Father of the Man (31 page)
Authors: Stephen Benatar
She wasn’t sure with what. Cry out? Disconcertingly, she became aware of where she was. In Woodborough Road. Yet why? And what did she want to cry out for? She felt it had something to do with a note. But after a minute she shook her head and turned back in the direction of home.
A note? She had the vague impression she had torn it up. Now, why had she done that? There were other things that faintly puzzled her. Had she or hadn’t she, for instance, also stamped on a Beach Boys record, in retaliation for…in retaliation for…? Ephraim had once used to sing her that song, hadn’t he?
God only knows what I’d be without you
…Meaningless.
The meaningless words whirled maddeningly inside her head.
She smiled, a little bleakly.
God only knows.
Then something very silly happened. For the first time in her life she looked in the wrong street for the house where she lived! Went up the wrong turning: the one which ran parallel to their own but was the one which preceded it!
Well, that was easily done, of course, especially when you were deep in thought. What a fool she was! Really, what a fool! She found the house—
found
the house, indeed!—but feeling suddenly, for some unaccountable reason, so extraordinarily tired, she couldn’t be bothered to search for her key…she simply put her finger to the bell…and kept it there…
A dog began to bark. Jean nodded.
Yes, somebody would let her in.
Part II
Hester Berg: A Play
CHARACTERS
HESTER BERG…aged 83, 53 and 19.
FLORA DRAPKIN, her daughter…aged 49 and 19…the same actress to play HESTER at the age of 19.
TONY DRAPKIN, Hester’s grandson…also 19…to be played by the same actor as:
HAROLD DRAPKIN, Tony’s father, Hester’s son-in-law…mid-twenties.
ELLEN COTTON, her sister…80.
MAX BERG, her husband…in his early forties…to be played by the same actor as:
WALTER DAVIS, her lodger…in his middle nineties.
MARY, her au pair…in her late twenties.
The play is in two acts—takes place, basically, in the summer of 1987; but incorporates flashbacks to 1957 and 1923.
ACT ONE
A Friday afternoon in June, 1987.
Sitting room of a top-floor flat in a mansion block in West Hampstead. Most of the furniture is old—including radiogram. Tea things are laid out on a table set against one wall.
HESTER—aged 83—is arranging flowers; flowers which include at least one red rose. She is slim, elegant, good-looking. She has her back to the door.
After a moment, TONY enters. He is dressed like an average student.
TONY | Hello, Gran. |
HESTER | (Slight start before turning, flower in hand) Hello, my darling. I didn’t hear you come in. |
TONY | (Crossing to kiss her) Don’t tell me you’re growing deaf in your old age! |
HESTER | (Her tone matching his in affection) When I get to my old age there’s no knowing what I may tell you. But for the present, Tony, I shall simply tell you this: I had my thoughts on loftier things than doorbells. You’re early, aren’t you? |
TONY | Tutorial cancelled. The bloke’s supposed to be ill but I reckon—this week—he wanted to have off |
He starts to wander round the room, communicating—to the audience—the feeling of tension he is doing his utmost to suppress.
TONY | (Cont.) You know one of the things I always like about this flat? That it stays true to the memories of my childhood. The curtains, pictures, ornaments. Even those cracks on the ceiling. |
HESTER | Is that your subtle way, Master Anthony Max Drapkin, of telling me it requires doing up?…If so, you’re probably right. |
TONY | No, I swear it. I just like the way it never changes. |
HESTER | And so do I. We often seem to think alike. No wonder you’re so wise. |
TONY | Clearly, I was born lucky. |
HESTER | (More serious for a moment) Oh, you were, darling! You were! If only I could have had the chances you have! To be at London University. |
TONY | They look all right to me. |
HESTER | Thank you. To recoup your energies, after such fulsome admiration, hadn’t you better take a chocolate? |
TONY | The cinnamon balls look good. |
HESTER | Well, only one. I made them for our tea. It would be a shame if you had nothing left to look forward to. |
TONY | Oh, I think I could handle it. So in that case may I take two? |
HESTER | No. |
TONY | Okay. Only testing. |
HESTER | (Finally leaving flowers) Anyhow, they’ll have to do. Next time round I’ll be a politician. Or a doctor. Or a philosopher. I have no yen to be a florist. |
TONY | Next time round I’ll be a millionaire. |
HESTER | It saddens me to find you have no standards. |
TONY | So, obviously, we don’t always think alike. |
HESTER | Whose fault is that? And whose misfortune? Though I must admit: if we agreed on absolutely everything life might lose a little of its savour. |
A knock on the door. MARY enters.
