The Living Room

by Graham Greene

  ROSE: No, but there’s no hurry.

  TERESA: You see, dear, we are very cramped for space here. So many rooms are closed. We thought perhaps you wouldn’t mind sleeping in here. The sofa’s very comfortable. And the end lets down.

  ROSE: Of course. I don’t mind.

  MICHAEL: I was saying to your sister, Miss Browne, that it seemed quite a large house from the street.

  TERESA: Oh, it was. It was. But many rooms had to be closed.

  MICHAEL: War damage?

  TERESA: Not exactly.

  HELEN [outside]: Here we are! Will somebody open the door?

  [HELEN pushes in a chair in which sits her brother, JAMES BROWNE, a man of about 65, with a face to which one is not sure whether nature or mutilation has lent strength. All his vitality perhaps has had to find its way above the waist. A shawl is over his legs, and he wears a scarf round his neck.]

  [To JAMES] James, here is Rose—and Mr Dennis, the executor.

  JAMES: It’s good to see you, my dear. After all these years. You’ve changed more than I have.

  [ROSE bends down and kisses him.]

  ROSE: How are you, Uncle?

  JAMES: Pretty well, my dear. Thank God you won’t play trains with my chair now! Well, Mr Dennis, I hope she hasn’t been a trouble to you. We expected you last night.

  MICHAEL: The morning train seemed a better idea, Mr Browne.

  HELEN: Father Browne, Mr Dennis. My brother’s …

  MICHAEL: Of course. I’m sorry.

  JAMES: Now you’ve seen all the family again, can you bear us, Rose? We are a bit older than we were, but we aren’t so bad.

  ROSE: It was good of Mother to leave me to you. I’d have been lost without you.

  JAMES: The only Catholic Pemberton. But somehow I never think of you as a Pemberton.

  TERESA [handing JAMES a cup]: Your tea, dear.

  ROSE: Some bread-and-butter, Uncle?

  JAMES: No, thank you, dear. Just the tea. I’m not an eating man.

  TERESA: Oh, Rose! Such a funny thing happened last night! A lady rang up and she asked if we were the Brownes who were expecting a niece.

  ROSE: Who was she?

  TERESA: I’ve no idea. When I told her you weren’t arriving till today she just rang off.

  HELEN: You never told me, Teresa. What a secret little thing you are!

  TERESA: I’ve only just remembered. [To ROSE] I expect it was a friend of yours who wanted to inquire.

  ROSE: I can’t think of anybody—in London. [She looks at MICHAEL with apprehension.]

  TERESA: Oh, if it’s anything important, I expect she’ll ring again. Talking of important, James, Mary left a quarter of an hour early today.

  HELEN: It wasn’t her fault. The clock in the kitchen is always twenty minutes fast.

  [While the old people talk, ROSE and MICHAEL sit awkwardly together, saying nothing. They have no small-talk for each other.]

  TERESA: Since it’s always fast she must know the real time. Will you speak to her, James? She would take it better from you. Oh … [Putting her cup suddenly down, she makes for the door.]

  HELEN: Now dear, what is it?

  TERESA: If Mary left early, I don’t know how the oven is.

  HELEN: It can wait for a few minutes. What a little Martha you are!

  TERESA: You’d be the first to complain tonight about the pie.

  HELEN: Well then, let me go, dear, and I’ll have only myself to blame.

  TERESA: The cooking tonight is my responsibility. Isn’t that so, James?

  JAMES: It’s a Thursday. Yes.

  HELEN: I’ll help you, dear. I can’t bear to see you lifting heavy things.

  [During the argument ROSE and MICHAEL have drawn a little apart from the others.

  TERESA leaves the room.

  HELEN is about to follow her when she looks round and sees MICHAEL’S hand touching ROSE’S as he takes her empty cup.]

  ROSE: Thank you, dear. [She tries to swallow the last word, but it’s too late.]

  HELEN: See that Mr Dennis has a slice of my plum cake, James. [She leaves.]

  JAMES: She has a wonderful hand with cakes, Mr Dennis.

  MICHAEL: I don’t think I will. I ought to be going home.

  ROSE: I’m sorry.

  MICHAEL: Why?

  ROSE: I mean, I’ve been such a trouble.

  MICHAEL: No trouble. But my wife gets anxious rather easily. She’s—not very well. I should have gone straight home, but I thought there were things we ought to discuss—about the will.

