Complete Works of D.H. Lawrence
Page 728
HOLROYD (shouting): I want nöwt. I’m allowed nöwt in this ‘ouse. (Shouting louder.) ‘Er begrudges me ivry morsel I ha’e.
MRS HOLROYD: Oh, what a story!
HOLROYD (shouting): It’s the truth, an’ you know it.
BLACKMORE (conciliatory): You’ll rouse the children. You’ll rouse the children, at this hour.
HOLROYD (suddenly quiet): Not me — not if I know it. I shan’t disturb ‘em — bless ‘em.
He staggers to his arm-chair and sits heavily.
BLACKMORE: Shall I light the lamp?
MRS HOLROYD: No, don’t trouble. Don’t stay any longer, there’s no need.
BLACKMORE (quietly): I’ll just see it’s alright.
He proceeds in silence to light the lamp. HOLROYD is seen dropping forward in his chair. He has a cut on his cheek. MRS HOLROYD is in an old-fashioned dressing-gown. BLACKMORE has an overcoat buttoned up to his chin. There is a very large lump of coal on the red fire.
MRS HOLROYD: Don’t stay any longer.
BLACKMORE: I’ll see it’s alright.
MRS HOLROYD: I shall be all right. He’ll go to sleep now.
BLACKMORE: But he can’t go like that.
MRS HOLROYD: What has he done to his face?
BLACKMORE: He had a row with Jim Goodwin.
MRS HOLROYD: What about?
BLACKMORE: I don’t know.
MRS HOLROYD: The beast!
BLACKMORE: By Jove, and isn’t he a weight! He’s getting fat, must be —
MRS HOLROYD: He’s big made — he has a big frame.
BLACKMORE: Whatever he is, it took me all my time to get him home. I thought I’d better keep an eye on him. I knew you’d be worrying. So I sat in the smoke-room and waited for him. Though it’s a dirty hole — and dull as hell.
MRS HOLROYD: Why did you bother?
BLACKMORE: Well, I thought you’d be upset about him. I had to drink three whiskies — had to, in all conscience — (smiling).
MRS HOLROYD: I don’t want to be the ruin of you.
BLACKMORE (smiling): Don’t you? I thought he’d pitch forward on to the lines and crack his skull.
HOLROYD has been sinking farther and farther forward in drunken sleep. He suddenly jerks too far and is awakened. He sits upright, glaring fiercely and dazedly at the two, who instantly cease talking.
HOLROYD (to BLACKMORE): What are thäigh doin’ ‘ere?
BLACKMORE: Why, I came along with you.
HOLROYD: Thou’rt a liar, I’m only just come in.
MRS HOLROYD (coldly): He is no liar at all. He brought you home because you were too drunk to come yourself.
HOLROYD (starting up): Thou’rt a liar! I niver set eyes on him this night, afore now.
MRS HOLROYD (with a “Pf” of contempt): You don’t know what you have done to-night.
HOLROYD (shouting): I s’ll not ha’e it, I tell thee.
MRS HOLROYD: Psh!
HOLROYD: I s’ll not ha’e it. I s’ll ha’e no carryin’s on i’ my ‘ouse —
MRS HOLROYD (shrugging her shoulders): Talk when you’ve got some sense.
HOLROYD (fiercely): I’ve as much sense as thäigh. Am I a fool? Canna I see? What’s he doin’ here then, answer me that. What — ?
MRS HOLROYD: Mr Blackmore came to bring you home because you were too drunk to find your own way. And this is the thanks he gets.
HOLROYD (contemptuously): Blackymore, Blackymore. It’s him tha cuts thy cloth by, is it?
MRS HOLROYD (hotly): You don’t know what you’re talking about, so keep your tongue still.
HOLROYD (bitingly): I don’t know what I’m talking about — I don’t know what I’m talking about — don’t I? An’ what about him standing there then, if I don’t know what I’m talking about? — What?
BLACKMORE: You’ve been to sleep, Charlie, an’ forgotten I came in with you, not long since.
HOLROYD: I’m not daft, I’m not a fool. I’ve got eyes in my head and sense. You needn’t try to get over me. I know what you’re up to.
BLACKMORE (flushing): It’s a bit off to talk to me like that, Charlie, I must say.
HOLROYD: I’m not good enough for ‘er. She wants Mr Blackymore. He’s a gentleman, he is. Now we have it all; now we understand.
MRS HOLROYD: I wish you understood enough to keep your tongue still.
HOLROYD: What? What? I’m to keep my tongue still, am I? An’ what about Mr Blackymore?
MRS HOLROYD (fiercely): Stop your mouth, you — you vulgar, low-minded brute.
HOLROYD: Am I? Am I? An’ what are you? What tricks are you up to, an’ all? But that’s alright — that’s alright. (Shouting.) That’s alright, if it’s you.
BLACKMORE: I think I’d better go. You seem to enjoy — er — er — calumniating your wife.
HOLROYD (mockingly): Calamniating — calamniating — I’ll give you calamniating, you mealy-mouthed jockey: I’ll give you calamniating.
BLACKMORE: I think you’ve said about enough.
