Brian Friel Plays 2 (11 page)

Jack
If anybody is looking for me, I’ll be down at the bank of the river for the rest of the … (
He
tails
off
and
looks
around.
Now
he
knows
where
he
is.
He
smiles
.) I beg your pardon. My mind was … It’s Kate.

Kate
It’s Kate.

Jack
And Agnes. And Margaret.

Maggie
How are you, Jack?

Jack
And this is –?

Chris
Chris – Christina.

Jack
Forgive me, Chris. You were only a baby when I went away. I remember Mother lifting you up as the train was pulling out of the station and catching your hand and waving it at me. You were so young you had scarcely any hair but she had managed to attach a tiny pink – a tiny pink – what’s the word? – a bow! – a bow! – just about here; and as she waved your hand, the bow fell off. It’s like a – a picture? – a camera-picture? – a photograph! – it’s like a photograph in my mind.

Chris
The hair isn’t much better even now, Jack.

Jack
And I remember you crying, Margaret.

Maggie
Was I?

Jack
Yes; your face was all blotchy with tears.

Maggie
You may be sure – beautiful as ever.

Jack
(
to Agnes
) And you and Kate were on Mother’s right and Rose was between you; you each had a hand. And Mother’s face, I remember, showed nothing. I often wondered about that afterwards.

Chris
She knew she would never see you again in her lifetime.

Jack
I know that. But in the other life. Do you think perhaps Mother didn’t believe in the ancestral spirits?

Kate
Ancestral –! What are you blathering about, Jack? Mother was a saintly woman who knew she was going straight to heaven. And don’t you forget to take your medicine again this evening. You’re supposed to take it three times a day.

Jack
One of our priests took so much quinine that he became an addict and almost died. A German priest; Father Sharpeggi. He was rushed to hospital in Kampala but they could do nothing for him. So Okawa and I brought him to our local medicine man and Karl Sharpeggi lived until he was eighty-eight! There was a strange white bird on my windowsill when I woke up this morning.

Agnes
That’s Rosie’s pet rooster. Keep away from that thing.

Maggie
Look what it did to my arm, Jack. One of these days I’m going to wring its neck.

Jack
That’s what we do in Ryanga when we want to please the spirits – or to appease them: we kill a rooster or a young goat. It’s a very exciting exhibition – that’s not the word, is it? – demonstration? – no – show? No, no; what’s the word I’m looking for? Spectacle? That’s not it. The word to describe a sacred and mysterious …? (
slowly,
deliberately
) You have a ritual killing. You offer up sacrifice. You have dancing and incantations. What is the name for that whole – for that –? Gone. Lost it. My vocabulary has deserted me. Never mind. Doesn’t matter … I think perhaps I should put on more clothes …

Pause.

Maggie
Did you speak Swahili all the time out there, Jack?

Jack
All the time. Yes. To the people. Swahili. When Europeans call, we speak English. Or if we have a – a visitor? – a visitation! – from the district commissioner. The present commissioner knows Swahili but he won’t speak it. He’s a stubborn man. He and I fight a lot but I like him. The Irish Outcast, he calls me. He is always inviting me to spend a weekend with him in Kampala – to keep me from ‘going native’, as he calls it. Perhaps when I go back. If you co-operate with the English they give you lots of money for churches and schools and hospitals. And he gets so angry with me because I won’t take his money. Reported me to my superiors in Head House last year; and they were very cross – oh, very cross. But I like him. When I was saying goodbye to him – he thought this was very funny! – he gave me a present of the last governor’s ceremonial hat to take home with – Ceremony! That’s the word! How could I have forgotten that? The offering, the ritual, the dancing – a ceremony! Such a simple word. What was I telling you?

Agnes
The district commissioner gave you this present.

Jack
Yes; a wonderful triangular hat with three enormous white ostrich plumes rising up out of the crown. I have it in one of my trunks. I’ll show it to you later. Ceremony! I’m so glad I got that. Do you know what I found very strange? Coming back in the boat there were days when I couldn’t remember even the simplest words. Not that
anybody seemed to notice. And you can always point, Margaret, can’t you?

Maggie
Or make signs.

Jack
Or make signs.

Maggie
Or dance.

Kate
What you must do is read a lot – books, papers, magazines, anything. I read every night with young Michael. It’s great for his vocabulary.

Jack
I’m sure you’re right, Kate. I’ll do that, (
to Chris
) I haven’t seen young Michael today, Agnes.

Kate
Christina, Jack.

