Books: Night Must Fall

W >> Williams, Emlyn >> Night Must Fall

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

OLIVIA: It doesn't interest me very much what I look like.

DAN: Don't you believe it.... (_Surveying the shavings in the
hearth_) Tch!... Clumsy.... (_Looking round, and seeing a
newspaper lying on the table_) Ah....

_He crosses to the table.

(Smiling, with the suspicion of a mock-bow_) Excuse me.... (_He
unfolds the newspaper on the table and begins to whittle the stick over
it_.)

OLIVIA: You're very conceited, aren't you?

DAN (_reassuringly_): Yes....

OLIVIA: And you _are_ acting all the time, aren't you?

DAN (_staring at her, as if astonished_): Actin'? Actin' what?
(_Leaning over the table, on both arms_) Look at the way I can
look you in the eyes. I'll stare you out....

OLIVIA (_staring into his eyes_): I have a theory it's the
criminals who _can_ look you in the eyes, and the honest people
who blush and look away.

DAN (_smiling_): Oh....

OLIVIA (_after a pause, challenging_): It's a very blank look,
though, isn't it?

DAN (_smiling_): Is it?

OLIVIA: You are acting, aren't you?

DAN (_after a pause, in a whisper, almost joyfully_): Yes!

OLIVIA (_fascinated_): And what are you like when you stop acting?

DAN: I dunno, it's so long since I stopped.

OLIVIA: But when you're alone?

DAN: Then I act more than ever I do.

OLIVIA: Why?

DAN: I dunno; 'cause I like it.... (_Breaking the scene, pulling a
chair round to the table_) Now what d'ye say if _I_ ask a
question or two for a change? (_Sitting in the chair facing her_)
Just for a change.... Why can't you take a bit of an interest in some
other body but me?

OLIVIA (_taken aback_): I'm not interested in you. Only you don't
talk. That's bound to make people wonder.

DAN: I can talk a lot sometimes. A drop o' drink makes a power o'
difference to me. (_Chuckling_) You'd be surprised.... Ah....

_He returns to his work._

OLIVIA: I wonder if I would....

DAN: I know you would....

OLIVIA: I think I can diagnose you all right.

DAN: Carry on.

OLIVIA: You haven't any feelings ... at all....

_He looks slowly up at her. She has struck home._

But you live in a world of your own.... A world of your own
imagination.

DAN: I don't understand so very well, not bein' so very liter-er-airy.

OLIVIA: You follow me perfectly well.

_He shrugs his shoulders, laughs, and goes on whittling._

DAN: D'you still think there's been a bit o' dirty work?

OLIVIA: I don't know what to think now. I suppose not.

DAN (_intent on his work, his back to the audience_):
Disappointed?

OLIVIA: What on earth do you mean?

DAN: Disappointed?

OLIVIA (_laughing, in spite of herself_): Yes, I suppose I am.

DAN: Why?

OLIVIA (_the tension at last relaxed_): Oh, I don't know....
Because nothing much has ever happened to me, and it's a dull day, and
it's the depths of the country.... I don't know....

_A piercing scream from the bottom of the garden. A pause._

MRS. BRAMSON (_shrieking from the other side of the house_):
Danny!... Danny!

_The clatter of footsteps in the garden_. DORA _runs in from the
hall, breathless and terrified._

DORA: They're diggin' ... in the rubbish-pit ...

OLIVIA: Well?

DORA: There's something sticking out....

OLIVIA: What?

DORA: A hand ... Somebody's hand!... Oh, Miss Grayne ... somebody's
hand....

_She runs whimpering into the kitchen, as_ OLIVIA _rises and
runs to the left window and looks out._

MRS. BRAMSON'S VOICE (_calling off_): Danny!

DAN _rises slowly, his back to the audience._

OLIVIA _turns and suddenly sees him. Horror grows in her face.

The blare of music. The lights dim out._

SCENE II

_The music plays in darkness for a few bars, then the curtain rises
again. The music fades away.