HOLROYD: ‘Ave I, ‘ave I? Yer flimsy jack — ’ave I? (In a sudden burst.) But I’ve not done wi’ thee yet?
BLACKMORE (ironically): No, and you haven’t.
HOLROYD (shouting — pulling himself up from the arm-chair): I’ll show thee — I’ll show thee.
BLACKMORE laughs.
HOLROYD: Yes! — yes, my young monkey. It’s thäigh, is it?
BLACKMORE: Yes, it’s me.
HOLROYD (shouting): An’ I’ll ma’e thee wish it worn’t, I will. What — ? What? Tha’d come slivin’ round here, would ta? (He lurches forward at BLACKMORE with clenched fist.)
MRS HOLROYD: Drunken, drunken fool — oh, don’t.
HOLROYD (turning to her): What?
She puts up her hands before her face. BLACKMORE seizes the upraised arm and swings HOLROYD round.
BLACKMORE (in a towering passion): Mind what tha’rt doing!
HOLROYD (turning fiercely on him — incoherent): Wha’ — wha’ — !
He aims a heavy blow. BLACKMORE evades it, so that he is struck on the side of the chest. Suddenly he shows his teeth. He raises his fists ready to strike HOLROYD when the latter stands to advantage.
MRS HOLROYD (rushing upon BLACKMORE): No, no! Oh, no!
She flies and opens the door, and goes out. BLACKMORE glances after her, then at HOLROYD, who is preparing, like a bull, for another charge. The young man’s face lights up.
HOLROYD: Wha’ — wha’ — !
As he advances, BLACKMORE quickly retreats out-of-doors. HOLROYD plunges upon him. BLACKMORE slips behind the door-jamb, puts out his foot, and trips HOLROYD with a crash upon the brick yard.
MRS HOLROYD: Oh, what has he done to himself?
BLACKMORE (thickly): Tumbled over himself.
HOLROYD is seen struggling to rise, and is heard incoherently cursing.
MRS HOLROYD: Aren’t you going to get him up?
BLACKMORE: What for?
MRS HOLROYD: But what shall we do?
BLACKMORE: Let him go to hell.
HOLROYD, who has subsided, begins to snarl and struggle again.
MRS HOLROYD (in terror): He’s getting up.
BLACKMORE: Alright, let him.
MRS HOLROYD looks at BLACKMORE, suddenly afraid of him also.
HOLROYD (in a last frenzy): I’ll show thee — I’ll —
He raises himself up, and is just picking his balance when BLACKMORE, with a sudden light kick, sends him sprawling again. He is seen on the edge of the light to collapse into stupor.
MRS HOLROYD: He’ll kill you, he’ll kill you!
BLACKMORE laughs short.
MRS HOLROYD: Would you believe it! Oh, isn’t it awful! (She begins to weep in a little hysteria; BLACKMORE stands with his back leaning on the doorway, grinning in a strained fashion.) Is he hurt, do you think?
BLACKMORE: I don’t know — I should think not.
MRS HOLROYD: I wish he was dead; I do, with all my heart.
BLACKMORE: Do you? (He looks at her quickly; she wa
vers and shrinks; he begins to smile strainedly as before.) You don’t know what you wish, or what you want.
MRS HOLROYD (troubled): Do you think I could get past him to come inside?
BLACKMORE: I should think so.
MRS HOLROYD, silent and troubled, manoeuvres in the doorway, stepping over her husband’s feet, which lie on the threshold.
BLACKMORE: Why, you’ve got no shoes and stockings on!
MRS HOLROYD: No. (She enters the house and stands trembling before the fire.)
BLACKMORE (following her): Are you cold?
MRS HOLROYD: A little — with standing on the yard.
BLACKMORE: What a shame!
She, uncertain of herself, sits down. He drops on one knee, awkwardly, and takes her feet in his hands.
MRS HOLROYD: Don’t — no, don’t!
BLACKMORE: They are frightfully cold. (He remains, with head sunk, for some moments, then slowly rises.) Damn him!
They look at each other; then, at the same time, turn away.
MRS HOLROYD: We can’t leave him lying there.
BLACKMORE: No — no! I’ll bring him in.
MRS HOLROYD: But — !
BLACKMORE: He won’t wake again. The drink will have got hold of him by now. (He hesitates.) Could you take hold of his feet — he’s so heavy.
MRS HOLROYD: Yes.
They go out and are seen stooping over HOLROYD.
BLACKMORE: Wait, wait, till I’ve got him — half a minute.
MRS HOLROYD backs in first. They carry HOLROYD in and lay him on the sofa.
MRS HOLROYD: Doesn’t he look awful?
BLACKMORE: It’s more mark than mar. It isn’t much, really.
He is busy taking off HOLROYD’S collar and tie, unfastening the waistcoat, the braces and the waist buttons of the trousers; he then proceeds to unlace the drunken man’s boots.
MRS HOLROYD (who has been watching closely): I shall never get him upstairs.
BLACKMORE: He can sleep here, with a rug or something to cover him. You don’t want him — upstairs?
MRS HOLROYD: Never again.
