Camera move 1
The best’s to come, you said, that last time. . . . Hurrying me into my coat. . . . Last I was favoured with from you. . . . Say it you now, Joe, no one’ll hear you. . . . Come on, Joe, no one can say it like you, say it again now and listen to yourself. . . . The best’s to come. . . . You were right for once. . . . In the end.
Camera move 2
You know that penny farthing hell you call your mind. . . . That’s where you think this is coming from, don’t you? . . . That’s where you heard your father. . . . Isn’t that what you told me? . . . Started in on you one June night and went on for years. . . . On and off. . . . Behind the eyes. . . . That’s how you were able to throttle him in the end. . . . Mental thuggee you called it. . . . One of your happiest fancies. . . . Mental thuggee. . . . Otherwise he’d be plaguing you yet. . . . Then your mother when her hour came. . . . “Look up, Joe, look up, we’re watching you.” . . . Weaker and weaker till you laid her too. . . . Others. . . . All the others. . . . Such love he got. . . . God knows why. . . . Pitying love. . . . None to touch it. . . . And look at him now. . . . Throttling the dead in his head.
Camera move 3
Anyone living love you now, Joe? . . . Anyone living sorry for you now? . . . That slut that comes on Saturday, you pay her, don’t you? . . . Penny a hoist tuppence as long as you like. . . . Watch yourself you don’t run short, Joe. . . . Ever think of that? . . . Eh Joe? . . . What it’d be if you ran out of us. . . . Not another soul to still. . . . Sit there in his stinking old wrapper hearing himself. . . . That lifelong adorer. . . . Weaker and weaker till not a gasp left there either. . . . Is it that you want? . . . Well preserved for his age and the silence of the grave. . . . That old paradise you were always harping on. . . . No Joe. . . . Not for the likes of us.
Camera move 4
I was strong myself when I started. . . . In on you. . . . Wasn’t I, Joe? . . . Normal strength. . . . Like those summer evenings in the Green. . . . In the early days. . . . Of our idyll. . . . When we sat watching the
ducks. . . . Holding hands exchanging vows. . . . How you admired my elocution! . . . Among other charms. . . . Voice like flint glass. . . . To borrow your expression. . . . Powerful grasp of language you had. . . . Flint glass. . . . You could have listened to it for ever. . . . And now this. . . . Squeezed down to this. . . . How much longer would you say? . . . Till the whisper. . . . You know. . . . When you can’t hear the words. . . . Just the odd one here and there. . . . That’s the worst. . . . Isn’t it, Joe? . . . Isn’t that what you told me. . . . Before we expire. . . . The odd word. . . . Straining to hear. . . . Why must you do that? . . . When you’re nearly home. . . . What matter then. . . . What we mean. . . . It should be the best. . . . Nearly home again. . . . Another stilled. . . . And it’s the worst. . . . Isn’t that what you said? . . . The whisper. . . . The odd word. . . . Straining to hear. . . . Brain tired squeezing. . . . It stops in the end. . . . You stop it in the end. . . . Imagine if you couldn’t. . . . Ever think of that? . . . If it went on. . . . The whisper in your head. . . . Me whispering at you in your head. . . . Things you can’t catch. . . . On and off. . . . Till you join us. . . . Eh Joe?
Camera move 5
How’s your Lord these days? . . . Still worth having? . . . Still lapping it up? . . . The passion of our Joe. . . . Wait till He starts talking to you. . . . When you’re done with yourself. . . . All your dead dead. . . . Sitting there in your foul old wrapper. . . . Very fair health for a man of your years. . . . Just that lump in your bubo. . . . Silence of the grave without the maggots. . . . To crown your labours. . . . Till one night. . . . “Thou fool thy soul.” . . . Put your thugs on that. . . . Eh Joe? . . . Ever think of that? . . . When He starts in on you. . . . When you’re done with yourself. . . . If you ever are.
