by Oriel Gray
JENNY goes into RUFUS’ office—she is listening, although she closes the door.
BEN: Do you wish to see my father?
MANSON: No, I want to see you. I’ve seen your father already. Nothing’s changed there! I said I’d fight him to the end, and I will! And I’ll enjoy it! When I fight I don’t spare myself—or my money. This town won’t die—it’ll grow.
BEN: In the way Kingsley prophesied—
MANSON: That’s likely.
BEN: And wouldn’t the joke be on you, Mr Manson?
MANSON: Don’t you believe it, boy. You’ll never find all my eggs in one basket! I’ve taken the bulk of my money out of gold years ago. It’s here and there—some of it’s in land. If Myers’ scheme does work, I’ll be the one making money out of it! That’s looking ahead, Ben. And I’m looking ahead too, when I say this town can do with another newspaper! Like to be an editor, Ben? I’m making you an offer.
BEN: To fight my own father!
MANSON: [shrewdly] Wouldn’t you like to? Don’t be ashamed of it, Ben. It’s the law of nature. The young bulls have to fight the old ones for their rights of leadership. I’d give you a free hand—more or less. Think it over. If you make up your mind quickly, you’ll find me in the Horseshoe Bar at the Royal. If Rufus Torrent’s to be seen drinking in the morning and playing the King of Ireland—by heaven, so am I!
MANSON goes out with a wave of his hand. JENNY comes from the inner office. BEN, almost duplicating RUFUS’ earlier movement, has moved to the window and is looking down on the town.
JENNY: [after a pause] Is this your chance, Ben?
BEN: You heard?
JENNY: [nods, then says truthfully] I was listening.
BEN: It could be—if I could give myself a good reason for taking it… if you can give it to me. Jenny, will you marry me?
JENNY: [pale with emotion and responsibility] No, Ben.
BEN: I’m sorry—I thought you cared for me.
JENNY: I do—I like you very much, Ben. But I don’t want to spend the rest of my life looking after a man.
BEN: I had forgotten. The—new—woman…
JENNY: [serenely—here she is untouchable now] The new woman… who will marry and have children and look after them… not baby a husband, as so many have done in the past.
BEN: [really hurt] I thought—you said that I could be something better.
JENNY: [understanding his hurt] You will be, Ben—but not with me. I should simply take the place of your father in your life. And I should become a bitter, criticising, domineering woman. You wouldn’t wish to ruin me, Ben. And that would be real ruin. Not your lending library word—real ruin.
BEN starts across the room as though to go, then unable to leave it alone, comes back.
BEN: Is that the real reason you won’t marry me?
JENNY: It’s enough. But apart from that…
BEN: Apart from that… ?
JENNY: I think I’m going to marry your father!
BEN is completely breathless. She walks back to her desk and he follows her.
BEN: Did you say… ?
She nods.
But, Jenny—why?
JENNY: Because I like him. Because he’s proud and stiff-necked and adult—but carries within him always a young and desperate boy from Dublin, whom no-one has ever comforted. You don’t know that boy, my comfortable Ben—he suffered that you should live without making his acquaintance… but I have been poor, I have found the world against me, and I shall find my way to his heart.
BEN: Frankly, I don’t understand a word of it—except that he’s old enough to be my father!
JENNY: [tartly] Well, he isn’t mine! [Then repentant] Oh, Ben, dear Ben, forgive me if I’ve hurt you. You’ll be glad—eventually.
He looks at her—he knows better. She is deeply troubled.
Now that I’ve told you how I feel—what are you going to do? [Hesitantly] Take Manson’s offer?
BEN: To fight my father?
She nods, afraid of words.
No—I’m not big enough… yet! If someday I have to match Rufus Torrent, it will be the meeting of equals. I won’t be a weapon in another man’s hands.
Suddenly RUFUS is heard on the stairs.
RUFUS: [off] Right, Jock—bring them to the office in half an hour—
JENNY: [in an urgent whisper] No bitterness, Ben—
BEN: No bitterness, Jenny. But he must have realised how I felt about you. He might have told me that you—and he—
JENNY: He doesn’t know about it—yet, Ben—
RUFUS comes in carrying the aura of a couple of morning ports.
RUFUS: [affably] What the devil are you doing, lounging round the office, Ben. Kingsley is waiting for you.
BEN: I am about to join him, sir—But I would like to speak to you for a moment—
JENNY is in a panic. RUFUS stops on his way to the office.
RUFUS: I have been trying to get into this office all the morning, Ben—people keep running in and out. [To JENNY] I’m not in to callers for the rest of the morning.
JENNY: [her eyes on BEN] No, sir.
BEN: Just one thing, Father—do you realise that we are both taking credit that we don’t deserve—you for publishing views you would never have countenanced—
JENNY stops a gesture of protest half way.
Me, for holding views I did not dare to express. And all the time, the person who dared everything—took every chance—sits there…
RUFUS looks over his shoulder to make sure JENNY is sitting there.
And the credit goes to those who least deserve it.
RUFUS: Of course, Ben, if you’re going to spend your life making sure that credit for change goes where it’s due, you’ll never have time to make the change. And that would be a pity, now, wouldn’t it? For what are the saints and the heroes but the vision and the sword of the common rest of us. And who cares, in the long breadth of the years who dreamed the dream, so long as the common rest of us made it come true?
JENNY is looking at him and BEN, seeing her look, catches his breath, understanding. But RUFUS is looking far away.
BEN: But Father, Jenny—
RUFUS: Jenny is more of a damned fool than I think if she cares for anything less than the achievement. She understands.
RUFUS is finished with all this talk. He makes for his office, saying over his shoulder.