BLACKMORE (after a moment or two of silence): He’ll be alright down here. Have you got a rug?
MRS HOLROYD: Yes.
She goes upstairs. BLACKMORE goes into the scullery, returning with a ladling can and towel. He gets hot water from the boiler. Then, kneeling down, he begins to wipe the drunken man’s face lightly with the flannel, to remove the blood and dirt.
MRS HOLROYD (returning): What are you doing?
BLACKMORE: Only wiping his face to get the dirt out.
MRS HOLROYD: I wonder if he’d do as much for you.
BLACKMORE: I hope not.
MRS HOLROYD: Isn’t he horrible, horrible —
BLACKMORE (looks up at her): Don’t look at him then.
MRS HOLROYD: I can’t take it in, it’s too much.
BLACKMORE: He won’t wake. I will stay with you.
MRS HOLROYD (earnestly): No — oh, no.
BLACKMORE: There will be the drawn sword between us. (He indicates the figure of HOLROYD, which lies, in effect, as a barrier between them.)
MRS HOLROYD (blushing): Don’t!
BLACKMORE: I’m sorry.
MRS HOLROYD (after watching him for a few moments lightly wiping the sleeping man’s face with a towel): I wonder you can be so careful over him.
BLACKMORE (quietly): It’s only because he’s helpless.
MRS HOLROYD: But why should you love him ever so little?
BLACKMORE: I don’t — only he’s helpless. Five minutes since I could have killed him.
MRS HOLROYD: Well, I don’t understand you men.
BLACKMORE: Why?
MRS HOLROYD: I don’t know.
BLACKMORE: I thought as I stood in that doorway, and he was trying to get up — I wished as hard as I’ve ever wished anything in my life —
MRS HOLROYD: What?
BLACKMORE: That I’d killed him. I’ve never wished anything so much in my life — if wishes were anything.
MRS HOLROYD: Don’t, it does sound awful.
BLACKMORE: I could have done it, too. He ought to be dead.
MRS HOLROYD (pleading): No, don’t! You know you don’t mean it, and you make me feel so awful.
BLACKMORE: I do mean it. It is simply true, what I say.
MRS HOLROYD: But don’t say it.
BLACKMORE: No?
MRS HOLROYD: No, we’ve had enough.
BLACKMORE: Give me the rug.
She hands it him, and he tucks HOLROYD up.
MRS HOLROYD: You only do it to play on my feelings.
BLACKMORE (laughing shortly): And now give me a pillow — thanks.
There is a pause — both look at the sleeping man.
BLACKMORE: I suppose you’re fond of him, really.
MRS HOLROYD: No more.
BLACKMORE: You were fond of him?
MRS HOLROYD: I was — yes.
BLACKMORE: What did you like in him?
MRS HOLROYD (uneasily): I don’t know.
BLACKMORE: I suppose you really care about him, even now?
MRS HOLROYD: Why are you so sure of it?
BLACKMORE: Because I think it is so.
MRS HOLROYD: I did care for him — now he has destroyed it —
BLACKMORE: I don’t believe he can destroy it.
MRS HOLROYD (with a short laugh): Don’t you? When you are married you try. You’ll find it isn’t so hard.
BLACKMORE: But what did you like in him — because he was good-looking, and strong, and that?
MRS HOLROYD: I liked that as well. But if a man makes a nuisance of himself, his good looks are ugly to you, and his strength loathsome. Do you think I care about a man because he’s got big fists, when he is a coward in his real self?
BLACKMORE: Is he a coward?
MRS HOLROYD: He is — a pettifogging, paltry one.
BLACKMORE: And so you’ve really done with him?
MRS HOLROYD: I have.
BLACKMORE: And what are you going to do?
MRS HOLROYD: I don’t know.
BLACKMORE: I suppose nothing. You’ll just go on — even if you’ve done with him — you’ll go on with him.
There is a long pause.
BLACKMORE: But was there nothing else in him but his muscles and his good looks to attract you to him?
MRS HOLROYD: Why? What does it matter?
BLACKMORE: What did you think he was?
MRS HOLROYD: Why must we talk about him?
BLACKMORE: Because I can never quite believe you.
MRS HOLROYD: I can’t help whether you believe it or not.
BLACKMORE: Are you just in a rage with him, because of to-night?
MRS HOLROYD: I know, to-night finished it. But it was never right between us.
BLACKMORE: Never?
MRS HOLROYD: Not once. And then to-night — no, it’s too much; I can’t stand any more of it.
BLACKMORE: I suppose he got tipsy. Then he said he wasn’t a married man — vowed he wasn’t, to those paper bonnets. They found out he was, and said he was frightened of his wife getting to know. Then he said they should all go to supper at his house — I suppose they came out of mischief.
MRS HOLROYD: He did it to insult me.
BLACKMORE: Oh, he was a bit tight — you can’t say it was deliberate.
MRS HOLROYD: No, but it shows how he feels toward me. The feeling comes out in drink.
BLACKMORE: How does he feel toward you?
MRS HOLROYD: He wants to insult me, and humiliate me, in every moment of his life. Now I simply despise him.
BLACKMORE: You really don’t care any more about him?