Late afternoon, two days later._ OLIVIA _is seated above the table
snipping long cuttings from newspapers and pasting them into a ledger.
A knock at the front door. She starts nervously. Another knock._
MRS. TERENCE _comes in from the kitchen carrying a smoothing-
iron._

MRS. TERENCE: If it's them police again, I'll bash their helmets in
with this. If it lands me three months, I will.

OLIVIA: They're from Scotland Yard, and they don't wear helmets.

MRS. TERENCE: Then they're going to get 'urt.... (_Going into the
hall_) I can tell by their looks what they think. And they better
not think it, neither.

OLIVIA: And what do they think?

MRS. TERENCE (_over her shoulder_): They think it's me. I know
they think it's me.

_She goes into the hall and opens the front door._

HUBERT (_outside_): Good afternoon, Mrs. Terence.

MRS. TERENCE: Oh ... come in, sir. (_Coming back into the room_)
It's a civilian for a change.

_She is followed by_ HUBERT.

HUBERT (_to_ OLIVIA): I say, this is all getting pretty terrible,
isn't it?

OLIVIA: Yes, terrible.

MRS. TERENCE: Oh, terrible, terrible. There's one word for it; it's
terrible. Forty-eight hours since they found 'er. They'll never get 'im
now.

HUBERT: Terrible....

MRS. TERENCE: There was another charabanc load just after two o'clock.
All standin' round the rubbish-'cap eatin' sandwiches. Sensation,
that's what it is.

OLIVIA: Would you like some food, Hubert?

HUBERT: Well, I--

MRS. TERENCE: They're still looking for the 'ead.

HUBERT (_to_ OLIVIA, _with a slight grimace_): No, thanks. I
had lunch.

MRS. TERENCE: Mangled, she was, mangled.... Did you see your name in
the _Express_, sir?

HUBERT: I--er--did catch a glimpse of it, yes.

MRS. TERENCE: Little did you think, sir, when you was digging that pit
for my rubbish, eh? 'E may 'ave been _watchin'_ you digging it ...
ooh! I have to sit in my kitchen and think about it.

HUBERT: Then why don't you leave?

MRS. TERENCE (_indignantly_): How can I leave, with the whole
village waitin' on me to tell 'em the latest? (_Going towards the
kitchen_) I 'eard 'er 'ead must have been off at one stroke. One
stroke....

HUBERT: Really.

MRS. TERENCE (_turning at the door_): She wasn't interfered with,
though.

_She goes into the kitchen._

HUBERT: How they all love it.... How's the old lady bearing up in the
old invalid chair, eh?

OLIVIA: She's bursting out of it with health. And loving it more than
anybody. This is my latest job--a press-cutting book. There was a
picture of her in the _Chronicle_ yesterday; she bought twenty-six
copies.

HUBERT (_taking his pipe out_): She'll get to believe she did it
herself in the end.... Is she in?

OLIVIA: She's gone over to Breakerly to interview a local paper.

HUBERT: The lad pushing the go-cart?... He's the devoted son all
right, isn't he?

OLIVIA (_after a pause_): I don't talk to him much.

HUBERT: Nice fellow. I've thought a lot about that prying into his
things--pretty bad show, really, you know. (_Going to the left
window_) I wonder if they'll ever nab him?

OLIVIA (_with a start_): What do you mean?

HUBERT: The fellow who did it.... Wonder what he's doing now.

OLIVIA: I wonder.

HUBERT: Damn clever job, you know, quietly.... That was a rum touch,
finding that broken lipstick in the rubbish-heap.... You know, the fact
they still have no idea where this woman's head is----

OLIVIA (_convulsively_): Don't....

HUBERT: Sorry.

OLIVIA (_after a pause_): It's a bit of a strain.

HUBERT (_earnestly_): Then why don't you leave?

OLIVIA: I--I couldn't afford it.

