MISS FITT
What else could I mean, Mr. Tyler, what else could I conceivably mean?
MR. TYLER
Then you have no cause for anxiety, Miss Fitt, for the twelve thirty has not yet arrived. Look. [Miss Fitt looks.] No, up the line. [Miss Fitt looks. Patiently.] No, Miss Fitt, follow the direction of my index. [Miss Fitt looks.]
There. You see now. The signal. At the bawdy hour of nine. [In rueful afterthought.] Or three alas! [Mr. Barrell stifles a guffaw.] Thank you, Mr. Barrell.
MISS FITT
But the time is now getting on for—
MR. TYLER
[patiently] We all know, Miss Fitt, we all know only too well what the time is now getting on for, and yet the cruel fact remains that the twelve thirty has not yet arrived.
MISS FITT
Not an accident, I trust! [Pause.] Do not tell me she has left the track! [Pause.] Oh darling mother! With the fresh sole for lunch!
[Loud titter from Tommy, checked as before by Mr. Barrell.]
MR. BARRELL
That’s enough old guff out of you. Nip up to the box now and see has Mr. Case anything for me.
[Tommy goes.]
MRS. ROONEY
Poor Dan!
MISS FITT
[in anguish] What terrible thing has happened?
MR. TYLER
Now now, Miss Fitt, do not—
MRS. ROONEY
[with vehement sadness] Poor Dan!
MR. TYLER
Now now, Miss Fitt, do not give way . . . to despair, all will come right . . . in the end. [Aside to Mr. Barrell.] What is the situation, Mr. Barrell? Not a collision surely?
MRS. ROONEY
[enthusiastically] A collision! Oh that would be wonderful!
MISS FITT
[horrified] A collision! I knew it!
MR. TYLER
Come, Miss Fitt, let us move a little up the platform.
MRS. ROONEY
Yes, let us all do that. [Pause.] No? [Pause.] You have changed your mind? [Pause.] I quite agree, we are better here, in the shadow of the waiting-room.
MR. BARRELL
Excuse me a moment.
MRS. ROONEY
Before you slink away, Mr. Barrell, please, a statement of some kind, I insist. Even the slowest train on this brief line is not ten minutes and more behind its scheduled time without good cause, one imagines. [Pause.] We all know your station is the best kept of the entire network, but there are times when that is not enough, just not enough. [Pause.] Now, Mr. Barrell, leave off chewing your whiskers, we are waiting to hear from you—we the unfortunate ticket-holders’ nearest if not dearest. [Pause.]
MR. TYLER
[reasonably] I do think we are owed some kind of explanation, Mr. Barrell, if only to set our minds at rest.
MR. BARRELL
I know nothing. All I know is there has been a hitch. All traffic is retarded.
MRS. ROONEY
[derisively] Retarded! A hitch! Ah these celibates! Here we are eating our hearts out with anxiety for our loved ones and he calls that a hitch! Those of us like myself with heart and kidney trouble may collapse at any moment and he calls that a hitch! In our ovens the Saturday roast is burning to a shrivel and he calls that—
MR. TYLER
Here comes Tommy, running! I am glad I have been spared to see this.
TOMMY
[excitedly, in the distance] She’s coming. [Pause. Nearer.]
She’s at the level-crossing!
[Immediately exaggerated station sounds. Falling signals. Bells. Whistles. Crescendo of train whistle approaching. Sound of train rushing through station.]
MRS. ROONEY
[above rush of train] The up mail! The up mail! [The up mail recedes, the down train approaches, enters the station, pulls up with great hissing of steam and clashing of couplings. Noise of passengers descending, doors banging, Mr. Barrell shouting “Boghill! Boghill!,” etc. Piercingly.] Dan! . . . Are you all right? . . . Where is he? . . . Dan! Did you see my husband? . . . Dan! . . . [Noise of station emptying. Guard’s whistle. Train departing, receding. Silence.] He isn’t on it! The misery I have endured to get here, and he isn’t on it! . . . Mr. Barrell! . . . Was he not on it? [Pause.] Is anything the matter, you look as if you had seen a ghost. [Pause.] Tommy! . . . Did you see the master?
