Short Plays

the milk of the sweetest cow in County Wicklow. Tramp The Almighty God reward you, and may it be to your good health. He drinks. Nora Giving him a pipe and tobacco. I’ve no pipes saving his own, stranger, but they’re sweet pipes to smoke. Tramp Thank you kindly, lady of the house. Nora Sit down now, stranger, and be taking your rest. Tramp Filling a pipe and looking about the room. I’ve walked a great way through the world, lady of the house, and seen great wonders, but I never seen a wake till this day with fine spirits, and good tobacco, and the best of pipes, and no one to taste them but a woman only. Nora Didn’t you hear me say it was only after dying on me he was when the sun went down, and how would I go out into the glen and tell the neighbours, and I a lone woman with no house near me? Tramp Drinking. There’s no offence, lady of the house? Nora No offence in life, stranger. How would the like of you, passing in the dark night, know the lonesome way I was with no house near me at all? Tramp Sitting down. I knew rightly. He lights his pipe so that there is a sharp light beneath his haggard face. And I was thinking, and I coming in through the door, that it’s many a lone woman would be afeard of the like of me in the dark night, in a place wouldn’t be as lonesome as this place, where there aren’t two living souls would see the little light you have shining from the glass. Nora Slowly. I’m thinking many would be afeard, but I never knew what way I’d be afeard of beggar or bishop or any man of you at all.⁠ ⁠… She looks towards the window and lowers her voice. It’s other things than the like of you, stranger, would make a person afeard. Tramp Looking round with a half-shudder. It is surely, God help us all! Nora Looking at him for a moment with curiosity. You’re saying that, stranger, as if you were easy afeard. Tramp Speaking mournfully. Is it myself, lady of the house, that does be walking round in the long nights, and crossing the hills when the fog is on them, the time a little stick would seem as big as your arm, and a rabbit as big as a bay horse, and a stack of turf as big as a towering church in the city of Dublin? If myself was easy afeard, I’m telling you, it’s long ago I’d have been locked into the Richmond Asylum, or maybe have run up into the back hills with nothing on me but an old shirt, and been eaten by the crows the like of Patch Darcy⁠—the Lord have mercy on him⁠—in the year that’s gone. Nora With interest. You knew Darcy? Tramp Wasn’t I the last one heard his living voice in the whole world? Nora There were great stories of what was heard at that time, but would anyone believe the things they do be saying in the glen? Tramp It was no lie, lady of the house.⁠ ⁠… I was passing below on a dark night the like of this night, and the sheep were lying under the ditch and every one of them coughing, and choking, like an old man, with the great rain and the fog. Then I heard a thing talking⁠—queer talk, you wouldn’t believe at all, and you out of your dreams⁠—and “Merciful God,” says I, “if I begin hearing the like of that voice out of the thick mist, I’m destroyed surely.” Then I run and I run till I was below in Rathvanna. I got drunk that night, I got drunk in the morning, and drunk the day after⁠—I was coming from the races beyond⁠—and the third day they found Darcy.⁠ ⁠… Then I knew it was himself I was after hearing, and I wasn’t afeard any more. Nora Speaking sorrowfully and slowly. God spare Darcy, he’d always look in here and he passing up or passing down, and it’s very lonesome I was after him a long while she looks over at the bed and lowers her voice, speaking very clearly, and then I got happy again⁠—if it’s ever happy we are, stranger⁠—for I got used to being lonesome. A short pause; then she stands up. Nora Was there anyone on the last bit of the road, stranger, and you coming from Aughrim? Tramp There was a young man with a drift of mountain ewes, and he running after them this way and that. Nora With a half-smile. Far down, stranger? Tramp A piece only. Nora fills the kettle and puts it on the fire. Nora Maybe, if you’re not easy afeard, you’d stay here a short while alone with himself. Tramp I would surely. A man that’s dead can do no hurt. Nora Speaking with a sort of constraint. I’m going a little back to the west, stranger, for himself would go there one night and another and whistle at that place, and then the young man you’re after seeing⁠—a kind of a farmer has come up from the sea to live in a cottage beyond⁠—would walk round to see if there was a thing we’ld have to be done, and I’m wanting him this night, the way he can go down into the glen when the sun goes up and tell the people that himself is dead. Tramp Looking at the body in the sheet. It’s myself will go for him, lady of the house, and let you not be destroying yourself with the great rain. Nora You wouldn’t find your way, stranger, for there’s a small path only, and it running up between two sluigs where an ass and cart would be drowned. She puts a shawl over her head. Let you be making yourself easy, and saying a prayer for his soul, and it’s not long I’ll be