HUBERT: But you _could_, if you married me! Now, look here----
(_Going to her_) You said you'd tell me to-day. So here I am--er--
popping the question again. There's nothing much to add, except to go
over the old ground again, and say that I'm not what you'd call a
terribly brainy chap, but I am straight.

OLIVIA: Yes, I know.

HUBERT: Though, again, I'm not the sort that gets into corners with a
pipe and never opens his mouth from one blessed year's end to the
other. I can talk.

OLIVIA: Yes, you can.

HUBERT: An all-round chap, really--that's me.

OLIVIA: Yes.

HUBERT: Well?

OLIVIA: I'm sorry, Hubert, but I can't.

HUBERT: You can't? But you told me that day we might make a go of it,
or words to that effect----

OLIVIA: I've thought it over since then, and I'm afraid I can't.

_A pause._

HUBERT: What's changed you?

OLIVIA: Nothing's changed me, Hubert. I've just thought the matter
over, that's all.

_A pause. He crosses towards the fireplace._

HUBERT: Is it another man?

OLIVIA (_startled_): Don't be silly. (_Collecting herself_)
What man could I possibly meet, cooped up here?

HUBERT: Sorry. Can't be helped. Sorry.

DAN (_in the garden_): There we are.--Nice outing, eh--

OLIVIA: So am I.

_The front door opens and_ DAN _wheels in_ MRS. BRAMSON.
_He is as serene as ever, but more animated than before. He is
dressed the same as in the previous scene, and is smoking his usual
cigarette._ HUBERT _sits at the table._

DAN (_hanging up her rug in the hall_): Back home again.--I put
your gloves away----

MRS. BRAMSON (_as he wheels her in_): I feel dead. (_To_
HUBERT) Oh, it's you.... I feel dead.

DAN (_sitting beside her on the sofa, full of high spirits_):
Don't you be a silly old 'oman, you look as pretty as a picture--
strawberries and cream in your face, and not a day over forty; and when
I've made you a nice cup of tea you'll be twenty-five in the sun and
eighteen with your back to the light, so you think yourself lucky!

MRS. BRAMSON (_as he digs her in the side_): Oh, Danny, you are a
terror! (_To the others_) He's been at me like this all the way. I
must say it keeps me alive.

DAN (_as she hands him her hat and cape_): But you feel dead. I
get you.

MRS. BRAMSON (_kittenish_): Oh, you caution! You'll be the death
of me!

DAN (_wagging his finger at her_): Ah-ha! (_Hanging up her
things in the hall_) Now what'd you like a drop of in your tea--gin,
whisky, liqueur, brandy, or a nice dollop of sailor's rum, eh?

MRS. BRAMSON: Just listen to him! Now don't make me laugh, dear,
because there's always my heart.

DAN (_sitting beside her again_): You've lost your heart, you know
you have, to the little feller that pushes your pram--you know you
have!

MRS. BRAMSON (_laughing shrilly_): Pram! Well! (_Her laugh cut
short_) It's wicked to laugh, with this--this thing all round us.

DAN (_sobering portentously_): I forgot. (_As she shivers_)
Not in a draught, are you? (_Shutting the front door and coming down
to_ HUBERT) D'you remember, Mr. Laurie, me pulling your leg about
you havin' done it? Funniest thing out!... Talk about laugh!

MRS. BRAMSON (_fondly_): Tttt!...

DAN (_a glint of mischief in his eyes_): I think I better get the
tea before I get into hot water.

_He goes towards the kitchen._

OLIVIA: Mrs. Terence is getting the tea.

DAN (_at the door_): She don't make tea like me. I'm an old
sailor, Miss Grayne. Don't you forget that.

_He goes into the kitchen._

OLIVIA: I'm not interested, I'm afraid.

MRS. BRAMSON (_wheeling herself to the front of the table_): Look
here, Olivia, you're downright rude to that boy, and if there's one
thing that never gets a woman anywhere, it's rudeness. What have you
got against him?

