Plays Extravagant

by Dan Laurence

  THE PRIEST. Of course. How can men feast without women?

  THE Y. W. Well, let life come to you I always say; and dont cry out until youre hurt. After you, sir.

  They descend.

  SCENE III

  A shelf of rock halfway down the cliff forms an esplanade between the sea and a series of gigantic images of oriental deities in shallow alcoves cut in the face of the wall of rock. A feast of fruit and bread and soft drinks is spread on the ground. The young woman is sitting at it between the priest on her right nearest the sea and a very handsome young native priestess in robes of dusky yellow silk on her left nearest the images.

  THE Y. W. You know, to me this is a funny sort of lunch. You begin with the dessert. We begin with the entrées. I suppose it’s all right; but I have eaten so much fruit and stuff that I dont feel I want any meat.

  THE PRIEST. We shall not offer you any. We dont eat it.

  THE Y. W. Then how do you keep up your strength?

  THE PRIEST. It keeps itself up.

  THE Y. W. Oh, how could that be? [To the priestess] You wouldnt like a husband that didnt eat plenty of meat, would you? But then youre a priestess; so I suppose it doesnt matter to you, as you cant marry.

  THE PRIESTESS. I am married.

  THE Y. W. Oh! And you a priestess!

  THE PRIESTESS. I could not be a priestess if I were not married. How could I presume to teach others without a completed human experience? How could I deal with children if I were not a mother?

  THE Y. W. But that isnt right. My sister was a teacher; but when she married they took her job away from her and wouldnt let her teach any more.

  THE PRIESTESS. The rulers of your country must be mad.

  THE Y. W. Oh no. Theyre all right: just like other people. [To the priest] I say, reverend. What about the poor lad you kicked over the cliff? Is he really safe? I dont feel easy about him.

  THE PRIEST. His clothes are drying in the sun. They will lend him some clothes and send him up here as soon as he has recovered from his ducking.

  An English lady tourist, Baedeker in hand, has wandered in, trying to identify the images with the aid of her book. She now comes behind the seated group and accosts the priest.

  THE L. T. Excuse me; but can you tell me which of these figures is the principal god?

  THE PRIEST [rising courteously] The principal one? I do not understand.

  THE L. T. I get lost among all these different gods: it is so difficult to know which is which.

  THE PRIEST. They are not different gods. They are all god.

  THE L. T. But how can that be? The figures are different.

  THE PRIEST. God has many aspects.

  THE L. T. But all these names in the guide book?

  THE PRIEST. God has many names.

  THE L. T. Not with us, you know.

  THE PRIEST. Yes: even with you. The Father, the Son, the Spirit, the Immaculate Mother

  THE L. T. Excuse me. We are not Catholics.

  THE PRIESTESS [sharply] Are your temples then labelled ‘For men only’?

  THE L. T. [shocked] Oh, really! So sorry to have troubled you. [She hurries away].

  THE PRIEST [resuming his seat] You should not be rude to the poor lady. She is English, and doesnt understand.

  THE PRIESTESS. I find these heathen idolaters very trying. Is it really kind to treat them according to their folly instead of to our wisdom?

  THE Y. W. Here! Steady on, you. Who are you calling heathen idolaters? Look at all those images. I should say, if you ask me, that the boot is on the other leg.

  THE PRIEST. Those images are not idols: they are personifications of the forces of nature by which we all live. But of course to an idolater they are idols.

  THE Y. W. You talk a lot about religion here. Cant you think of something livelier? I always say let life come to you; and dont bother about religion.

  THE PRIESTESS. An excellent rule. But the more you let life come to you, the more you will find yourself bothering about religion.

  The Emigration Officer rises into view in a spotless white robe. He is clean and rather pale, but looks regenerated.

  THE Y. W. Oh boy, you do look the better for your dip. Why, he’s an angel, a lamb. What have you done to him?

  THE E. O. [seating himself at the end of the table with his back to the sea] Well, if you want to know, this blighter kicked me into the sea; and when I’d swallowed a ton or two of your best salt water they fished me out in a net and emptied me out. I brought up my immortal soul. They gave me what I thought was a nice cup of their tea to settle my stomach; but it made me ten times as sick as I was before. Theres nothing of the man you met this morning left except his skin and bones. You may regard me as to all intents and purposes born again.

  THE PRIEST. Do you still wish to kill yourself?

  THE E. O. When you have been through what I have been through since they fished me out of the water you wont worry about trifles as I used to, old man.

  THE Y. W. Thats right. Let life come to you, I always say.

  THE E. O. Yes, let life come. The premises are quite empty.

  THE LADY TOURIST [returning and addressing the priest] Excuse me; but I have been thinking so much about you since you spoke to me. Would you mind accepting and reading this little tract?

  THE PRIEST [rising and coming forward to her, meanwhile reading the title with a polite show of interest] ‘Where will you spend eternity?’

  THE L. T. [strangely moved] I have been haunted by your face. I could not bear to think of your spending eternity in torment. I feel sure it is a Christian face.