  ROSE [anxious to ensure seeing her lover the next day]: No, no. It can wait. Till tomorrow. You’ll be coming in tomorrow? We can talk then.

  MICHAEL: Of course. Any time that suits you. I’ll ring you up in the morning. Have a good rest tonight.

  [They are trying to reassure each other in FATHER BROWNE’S presence.]

  ROSE: You’ve done so much for me.

  MICHAEL: It’s my job. I’m the executor—not the executer.

  ROSE: It was a silly slip. I was never much good at English.

  MICHAEL: As the executor and trustee [slowly and firmly] I’ll try not to make any slips at all. Good-bye, Father Browne.

  JAMES: Good-bye, Mr Dennis. We’ll be seeing each other again soon, I hope.

  ROSE: You put some papers down … over there, I think.

  [It is an excuse for them to move behind the old man’s chair, out of his vision. They are afraid to kiss, but they hold each other for a moment.]

  MICHAEL: They must be in my overcoat pocket.

  [They go together to the door.]

  Don’t come down. It’s a long way to the hall. I’ll see you tomorrow, Rose.

  ROSE: Yes.

  MICHAEL [with a last look at this room which is the wrong shape]: Good-bye. [He goes.]

  [ROSE follows him on to the landing. We can hear his steps on the stairs, but she still doesn’t return. A pause.]

  JAMES: Come in, dear, and have another cup of tea.

  ROSE [returning]: I don’t awfully like tea.

  JAMES [guessing her thoughts]: Yes, it’s a long way down, isn’t it? Only the kitchen is in the place you’d expect. In the basement. Even if you don’t like tea, come in and sit down. I don’t see many strangers.

  ROSE: Am I a stranger?

  JAMES: One can love a stranger.

  ROSE: Yes. [She comes back, but her mind is away.] Why are so many rooms closed, Uncle?

  JAMES: Have you noticed? So quickly?

  ROSE: I mistook the floor just now—it’s a strange house—the rooms down there seemed locked.

  JAMES: I suppose I ought to tell you. But it comes from something very foolish.

  ROSE: Yes?

  JAMES: I wouldn’t tell you if you were just staying a while. But this has got to be your home. You’ll see it for yourself. You’ll watch your Aunt Teresa … your Aunt Helen, and I suppose there’s a lot to puzzle you.

  ROSE: I thought it was funny the way Aunt Teresa came out of there, not paying any attention …

  JAMES: Yes, it’s funny, isn’t it? Go on thinking it’s funny—a bit pathetic, too. There’s no harm in it. Don’t let it get on your nerves. I sometimes think the young have worse nerves than we have. Age is a good drug and it doesn’t lose its effect.

  ROSE: But you still haven’t told me.

  JAMES: My dear, it’s so absurd! And I should have been able to stop it. I hope you’ll laugh. Please laugh—it’s very funny—in its way.

  ROSE: Yes?

  JAMES [nerving himself]: You see, your Aunt Helen sleeps in the old drawing-room. Because I’m an invalid they would have insisted on the dining-room for me, but I told them they couldn’t get me up and down stairs to the living-room, so I have what used to be a nurse’s little sitting—room here—by the night nursery—this was the night nursery in the old days. Aunt Teresa has the day nursery next to me. You see the bedrooms are all closed.

  ROSE: But why?

  JAMES [slowly and reluctantly]: They don’t like us
ing a room in which anybody has ever died.

  ROSE [not understanding]: Died?

  JAMES [purposely light]: It’s a habit people have—in bedrooms. So the bedrooms are all shut up—except this. It’s an old house, and they aren’t taking any chances. They risked this one—it had been a night nursery for a long time, and children don’t die very often. Anyway, they don’t die of old age.

  ROSE: When did it all start?

  JAMES: I’m not sure. I only noticed it when our father died. It had seemed quite natural when my mother’s room was shut; there was nobody else to sleep in it. I only came for the holidays, and they had no visitors. But when this [he taps his leg] happened and I came to live here, I noticed our father’s room was closed too, and when I wanted a room on the second floor Teresa said—I think it was Teresa—‘but that was Rose’s room’.

  ROSE: Rose?

  JAMES: Your grandmother. She was the only one of us who got married. She died here, you know, when your mother was born.

  ROSE: Was that when it started?