HUBERT: Surely he's got more to say for himself to-day than when I met
him before?

MRS. BRAMSON: Oh, he's been in rare spirits all day.

HUBERT: Johnny Walker, judging by the whiff of breath I got just now.

MRS. BRAMSON: Meaning whisky?

HUBERT: Yes.

OLIVIA: I've never heard you make a joke before, Hubert.

HUBERT: Didn't realise it was one till I'd said it. Sorry.

MRS. BRAMSON: It's not a joke; it's a libel.

_A knock at the front door._

Come in.

NURSE LIBBY _enters from the front door._

The boy's a teetotaller.

HUBERT: Sorry; my mistake.

NURSE: Good afternoon. Shall I wait for you in your bedroom?

MRS. BRAMSON: Yes. I feel absolutely dead.

NURSE (_turning at the bedroom, eagerly_): Anything new _re_
the murder?

HUBERT: I believe her head was cut off at one stroke.

NURSE (_brightly_): Oh, poor thing....

_She goes into the bedroom_. DAN _returns from the kitchen,
carrying a tray of tea and cakes._

DAN: There you are, fresh as a daisy.--Three lumps, as per usual, and
some of the cakes you like----

MRS. BRAMSON (_as he pours out her tea_): Thank you, dear.... Let
me smell your breath. (_After smelling it_) Clean as a whistle.
Smells of peppermints.

OLIVIA: Yes. There were some in the kitchen.

HUBERT: Oh.

MRS. BRAMSON (_to_ HUBERT, _as_ DAN _pours out two more
cups_): So you won't stay to tea, Mr.--er----

HUBERT: Er--(_rising_)--no, thank you....

_DAN sits in HUBERT's chair._

I think I'll get off before it's dark. Good-bye, Mrs. Bramson. Good-bye,
Mr.--er----

DAN (_grinning and saluting_): Dan. Just Dan.

_He opens the press-cutting ledger._

HUBERT (_to OLIVIA_): Good-bye.

OLIVIA (_rises_): Good-bye, Hubert. I'm sorry.

DAN _raises his cup as if drinking a toast to_ MRS. BRAMSON.
_She follows suit._

HUBERT: Can't be helped.... It'll get dark early to-day, I think. Funny
how the evenings draw in this time of year. Good night.

DAN: Good night.

HUBERT (_to OLIVIA_): Good-bye.

OLIVIA: Good-bye.

_She goes to the right window-seat._

MRS. BRAMSON: Johnny Walker, indeed! Impertinence!

DAN (_drinking tea and scanning press-cuttings_): Johnny Walker?

MRS. BRAMSON: Never you mind, dear.... Any more of those terrible
people called? Reporters? Police?

DAN (_gaily_): There's a definite fallin' off in attendance to-day.
Sunday, I expect.

MRS. BRAMSON: Hush, don't talk like that, dear.

DAN: Sorry, mum.

MRS. BRAMSON: And don't call me "mum"!

DAN: Well, if I can't call you Mrs. Bramson, what can I call you?

MRS. BRAMSON: If you were very good, I might let you call me ...
mother!

DAN (_mischievously, his hand to his forehead_): O.K., mother.

MRS. BRAMSON (_joining in his laughter_): Oh, you are in a mood
to-day! (_Suddenly, imperiously_) I want to be read to now.

DAN (_crossing to the desk, in mock resignation_): Your servant,
mother o' mine.... What'll you have? _The Channings? The Red Court
Farm_?

MRS. BRAMSON: I'm tired of them.

DAN: Well ... oh! (_Taking a large Bible from the top of the
desk_) What about the Bible?

MRS. BRAMSON: The Bible?

DAN: It's Sunday, you know. I was brought up on it!

MRS. BRAMSON: So was I ... _East Lynne's_ nice, though.

DAN: Not as nice as the Bible.

MRS. BRAMSON (_doubtfully_): All right, dear; makes a nice
change.... Not that I don't often dip into it.

