Â
| They die rapidly away. Pause.
] Again! [
Hooves as before. Pause. Excitedly.
] Train it to mark time! Shoe it with steel and tie it up in the yard, have it stamp all day! [
Pause.
] A ten-ton mammoth back from the dead, shoe it with steel and have it tramp the world down! Listen to it! [
Pause.
] Listen to the light now, you always loved light, not long past noon and all the shore in shadow and the sea out as far as the island. [
Pause.
] You would never live this side of the bay, you wanted the sun on the water for that evening bathe you took once too often. But when I got your money I moved across, as perhaps you may know. [
Pause.
] We never found your body, you know, that held up probate an unconscionable time, they said there was nothing to prove you hadn't run away from us all and alive and well under a false name in the Argentine for example, that grieved mother greatly. [
Pause.
] I'm like you in that, can't stay away from it, but I never go in, no, I think the last time I went in was with you. [
Pause.
] Just be near it. [
Pause.
] Today it's calm, but I often hear it above in the house and walking the roads and start talking, oh just loud enough to drown it, nobody notices. [
Pause.
] But I'd be talking now no matter where I was, I once went to Switzerland to get away from the cursed thing and never stopped all the time I was there. [
Pause.
] I usen't to need anyone, just to myself, stories, there was a great one about an old fellow called Bolton, I never finished it, I never finished any of them, I never finished anything, everything always went on for ever. [
Pause.
] Bolton. [
Pause. Louder.
] Bolton! [
Pause.
] There before the fire. [
Pause.
] Before the fire with all the shutters . . . no, hangings, hangings, all the hangings drawn and the light, no light, only the light of the fire, sitting there in the . . . no, standing, standing there on the hearthrug in
the dark before the fire with his arms on the chimneypiece and his head on his arms, standing there waiting in the dark before the fire in his old red dressing-gown and no sound in the house of any kind, only the sound of the fire. [
Pause.
] Standing there in his old red dressing-gown might go on fire any minute like when he was a child, no, that was his pyjamas, standing there waiting in the dark, no light, only the light of the fire, and no sound of any kind, only the fire, an old man in great trouble. [
Pause.
] Ring then at the door and over he goes to the window and looks out between the hangings, fine old chap, very big and strong, bright winter's night, snow everywhere, bitter cold, white world, cedar boughs bending under load and then as the arm goes up to ring again recognizes . . .
Holloway . . . [
long pause
] . . . yes, Holloway, recognizes Holloway, goes down and opens. [
Pause.
] Outside all still, not a sound, dog's chain maybe or a bough groaning if you stood there listening long enough, white world, Holloway with his little black bag, not a sound, bitter cold, full moon small and white, crooked trail of Holloway's galoshes, Vega in the Lyre very green. [
Pause.
] Vega in the Lyre very green. [
Pause.
] Following conversation then on the step, no, in the room, back in the room, following conversation then back in the room, Holloway: “My dear Bolton, it is now past midnight, if you would be good enoughâ,” gets no further, Bolton: “Please! PLEASE!” Dead silence then, not a sound, only the fire, all coal, burning down now, Holloway on the hearthrug trying to toast his arse, Bolton, where's Bolton, no light, only the fire, Bolton at the window his back to the hangings, holding them a little apart with his hand looking out, white world, even the spire, white to the vane, most unusual, silence in
the house, not a sound, only the fire, no flames now, embers. [
Pause.
] Embers. [
Pause.
] Shifting, lapsing, furtive like, dreadful sound, Holloway on the rug, fine old chap, six foot, burly, legs apart, hands behind his back holding up the tails of his old macfarlane, Bolton at the window, grand old figure in his old red dressinggown, back against the hangings, hand stretched out widening the chink, looking out, white world great trouble, not a sound, only the embers, sound of dying, dying glow, Holloway, Bolton, Bolton, Holloway, old men, great trouble, white world, not a sound. [
Pause.
] Listen to it! [
Pause.
] Close your eyes and listen to it, what would you think it was? [
Pause. Vehement.
] A drip! A drip! [
Sound of drip, rapidly amplified, suddenly cut off.
] Again! [
Drip again. Amplification begins.
] No! [
Drip cut off. Pause.
] Father! [
Pause. Agitated.
] Stories, stories, years and years of stories, till the need came on me, for someone, to be with me, anyone, a stranger, to talk to, imagine he hears me, years of that, and then, now, for someone who . . . knew me, in the old days, anyone, to be with me, imagine he hears me, what I am, now. [
Pause.
] No good either. [
Pause.
] Not there either. [
Pause.
] Try again. [
Pause.
] White world, not a sound. [
Pause.
] Holloway. [
Pause.
] Holloway says he'll go, damned if he'll sit up all night before a black grate, doesn't understand, call a man out, an old friend, in the cold and dark, an old friend, urgent need, bring the bag, then not a word, no explanation no heat, no light, Bolton: “Please! PLEASE!” Holloway, no refreshment, no welcome, chilled to the medulla, catch his death, can't understand, strange treatment, old friend, says he'll go, doesn't move, not a sound, fire dying, white beam from window, ghastly scene, wishes to God he hadn't come, no good, fire out, bitter cold, great trouble,
white world, not a sound, no good. [
Pause.
] No good. [
Pause.
] Can't do it. [
Pause.
] Listen to it! [
Pause.
] Father! [
Pause.
] You wouldn't know me now, you'd be sorry you ever had me, but you were that already, a washout, that's the last I heard from you, a washout. [
Pause. Imitating father's voice.
] “Are you coming for a dip?” “No.” “Come on, come on.” “No.” Glare, stump to door, turn, glare. “A washout, that's all you are, a washout!” [
Violent slam of door. Pause.
] Again! [
Slam. Pause.
] Slam life shut like that! [
Pause.
] Washout. [
Pause.
] Wish to Christ she had. [
Pause.
] Never met Ada, did you, or did you, I can't remember, no matter, no one'd know her now. [
Pause.
] What turned her against me do you think, the child I suppose, horrid little creature, wish to God we'd never had her, I use to walk with her in the fields, Jesus that was awful, she wouldn't let go my hand and I mad to talk. “Run along now, Addie, and look at the lambs.” [
imitating Addie's voice.
] “No papa.” “Go on now, go on.” [
Plaintive.
] “No papa.” [
Violent.
] “Go on with you when you're told and look at the lambs!” [
Addie's loud wail. Pause.
] Ada too, conversation with her, that was something, that's what hell will be like, small chat to the babbling of Lethe about the good old days when we wished we were dead. [
Pause.
] Price of margarine fifty years ago. [
Pause.
] And now. [
Pause. With solemn indignation.
] Price of blueband now! [
Pause.
] Father! [
Pause.
] Tired of talking to you. [
Pause.
] That was always the way, walk all over the mountains with you talking and talking and then suddenly mum and home in misery and not a word to a soul for weeks, sulky little bastard, better off dead. [
Long pause.
] Ada. [
Pause. Louder.
] Ada!
|