Camera move 6
Yes, great love God knows why. . . . Even me. . . . But I found a better. . . . As I hope you heard. . . . Preferable in all respects. . . .
Kinder. . . . Stronger. . . . More intelligent. . . . Better looking. . . . Cleaner. . . . Truthful. . . . Faithful. . . . Sane. . . . Yes. . . . I did all right.
Camera move 7
But there was one didn’t. . . . You know the one I mean, Joe. . . . The green one. . . . The narrow one. . . . Always pale. . . . The pale eyes. . . . Spirit made light. . . . To borrow your expression. . . . The way they opened after. . . . Unique. . . . Are you with me now? . . . Eh Joe? . . . There was love for you. . . . The best’s to come, you said. . . . Bundling her into her Avoca sack. . . . Her fingers fumbling with the big horn buttons. . . . Ticket in your pocket for the first morning flight. . . . You’ve had her, haven’t you? . . . You’ve laid her? . . . Of course he has. . . . She went young. . . . No more old lip from her.
Camera move 8
Ever know what happened? . . . She didn’t say? . . . Just the announcement in the
Independent. . .
.“On Mary’s beads we plead her needs and in the Holy Mass.” . . . Will I tell you? . . . Not interested? . . . Well I will just the same. . . . I think you should know. . . . That’s right, Joe, squeeze away. . . . Don’t lose heart now. . . . When you’re nearly home. . . . I’ll soon be gone. . . . The last of them. . . . Unless that poor old slut loves you. . . . Then yourself. . . . That old bonfire. . . . Years of that stink. . . . Then the silence. . . . A dollop of that. . . . To crown all. . . . Till His Nibs. . . . One dirty winter night. . . . “Mud thou art.”
Camera move 9
All right. . . . Warm summer night. . . . All sleeping. . . . Sitting on the edge of her bed in her lavender slip. . . . You know the one. . . . Ah she knew you, heavenly powers! . . . Faint lap of sea through open window. . . . Gets up in the end and slips out as she is. . . . Moon. . . .
Stock. . . . Down the garden and under the viaduct. . . . Sees from the seaweed the tide is flowing. . . . Goes on down to the edge and lies down with her face in the wash. . . . Cut a long story short doesn’t work. . . . Gets up in the end sopping wet and back up to the house. . . . Gets out the Gillette. . . . The make you recommended for her body hair. . . . Back down the garden and under the viaduct. . . . Takes the blade from the holder and lies down at the edge on her side. . . . Cut another long story short doesn’t work either. . . . You know how she always dreaded pain. . . . Tears a strip from the slip and ties it round the scratch. . . . Gets up in the end and back up to the house. . . . Slip clinging the way wet silk will. . . . This all new to you, Joe? . . . Eh Joe? . . . Gets the tablets and back down the garden and under the viaduct. . . . Takes a few on the way. . . . Unconscionable hour by now. . . . Moon going off the shore behind the hill. . . . Stands a bit looking at the beaten silver. . . . Then starts along the edge to a place further down near the Rock. . . . Imagine what in her mind to make her do that. . . . Imagine. . . . Trailing her feet in the water like a child. . . . Takes a few more on the way. . . . Will I go on, Joe? . . . Eh Joe? . . . Lies down in the end with her face a few feet from the tide. . . . Clawing at the shingle now. . . . Has it all worked out this time. . . . Finishes the tube. . . . There’s love for you. . . . Eh Joe? . . . Scoops a little cup for her face in the stones. . . . The green one. . . . The narrow one. . . . Always pale. . . . The pale eyes. . . . The look they shed before. . . . The way they opened after. . . . Spirit made light. . . . Wasn’t that your description, Joe? . . .
[
Voice drops to whisper, almost inaudible except words in italics
.]
All right. . . . You’ve had the best. . . . Now
imagine
. . . . Before she goes. . . . Face in the cup. . . . Lips on a
stone. . .
. Taking Joe with her. . . . Light gone. . . .
“Joe Joe.”
. . . No sound. . . . To the
stones. . .