Jack
Sorry, I –

Chris
He’s around there somewhere. Making kites, if you don’t mind.

Jack
And I have still to meet your husband.

Chris
I’m not married.

Jack
Ah.

Kate
Michael’s father was here a while ago … Gerry Evans … Mr Evans is a Welshman … not that that’s relevant to …

Jack
You were never married?

Chris
Never.

Maggie
We’re all in the same boat, Jack. We’re hoping that you’ll hunt about and get men for all of us.

Jack
(
to Chris
) So Michael is a love-child?

Chris
I – yes – I suppose so …

Jack
He’s a fine boy.

Chris
He’s not a bad boy.

Jack
You’re lucky to have him.

Agnes
We’re all lucky to have him.

Jack
In Ryanga women are eager to have love-children. The more love-children you have, the more fortunate your household is thought to be. Have you other love-children?

Kate
She certainly has not, Jack; and strange as it may seem to you, neither has Agnes nor Rose nor Maggie nor myself. No harm to Ryanga but you’re home in Donegal now and much as we cherish love-children here they are not exactly the norm. And the doctor says if you don’t take exercise your legs will seize up on you; so I’m going to walk you down to the main road and up again three times and then you’ll get your tea and then you’ll read the paper from front to back and then you’ll take your medicine and then you’ll go to bed. And we’ll do the same thing tomorrow and the day after and the day after that until we have you back to what you were. You start off and I’ll be with you in a second. Where’s my cardigan?

Jack
goes
out
to
the
garden.
Kate
gets
her
cardigan.

Michael
Some of Aunt Kate’s forebodings weren’t all that inaccurate. Indeed some of them were fulfilled before the Festival of Lughnasa was over.

She was right about Uncle Jack. He had been sent home by his superiors, not because his mind was confused, but for reasons that became clearer as the summer drew to a close.

And she was right about losing her job in the local school. The parish priest didn’t take her back when the new term began; although that had more to do with Father Jack than with falling numbers.

And she had good reason for being uneasy about Rose – and, had she known, about Agnes, too. But what she
couldn’t have foreseen was that the home would break up quite so quickly and that when she would wake up one morning in early September both Rose and Agnes would have left for ever.

At
this
point
in
Michael’s
speech
Jack
picks
up
two
pieces
of
wood,
portions
of
the
kites,
and
strikes
them
together.
The
sound
they
make
pleases
him.
He
does
it
again
–
and
again
–
and
again.
Now
he
begins
to
beat
out
a
structured
beat
whose
rhythm
gives
him
pleasure.
And
as
Michael
continues
his
speech,
Jack
begins
to
shuffle-dance
in
time
to
his
tattoo
–
his
body
slightly
bent
over,
his
eyes
on
the
ground,
his
feet
moving
rhythmically.
And
as
he
dances
–
shuffles,
he
mutters
–
sings
–
makes
occasional
sounds
that
are
incomprehen
sible
and
almost
inaudible.
Kate
comes
out
to
the
garden
and
stands
still,
watching
him.
Rose
enters.
Now
Rose
and
Maggie
and
Agnes
are
all
watching
him
–
some
at
the
front
door,
some
through
the
window.
Only
Chris
has
her
eyes
closed,
her
face
raised,
her
mouth
slightly
open;
remembering.
Michael
continues
without
stopping:

But she was wrong about my father. I suppose their natures were so out of tune that she would always be wrong about my father. Because he did come back in a couple of weeks as he said he would. And although my mother and he didn’t go through a conventional form of marriage, once more they danced together, witnessed by the unseen sisters. And this time it was a dance without music; just there, in ritual circles round and round that square and then down the lane and back up again; slowly, formally, with easy deliberation. My mother with her head thrown back, her eyes closed, her mouth slightly open. My father holding her just that little distance away from him so that he could regard her upturned face. No singing, no melody, no words. Only the swish and
whisper of their feet across the grass.

I watched the ceremony from behind that bush. But this time they were conscious only of themselves and of their dancing. And when he went off to fight with the International Brigade, my mother grieved as any bride would grieve. But this time there was no sobbing, no lamenting, no collapse into a depression.

Kate
now
goes
to
Jack
and
gently
takes
the
sticks
from
him.
She
places
them
on
the
ground.

Kate
We’ll leave these back where we found them, Jack. They aren’t ours. They belong to the child. (
She takes his
arm and leads him off
.) Now we’ll go for our walk.

The
others
watch
with
expressionless
faces.

*
Lugh
–
pronounced ‘Loo’.
Lughnasa
–
pronounced ‘Lōō-na-sā’.

