The Atlantic Book of Modern Plays, Gordon Bottomley et al. [kiss me liar novel english .TXT] 📗

beaten for a' that. Aye, the pair o' them have beat me—though it's a matter of seconds till one of them be dead.

MORAG (starting into upright position and staring at him; her voice is like an echo to his). Dead!

CAMPBELL (turning hastily). What is that!

MORAG. Is he dead?

CAMPBELL (grimly). Not yet, but if ye'll look through this window (he indicates window) presently, ye'll see him gotten ready for death.

(He begins to collect articles of personal property, hat, etc.)

MORAG. I will tell you.

CAMPBELL (astounded). What!

MORAG. I will tell you all you are seeking to know.

CAMPBELL (quietly). Good God, and to think, to think I was on the very act—in the very act of—tell me—tell me at once.

MORAG. You will promise that he will not be hanged?

CAMPBELL. He will not. I swear it.

MORAG. You will give him back to me?

CAMPBELL. I will give him back unhung.

MORAG. Then (CAMPBELL comes near), in a corrie half-way up the far side of Dearig—God save me!

CAMPBELL. Dished after a'. I've clean dished them! Loard, Loard! once more I can believe in the rationality of Thy world. (Gathers up again his cloak, hat, etc.) And to think—to think—I was on the very act of going away like a beaten dog!

MORAG. He is safe from hanging now?

CAMPBELL (chuckles and looks out at window before replying, and is at door when he speaks). Very near it, very near it. Listen!

(He holds up his hand—a volley of musketry is heard. KILMHOR goes out, closing the door behind him. After a short interval of silence the old woman enters and advances a few steps.)

MARY STEWART. Did you hear, Morag Cameron, did you hear?

(The girl is sobbing, her head on her arms.)

MARY STEWART. Och! be quiet now; I would be listening till the last sound of it passes into the great hills and over all the wide world.—It is fitting for you to be crying, a child that cannot understand; but water shall never wet eye of mine for Dugald Stewart. Last night I was but the mother of a lad that herded sheep on the Athole hills: this morn it is I that am the mother of a man who is among the great ones of the earth. All over the land they will be telling of Dugald Stewart. Mothers will teach their children to be men by him. High will his name be with the teller of fine tales.—The great men came, they came in their pride, terrible like the storm they were, and cunning with words of guile were they. Death was with them…. He was but a lad, a young lad, with great length of days before him, and the grandeur of the world. But he put it all from him. "Speak," said they, "speak, and life and great riches will be for yourself." But he said no word at all! Loud was the swelling of their wrath! Let the heart of you rejoice, Morag Cameron, for the snow is red with his blood. There are things greater than death. Let them that are children shed the tears.

(She comes forward and lays her hand on the girl's shoulder.)

MARY STEWART. Let us go and lift him into the house, and not be leaving him lie out there alone.

[CURTAIN] THE SUN[1]

John Glasworthy

SCENE: A GIRL sits crouched over her knees on a stile close to a river. A MAN with a silver badge stands beside her clutching the worn top plank. THE GIRL'S level brows are drawn together; her eyes see her memories. THE MAN'S eyes see THE GIRL; he has a dark, twisted face. The bright sun shines; the quiet river flows; the cuckoo is calling; the mayflower is in bloom along the hedge that ends in the stile on the towing-path.

[Footnote 1: From Scribner's Magazine, May, 1919. Copyright by Charles Scribner's Sons; included by special permission of the writer and publishers.]

THE GIRL. God knows what 'e'll say, Jim.

THE MAN. Let 'im. 'E's come too late, that's all.

THE GIRL. He couldn't come before. I'm frightened. 'E was fond o' me.

THE MAN. And aren't I fond of you? My Gawd!

THE GIRL. I ought to 'a' waited, Jim; with 'im in the fightin'.

THE MAN (passionately). And what about me? Aren't I been in the fightin'—earned all I could get?