. Say it you now, no one’ll hear you. . . . Say “Joe” it parts the
lips. . . . Imagine
the hands. . . . The
solitaire
. . . . Against a
stone. . .
. Imagine the
eyes. . .
. Spiritlight. . . . Month of June. . . . What year of your Lord? . . .
Breasts
in the stones. . . . And the
hands. . .
. Before they
go. . . .
Imagine
the hands. . . . What are they at? . . . In the
stones
. . . .
[
Image fades, voice as before
.]
What are they fondling? . . . Till they go. . . .
There’s love for you
. . . . Isn’t it, Joe? . . . Wasn’t it, Joe? . . .
Eh Joe? . .
. Wouldn’t you say? . . . Compared to us. . . . Compared to Him. . . .
Eh Joe?
. . .
[
Voice and image out. End
.]
BREATH
Curtain
1. Faint light on stage littered with miscellaneous rubbish. Hold about five seconds
.
2. Faint brief cry and immediately inspiration and slow increase of light together reaching maximum together in about ten seconds. Silence and hold about five seconds
.
3. Expiration and slow decrease of light together reaching minimum together (light as in 1) in about ten seconds and immediately cry as before. Silence and hold about five seconds
.
Curtain
RUBBISH
No verticals, all scattered and lying.
CRY
Instant of recorded vagitus. Important that two cries be identical, switching on and off strictly synchronized light and breath.
BREATH
Amplified recording.
MAXIMUM LIGHT
Not bright. If 0 = dark and 10 = bright, light should move from about 3 to 6 and back.
NOT I
NOTE
Movement: this consists in simple sideways raising of arms from sides and their falling back, in a gesture of helpless compassion. It lessens with each recurrence till scarcely perceptible at third. There is just enough pause to contain it as Mouth recovers from vehement refusal to relinquish third person.
Stage in darkness but for Mouth, upstage audience right, about 8 feet above stage level, faintly lit from close-up and below, rest of face in shadow. Invisible microphone
.
Auditor, downstage audience left, tall standing figure, sex un determinable, enveloped from head to foot in loose black djellaba, with hood, fully faintly lit, standing on invisible podium about 4 feet high shown by attitude alone to be facing diagonally across stage intent on Mouth, dead still throughout but for four brief movements where indicated. See Note. As house lights down Mouth’s voice unintelligible behind curtain. House lights out. Voice continues unintelligible behind curtain, 10 seconds. With rise of curtain ad-libbing from text as required leading when curtain fully up and attention sufficient into:
MOUTH
| . . . out . . . into this world . . . this world . . . tiny little thing . . . before its time . . . in a godfor— . . . what? . . . girl? . . . yes . . . tiny little girl . . . into this . . . out into this . . . before her
time . . . godforsaken hole called . . . called . . . no matter . . . parents unknown . . . unheard of . . . he having vanished . . . thin air . . . no sooner buttoned up his breeches . . . she similarly . . . eight months later . . . almost to the tick . . . so no love . . . spared that . . . no love such as normally vented on the . . . speechless infant . . . in the home . . . no . . . nor indeed for that matter any of any kind . . . no love of any kind . . . at any subsequent stage . . . so typical affair . . . nothing of any note till coming up to sixty when— . . . what? . . seventy? . . . good God! . . . coming up to seventy . . . wandering in a field . . . looking aimlessly for cowslips . . . to make a ball . . . a few steps then stop . . . stare into space . . . then on . . . a few more . . . stop and stare again . . . so on . . . drifting around . . . when suddenly . . . gradually . . . all went out . . . all that early April morning light . . . and she found herself in the— . . . what? . . . who? . . . no! . . . she! . . . [
pause and movement 1
] . . . found herself in the dark . . . and if not exactly . . . insentient . . . insentient . . . for she could still hear the buzzing . . . so-called . . . in the ears . . . and a ray of light came and went . . . came and went . . . such as the moon might cast . . . drifting . . . in and out of cloud . . . but so dulled . . . feeling . . . feeling so dulled . . . she did not know . . . what position she was in . . . imagine! . . . what position she was in! . . . whether standing . . . or sitting . . . but the brain— . . . what? . . . kneeling? . . . yes . . . whether standing . . . or sitting . . . or kneeling . . . but the brain— . . . what? . . . lying? . . . yes . . . whether standing . . . or sitting . . . or kneeling . . . or lying . . . but the brain still . . . still . . . in a way . . . for her first thought was . . . oh long after . . . sudden flash . . . brought up as she had been to believe . . . with the other waifs . . . in a merciful . . . [
Brief laugh
.] . . . God . . . [
Good laugh
.] . . . first thought was . . . oh long after . . . sudden flash . . . she was being punished . . . for her sins . . . a number of which then . . . further proof if proof were needed . . . flashed through her mind . . . one after
another . . . then dismissed as foolish . . . oh long after . . . this thought dismissed . . . as she suddenly realized . . . gradually realized . . . she was not suffering . . . imagine! . . . not suffering! . . . indeed could not remember . . . off-hand . . . when she had suffered less . . . unless of course she was . . .
