Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays Part 84

JOE. Matthey!

MATTHEW. Yes?

JOE. Don't you think it is too late even now?

MATTHEW. Fur what? It's no use speakin' i' riddles, man. Trust or no trust--that's my plan. Thee's the only livin' man or woman, for the matter of that, as I've blackened Jane Ann to, and if it'll ease thy mind to tell what's worritin' of thee, you do know it's as safe as if you'd dropt your secret into the mouth of a mine shaft.

JOE. Done! Give me a hearing and let's have finished with it.

[_Matthew cleans out the bowl of his pipe and knocks the ashes out against the grate as he waits for his friend to begin. Joe stands first on one leg and then on the other and gives a long whistle._]

MATTHEW. Sling along. It won't get no easier wi' keeping.

[_Joe wipes his forehead with a red handkerchief, which he takes out of his trouser pocket._]

JOE. Awkward kind o' work, pullin' your lawful wife to bits.

MATTHEW. It'll get easier as thee goes on, man. I'll help thee. What's the row to-day?

JOE. Crusties.

[_Matthew winks at Joe and lights his pipe again._]

MATTHEW. It's always some feeble thing like that as makes confusion in a house. Jane Ann began just like that. Dirty boots in the best parlor was my first offense, and it raised h.e.l.l in our house for nigh on a whole day.

JOE. Well, I never! It was just the same thing in a way with me. I soaked the crusties in my tea this mornin' and threw 'em to the cat under the table, and I suppose I must 'ave put my foot in 'em, for Kezia went off like a thing gone mazy. She stormed and said--[_he sits down and wipes his forehead again with his handkerchief as he pauses_]--as she were a fool to take me, and all sorts, and then she cried fit to kill herself, and when I spoke she told me to hold my noise, and when I didn't speak she said I'd no feelin's, and was worse nor a stone. We scarcely spoke at dinner-time. She said she wished she was dead, and wanted her mother, and that, bein' a man, I was worse nor a devil; and when I kept on eatin' she said she wondered the food didn't choke me, and when I stopped eatin' she said I was never pleased wi' nothin' she'd got ready for me. My head is sore with the clang of the teasy things she drove into me, and I'm not good at replies, as you do know.

[_Joe ends in a weary voice and pokes the fire listlessly. Matthew smokes hard and his eyes are on the ground._]

MATTHEW. Women be mysteries, and without little uns they'm worse nor monsters. A child do often alter and soften 'em, but a childless woman is as near a wolf as anything I do know.

[_Joe's elbows sink on his knees and his hands support his woebegone face. When he next speaks he has a catch in his voice, and he speaks quickly._]

JOE. That's it, is it?

MATTHEW. Iss, mate! That's the mischief. Unless--[_he looks up suddenly at Joe_]--perhaps she be goin' to surprise 'e by telling 'e she be going to have a little one. That would account for her bein' teasy and moody.

[_Joe laughs sorrowfully._]

JOE. Lor', I should be the first to know that, surely!

MATTHEW. Not a bit of it. Women loves secrets of that sort.

JOE. No; 'tain't that at all. I only wish it was, if what you say be true of women.

MATTHEW. True enough, my son. I did the cutest day's work in my life when I persuaded Jane Ann to take little Joe to help we. I watched the two of 'em together and found he caught his tongueing, too, from she, but it had a sort of nestle sound in it as if she were a-cuddlin' of him. She've been gentler wi' me ever since Joe come back again after his long bout at home.

[_Joe scratches his head very thoughtfully; a pause, in which he seems to be thinking before speaking again._]

JOE. I don't know of no sister's child to take on for Kezia at all.

What's the next remedy, think you?

MATTHEW. A thrashin'.

[_Joe jumps up and stares at Matthew._]

JOE. A what?

MATTHEW. Wallop her just once.

[_Matthew looks on the ground and taps it with his foot, and he does not see that Joe is standing over him with his hands clenched._]

JOE. Shame on thee, mate! I feel more like strikin' thee nor a female.

I'm sorry I told thee, if thee can offer no more help than that. I'm not much of a chap, but I've never struck a woman yet.

MATTHEW. Strike on principle, then.

[_He still looks fixedly at the floor, and Joe stands glaring at him._]

JOE. How?

MATTHEW. Like the Almighty strikes when He've got a lesson for we to learn, which we won't learn without strikes and tears. Nothin' is of no avail to stop His chastis.e.m.e.nt if He do think it's goin' to work out His plan for He and we, and that's what I'm wanting of you to do by your wife for her sake more than for yours. Wives must learn to submit.

[_Harshly._] It's Divine Providence as 'ave ordered it, and women be miserable, like ivy and trailers of all sorts, if they've no prop to bear 'em up. Beat her once and it'll make a man of you and be a life-long warnin' to she.

JOE. But I love her, man! [_Softly._] The very thought of hurting her makes me creep.

[_Joe shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head repeatedly._]

MATTHEW. Women likes bein' hurt. It's a real fondlin' to 'em at times.

[_Joe sits down and folds his arms as he looks humbly at Matthew._]

JOE. Lor', I never heard that afore. How can you be sure of that at all?

MATTHEW. I've traveled, as you do knaw. I ain't been to Africa for nothin', mate. I've seen a deal o' things, which if I'd happened on afore I courted Jane Ann would have got me through the marriage scrimmage wi' no tiles off of my roof. That's why I'm a warnin' of you afore it's too late. Your woman be worth gettin' i' trim--[_with a sigh_]--for she's--well--she's--

[_Joe's eyes rest on his friend's face and his face suddenly lights up with a smile._]

JOE. She's the best sort of woman a man could 'ave for a sweetheart when her moods is off, and it's only lately her 'ave altered so, and I expect it's really all my fault.

MATTHEW. Certainly it is; you've never shown master yet, and you must this very night.

JOE. [_Coughs nervously._] How?

MATTHEW. You must thrash her before it is too late. Have 'e a cane?

[_Joe jumps up, twists round his necktie, undoes it, ties it again--marches up and down the little kitchen, and wheels round on Matthew._]