  THE PRIEST. It is very kind of you. I will read the tract with the greatest attention. Thank you.

  The lady, having no excuse for staying, moves away reluctantly towards the images.

  THE PRIESTESS [calling after her imperiously] Where have you spent eternity so far, may I ask? That which has no end can have no beginning?

  THE L. T. Excuse me: I have no desire to speak to you.

  THE Y. W. [indicating the priest] Fallen in love with him, have you? Well, let yourself rip. Let life come to you.

  THE L. T. Oh! How dare you? Really! Really!! [She goes out indignantly].

  THE PRIESTESS. Another conquest, Pra?

  THE Y. W. Is his name Pra?

  THE PRIESTESS. He has many names; but he answers to Pra when you call him.

  THE Y. W. Oh, what a way to put it! The man isnt a dog, is he?

  THE PRIESTESS. He inspires a doglike devotion in women. He once did in me; so I know.

  THE PRIEST. Dont be vindictive, Prola. I dont do it on purpose. [He sits down again, this time next to her on her left].

  THE PRIESTESS. No: you do it by instinct. That, also, is rather doglike.

  THE PRIEST. No matter: I shall soon get the poor lady beyond the doglike stage.

  THE E. O. [who has been unable to take his eyes off the priestess] Is your name Prola?

  THE PRIEST. She has many names: some of them terrible ones; but she answers to Prola when you call her.

  THE PRIESTESS. Young man: are my eyes like the fishpools of Heshbon?

  THE E. O. Well, I have never seen the fishpools of Heshbon; but your eyes make me feel like that.

  THE Y. W. Seems to me theres some sort of magic about this old cave thats dangerous. If you dont mind, I’ll bid you all good morning. I always say let life come to you; but here it’s coming a bit too thick for me. [She rises].

  THE PRIESTESS. Wait. We can share him.

  THE Y. W. Well I never! [She flops back into her seat, flabbergasted].

  THE PRIESTESS. Hush. Look.

  The Lady Tourist returns and again goes to the priest.

  THE L. T. Excuse me; but could I have a word with you alone?

  THE PRIEST [rising] Certainly. Come with me.

  They go into the caves together.

  THE E. O. What about a word with me alone, Prola?

  THE Y. W. [with redoubled emphasis] Well I NEVER!!

  THE PR
IESTESS [to the Officer] You are not yet sufficiently regenerated. But you may hope.

  THE Y. W. You take care, boy. I think youve got a touch of the sun. You cant be too careful in the tropics.

  An English male tourist enters from among the images. He is on the young side of middle age, with pleasant aristocratic appearance and manners.

  THE M. T. Excuse me: I have mislaid my wife. English lady with a guide book. Wears glasses. Bi-focals.

  THE Y. W. Her husband! Oh, I say!

  THE E. O. [rising deferentially] Just left us, Sir Charles.

  THE M. T. Hallo! Weve met before, I think, havnt we?

  THE E. O. When you landed, Sir Charles. I am the emigration officer.

  SIR CHARLES. Ah, of course: yes. You know Lady Farwaters by sight. Which way did she go?

  THE E. O. I am sorry: I didnt notice.

  SIR CHARLES [worried] I wonder what she can be doing.

  THE Y. W. So do I.

  SIR CHARLES. I beg your pardon?

  THE Y. W. Granted.

  THE PRIESTESS [rising and coming to him] May I shew you round the temple, Sir Charles? We shall probably find her there.

  SIR CHARLES [who has not yet hitherto looked particularly at her] No thank you, no, no.

  THE PRIESTESS. It is interesting. I am not a professional guide: I am a priestess; and I will see that you are not asked for anything. You had better come with me.

  SIR CHARLES. No: I – [he looks at her. His tone changes instantly]. Well, yes, if you will be so good. Certainly. Thank you.

  They go into the alcoves together.

  THE Y. W. [leaving the table] Oh boy, what do you think of this abode of love? Lady Farwaters, as white as Canterbury veal, has .fallen for a brown bishop; and her husband, the whitest English west-end white, has been carried off to her den by an amber colored snake charmer. Lets get out of it while we’re safe.

  THE E. O. I feel quite safe, thank you. I have been cleaned up. You havnt.

  THE Y. W. What do you mean, I havnt?

  THE E. O. I mean that you were quite right to object to me half an hour ago. Your offensive personal remarks were fully justified. But now the tables are turned. I havnt gone through the fire; but Ive gone through the water. And the water has gone through me. It is for me now to object and to make personal remarks.

  THE Y. W. Make as much as one; and you will get your face smacked.

  THE E. O. [seizing her by the wrist and the back of her collar] Go and get cleaned up, you disgusting little devil. [He rushes her to the edge].

  THE Y. W. [screaming] No.

  THE E. O. Yes. [He hurls her over].

  A scream cut short by a splash. The E. O. sits down at the table and attacks the remains of the feast ravenously.

