The Tragedy of Mister Morn (15 page)

what the point was of your standing guard

in the street …

EDMIN:

I remember, remember

only the curtain in your tormenting window!

You swam past in the embraces of another …

In the snowstorm I cried …

MIDIA:

How funny you are …

All dishevelled … Let me smooth your hair!

There. Now do my fingers laugh? Leave me …

oh, leave me … don’t …

EDMIN:

My happiness … allow me to …

just your lips … just touch … like touching fluff,

the wingbeat of a butterfly … allow me … happiness …

MIDIA:

But no … wait … we’re by the window … the gardener …

MIDIA:

My little one … don’t breathe like that … Wait,

show me your eyes. Like that, closer … closer …

My soul would do nothing but bask and swim

in their soft darkness … Wait … more quietly …

later … There now! My hair comb’s slipped …

EDMIN:

My life,

my love …

MIDIA:

You are so little … So, so

little … You are a silly little boy …

What, did you not think I could kiss that way?

Wait, you will have time yet, for you and I

will leave for some enormous, noisy city

and will dine on the rooftop … You know,

below us, in the dark, will be the whole city,

all in lights; coolness, night … The rosy

reflection of a glass on the tablecloth … And

a frenzied fiddler, now all hunched up, now

raising his fiddle to the heavens! Will you

take me away? Will you? Ah … shuffling …

let me go … it’s him … move away …

[
MISTER MORN
enters, in a dark robe, dishevelled
.]

MORN:

Night? Day? I do not notice the shift.

Morning is a continuation of sleeplessness.

My temples ache. As though someone has pressed,

screwed into my head a cast-iron cube.

Today I shall take coffee without milk …

[
Pause
.]

Again, the newspapers are scattered all over

the place! Why … you are cheerless, Edmin! …

How astonishing: I need only enter

and immediately there are long faces—

like shadows in the evening sun … Strange …

MIDIA:

It is a foul spring …

MORN:

I am to blame.

MIDIA:

… And the news is dreadful …

MORN:

And I am to blame

for that too, is that not so?

MIDIA:

The city burns.

Everything has gone mad. I don’t know

how it will end … Yet they say the King’s

not dead, but is walled up underground

by the rebels …

MORN:

Eh, Midia, that will do!

You know, I will forbid the newspapers

to be brought. I have no peace from these

conjectures; rumours, news of bloodshed

and idle gossip. I’ve had enough! Trust me,

Midia, you need not try to be clever

in front of me … Be bored, anguished, change

your hairstyle, your dresses, lengthen your eyes

with a blue line, look in the mirror—but don’t

try to be clever … What’s wrong with you, Edmin?

EDMIN
[
rises from the table
]:

I can’t …

MORN:

What’s wrong with him? What’s wrong with him?

Where are you going? It’s damp on the terrace …

MIDIA:

Leave him. I shall tell you everything. Listen,

I too can take no more. I am in love

with him. I am leaving with him. You will

get used to it. Really, you don’t need me.

We would torment each other. Life calls …

I need happiness …

MORN:

I understand—where

is the sugar bowl? … Ah, here it is.

Under the napkin.

MIDIA:

So then, you do not wish

to listen? …

MORN:

No, on the contrary—

I am listening … grasping, comprehending,

what more can I do? Do you wish to leave

today?

MIDIA:

Yes.

MORN:

I think it’s about time

you started packing.

MIDIA:

Yes. Don’t hurry me.

MORN:

According to the rules of separation,

you must still throw over your shoulder the phrase:

“I curse the day …”

MIDIA:

You never loved … You never

loved! … Yes, I have the right to curse

that faithless day, when your laugh entered

my quiet house … Why did you …

MORN:

By the way,

tell me, Midia, did you write to your husband

from here?

MIDIA:

I … I thought—it was not worth

reporting … Yes, I wrote to my husband.

MORN:

What exactly? Look me in the eyes.

MIDIA:

Nothing,

really … That I ask forgiveness, that you are

here with me, that I won’t go back to him …

that it rains here …

MORN:

And you sent your address?

MIDIA:

Yes, I think … Asked him to send my fan …

I forgot it there, at home …

MORN:

And when

did you send it?

MIDIA:

About two weeks ago.

MORN:

Wonderful …

MIDIA:

I’ll go … I need to … my things …

[
Leaves to the right
.
MORN
is alone. Through the glass door, on the terrace, the motionless back of
EDMIN
can be seen
.]

MORN:

Wonderful … Ganus, having received the letter,

will remind me of my debt. He’ll force his way

out of the haze of the maddened city, out

of the mangled fairy tale, here, to the grey

south, into my hollow, humdrum existence.

Not long to wait. He must be on his way.

We shall meet once more, and, handing me

the pistol, he, clenched and pale, will demand

that I should kill myself, and I shall, perhaps,

be ready: death ripens in solitude …

I am

amazed … Life has forsaken me so abruptly.

But I mustn’t think of my homeland,—

or I’ll end up rushing around a dungeon

with padded mattresses instead of walls and

with the number of madness above the door …

I don’t believe it … How else to live? Edmin!

Come here! … Edmin, do you hear? Your hand,

give me your hand … My faithful friend, thank you.

EDMIN:

What can I say? Not blood but a cold shame

flows through my veins. I feel that you must now

look into my eyes as one looks at those

dirty pictures, that for a tuppence you can

gawp at through a peep-hole … My heart is full

of shame …

MORN:

No, it’s nothing … I am only astonished …

Death is an astonishment. In life, too,

we are sometimes astonished: the ocean, the colour

of a cloud, the twist of fate … It is

as though I am standing on my head. I see

everything the way, they say, that babies see it:

the candle flame, tip pointing downwards …

EDMIN:

My sovereign, what can I say to you? You

betrayed a kingdom for a woman, I

betrayed a friendship for a woman—the very

same one … Forgive me. I am only human,

my sovereign …

MORN:

And I, I am Mister Morn—

that is all; an empty space, an unstressed

syllable in a poem without rhyme.

Oh, no one would have been unfaithful

to the King … But—to Mister Morn …

You should go. I have understood—this

is retribution. I’m not angry. But leave.

It is hard for me to talk with you. Only

a moment, and it is as though one has

shaken the coloured glass inside a tube,

glanced through it—and life has changed …

Farewell. Be happy.

EDMIN:

I will come back to you,

if you but call …

MORN:

I will meet you only

in heaven. No earlier. There, in the shade

of an olive tree, I’ll introduce you to Brutus.

Go …

[
EDMIN
leaves
.]

MORN
[
alone
]:

Well. It’s over.

[
Pause. A
SERVANT
enters
.]

MORN:

The table needs

to be cleared. Hurry up … Is the carriage

ordered?

SERVANT:

Yes, sir.

MORN:

Tomorrow morning,

have the barber come from the town—

the moustached, silent one. That is all.

[
The
SERVANT
leaves. Pause
.
MORN
looks out of the window
.]

MORN:

The sky

is murky. The flowers tremble in the garden …

The artificial grotto blackens: the rain

stretches out in strings against the black …

Only one thing is left now: to await

Ganus. My soul is almost ready. How

the wet greenery shines … The rain quivers

as though in senile drowsiness … The house

meanwhile has awoken … The servants bustle …

The trunks clatter … And here she is …

[
Enter
MIDIA
with an open suitcase
.]

MORN:

Midia,

are you happy?

MIDIA:

Yes. Move. I need

to pack these …