meant
to be suffering . . . ha! . . .
thought
to be suffering . . . just as the odd time . . . in her life . . . when clearly intended to be having pleasure . . . she was in fact . . . having none . . . not the slightest . . . in which case of course . . . that notion of punishment . . . for some sin or other . . . or for the lot . . . or no particular reason . . . for its own sake . . . thing she understood perfectly . . . that notion of punishment . . . which had first occurred to her . . . brought up as she had been to believe . . . with the other waifs . . . in a merciful . . . [
Brief laugh
.] . . . God . . . [
Good laugh
.] . . . first occurred to her . . . then dismissed . . . as foolish . . . was perhaps not so foolish . . . after all . . . so on . . . all that . . . vain reasonings . . . till another thought . . . oh long after . . . sudden flash . . . very foolish really but— . . . what? . . . the buzzing? . . . yes . . . all the time the buzzing . . . so-called . . . in the ears . . . though of course actually . . . not in the ears at all . . . in the skull . . . dull roar in the skull . . . and all the time this ray or beam . . . like moonbeam . . . but probably not . . . certainly not . . . always the same spot . . . now bright . . . now shrouded . . . but always the same spot . . . as no moon could . . . no . . . no moon . . . just all part of the same wish to . . . torment . . . though actually in point of fact . . . not in the least . . . not a twinge . . . so far . . . ha! . . . so far . . . this other thought then . . . oh long after . . . sudden flash . . . very foolish really but so like her . . . in a way . . . that she might do well to . . . groan . . . on and off. . . writhe she could not . . . as if in actual agony . . . but could not . . . could not bring her self . . . some flaw in her make-up . . . incapable of deceit . . . or the machine . . . more likely the machine . . . so disconnected . . . never got the message . . . or
powerless to respond . . . like numbed . . . couldn’t make the sound . . . not any sound . . . no sound of any kind . . . no screaming for help for example . . . should she feel so inclined . . . scream . . . [
screams
] . . . then listen . . . [
silence
] . . . scream again . . . [
screams again
] . . . then listen again . . . [
silence
] . . . no . . . spared that . . . all silent as the grave . . . no part— . . . what? . . . the buzzing? . . . yes . . . all silent but for the buzzing . . . so-called . . . no part of her moving . . . that she could feel . . . just the eyelids . . . presumably . . . on and off. . . shut out the light . . . reflex they call it . . . no feeling of any kind . . . but the lids . . . even best of times . . . who feels them? . . . opening . . . shutting . . . all that moisture . . . but the brain still . . . still sufficiently . . . oh very much so! . . . at this stage . . . in control . . . under control . . . to question even this . . . for on that April morning . . . so it reasoned . . . that April morning . . . she fixing with her eye . . . a distant bell . . . as she hastened towards it . . . fixing it with her eye . . . lest it elude her . . . had not all gone out . . . all that light . . . of itself . . . without any . . . any . . . on her part . . . so on . . . so on it reasoned . . . vain questionings . . . and all dead still . . . sweet silent as the grave . . . when suddenly . . . gradually . . . she realiz— . . . what? . . . the buzzing? . . . yes . . . all dead still but for the buzzing . . . when suddenly she realized . . . words were— . . . what? . . . who? . . . no! . . . she! . . . [
pause and movement 2
] . . . realized . . . words were coming . . . imagine! . . . words were coming . . . a voice she did not recognize . . . at first . . . so long since it had sounded . . . then finally had to admit . . . could be none other . . . than her own . . . certain vowel sounds . . . she had never heard . . . elsewhere . . . so that people would stare . . . the rare occasions . . . once or twice a year . . . always winter some strange reason . . . stare at her uncomprehending . . . and now this stream . . . steady stream . . . she who had never . . . on the contrary . . . practically speechless . . . all her days . . . how she survived! . . .