  JAMES: It may have been. Who knows when anything really starts? Perhaps it was when we were all children together in this room.

  [A pause.]

  ROSE: It’s—creepy, isn’t it?

  JAMES: No, no, my dear. Not creepy. I used to laugh at them and threaten to die in here. What will you do for a living room then? I’d say. But I think at the last moment they’d push me into my own room—and that could be closed afterwards.

  ROSE: But I still don’t understand.

  JAMES: Nor do I. Perhaps it’s the fear of death—of the certainty of death. They don’t seriously mind accidents. They aren’t so much worried about your poor mother—because she was still young. She needn’t have died. It’s the inevitable they hate. Of course when someone dies they’ll do all the right things—they are good Catholics. They’ll have Masses said—and then as quickly as possible they forget. The photographs are the first things to disappear.

  ROSE: But why? why?

  JAMES: You’ll have to ask Dennis. He lectures and writes books and teaches psychology. I expect he’d call it an anxiety neurosis. Or something more difficult. I’m a priest and I’ve given up psychology. They are good people, I doubt if they’ve ever committed a big sin in their lives—perhaps it would have been better if they had. I used to notice, in the old days, it was often the sinners who had the biggest trust. In mercy. My sisters don’t seem to have any trust. Are you afraid of death?

  ROSE: I don’t think so. I haven’t thought.

  JAMES: Of course it seems closer to them than to you.

  ROSE: Are you afraid of it, Uncle?

  JAMES: I used to be—twenty years ago. And then something worse happened to me. It was like God reproving me for being such a fool. When that car smash came I ceased to be any use. I am a priest who can’t say Mass or hear confessions or visit the sick. I shouldn’t have been afraid of dying. I should have been afraid of being useless.

  ROSE: But you are of use to them, Uncle?

  JAMES: A priest isn’t intended to be just a comfort to his family. Sometimes in the morning when I am half asleep, I imagine my legs are still here. I say to myself, Oh dear, oh dear, what a day ahead! A meeting of the Knights of Saint Columba, and then the Guild of the Blessed Sacrament, a meeting of the Altar Society, and after that … It’s strange how bored I used to be with all the running around.

  ROSE: Now I’m here, can’t we go out together to the river and the park?

  JAMES: Yes. I’d like to now and then. But it means hiring a couple of men. It’s a long way down the stairs, and I’m heavy. But I’m not going to use you, my dear. I hope soon you’ll be getting married.

  ROSE: There’s plenty of time.

  [HELEN enters.]

  HELEN: Poor little fusspot. The oven was perfectly all right. Mary’s very reliable. Has Mr Dennis gone?

  JAMES: He went a few minutes ago.

  HELEN: A nice man, but not much sense of humour, I’m afraid. I was telling him about the Flopsy Bunnies. He’d never heard of them.

  JAMES: You mustn’t be hard on him for that. I’ve never read Paradise Lost.

  [TERESA enters in a hurry.]

  TERESA: Has Mr Dennis …?

  HELEN: He’s gone, dear.

  TERESA: That lady is on the telephone again. The one who called before. She wants to talk to him.

  ROSE: I have his number. [With a trace of bitterness at the last word.] She can get him at home.

  TERESA: I said I thought I’d heard him go, and she wants to talk to you, Rose.

  ROSE [scared]: Me?

  TERESA: She says she’s Mrs Dennis. Will you speak to her, dear? She’s asking all sorts of questions I can’t answer.

  ROSE: But I don’t know her. I’ve never even met her.

  [HELEN is listening intently.]

  JAMES: What questions, Teresa?

  TERESA: She said she tried to speak to Mr Dennis last night. She wasn’t well. Where do you say he stayed, dear?

  ROSE: I don’t know. In the village.

  TERESA: And then she tried your house, and you weren’t there. She sounds a little—strange. I wish you’d come, dear. She’s waiting on the telephone.

  JAMES: Better have a word with her.

  ROSE [desperately]: I can’t. I don’t know her. Michael will be home any moment.

  HELEN: Don’t worry, my little sweetheart. She’s tired. Such a long journey. Your Aunt Helen will take care of it for you. [She leaves.]

  CURTAIN

  SCENE TWO

  The Living Room. The next morning.

  [MICHAEL DENNIS is alone. He is ill at ease. He opens a brief-case, takes out some papers and puts them back. He goes to the window and looks out. TERESA BROWNE enters.]