THE GIRL (touching him). Ah!

THE MAN. Did you—

(He cannot speak the words.)

THE GIRL. Not like you, Jim—not like you.

THE MAN. 'Ave a spirit, then.

THE GIRL. I promised 'im.

THE MAN. One man's luck'a another's poison. I've seen it.

THE GIRL. I ought to 'a' waited. I never thought 'e'd come back from the fightin'.

THE MAN (grimly). Maybe 'e'd better not 'ave.

THE GIRL (looking back along the tow-path). What'll 'e be like, I wonder?

THE MAN (gripping her shoulder). Daise, don't you never go back on me, or I should kill you, and 'im too.

(THE GIRL looks at him, shivers, and puts her lips to his.)

THE GIRL. I never could.

THE MAN. Will you run for it? 'E'd never find us.

(THE GIRL shakes her head.)

THE MAN (dully). What's the good o' stayin'? The world's wide.

THE GIRL. I'd rather have it off me mind, with him 'ome.

THE MAN (clenching his hands). It's temptin' Providence.

THE GIRL. What's the time, Jim?

THE MAN (glancing at the sun). 'Alf past four.

THE GIRL (looking along the towing-path). 'E said four o'clock.
Jim, you better go.

THE MAN. Not I. I've not got the wind up. I've seen as much of hell as he has, any day. What like is he?

THE GIRL (dully). I dunno, just. I've not seen 'im these three years. I dunno no more, since I've known you.

THE MAN. Big, or little chap?

THE GIRL. 'Bout your size. Oh! Jim, go along!

THE MAN. No fear! What's a blighter like that to old Fritz's shells? We didn't shift when they was comin'. If you'll go, I'll go; not else.

(Again she shakes her head.)

THE GIRL. Jim, do you love me true? (For answer, THE MAN takes her avidly in his arms.) I ain't ashamed—I ain't ashamed. If 'e could see me 'eart.

THE MAN. Daise! If I'd known you out there I never could 'a' stuck it. They'd 'a' got me for a deserter. That's 'ow I love you!

THE GIRL. Jim, don't lift your 'and to 'im. Promise!

THE MAN. That's according.

THE GIRL. Promise!

THE MAN. If 'e keeps quiet, I won't. But I'm not accountable—not always, I tell you straight—not since I've been through that.

THE GIRL (with a shiver). Nor p'r'aps 'e isn't.

THE MAN. Like as not. It takes the lynchpins out, I tell you.

THE GIRL. God 'elp us!

THE MAN (grimly). Ah! We said that a bit too often. What we want, we take, now; there's no one to give it us, and there's no fear'll stop us; we seen the bottom o' things.

THE GIRL. P'r'aps 'e'll say that too.

THE MAN. Then it'll be 'im or me.

THE GIRL. I'm frightened.

THE MAN (tenderly). No, Daise, no! (He takes out a knife.) The river's 'andy. One more or less. 'E shan't 'arm you; nor me neither.

THE GIRL (seizing his hand). Oh! no! Give it to me, Jim!

THE MAN (smiling). No fear! (He puts it away.) Shan't 'ave no need for it, like as not. All right, little Daise; you can't be expected to see things like what we do. What's a life, anyway? I've seen a thousand taken in five minutes. I've seen dead men on the wires like flies on a fly-paper; I've been as good as dead meself an 'undred times. I've killed a dozen men. It's nothin'. 'E's safe, if 'e don't get my blood up. If 'e does, nobody's safe; not 'im, nor anybody else; not even you. I'm speakin' sober.

THE GIRL (softly). Jim, you won't go fightin', wi' the sun out and the birds all callin'?

THE MAN. That depends on 'im. I'm not lookin' for it. Daise, I love you. I love your eyes. I love your hair. I love you.

THE GIRL. And I love you, Jim. I don't want nothin' more than you in the whole world.

THE MAN. Amen to that, my dear. Kiss me close!