I have a meeting I must attend after lunch, Ben, and I want to do tomorrow’s editorial before I go—a follow up on the morning’s…
He hesitates, turns.
I would like your advice, Ben.
BEN: [appreciating this from RUFUS] Thank you, Father. Always at your disposal. But I am sure that you are more able than I am… in everything.
His eyes are on JENNY.
RUFUS: [carelessly] Probably—but no-one can say that I don’t ask for advice.
He goes into his office, slamming the door. He sits at desk, picks up some proofs, starts to write something. BEN looks at JENNY.
BEN: I can see there is nothing for you but that.
He gets his hat from the rack.
RUFUS: [from office] Jenny!
She turns to look at door with a sparkle in her face. She collects her pad and pencil and starts for the door. Half way there, she turns. On an impulse, but with no hint of coquetry, she kisses her fingers to BEN, looking at him sorrowfully, affectionately.
[Very loudly] Jenny!
She moves to door of the office. BEN moves to downstairs exit. They turn and look back at each other. JENNY has her hand on the door knob. BEN is looking back. RUFUS flings open the office door.
JENNY!! I WANT YOU!!
JENNY: Yes sir!
RUFUS turns back into office.
BEN: [lovingly and sadly and quizzically.] Goodbye, Mama—
One more smile, each to each, and JENNY is going into the office. BEN is still watching her go as…
FINAL CURTAIN
ALSO AVAILABLE FROM CURRENCY PRESS
; Plays of the 50s, Volume 1
Edited by Katharine Brisbane
The authors in this volume are the precursors of an Australian theatre beginning to be heard in the post-war period, at a time when material prosperity was overshadowed by the threat of the Cold War, and Australians were increasingly daunted by the challenges of mass immigration, the Korean War and what came to be known as ‘the cultural cringe’. These playwrights of the 1940s and 50s made their own theatre: for the poet Douglas Stewart it was myth-making verse tragedy in Shipwreck; for social-realist Oriel Gray it was Sky Without Birds, a drama about tolerance and growing up; Ralph Peterson’s Night of the Ding Dong punctured the pretensions of his forefathers; and Ric Throssell, at the centre of Australian politics, confronted Australians with the consequences of atomic war with The Day Before Tomorrow. These plays helped to create the groundswell that led to public demand for our own Australian theatre.
ISBN 978 0 86819 627 5
Plays of the 50s Volume 2
Edited by Katharine Brisbane
The exhilaration caused by the success in 1955 of The Doll galvanised a host of new playwrights. Among them was Barbara Vernon, whose The Multi-Coloured Umbrella (1957) a drama of the racetrack, exploits the novelty of an irredeemably Australian way of life. Peter Kenna in his comedy-drama The Slaughter of St Teresa’s Day (1959), introduces the first of his Irish-Australian matriarchs, Oola Maguire. In Image in the Clay (1960) David Ireland blends realism and poetry in his stark portrait of a rural Aboriginal family. And, most radically, Ray Mathew in The Life of the Party (1960) draws a desperate portrait of post-war urban sophisticates trapped in the shadow of the Cold War. Exploring a new theatre distanced from European realism, these plays mark a journey towards a recognisably Australian rhythmic form and a more poetic, visceral drama characteristic of the theatre later in the century.
ISBN 978 0 86819 695 4
Belonging: Australian playwriting in the 20th century
John McCallum
Belonging explores the relationship between 20th century Australian playwriting and a developing concept of nation. Play by play the author builds a history that shows the creative tension between nationalism and cosmopolitanism; high art and larrikin populism; representational realism and adventurous modernism. He looks also at the interaction between the personal and the political and the ambivalence between affection and aggression of much Australian humour.
Belonging is the most comprehensive account of 20th century Australian playwriting ever written. McCallum’s research and narrative skills combine to give us a perceptive overview of the major writers and their works and bring to life many others that have been forgotten. As he teases out the different themes and styles that have played out on our stages, the author explores how Australian playwrights sought to define their place in the world. The search to belong, he argues, was a major preoccupation of their work.
From of the finest scholars of Australian playwriting, this authoritative study is a starting point for anyone who wants to understand the relationship between our drama and our sense of self or who is simply keen to learn about a particular play or author.
ISBN 978 0 86819 658 9
For these and other titles, as well as teachers’ notes, critical essays, author interviews and other resources, please visit our website: www.currency.com.au
COPYRIGHT DETAILS
First published in 1988 in Australian Women’s Writing. Penguin, Melbourne.
Published by Currency Press
PO Box 2287, Strawberry Hills NSW 2012 in 1996.
This edition first published in 2016.
First digital edition published in 2016 by Currency Press.
The Torrents copyright © Oriel Gray, 1996, 2016; Introduction copyright © Anne-Louise Sarks, 2016
COPYING FOR EDUCATIONAL PURPOSES
The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10% of this book, whichever is the greater, to be copied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that that educational institution (or the body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.
For details of the CAL licence for educational institutions contact CAL, Level 15/233 Castlereagh Street, Sydney, NSW, 2000; tel: within Australia 1800 066 844 toll free; outside Australia 61 2 9394 7600; fax: 61 2 9394 7601; email: [email protected]
COPYING FOR OTHER PURPOSES
Except as permitted under the Act, for example a fair dealing for the purposes of study, research, criticism or review, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission. All enquiries should be made to the publisher at the address above.
PERFORMANCE RIGHTS
Any performance or public reading of The Torrents is forbidden unless a licence has been received from the author or the author’s agent. The purchase of this book in no way gives the purchaser the right to perform the play in public, whether by means of a staged production or a reading. All applications for public performance should be addressed to Australian Literary Management, 2-A Booth St, Balmain NSW 2041, Australia; ph 61 2 9818 8557; email [email protected]
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