MARY | (Slight German accent) Excuse me, Mrs Berg. Is it time to put the kettle on? It’s a quarter past four. |
HESTER | Oh, I should think so, Mary. Mrs Drapkin said she’d be here by half-past—and she’s usually very punctual. |
MARY | Like you. |
HESTER | Yes, like mother like daughter. Not, unfortunately, so much like Mr Tony. |
TONY | What do you mean? I was extremely punctual. |
HESTER | Yes, I know. That’s what worries me. The time is out of joint. |
MARY | I don’t understand. Out of joint? |
HESTER | Oh…all to do with augurs and portents and ghosts on battlements! |
TONY | Well, now she understands completely. |
HESTER | Mary, it’s Shakespeare. |
TONY | (To MARY) “The time is out of joint; O cursed spite, That ever I was born to set it right!” Okay? Does that satisfy you? |
MARY | (Playful) Oh, yes, Mr Tony! Of course! Augurs…and portents…and ghosts? I don’t understand any of it. |
TONY | (Patient and straight-faced) Augurs were people who watched hens pecking at their grain and then solved everybody’s problems for them—advised them whom to marry and whatnot. A bit like agony aunts. Out of joint naturally describes a dislocated bone. And what was the other thing you seemed uncertain of? |
MARY | (Loving it) Oh, you’re both very cruel to make such fun of me. |
HESTER | Mary, ‘out of joint’ is a phrase difficult to explain—and you probably won’t be required to use it very often. Now why don’t you just run along to put on that kettle? |
MARY | Well, I may or I may not. I’ll see if I feel like it. |
But she goes—in high good humour—after laughingly wagging her finger.
HESTER | Oh, Tony, Tony, Tony! Why do you do these things to me? |
TONY | It was you who started it. You bring them on yourself. |
HESTER | What nonsense! |
The doorbell rings. HESTER doesn’t react.
TONY | That must be Mum. |
HESTER | Why? Did the bell go? |
TONY | You can hardly hear it at this end of the flat. |
HESTER | I must say, I was quite impressed just now. I was thinking that an augur was an omen, not the person who interpreted it. And as for the hens…You weren’t just making it up, were you? (TONY shakes his head) Where do you learn a thing like that? |
TONY | Search me. |
HESTER | Wouldn’t it be wonderful, to find out something new each day and to be able to retain it? |
The door opens. MARY shows in ELLEN COTTON. Like HESTER, ELLEN is slim. But she doesn’t quite possess her sense of style.
MARY | It’s Miss Cotton, Mrs Berg. Your sister. |
ELLEN | Thank you, Mary. I think it’s possible she may know who I am by now.(To HESTER and TONY) I’m the only one who sometimes wonders. Don’t tell me that it’s teatime? |
HESTER | (Her manner a degree chilly) Ellen! How nice. Yes, it is, as a matter of fact. |
ELLEN | I can’t dissemble. When I said don’t tell me, I really meant I hoped you would. (To TONY) I’ll swear you grow handsomer each day. Since that’s the case, I trust I get a kiss? Oh, I’m your great-aunt, by the way—I fear Mary must have forgotten. |
TONY | Well, I |
ELLEN | Oh…I only wish it were the truth. Or, at any rate, most of the men here in West Hampstead don’t seem to know about it yet. Will you spread the word? Naturally, I mean, just to the attractive ones. |
TONY | Yes, of course. (He kisses her) |
ELLEN | Were |
TONY | I wasn’t shown in. I said I could find my own way. (ELLEN pulls a face) Well, what are you complaining of? You got the preferential treatment. |
ELLEN | But only because she thought that—unaided—I most likely shouldn’t make it to the end of the corridor. And is it really preferential treatment, having to make small talk to Mary? |
HESTER | (Feeling excluded and sounding a little acerbic; to ELLEN) If you really wanted to be in Tony’s good books you could have quoted a line or two from |
ELLEN | The length of your corridor, I could have quoted a scene or two from |
TONY | And, anyway, when did any of you sisters object to making small talk? With practically anybody? |
ELLEN | Oh, I think Hester and I would always have preferred big talk. Much! But, of course, one can’t speak for the other four. Though I suspect that even in heaven they’re still at their happiest when trying on hats and airing charming banalities. |
HESTER | Ellen dear, would you really say that’s in the best of taste? It’s not even amusing. |
ELLEN | I suppose a lot of things in this world are neither particularly tasteful or amusing. |
HESTER | But we’re not called on to add to the sum of them. |
ELLEN | No, you’re right. And it was certainly patronizing. I take it all back. (To TONY) Isn’t your mama here? |
HESTER | Expected at any moment. Straight from the hairdresser’s. |
The doorbell rings.
ELLEN | Well, talk about coincidence! |
HESTER | Why? Have |
TONY | No, Gran. Mum’s arrived—from the sounds of it. |
HESTER | Oh, yes, of course. That was the doorbell, wasn’t it? |
ELLEN | I keep telling you you ought to get a hearing aid. |
HESTER | Nonsense. I’ve no need of a hearing aid. |
TONY | Yes—nonsense. Gran was never programmed to lose her faculties. |
ELLEN | In that case she must have slipped her creator a little something on the side. |
TONY | Wish I’d thought of doing the same. I wonder now if it’s too late. |
ELLEN | Either that or she may have thrown a tantrum. |
HESTER | The two of you are being absurd. And Tony, darling, do sit down. There’s something about you today. You’re giving me the fidgets. |
TONY | I’m sorry. |
He sits; immediately stands again as the door opens and FLORA comes in, saying, “Thank you, Mary.” FLORA at forty-nine is still a pretty woman—especially when her face lights up—but most of the time there is a subdued, almost a faded, air about her.
