Complete Works of James Joyce (319 page)

619

BERTHA

(Points to the study.)
Dick is in there.

ROBERT

(Drops her hand.)
In that case children be good.

BERTHA

Where are you going?

ROBERT

To foreign parts. That is, to my cousin Jack Justice,
alias
Doggy Justice, in Surrey. He has a nice country place there and the air is mild.

BERTHA

Why are you going?

ROBERT

(Looks at her in silence.)
Can you not guess one reason?

BERTHA

On account of me?

ROBERT

Yes. It is not pleasant for me to remain here just now.

BERTHA

(Sits down helplessly.)
But this is cruel of you, Robert. Cruel to me and to him also.

ROBERT

Has he asked... what happened?

BERTHA

(Joining her hands in despair.)
No. He refuses to ask me anything. He says he will never know.

ROBERT

(Nods gravely.)
Richard is right there. He is always right.

BERTHA

But, Robert, you must speak to him.

ROBERT

What am I to say to him?

BERTHA

The truth! Everything!

ROBERT

(Reflects.)
No, Bertha. I am a man speaking to a man. I cannot tell him everything.

BERTHA

He will believe that you are going away because you are afraid to face him after last night.

ROBERT

(After a pause.)
Well, I am not a coward any more than he. I will see him.

BERTHA

(Rises.)
I will call him.

ROBERT

(Catching her hands.)
Bertha! What happened last night? What is the truth that I am to tell?
(He gazes earnestly into her eyes.)
Were you mine in that sacred night of love? Or have I dreamed it?

620

BERTHA

(Smiles faintly.)
Remember your dream of me. You dreamed that I was yours last night.

ROBERT

And that is the truth — a dream? That is what I am to tell?

BERTHA

Yes.

ROBERT

(Kisses both her hands.)
Bertha!
(In a softer voice.)
In all my life only that dream is real. I forget the rest.
(He kisses her hands again.)
And now I can tell him the truth. Call him.

(Bertha goes to the door of Richard’s study and knocks. There is no answer. She knocks again.)

BERTHA

Dick!
(There is no answer.)
Mr Hand is here. He wants to speak to you, to say goodbye. He is going away.
(There is no answer. She beats her hand loudly on the panel of the door and calls in an alarmed voice.)
Dick! Answer me!

(Richard Rowan comes in from the study. He comes at once to Robert but does not hold out his hand.)

RICHARD

(Calmly.)
I thank you for your kind article about me. Is it true that you have come to say goodbye?

ROBERT

There is nothing to thank me for, Richard. Now and always I am your friend. Now more than ever before. Do you believe me, Richard?

(Richard sits down on a chair and buries his face in his hands. Bertha and Robert gaze at each other in silence. Then she turns away and goes out quietly on the right. Robert goes towards Richard and stands near him, resting his hands on the back of a chair, looking down at him. There is a long silence. A fishwoman is heard crying out as she passes along the road outside.)

THE FISHWOMAN

Fresh Dublin bay herrings! Fresh Dublin bay herrings! Dublin bay herrings!

621

ROBERT

(Quietly.)
I will tell you the truth, Richard. Are you listening?

RICHARD

(Raises his face and leans back to listen.)
Yes.

(Robert sits on the chair beside him. The fishwoman is heard calling out farther away.)

THE FISHWOMAN

Fresh herrings! Dublin bay herrings!

ROBERT

I failed, Richard. That is the truth. Do you believe me?

RICHARD

I am listening.

ROBERT

I failed. She is yours, as she was nine years ago, when you met her first.

RICHARD

When we met her first, you mean.

ROBERT

Yes.
(He looks down for some moments.)
Shall I go on?

RICHARD

Yes.

ROBERT

She went away. I was left alone — for the second time. I went to the vicechancellor’s house and dined. I said you were ill and would come another night. I made epigrams new and old — that one about the statues also. I drank claret cup. I went to my office and wrote my article. Then...

RICHARD

Then?

ROBERT

Then I went to a certain nightclub. There were men there — and also women. At least, they looked like women. I danced with one of them. She asked me to see her home. Shall I go on?

RICHARD

Yes.

ROBERT

I saw her home in a cab. She lives near Donnybrook. In the cab took place what the subtle Duns Scotus calls a death of the spirit. Shall I go on?

RICHARD

Yes.

ROBERT

She wept. She told me she was the divorced wife of a barrister. I offered her a sovereign as she told me she was short of money. She would not take it and wept very much. Then she drank some melissa water from a little bottle which she had in her satchel. I saw her enter her house. Then I walked home. In my room I found that my coat was all stained with the melissa water. I had no luck even with my coats yesterday: that was the second one. The idea came to me then to change my suit and go away by the morning boat. I packed my valise and went to bed. I am going away by the next train to my cousin, Jack Justice, in Surrey. Perhaps for a fortnight. Perhaps longer. Are you disgusted?

622

RICHARD

Why did you not go by the boat?

ROBERT

I slept it out.

RICHARD

You intended to go without saying goodbye — without coming here?

ROBERT

Yes.

RICHARD

Why?

ROBERT

My story is not very nice, is it?

RICHARD

But you have come.

ROBERT

Bertha sent me a message to come.

RICHARD

But for that...?

ROBERT

But for that I should not have come.

RICHARD

Did it strike you that if you had gone without coming here I should have understood it — in my own way?

ROBERT

Yes, it did.

RICHARD

What, then, do you wish me to believe?

ROBERT

I wish you to believe that I failed. That Bertha is yours now as she was nine years ago, when you — when we — met her first.

RICHARD

Do you want to know what I did?

ROBERT

No.

RICHARD

I came home at once.

ROBERT

Did you hear Bertha return?

RICHARD

No. I wrote all the night. And thought.
(Pointing to the study.)
In there. Before dawn I went out and walked the strand from end to end.

623

ROBERT

(Shaking his head.)
Suffering. Torturing yourself.

RICHARD

Hearing voices about me. The voices of those who say they love me.

ROBERT

(Points to the door on the right.)
One. And mine?

RICHARD

Another still.

ROBERT

(Smiles and touches his forehead with his right forefinger.)
True. My interesting but somewhat melancholy cousin. And what did they tell you?

RICHARD

They told me to despair.

ROBERT

A queer way of showing their love, I must say! And will you despair?

RICHARD

(Rising.)
No.

(A noise is heard at the window. Archie’s face is seen flattened against one of the panes. He is heard calling.)

ARCHIE

Open the window! Open the window!

ROBERT

(Looks at Richard.)
Did you hear his voice, too, Richard, with the others — out there on the strand? Your son’s voice.
(Smiling.)
Listen! How full it is of despair!

ARCHIE

Open the window, please, will you?

ROBERT

Perhaps, there, Richard, is the freedom we seek — you in one way, I in another. In him and not in us. Perhaps...

RICHARD

Perhaps...?

ROBERT

I said
perhaps.
I would say almost surely if...

RICHARD

If what?

ROBERT

(With a faint smile.)
If he were mine.

(He goes to the window and opens it. Archie scrambles in.)

ROBERT

Like yesterday — eh?

624

ARCHIE

Good morning, Mr Hand.
(He runs to Richard and kisses him:) Buon giorno, babbo.

RICHARD

Buon giorno,
Archie.

ROBERT

And where were you, my young gentleman?

ARCHIE

Out with the milkman. I drove the horse. We went to Booterstown.
(He takes off his cap and throws it on a chair.)
I am very hungry.

ROBERT