even shopping . . . out shopping . . . busy shopping centre . . . supermart . . . just hand in the list . . . with the bag . . . old black shopping bag . . . then stand there waiting . . . any length of time . . . middle of the throng . . . motionless . . . staring into space . . . mouth half open as usual . . . till it was back in her hand . . . the bag back in her hand . . . then pay and go . . . not as much as goodbye . . . how she survived! . . . and now this stream . . . not catching the half of it . . . not the quarter . . . no idea . . . what she was saying . . . imagine! . . . no idea what she was saying! . . . till she began trying to . . . delude herself . . . it was not hers at all . . . not her voice at all . . . and no doubt would have . . . vital she should . . . was on the point . . . after long efforts . . . when suddenly she felt . . . gradually she felt . . . her lips moving . . . imagine! . . . her lips moving! . . . as of course till then she had not . . . and not alone the lips . . . the cheeks . . . the jaws . . . the whole face . . . all those— . . . what? . . . the tongue? . . . yes . . . the tongue in the mouth . . . all those contortions without which . . . no speech possible . . . and yet in the ordinary way . . . not felt at all . . . so intent one is . . . on what one is saying . . . the whole being . . . hanging on its words . . . so that not only she had . . . had she . . . not only had she . . . to give up . . . admit hers alone . . . her voice alone . . . but this other awful thought . . . oh long after . . . sudden flash . . . even more awful if possible . . . that feeling was coming back . . . imagine! . . . feeling coming back! . . . starting at the top . . . then working down . . . the whole machine . . . but no . . . spared that . . . the mouth alone . . . so far . . . ha! . . . so far . . . then thinking . . . oh long after . . . sudden flash . . . it can’t go on . . . all this . . . all that . . . steady stream . . . straining to hear . . . make something of it . . . and her own thoughts . . . make something of them . . . all— . . . what? . . . the buzzing? . . . yes . . . all the time the buzzing . . . so-called . . . all that together . . . imagine! . . . whole body like gone . . . just the mouth . . . lips . . . cheeks . . .