TOMMY
He’ll be along, Ma’am, Jerry is minding him.
[Mr. Rooney suddenly appears on platform, advancing on small boy Jerry’s arm. He is blind, thumps the ground with his stick and pants incessantly.]
MRS. ROONEY
Oh, Dan! There you are! [Her dragging feet as she hastens towards him. She reaches him. They halt.] Where in the world were you?
MR. ROONEY
[coolly] Maddy.
MRS. ROONEY
Where were you all this time?
MR. ROONEY
In the men’s.
MRS. ROONEY
Kiss me!
MR. ROONEY
Kiss you? In public? On the platform? Before the boy? Have you taken leave of your senses?
MRS. ROONEY
Jerry wouldn’t mind. Would you, Jerry?
JERRY
No, Ma’am.
MRS. ROONEY
How is your poor father?
JERRY
They took him away, Ma’am.
MRS. ROONEY
Then you are all alone?
JERRY
Yes, Ma’am.
MR. ROONEY
Why are you here? You did not notify me.
MRS. ROONEY
I wanted to give you a surprise. For your birthday.
MR. ROONEY
My birthday?
MRS. ROONEY
Don’t you remember? I wished you your happy returns in the bathroom.
MR. ROONEY
I did not hear you.
MRS. ROONEY
But I gave you a tie! You have it on!
[Pause.]
MR. ROONEY
How old am I now?
MRS. ROONEY
Now never mind about that. Come.
MR. ROONEY
Why did you not cancel the boy? Now we shall have to give him a penny.
MRS. ROONEY
[miserably] I forgot! I had such a time getting here! Such horrid nasty people! [Pause. Pleading.] Be nice to me, Dan, be nice to me today!
MR. ROONEY
Give the boy a penny.
MRS. ROONEY
Here are two halfpennies, Jerry. Run along now and buy yourself a nice gobstopper.
JERRY
Yes, Ma’am.
MR. ROONEY
Come for me on Monday, if I am still alive.
JERRY
Yessir.
[He runs off.]
MR. ROONEY
We could have saved sixpence. We have saved fivepence.
[Pause.] But at what cost?
[They move off along platform arm in arm. Dragging feet, panting, thudding stick.]
MRS. ROONEY
Are you not well?
[They halt, on Mr. Rooney’s initiative.]
MR. ROONEY
Once and for all, do not ask me to speak and move at the same time. I shall not say this in this life again.
[They move off. Dragging feet, etc. They halt at top of steps.]
MRS. ROONEY
Are you not—
MR. ROONEY
Let us get this precipice over.
MRS. ROONEY
Put your arm around me.
MR. ROONEY
Have you been drinking again? [Pause.] You are quivering like a blancmange. [Pause.] Are you in a condition to lead me? [Pause.] We shall fall into the ditch.
MRS. ROONEY
Oh, Dan! It will be like old times!
MR. ROONEY
Pull yourself together or I shall send Tommy for the cab. Then instead of having saved sixpence, no, fivepence, we shall have lost . . . [calculating mumble] . . . two and three less six one and no plus one one and no plus
three one and nine and one ten and three two and one . . . [normal voice] two and one, we shall be the poorer to the tune of two and one. [Pause.] Curse that sun, it has gone in. What is the day doing? [Wind.]
MRS. ROONEY
Shrouding, shrouding, the best of it is past. [Pause.] Soon the first great drops will fall splashing in the dust.
MR. ROONEY
And yet the glass was firm. [Pause.] Let us hasten home and sit before the fire. We shall draw the blinds. You will read to me. I think Effie is going to commit adultery with the Major. [Brief drag of feet.] Wait! [Feet cease. Stick tapping at steps.] I have been up and down these steps five thousand times and still I do not know how many there are. When I think there are six there are four or five or seven or eight and when I remember there are five there three or four or six or seven and when finally I realize there are seven there are five or six or eight or nine. Sometimes I wonder if they do not change them in the night. [Pause. Irritably.] Well? How many do you make them today?