DAN: I'm sure you do. (_Blowing the dust off the book_) Now
where'll I read?

MRS. BRAMSON (_unenthusiastic_): At random's nice, don't you
think, dear?

DAN: At random.... Yes....

MRS. BRAMSON: The Old Testament.

DAN (_turning over leaves thoughtfully_): At random in the Old
Testament's a bit risky, don't you think so?

MRS. TERENCE _comes in from the kitchen._

MRS. TERENCE (_to MRS. BRAMSON_): The paperboy's at the back door
and says you're in the _News of the World_ again.

MRS. BRAMSON (_interested_): Oh!... (_Simulating
indifference_) That horrible boy again, when the one thing I want is
to blot the whole thing out of my mind.

MRS. TERENCE: 'Ow many copies d'you want?

MRS. BRAMSON: Get three.

MRS. TERENCE: _And_ 'e says there's a placard in Shepperley with
your name on it.

MRS. BRAMSON: What does it say?

MRS. TERENCE: "Mrs. Bramson Talks."

_She goes back towards the kitchen._

MRS. BRAMSON: Oh. (_As_ MRS. TERENCE _reaches the kitchen
door_) Go at once into Shepperley and order some. At once!

MRS. TERENCE: Can't be done.

MRS. BRAMSON: Can't be done? What d'you mean, can't be done? It's a
scandal. What are you paid for?

MRS. TERENCE (_coming back, furious_): I'm not paid! And 'aven't
been for two weeks! And I'm not coming to-morrow unless I am! Put that
in your copybook and blot it.

_She goes back into the kitchen, banging the door._

MRS. BRAMSON: Isn't paid? Is she mad? (_To_ OLIVIA) Are you mad?
Why don't you pay her?

OLIVIA (_coming down_): Because you don't give me the money to do
it with.

MRS. BRAMSON: I--(_fumbling at her bodice_)--wheel me over to that
cupboard.

OLIVIA _is about to do so, when she catches_ DAN'S _eye._

OLIVIA (_to_ DAN, _pointedly_): Perhaps you'd go into the
kitchen and get the paper from Mrs. Terence?

DAN (_after a second's pause, with a laugh_): Of course I will,
madam! Anythin' you say! Anythin' you say!

_He careers into the kitchen, still carrying the Bible._ MRS.
BRAMSON _has fished up two keys on the end of a long black tape._
OLIVIA _wheels her over to the cupboard above the fireplace._

OLIVIA: If you give me the key, I'll get it for you.

MRS. BRAMSON: No fear! _She unlocks the cupboard; it turns out to be
a small but very substantial safe.

(Unlocking the safe, muttering to herself_)

Won't go into Shepperley, indeed ... never heard of such
impertinence....

_She takes out a cash-box from among some deeds, unlocks it with the
smaller key, and takes out a mass of five-pound and pound notes._

The way these servants--what are you staring at? OLIVIA: Isn't it
rather a lot of money to have in the house?

MRS. BRAMSON: "Put not your trust in banks" is my motto, and always
will be.

OLIVIA: But that's hundreds of pounds! It----

MRS. BRAMSON (_handing her two notes_): D'you wonder I wouldn't
let you have the key?

OLIVIA: Has ... anybody else asked you for it?

MRS. BRAMSON (_locking the cash-box and putting it back in the
safe_): I wouldn't let a soul touch it. Not a soul. Not even Danny.

_She snaps the safe, locks it, and slips the keys back into her
bosom._

OLIVIA: Has _he_ asked you for it?

MRS. BRAMSON: It's enough to have those policemen prying, you forward
girl, without----

OLIVIA (_urgently_): Please! Has he?

MRS. BRAMSON: Well, he did offer to fetch some money yesterday for the
dairy. But I wouldn't give him the key! Oh, no!

OLIVIA: Why?