Maggie

She
goes
into
the
kitchen
and
from
her
zinc
buckets
she
fills
the
kettle
and
the
saucepan
on
the
range.
She
looks
over
at
the
writing
materials.

Are you getting your books ready for school again?

Boy
School doesn’t start for another ten days.

Maggie
God, I always hated school. (
She
hums
the
next
line
of
the
song.
Then
she
remembers
.) You and I have a little financial matter to discuss. (
Pause
.) D’you hear me, cub?

Boy
I’m not listening.

Maggie
You owe me money.

Boy
I do not.

Maggie
Oh, yes, you do. Three weeks ago I bet you a
penny those aul kites would never get off the ground. And they never did.

Boy
Because there was never enough wind; that’s why.

Maggie
Enough wind! Would you listen to him. A hurricane wouldn’t shift those things. Anyhow a debt is a debt. One penny please at your convenience. Or the equivalent in kind: one Wild Woodbine. (
Sings:
)

She
dances
her
exaggerated
dance
across
to
the
table
and
tousles
the
boy’s
hair.

Boy
Leave me alone, Aunt Maggie.

Maggie

Boy
Now look at what you made me do! The page is all blotted!

Maggie
Your frank opinion, cub: am I vagabond material?

Boy
Get out of my road, will you? I’m trying to write a letter.

Maggie
Who to? ‘That’s for me to know and you to find out.’ Whoever it is, he’d need to be smart to read that scrawl. (
She returns to her buckets
.)

Boy
It’s to Santa Claus.

Maggie
In September? Nothing like getting in before the rush. What are you asking for?

Boy
A bell.

Maggie
A bell.

Boy
For my bicycle.

Maggie
For your bicycle.

Boy
The bike my daddy has bought me – stupid!

Maggie
Your daddy has bought you a bicycle?

Boy
He told me today. He bought it in Kilkenny. So there!

Maggie’s
manner
changes.
She
returns
to
the
table.

Maggie
(
softly
) Your daddy told you that?

Boy
Ask him yourself. It’s coming next week. It’s a black bike – a man’s bike.

Maggie
Aren’t you the lucky boy?

Boy
It’s going to be delivered here to the house. He promised me.

Maggie
Well, if he promised you … (
very brisk
) Now! Who can we get to teach you to ride?

Boy
I know how to ride!

Maggie
You don’t.

Boy
I learned at school last Easter. So there! But you can’t ride.

Maggie
I can so.

Boy
I know you can’t.

Maggie
Maybe not by myself. But put me on the bar, cub – magnificent!

Boy
You never sat on the bar of a bike in your life, Aunt Maggie!

Maggie
Oh yes, I did, Michael. Oh yes, indeed I did. (
She
gathers
up
the
papers
.) Now away and write to Santa some other time. On a day like this you should be out
running about the fields like a young calf. Hold on – a new riddle for you.

Boy
Give up.

Maggie
A man goes to an apple tree with two apples on it. He doesn’t take apples off it. He doesn’t leave apples on it. How does he do that?

Boy
Give up.

Maggie
Think, will you!

Boy
Give up.

Maggie
Well, since you don’t know, I will tell you. He takes
one
apple off! Get it? He doesn’t take
apples
off! He doesn’t leave
apples
on!

Boy
God!

Maggie
You might as well be talking to a turf stack.

Jack
enters.
He
looks
much
stronger
and
is
very
sprightly
and
alert.
He
is
not
wearing
the
top
coat
or
the
hat
but
instead
a
garish-coloured
–
probably
a
sister’s
–
sweater.
His
dress
now
looks
even
more
bizarre.

Jack
Did I hear the church bell ringing?

Maggie
A big posh wedding today.

Jack
Not one of my sisters?

Maggie
No such luck. A man called Austin Morgan and a girl from Carrickfad.

Jack
Austin Morgan – should I know that name?

Maggie
I don’t think so. They own the Arcade in the town. And how are you today?

Jack
Cold as usual, Maggie. And complaining about it as usual.

Michael
exits.

Maggie
Complain away – why wouldn’t you? And it is getting colder. But you’re looking stronger every day, Jack.

Jack
I feel stronger, too. Now! Off for my last walk of the day.

Maggie
Number three?

Jack
Number four! Down past the clothes line; across the stream; round the old well; and up through the meadow. And when that’s done Kate won’t have to nag at me – nag? – nag? – sounds funny – something wrong with that – nag? – that’s not a word, is it?

Maggie
Nag – yes; to keep on at somebody.