  TERESA: Good morning, Mr Dennis.

  MICHAEL: Good morning. I promised yesterday I’d come in.

  TERESA: We hadn’t expected you quite so early.

  MICHAEL: I have a lecture at eleven.

  TERESA: My brother hasn’t finished his breakfast. You see, my sister and I went to Mass this morning.

  MICHAEL: I didn’t want to bother your brother. It was really Rose I came to see.

  TERESA: Oh, but Rose is out. She didn’t go to Mass.

  MICHAEL: I could come this afternoon. After three. I have some students at two.

  TERESA: She’s going out this afternoon.

  MICHAEL: Well, perhaps I could look in after dinner.

  TERESA: She’ll be out then—so my sister says.

  MICHAEL [with sombre realization]: And tomorrow—does Miss Browne say she’ll be out then, too?

  TERESA: Yes.

  MICHAEL: Why?

  TERESA: I suppose she knows the reason. I don’t.

  MICHAEL: Where is Rose?

  TERESA: I don’t know. I really don’t, Mr Dennis. I’m never told anything in this house.

  MICHAEL: I’m the executor of her mother’s will—and her trustee. Your sister can’t prevent my discussing matters with her.

  TERESA: I’ve no idea what she can do and what she can’t, Mr Dennis. She’s a terribly determined woman. I’m her elder, but she’s always had her way. Even my brother—and he’s a priest. … Do you know, Mr Dennis, she’s so arranged this house that … that … [Her eyes are on the closet.] Well, I’m quite ashamed. I don’t know what strangers think. We should have made one out of the cupboard on the landing.

  MICHAEL: Suppose I just stay here till Rose comes in?

  TERESA: Oh, I don’t know that she’s out. And if she’s not out, she wouldn’t be able to come in, would she?

  MICHAEL: Miss Browne, could you take a message …

  TERESA: I’d have to ask Helen.

  MICHAEL: But I’m Rose’s trustee.

  TERESA: Helen thinks that was a mistake.

  MICHAEL [with anger]: I don’t care what Miss Browne thinks …

  [HELEN pushes JAMES through the door which TERESA has left open. She has shed her bonhomie and we can see the strong will buried i
n the big breasts and the stout body.]

  HELEN: Good morning, Mr Dennis. This is an early call.

  MICHAEL [stubbornly]: I’ve come to see Rose. Good morning, Father Browne.

  JAMES: I suppose I could make a joke about being pushed into this affair—if it would help.

  MICHAEL: It wouldn’t. When I don’t know what affair …

  HELEN: Your wife telephoned again, just after you left, Mr Dennis.

  MICHAEL: I know. She told me.

  HELEN: Rose is our responsibility now. So you do understand, don’t you, we have to clear the matter up.

  MICHAEL: What matter?

  JAMES: For goodness’ sake, sit down, all of you. You make me want to stand up myself.

  [They prepare to sit.]

  TERESA: Not that chair, Mr Dennis. That’s Helen’s.

  HELEN: Teresa dear, don’t you think you’d better go and keep an eye on Mary?

  TERESA: It’s not my turn.

  HELEN: I have to have a little talk with Mr Dennis.

  TERESA: But I’m the eldest.

  HELEN: That’s why, dear. This isn’t something for your generation.

  TERESA [appealing]: James—?

  JAMES: Better go, dear. There are more than enough of us as it is.

  HELEN: I heard Mary on the first landing.

  TERESA: She’s not dusting the closed rooms, is she?

  HELEN: I told her particularly not. But perhaps you had better make sure.

  [TERESA goes hurriedly out.]

  And now, James—

  [JAMES sits silent and ill at ease in his wheel-chair. A pause.]

  You promised to have a word with Mr Dennis.

  JAMES [with a helpless or perhaps appealing gesture]: Mr Dennis is not a Catholic. I am not in the confessional. I have no authority.

  HELEN: But James, a woman can hardly ask …

  MICHAEL: This is the second time I’ve been on trial today. I hope I’ve reached the Supreme Court. You want to ask me whether Rose and I are lovers. That’s it, isn’t it?

  HELEN: Really, Mr Dennis, we would never have put it so crudely.

  MICHAEL: But I’m not a Catholic, as your brother says. I haven’t learned to talk about ‘offences against purity’. In my lectures I try to be crude—it’s only another word for precise.