(The sound of a voice singing breaks in on their embrace. THE GIRL starts from his arms and looks behind her along the towing-path. THE MAN draws back against the hedge, fingering his side, where the knife is hidden. The song comes nearer.)

  I'll be right there to-night
  Where the fields are snowy white;
  Banjos ringin', darkies singin'—
  All the world seems bright.

THE GIRL. It's 'im!

THE MAN. Don't get the wind up, Daise. I'm here!

(The singing stops. A man's voice says: Christ! It's Daise; it's little Daise 'erself! THE GIRL stands rigid. The figure of a soldier appears on the other side of the stile. His cap is tucked into his belt, his hair is bright in the sunshine; he is lean, wasted, brown, and laughing.)

SOLDIER. Daise! Daise! Hallo, old pretty girl!

(THE GIRL does not move, barring the way, as it were.)

THE GIRL. Hallo, Jack! (Softly) I got things to tell you.

SOLDIER. What sort o' things, this lovely day? Why, I got things that'd take me years to tell. 'Ave you missed me, Daise?

THE GIRL. You been so long.

SOLDIER. So I 'ave. My Gawd! It's a way they 'ave in the Army. I said when I got out of it I'd laugh. Like as the sun itself I used to think of you, Daise, when the crumps was comin' over, and the wind was up. D' you remember that last night in the wood? "Come back, and marry me quick, Jack!" Well, 'ere I am—got me pass to 'eaven. No more fightin', an' trampin,' no more sleepin" rough. We can get married now, Daise. We can live soft an' 'appy. Give us a kiss, old pretty.

THE GIRL (drawing back). No.

SOLDIER (blankly). Why not?

(THE MAN, with a swift movement, steps along the hedge to THE
GIRL'S side.)

THE MAN. That's why, soldier.

SOLDIER (leaping over the stile). 'Oo are you, Pompey? The sun don't shine in your inside, do it? 'Oo is 'e, Daise?

THE GIRL. My man.

SOLDIER. Your—man! Lummy! "Taffy was a Welshman, Taffy was a thief"! Well, soldier? So you've been through it, too. I'm laughin' this mornin', as luck will 'ave it. Ah! I can see your knife.

THE MAN (who has half drawn his knife). Don't laugh at me,
I tell you.

SOLDIER. Not at you, soldier, not at you. (He looks from one to the other.) I'm laughin' at things in general. Where did you get it, soldier?

THE MAN (watchfully). Through the lung.

SOLDIER. Think o' that! An' I never was touched. Four years an' never was touched. An' so you've come an' took my girl. Nothin' doin'! Ha! (Again he looks from one to the other—then away.) Well! The world's before me. (He laughs.) I'll give you Daise for a lung protector.

THE MAN (fiercely). You won't. I've took her.

SOLDIER. That's all right, then. You keep 'er. I've got a laugh in me you can't put out, black as you are! Good-bye, little Daise!

(THE GIRL makes a movement toward him.)

THE MAN. Don't touch 'im!

(THE GIRL stands hesitating, and suddenly bursts into tears.)

SOLDIER. Look 'ere, soldier; shake 'ands! I don't want to see a girl cry, this day of all, with the sun shinin'. I seen too much o' sorrer. You an' me've been at the back of it. We've 'ad our whack. Shake!

THE MAN. Who are you kiddin'? You never loved 'er!

SOLDIER. Oh! I thought I did.

THE MAN (fiercely). I'll fight you for her.

(He drops his knife.)

SOLDIER (slowly). Soldier, you done your bit, an' I done mine.
It's took us two ways, seemin'ly.

THE GIRL (pleading). Jim!

THE MAN (with clenched fists). I don't want 'is charity. I only want what I can take.

SOLDIER. Daise, which of us will you 'ave?

THE GIRL (covering her face). Oh! Him.

SOLDIER. You see, soldier! Drop your 'ands, now. There's nothin' for it but a laugh. You an' me know that.