MRS. BRAMSON: Do I want to see him waylaid and attacked, and my key
stolen? Oh, no, I told him, that key stays on me--

OLIVIA: Did he--know how much money there is in there?

MRS. BRAMSON: I told him! Do you wonder I stick to the key, I said--
what _is_ the matter with you, all these questions?

OLIVIA: Oh, it's no use--

_She goes to the armchair below the fireplace and sits in it._
DAN _returns from the kitchen, with a copy of the "News of the
World," the Bible tucked under his arm, a cigarette stub between his
lips._

DAN: He says they're sellin' like hot cakes! (_Handing the paper
to_ MRS. BRAMSON) There you are, I've found the place for you--whole
page, headlines an' all....

MRS. BRAMSON: Oh, yes....

DAN _stands with one knee on the sofa, and turns over the pages of
his Bible.

(Reading breathlessly, her back to the fireplace_)

"... The Victim's Past" ... with another picture of me underneath!
(_Looking closer, dashed_) Oh, taken at Tonbridge the year before
the war; really it isn't right.... (_To_ OLIVIA, _savouring
it_) "The Bungalow of Death!... Gruesome finds.... Fiendish murderer
still at large.... The enigma of the missing head ... where is it
buried?" ... Oh, yes! (_She goes on reading silently to herself._)

DAN (_suddenly, in a clear voice_): "... Blessed is the man ...
that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly ... nor standeth in the
way of sinners ... nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful...."

MRS. BRAMSON (_impatiently_): Oh, the print's too small....

DAN (_firmly_): Shall I read it to you?

MRS. BRAMSON: Yes, dear, do....

_He shuts the Bible with a bang, throws it on the sofa, and takes the
paper from her._ OLIVIA _watches him intently; he smiles at her
slowly and brazenly as he shakes out the paper._

DAN (_reading laboriously_): "... The murderer committed the crime
in the forest most--in the forest, most likely strippin' beforehand---"

_DORA comes in from the kitchen, and stands at the door, arrested by
his reading. She is dressed, in Sunday best.

(reading_) "... and cleansin' himself afterwards in the forest lake----"

MRS. BRAMSON: Tch! tch!

DAN (_reading_): "... He buried the body shallow in the open pit,
cunnin'ly chancin' it bein' filled, which it was next day, the
eleventh----" (_Nodding at_ OLIVIA) That was the day 'fore I come
here....

MRS. BRAMSON: So it was ...

DAN (_reading_): "The body was nude. Attempts had been made to ...
turn to foot of next column...." (_Doing so_) "Attempts had been
made to ... era--eradicate fingerprints with a knife...."

(_Far away, the tolling of village bells. Reading_)

"... The head was severed by a skilled person, possibly a butcher. The
murderer--" (_He stops suddenly, raises his head, smiles, takes the
cigarette stub, puts it behind his ear, and listens._)

OLIVIA: What's the matter?

MRS. BRAMSON: Can you hear something? Oh, I'm scared....

DAN: I forgot it was Sunday.... They're goin' to church in the
villages. All got up in their Sunday best, with prayer-books, and the
organ playin', and the windows shinin'. Shinin' on holy things, because
holy things isn't afraid of the daylight.

MRS. BRAMSON: But, Danny, what on earth are you--

DAN (_quelling her_): But all the time the daylight's movin' over
the floor, and by the end of the sermon the air in the church is
turnin' grey.... And people isn't able to think of holy things so much
no more, only of the terrible things that's goin' on outside, that
everybody's readin' about in the papers! (_Looking at_ OLIVIA)
Because they know that though it's still daylight, and everythin's
or'nary and quiet ... to-day will be the same as all the other days,
and come to an end, and it'll be night.... (_After a pause, coming to
earth again with a laugh at the others, throwing the newspaper on the
sofa_) I forgot it was Sunday!

MRS. BRAMSON (_overawed_) Good gracious ... what's come over you,
Danny?