  THE PROLOGUE ENDS

  ACT I

  The lawn of a stately house on the north coast of a tropical island in the Pacific commands a fine view of the ocean and of a breakwater enclosing a harbor, large enough to accommodate a fleet, but at present shipless. The western face of the house is reached by a terrace and a flight of steps. The steps lead down to a crescent formed by two curved stone seats separated by a patch of sward surrounding a circular well with a low marble parapet. This parapet, like the stone seats, has silk cushions scattered about it.

  Behind the crescent the lawn is banked to a higher level and becomes a flower garden, sheltered from the wind by shrubberies. To the west of the flower garden the lawn falls away to the sea, but not to sea level, all that is visible of the port being the top of the lighthouse. There are trees enough in all directions to provide shade everywhere.

  However, the raised flower garden is the centre of interest; for in it are four shrines marking the corners of a square. In the two foremost shrines two girl-goddesses sit crosslegged. In the two further ones two youthful gods are sitting in the same fashion. The ages of the four appear to be between 17 and 20. They are magically beautiful in their Indian dresses, softly brilliant, making the tropical flowers of the garden seem almost crude beside them. Their expressions are intent, grave, and inscrutable. They face south with their backs to the sea. The goddess to the east has raven black hair, a swarthy skin, and robes of a thousand shades of deep carnation, in contrast to the younger one on her right, who is a ravishing blonde in a diaphanous white and gold sari. There is a parallel contrast between the two youths, the one on the west being the younger and more delicate, and the one on his left older and more powerfully framed.

  The four figures give the garden a hieratic aspect which has its effect on a young English clergyman, who wanders into the grounds at the north west corner, looking curiously and apprehensively about him with the air of a stranger who is trespassing. When he catches sight of the four figures he starts nervously and whips off his hat; then approaches them on tiptoe. He has a baby complexion, and a childish expression, credulous and disarmingly propitiatory. His age is at most 24.

  Down the steps at this moment comes Pra, about twenty years older than when we saw him last, but splendidly preserved. His approach is dignified and even courteous, though not warmly so. He evidently wants to know what the stranger is doing in his garden.

  THE CLERGYMAN [nervously, hat in hand] I beg your pardon. I fear I am trespassing. I am a stranger here; and I could not find a road up from the beach. I thought I might cut across through your grounds. [Indicating the figures] But I assure you I had no idea I was intruding on consecrated ground.

  PRA. You are not on consecrated ground, except in so far as all ground is consecrated.

  THE CLERGYMAN. Oh, excuse me. I thought – those idols –

  PRA. Idols!

  THE CLERGYMAN. No, of course not idols. I meant those gods and goddesses –

  PRA. They are very beautiful, are they not? [He speaks without awe or enthusiasm, with a touch of pity for the parson and weariness on his own part].

  THE CLERGYMAN. They are most beautiful. Quite marvelous even to me, an English clergyman. I can hardly wonder at your worshipping them, though of course you shouldnt.

  PRA. Beauty is worshipful, within limits. When you have worshipped your fill may I shew you the shortest way out? It is through the house. Where do you wish to go, by the way?

  THE CLERGYMAN. I dont know. I am lost.

  PRA. Lost?

  THE CLERGYMAN. Yes, quite lost. I dont know where I am. I mean I dont even know what country I am in.

  PRA. You are in the Unexpected Isles, a Crown Colony of the British Empire.

  THE CLERGYMAN. Do you mean the isles that came up out of the sea when I was a baby.

  PRA. Yes. [Pointing to the breakwater] That is the harbor of the port of Good Adventure.

  THE CLERGYMAN. They put me on shore there.

  PRA. Who put you on shore?

  THE CLERGYMAN. The pirates.

  PRA. Pirates!

  THE CLERGYMAN. Yes. I was their chaplain.

  PRA. You were their – ! [He turns to the house and calls] Prola. Prola.

  PROLA’S VOICE. Yes. What is it?

  PRA. Come out here.

  Prola comes down the steps. She, like Pra, is twenty years older; but the years have only made her beauty more impressive.

  THE CLERGYMAN [gaping at her in undisguised awe and admiration] Oh dear! Is this the lady of the house?

  PROLA [coming past Pra to the Clergyman] Who is this gentleman?

  PRA. He does not seem to know. I think he has escaped from the asylum.

  THE CLERGYMAN [distressed] Oh, dear beautiful lady, I am not mad. Everybody thinks I am. Nobody believes what I say, though it is the simple truth. I know it is very hard to believe.

  PROLA. In the Unexpected Isles nothing is unbelievable. How did you get in here?

  THE CLERGYMAN. I lost my way trying to find a short cut up from the beach. I climbed the fence. I am so sorry.

  PROLA. Really sorry?

  THE CLERGYMAN. I did not mean to intrude. I apologize most sincerely.

  PROLA. I did not ask you to apologize: you are quite we
lcome. I asked were you really sorry. Do you regret finding yourself in this garden?

  THE CLERGYMAN. Oh no. It’s like the Garden of Eden: I should like to stay here forever. [Suddenly breaking down to the verge of tears] I have nowhere to go.