Greek characters the word Aγ⍺πεμovε, beneath which is written in red chalk THE ABODE OF LOVE, under which again some ribald has added in white chalk, NO NEED TO WASTE THE ELECTRIC LIGHT.
For the moment The Abode of Love has been taken possession of by the sergeant, a wellbuilt handsome man, getting on for forty. He is sitting on the bench, and is completely absorbed in two books, comparing them with rapt attention.
St Pauls is also occupied. A very tall gaunt elder, by his dress and bearing a well-to-do English gentleman, sits on a stone at the altar, resting his elbows on it with his chin in his hands. He is in the deepest mourning; and his attitude is one of hopeless dejection.
Sweetie, now fully and brilliantly dressed, comes slowly down the path through the gap, moody and bored. On the beach she finds nothing to interest her until the sergeant unconsciously attracts her notice by finding some remarkable confirmation or contradiction between his two books, and smiting one of them appreciatively with his fist. She instantly brightens up, climbs to the mouth of the grotto eagerly; and posts herself beside him, on his right. But he is so rapt in his books that she waits in vain to be noticed.
SWEETIE [contemplating him ardently] Ahem!
The Sergeant looks up. Seeing who it is, he springs to his feel and stands to attention.
SWEETIE [giving herself no airs] You neednt stand up for me, you know.
THE SERGEANT [stiffly] Beg pardon, your ladyship. I was not aware of your ladyship’s presence.
SWEETIE. Can all that stuff, Sergeant. [She sits on the bench on his right]. Dont lets waste time. This place is as dull for me as it is for you. Dont you think we two could amuse ourselves a bit if we were friends?
THE SERGEANT [with stern contempt] No, my lady, I dont. I saw a lot of that in the war: pretty ladies brightening up the hospitals and losing their silly heads, let alone upsetting the men; and I dont hold with it. Keep to your class: I’ll keep to mine.
SWEETIE. My class! Garn! I’m no countess; and I’m fed up with pretending to be one. Didnt you guess?
THE SERGEANT [resuming his seat and treating her as one of his own class] Why should I trouble to start guessing about you? Any girl can be a countess nowadays if she’s goodlooking enough to pick up a count.
SWEETIE. Oh! You think I’m goodlooking, do you?
THE SERGEANT. Come! If youre not a countess what are you? Whats the game, eh?
SWEETIE. The game, darling, is that youre my fancy. I love you.
THE SERGEANT. Whats that to me? A man of my figure can have his pick.
SWEETIE. Not here, dear. Theres only one other white woman within fifty miles: and she’s a real lady. She wouldnt look at you.
THE SERGEANT. Well, thats a point. Thats a point, certainly.
SWEETIE [snuggling to him] Yes, isnt it?
THE SERGEANT [suffering the advance but not responding] This climate plays the devil with a man, no matter how serious minded he is.
SWEETIE [slipping her arm through his] Well, isnt it natural? Whats the use of pretending?
THE SERGEANT. Still, I’m not a man to treat a woman as a mere necessity. Many soldiers do: to them a woman is no more than a jar of marmalade, to be consumed and put away. I
dont take that view. I admit that there is that side to it, and that for people incapable of anything better – mere animals as you might say – thats the beginning and the end of it. But to me thats only the smallest part of it. I like getting a woman’s opinions. I like to explore her mind as well as her body. See these two little books I was deep in when you accosted me? I carry them with me wherever I go. I put the problems they raise for me to every woman I meet.
