The Atlantic Book of Modern Plays Part 54

SAM. A didn't mean to offend thee, Mrs. Ormerod. A'm sorry A spoke. A allays do wrong thing. But A did so 'ope as tha might coom. Tha sees A got used to moother. A got used to 'earin' 'er cuss me. A got used to doin' for 'er an' A've nought to do in th'

evenings now. It's terrible lonesome in th' neeghttime. An' when notion coom to me, A thowt as A'd mention un to thee casual.

SARAH. Dost mean it, Sam Horrocks? Dost tha know what tha's sayin', or is tha foolin' me?

SAM. O' course A mean it. Tha sees A'm not a marryin' sort. Th'

la.s.ses won't look at me. A'm silly Sam to them, A knaws it. A've a slate loose; A shan't never get wed. A thowt A'd mebbe a chance wi' yon la.s.s as were 'ere wi' thee, but hoo towld me A were too late. A allays were slow. A left askin' too long an' A 've missed 'er. A gets good money, Mrs. Ormerod, but A canna talk to a young wench. They mak's me go 'ot and cowld all over. An' when curate towld me as tha was to go to workus, A thowt A'd a chance wi'

thee. A knaw'd it weren't a big chance, because my plaice ain't much cop after what tha's bin used to 'ere. A've got no fine fixin's nor big chairs an' things like as tha used to 'ave. Eh, but A would 'ave loved to do for thee as A used to do for ma moother, an' when A yeerd thee talkin' now an' callin' me a fool an' th' rest, by gum, A just yearned to 'ave thee for allays.

Tha'd fill 'er plaice wunnerful well. A'd just a' loved to adopt thee.

SARAH. To adopt me?

SAM. Ay, for a moother. A'm sorry tha can't see thy way to let me. A didn't mean no offence (_turning to the door_).

SARAH. 'Ere, lad, tha tell me this. If A'd said tha might tak' me for thy moother, what wouldst ha' done?

SAM. Why, kissed thee, an' takken thee oop in ma arms whoam to thy bed. It's standin' ready in yonder wi' clean sheets an' all, an' a new quilt from Co-op. A 'opes you'll pardon th' liberty o'

mentioning it.

SARAH. A new quilt, Sam? What's color?

SAM. Red, wi' blue stripes down 'er.

SARAH. A'm not a light weight, tha knows.

SAM. A'd carry thee easy--"Strong in th' arm and weak in th'

yead." It's an ould sayin', but it's a good un, an' it fits.

SARAH. Wilt tha try, Sam Horrocks? G.o.d bless thee, wilt tha try, lad?

SAM. Dost mean it, Mrs. Ormerod? Dost mean tha'll coom? Tha's not coddin' a feller, art tha?

SARAH. No, A'm not coddin'. Kiss me, Sam, my son.

(_He kisses her and lifts her in his arms._)

SAM. By gum, but that were good. A'll coom back fur thy box.

SABAH. Carry me careful, tha great luny. A'm not a sack o' flour.

SAM. Eh, but A likes to year thee talk. Yon was real mootherly, it were.

(_Exit through door, carrying her._)

[CURTAIN _at clink of latch_]

RIDERS TO THE SEA[1]

J.M. Synge

[Footnote 1: Included by permission of Messrs. John W. Luce and Company.]

CHARACTERS

MAURYA, an old woman BARTLEY, her son CATHLEEN, her daughter NORA, a younger daughter MEN AND WOMEN

SCENE: _An island off the West of Ireland. Cottage kitchen, with nets, oilskins, spinning-wheel, some new boards standing by the wall, etc._ CATHLEEN, _a girl of about twenty, finishes kneading cake, and puts it down in the pot-oven by the fire; then wipes her hands, and begins to spin at the wheel._ NORA, _a young girl, puts her head in at the door._

NORA (_in a low voice_). Where is she?

CATHLEEN. She's lying down, G.o.d help her, and maybe sleeping, if she's able.

(NORA _comes in softly, and takes a bundle from under her shawl._)

CATHLEEN (_spinning the wheel rapidly_). What is it you have?

n.o.bA. The young priest is after bringing them. It's a shirt and a plain stocking were got off a drowned man in Donegal.

(CATHLEEN _stops her wheel with a sudden movement, and leans out to listen._)

NORA. We're to find out if it's Michael's they are; some time herself will be down looking by the sea.

CATHLEEN. How would they be Michael's, Nora? How would he go the length of that way to the far north?

NORA. The young priest says he's known the like of it. "If it's Michael's they are," says he, "you can tell herself he's got a clean burial by the grace of G.o.d, and if they're not his, let no one say a word about them, for she'll be getting her death," says he, "with crying and lamenting."

(_The door which_ NORA _half closed is blown open by a gust of wind._)

CATHLEEN (_looking out anxiously_). Did you ask him would he stop Bartley going this day with the horses to the Galway fair?

NORA. "I won't stop him," says he, "but let you not be afraid.

Herself does be saying prayers half through the night, and the Almighty G.o.d won't leave her dest.i.tute," says he, "with no son living."

CATHLEEN. Is the sea bad by the white rocks, Nora?

NORA. Middling bad, G.o.d help us. There's a great roaring in the west, and it's worse it'll be getting when the tide's turned to the wind.

(_She goes over to the table with the bundle._)

Shall I open it now?

CATHLEEN. Maybe she'd wake up on us, and come in before we'd done. (_Coming to the table_) It's a long time we'll be, and the two of us crying.

NORA (_goes to the inner door and listens_). She's moving about on the bed. She'll be coming in a minute.