MRS. ROONEY
Do not ask me to count, Dan, not now.
MR. ROONEY
Not count! One of the few satisfactions in life!
MRS. ROONEY
Not steps, Dan, please, I always get them wrong. Then you might fall on your wound and I would have that on my manure-heap on top of everything else. No, just cling to me and all will be well.
[Confused noise of their descent. Panting, stumbling, ejaculations, curses. Silence.]
MR. ROONEY
Well! That is what you call well!
MRS. ROONEY
We are down. And little the worse. [Silence. A donkey brays. Silence.] That was a true donkey. Its father and mother were donkeys.
[Silence.]
MR. ROONEY
Do you know what it is, I think I shall retire.
MRS. ROONEY
[appalled] Retire! And live at home? On your grant!
MR. ROONEY
Never tread these cursed steps again. Trudge this hellish road for the last time. Sit at home on the remnants of my bottom counting the hours—till the next meal. [Pause.] The very thought puts life in me! Forward, before it dies!
[They move on. Dragging feet, panting, thudding stick.]
MRS. ROONEY
Now mind, here is the path. . . . Up! . . . Well done! Now we are in safety and a straight run home.
MR. ROONEY
[without halting, between gasps] A straight . . . run! . . . She calls that . . . a straight . . . run! . . .
MRS. ROONEY
Hush! Do not speak as you go along, you know it is not good for your coronary. [Dragging steps, etc.] Just concentrate on putting one foot before the next or whatever the expression is. [Dragging feet, etc.] That is the way, now we are doing nicely. [Dragging feet, etc. They suddenly halt, on Mrs. Rooney’s initiative.] Heavens! I knew there was something! With all the excitement! I forgot!
MR. ROONEY
[quietly] Good God!
MRS. ROONEY
But you must know, Dan, of course, you were on it. Whatever happened? Tell me!
MR. ROONEY
I have never known anything to happen.
MRS. ROONEY
But you must—
MR. ROONEY
[violently] All this stopping and starting again is devilish, devilish! I get a little way on me and begin to be carried along when suddenly you stop dead! Two hundred pounds of unhealthy fat! What possessed you to come out at all? Let go of me!
MRS. ROONEY
[in great agitation] No, I must know, we won’t stir from here till you tell me. Fifteen minutes late! On a thirty minute run! It’s unheard of!
MR. ROONEY
I know nothing. Let go of me before I shake you off.
MRS. ROONEY
But you must know! You were on it! Was it at the terminus? Did you leave on time? Or was it on the line? [Pause.] Did something happen on the line? [Pause.] Dan! [Brokenly.] Why won’t you tell me! [Silence. They move off. Dragging feet, etc. They halt. Pause.]
MR. ROONEY
Poor Maddy! [Pause. Children’s cries.] What was that?
[Pause for Mrs. Rooney to ascertain.]
MRS. ROONEY
The Lynch twins jeering at us. [Cries.]
MR. ROONEY
Will they pelt us with mud today, do you suppose?
[Cries.]
MRS. ROONEY
Let us turn and face them. [Cries. They turn. Silence.] Threaten them with your stick. [Silence.] They have run away.
[Pause.]
MR. ROONEY
Did you ever wish to kill a child? [Pause.] Nip some young doom in the bud. [Pause.] Many a time at night, in winter, on the black road home, I nearly attacked the boy. [Pause.] Poor Jerry! [Pause.] What restrained me then? [Pause.] Not fear of man. [Pause.] Shall we go on backwards now a little?
MRS. ROONEY
Backwards?
MR. ROONEY
Yes. Or you forwards and I backwards. The perfect pair. Like Dante’s damned, with their faces arsy-versy. Our tears will water our bottoms.
MRS. ROONEY
What is the matter, Dan? Are you not well?
MR. ROONEY
Well! Did you ever know me to be well? The day you met me I should have been in bed. The day you proposed to me the doctors gave me up. You knew that, did you not? The night you married me they came for me with an ambulance. You have not forgotten that, I suppose? [Pause.] No, I cannot be said to be well. But I am no worse. Indeed I am better than I was. The loss of my sight was a great fillip. If I could go deaf and dumb I think I might pant on to be a hundred. Or have I done so? [Pause.] Was I a hundred today? [Pause.] Am I a hundred, Maddy?