jaws . . . never— . . . what? . . . tongue? . . . yes . . . lips . . . cheeks . . . jaws . . . tongue . . . never still a second . . . mouth on fire . . . stream of words . . . in her ear . . . practically in her ear . . . not catching the half . . . not the quarter . . . no idea what she’s saying . . . imagine! . . . no idea what she’s saying! . . . and can’t stop . . . no stopping it . . . she who but a moment before . . . but a moment! . . . could not make a sound . . . no sound of any kind . . . now can’t stop . . . imagine! . . . can’t stop the stream . . . and the whole brain begging . . . something begging in the brain . . . begging the mouth to stop . . . pause a moment . . . if only for a moment . . . and no response . . . as if it hadn’t heard . . . or couldn’t . . . couldn’t pause a second . . . like maddened . . . all that together . . . straining to hear . . . piece it together . . . and the brain . . . raving away on its own . . . trying to make sense of it . . . or make it stop . . . or in the past . . . dragging up the past . . . flashes from all over . . . walks mostly . . . walking all her days . . . day after day . . . a few steps then stop . . . stare into space . . . then on . . . a few more . . . stop and stare again . . . so on . . . drifting around . . . day after day . . . or that time she cried . . . the one time she could remember . . . since she was a baby . . . must have cried as a baby . . . perhaps not . . . not essential to life . . . just the birth cry to get her going . . . breathing . . . then no more till this . . . old hag already . . . sitting staring at her hand . . . where was it? . . . Croker’s Acres . . . one evening on the way home . . . home! . . . a little mound in Croker’s Acres . . . dusk . . . sitting staring at her hand . . . there in her lap . . . palm upward . . . suddenly saw it wet . . . the palm . . . tears presumably . . . hers presumably . . . no one else for miles . . . no sound . . . just the tears . . . sat and watched them dry . . . all over in a second . . . or grabbing at straw . . . the brain . . . flickering away on its own . . . quick grab and on . . . nothing there . . . on to the next . . . bad as the voice . . . worse . . . as little sense . . . all that together . . . can’t— . . . what? . . . the
buzzing? . . . yes . . . all the time the buzzing . . . dull roar like falls . . . and the beam . . . flickering on and off. . . starting to move around . . . like moonbeam but not . . . all part of the same . . . keep an eye on that too . . . corner of the eye . . . all that together . . . can’t go on . . . God is love . . . she’ll be purged . . . back in the field . . . morning sun . . . April . . . sink face down in the grass . . . nothing but the larks . . . so on . . . grabbing at the straw . . . straining to hear . . . the odd word . . . make some sense of it . . . whole body like gone . . . just the mouth . . . like maddened . . . and can’t stop . . . no stopping it . . . something she— . . . something she had to— . . . what? . . . who? . . . no! . . . she! . . . [
pause and movement 3
] . . . something she had to— . . . what? . . . the buzzing? . . . yes . . . all the time the buzzing . . . dull roar . . . in the skull . . . and the beam . . . ferreting around . . . painless . . . so far . . . ha! . . . so far . . . then thinking . . . oh long after . . . sudden flash . . . perhaps something she had to . . . had to . . . tell . . . could that be it? . . . something she had to . . . tell . . . tiny little thing . . . before its time . . . godforsaken hole . . . no love . . . spared that . . . speechless all her days . . . practically speechless . . . how she survived! . . . that time in court . . . what had she to say for herself . . . guilty or not guilty . . . stand up woman . . . speak up woman . . . stood there staring into space . . . mouth half open as usual . . . waiting to be led away . . . glad of the hand on her arm . . . now this . . . something she had to tell . . . could that be it? . . . something that would tell . . . how it was . . . how she— . . . what? . . . had been? . . . yes . . . something that would tell how it had been . . . how she had lived . . . lived on and on . . . guilty or not . . . on and on . . . to be sixty . . . something she— . . . what? . . . seventy? . . . good God! . . . on and on to be seventy . . . something she didn’t know herself . . . wouldn’t know if she heard . . . then forgiven . . . God is love . . . tender mercies . . . new every morning . . . back in the field . . . April morning . . . face in the
grass . . . nothing but the larks . . . pick it up there . . . get on with it from there . . . another few— . . . what? . . . not that? . . . nothing to do with that? . . . nothing she could tell? . . . all right . . . nothing she could tell . . . try something else . . . think of something else . . . oh long after . . . sudden flash . . . not that either . . . all right . . . something else again . . . so on . . . hit on it in the end . . . think everything keep on long enough . . . then forgiven . . . back in the— . . . what? . . . not that either? . . . nothing to do with that either? . . . nothing she could think? . . . all right . . . nothing she could tell . . . nothing she could think . . . nothing she— . . . what? . . . who? . . . no! . . . she! . . . [
|