DAN (_with exaggerated animation_): Oh, I speechify like anything
when I'm roused! I used to go to Sunday school, see, and the thoughts
sort of come into my head. Like as if I was readin' off a book!
(_Slapping his Bible_.)

MRS. BRAMSON: Dear, dear.... You should have been a preacher. You
should!

DAN _laughs loudly and opens the Bible_.

DORA (_going to the table and collecting the tea-tray_): I never
knew 'e 'ad so many words in 'is 'ead....

MRS. BRAMSON (_suddenly_): I want to lie down now, and be
examined.

DAN (_rising_): Anything you say, mother o' mine.... Will you have
your medicine in your room as well, eh?

MRS. BRAMSON: Yes, dear.... Olivia, you _never_ got a new bottle
yesterday!

DAN (_as he wheels her into her bedroom_): I got it to-day while
you were with the chap.... Popped in at the chemist's.

MRS. BRAMSON: Oh, thank you, dear. The one by the mortuary?... Oh, my
back.... Nurse!...

_Her voice is lost in the bedroom. The daylight begins to fade. The
church bells die away._

DORA: My sister says all this is wearin' me to a shadow.

OLIVIA: It is trying, isn't it?

DORA: You look that worried, too, Miss Grayne.

OLIVIA: Do I?

DORA: As if you was waiting for something to 'appen.

OLIVIA: Oh?

DORA: Like an explosion. A bomb, or something.

OLIVIA (_smiling_): I don't think that's very likely....
(_Lowering her voice_) Have you talked to Dan at all this week?

DORA: Never get the chance. 'E's too busy dancin' attendance on Madame
Crocodile....

DAN _comes back from the bedroom, his cigarette stub between his
lips.

(Going towards the kitchen_) I'm off. You don't catch me 'ere after
dark.

DAN: Why, will ye be late for courting?

DORA: If I was, they'd wait for me. Good afternoon, Miss Grayne. Good
afternoon ... _sir_.

DAN (_winking at_ OLIVIA): Are you sure they'd wait?

DORA: You ought to know.

_She goes into the kitchen_. DAN _and_ OLIVIA _are
alone_. DAN _crosses to the sofa with a laugh, humming gaily_.

DAN: "Their home addresses ... and their caresses ..."

_He sits on the end of the sofa._

OLIVIA: You've been drinking, haven't you?

DAN (_after a pause, quizzically_): You don't miss much, do you?

OLIVIA (_significantly_): No.

DAN (_rubbing his hands_): I've been drinking, and I feel fine!
... (_Brandishing the Bible_) You wouldn't like another dose of
reading?

OLIVIA: I prefer talking.

DAN (_putting down the Bible_): Carry on.

OLIVIA: Asking questions.

DAN (_catching her eye_): Carry on!

_He studies his outspread hands_.

OLIVIA (_crisply_): Are you sure you were ever a sailor? Are you
sure you weren't a butcher?

_A pause. He looks at her, slowly, then breaks the look abruptly._

DAN (_rising with a smile and standing against the mantelpiece_):
Aw, talkin's daft! _Doin's_ the thing!

OLIVIA: You can talk too.

DAN: Aw, yes! D'you hear me just now? She's right, you know, I should
ha' been a preacher. I remember, when I was a kid, sittin' in Sunday
school--catching my mother's eye where she was sitting by the door,
with the sea behind her; and she pointed to the pulpit, and then to me,
as if to say, that's the place for you.... (_Far away, pensive_) I
never forgot that.

_A pause_.

OLIVIA: I don't believe a word of it.

DAN: Neither do I, but it sounds wonderful. (_Leaning over her,
confidentially_) I never saw my mam, and I never had a dad, and the
first thing I remember is ... Cardiff Docks. And you're the first 'oman
I ever told that, so you can compliment yourself. Or the drink.
(_Laughing_) I think it's the drink.

OLIVIA: You _do_ live in your imagination, don't you?

DAN (_reassuringly_): Yes.... It's the only way to bear with the
awful things you have to do.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7