Jack
Yes? Nag. Good. So my English vocabulary is coming back, too. Great. Nag. Still sounds a bit strange.

Kate
enters
with
an
armful
of
clothes
from
the
clothes
line.

Kate
Time for another walk, Jack.

Jack
Just about to set out on number four, Kate. And thank you for keeping at me.

Kate
No sign of Rose and Agnes yet?

Maggie
They said they’d be back for tea. (
to Jack
) They’re away picking bilberries.

Kate
(
to Jack
) You used to pick bilberries. Do you remember?

Jack
Down beside the old quarry?

Maggie
The very place.

Jack
Mother and myself; every Lughnasa; the annual ritual. Of course I remember. And then she’d make the
most wonderful jam. And that’s what you took to school with you every day all through the winter: a piece of soda bread and bilberry jam.

Maggie
But no butter.

Jack
Except on special occasions when you got scones and for some reason they were always buttered. I must walk down to that old quarry one of these days.

(
Laughs
.) Where on earth did that come from? You see, Kate, it’s all coming back to me.

Kate
So you’ll soon begin saying Mass again?

Jack
Yes, indeed.

Maggie
Here in the house?

Jack
Why not? Perhaps I’ll start next Monday. The neighbours would join us, wouldn’t they?

Kate
They surely would. A lot of them have been asking me already.

Jack
How will we let them know?

Maggie
I wouldn’t worry about that. Word gets about very quickly.

Jack
What Okawa does – you know Okawa, don’t you?

Maggie
Your house boy?

Jack
My friend – my mentor – my counsellor – and yes, my house boy as well; anyhow Okawa summons our people by striking a huge iron gong. Did you hear that
wedding bell this morning, Kate?

Kate
Yes.

Jack
Well, Okawa’s gong would carry four times as far as that. But if it’s one of the bigger ceremonies, he’ll spend a whole day going round all the neighbouring villages, blowing on this enormous flute he made himself.

Maggie
And they all meet in your church?

Jack
When I had a church. Now we gather on the common in the middle of the village. If it’s an important ceremony, you would have up to three or four hundred people.

Kate
All gathered together for Mass?

Jack
Maybe. Or maybe to offer sacrifice to Obi, our Great Goddess of the Earth, so that the crops will flourish. Or maybe to get in touch with our departed fathers for their advice and wisdom. Or maybe to thank the spirits of our tribe if they have been good to us; or to appease them if they’re angry. I complain to Okawa that our calendar of ceremonies gets fuller every year. Now at this time of year over there – at the Ugandan harvest time – we have two very wonderful ceremonies: the Festival of the New Yam and the Festival of the Sweet Cassava; and they’re both dedicated to our Great Goddess, Obi –

Kate
But these aren’t Christian ceremonies, Jack, are they?

Jack
Oh, no. The Ryangans have always been faithful to their own beliefs – like these two Festivals I’m telling you about; and they are very special, really magnificent ceremonies. I haven’t described those two Festivals to you before, have I?

Kate
Not to me.

Jack
Well, they begin very formally, very solemnly with the ritual sacrifice of a fowl or a goat or a calf down at the bank of the river. Then the ceremonial cutting and anointing of the first yams and the first cassava; and we pass these round in huge wooden bowls. Then the incantation – chant, really – that expresses our gratitude and that also acts as a rhythm or percussion for the ritual dance. And then, when the thanksgiving is over, the dance continues. And the interesting thing is that it grows naturally into a secular celebration; so that almost imperceptibly the religious ceremony ends and the community celebration takes over. And that part of the ceremony is a real spectacle. We light fires round the periphery of the circle; and we paint our faces with coloured powders; and we sing local songs; and we drink palm wine. And then we dance – and dance – and dance – children, men, women, most of them lepers, many of them with misshapen limbs, with missing limbs – dancing, believe it or not, for days on end! It is the most wonderful sight you have ever seen! (
Laughs
.) That palm wine! They dole it out in horns! You lose all sense of time!

Oh, yes, the Ryangans are a remarkable people: there is no distinction between the religious and the secular in their culture. And of course their capacity for fun, for laughing, for practical jokes – they’ve such open hearts! In some respects they’re not unlike us. You’d love them, Maggie. You should come back with me!

How did I get into all that? You must stop me telling these long stories. Exercise time! I’ll be back in ten minutes; and only last week it took me half an hour to do number four. You’ve done a great job with me, Kate. So please do keep nagging at me. (
He
moves
off
–
then
stops
.) It’s not Gilbert and Sullivan, is it?