[Silence.]
MRS. ROONEY
All is still. No living soul in sight. There is no one to ask. The world is feeding. The wind—[brief wind]—scarcely stirs the leaves and the birds—[brief chirp]—are tired singing. The cows—[brief moo]—and sheep—[brief baa]—ruminate in silence. The dogs—[brief bark]—are hushed and the hens—[brief cackle]—sprawl torpid in the dust. We are alone. There is no one to ask.
[Silence]
MR. ROONEY
[clearing his throat, narrative tone] We drew out on the tick of time, I can vouch for that. I was—
MRS. ROONEY
How can you vouch for it?
MR. ROONEY
[normal tone, angrily] I can vouch for it, I tell you! Do you want my relation or don’t you? [Pause. Narrative tone.] On the tick of time. I had the compartment to myself, as usual. At least I hope so, for I made no attempt to restrain myself. My mind—[Normal tone.] But why do we not sit down somewhere? Are we afraid we should never rise again?
MRS. ROONEY
Sit down on what?
MR. ROONEY
On a bench, for example.
MRS. ROONEY
There is no bench.
MR. ROONEY
Then on a bank, let us sink down upon a bank.
MRS. ROONEY
There is no bank.
MR. ROONEY
Then we cannot. [Pause.] I dream of other roads, in other lands. Of another home, another—[He hesitates.]—another home. [Pause.] What was I trying to say?
MRS. ROONEY
Something about your mind.
MR. ROONEY
[startled] My mind? Are you sure? [Pause. Incredulous.] My mind? . . . [Pause.] Ah yes. [Narrative tone.] Alone in the compartment my mind began to work, as so often after office hours, on the way home, in the train, to the lilt of the bogeys. Your season-ticket, I said, costs you twelve pounds a year and you earn, on an average, seven and six a day, that is to say barely enough to keep you alive and twitching with the help of food, drink, tobacco and periodicals until you finally reach home and fall into bed. Add to this—or subtract from it—rent, stationery, various subscriptions, tramfares to and fro, light and heat, permits and licences, hairtrims and shaves, tips to escorts, upkeep of premises and appearances, and a thousand unspecifiable sundries, and it is clear
that by lying at home in bed, day and night, winter and summer, with a change of pyjamas once a fortnight, you would add very considerably to your income. Business, I said—[A cry. Pause. Again. Normal tone.] Did I hear a cry?
MRS. ROONEY
Mrs. Tully I fancy. Her poor husband is in constant pain and beats her unmercifully.
[Silence.]
MR. ROONEY
That was a short knock. [Pause.] What was I trying to get at?
MRS. ROONEY
Business.
MR. ROONEY
Ah yes, business. [Narrative tone.] Business, old man, I said, retire from business, it has retired from you. [Normal tone.] One has these moments of lucidity.
MRS. ROONEY
I feel very cold and weak.
MR. ROONEY
[narrative tone] On the other hand, I said, there are the horrors of home life, the dusting, sweeping, airing, scrubbing, waxing, waning, washing, mangling, drying, mowing, clipping, raking, rolling, scuffling, shovelling, grinding, tearing, pounding, banging and slamming. And the brats, the happy little healthy little howling neighbours’ brats. Of all this and much more the week-end, the Saturday intermission and then the day of rest, have given you some idea. But what must it be like on a working-day? A Wednesday? A Friday? What must it be like on a Friday! And I fell to thinking of my silent, backstreet, basement office, with its obliterated plate, rest-couch and velvet hangings, and what it means to be buried there alive, if only from ten to five, with convenient to the one hand a bottle of light pale ale and to the other a long ice-cold fillet of hake. Nothing, I said, not even fully certified death, can ever take the place of that. It was then I noticed that we were at a standstill. [Pause. Normal tone. Irritably.] Why are you hanging out of me like that? Have you swooned away?