Dublin Carol (NHB Modern Plays) E-Book

Conor McPherson

• Herausgeber: Nick Hern Books
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 96

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Beschreibung

A magical, compelling play from the author of The Weir. Present day Dublin. Christmas Eve. Undertaker John Plunkett is sharing memories of funerals over the years and dispensing advice to his young assistant. But the arrival of his daughter Mary - estranged, grown-up - shows him the time has come to face up to his own disastrous past. Otherwise, he will never be able to create some kind of truce with his fear of the future. 'a theatrical spellbinder' - Daily Telegraph 'McPherson's short play is excellent: tough on love and the causes of love; profoundly sympathetic and damning about the denizens of the drunk tank.' - Time Out

Leseprobe

Conor McPherson

DUBLIN CAROL

NICK HERN BOOKS

London

www.nickhernbooks.co.uk

Contents

Title Page

Original Production

Characters

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Afterword

About the Author

Copyright and Performing Rights Information

DUBLIN CAROL

Dublin Carol was first performed at the Royal Court Theatre Downstairs, Sloane Square, London on 7 January 2000. The cast was as follows:

MARK

Andrew Scott

JOHN

Brian Cox

MARY

Bronagh Gallagher

Director

Ian Rickson

Designer

Rae Smith

Lighting Designer

Paule Constable

Music

Stephen Warbeck

Characters

JOHN, late fifties

MARK, early twenties

MARY, thirties

The play is set over one day, 24 December:

Part One: late morning.

Part Two: early afternoon.

Part Three: late afternoon.

The action takes place in an office on the Northside of Dublin, around Fairview or the North Strand Road.

Part One

An office. Dublin. The present.

The office is furnished with old wooden desks, carpet, comfortable chairs, filing cabinets, tasteful paintings, elaborate lamps. But all a bit old and musty. In one corner is a sink with cups, teapot, kettle, etc. There is an electric fire. There are terribly scrawny Christmas decorations. A few fairy lights. A foot-high plastic Christmas tree on one of the desks. A little advent calendar with just a few doors left to open.

MARK, a young man of about twenty or twenty-one comes in. He wears a black suit and an overcoat. He looks a bit wet. He stands in the office for a few moments by himself, as though waiting to be told what to do.

Then JOHN comes in. He’s in his fifties. He also wears a black suit and overcoat. He’s not quite as wet as MARK.

JOHN. Sorry. I had to make a call. Get your wet gear off, Mark, yeah?

MARK. Yeah.

JOHN. I’ll put the kettle on.

JOHN fills the kettle. MARK takes his coat off and looks for somewhere to put it. He drapes it over a chair and stands with his hands in his pockets.

Plug in that old fire there.

MARK goes down beside a desk and plugs the fire in.

You did very well.

MARK. Really?

JOHN. Oh yeah.

JOHN takes off his coat and takes a hanger from a hook on the door. He hangs his coat up. He takes a towel from beside the sink and tosses it to MARK. MARK rubs his hair.

Give your head a rub.

MARK. Thanks Mr Plunkett.

JOHN. Sit down there.

MARK sits on a chair. JOHN stays near the sink and farts around with the tea. He takes a small bottle of whiskey from a drawer and pours some into a cup.

I’m not gonna offer you any of this, son. Your ma’d kill me. I’m old. I’ll die if I don’t drink this.

MARK (laughs). That’s alright.

JOHN. I have to have a sup of this.

Pause.

You can have a cup of tea in a minute. (Short pause.) When the kettle boils up. You know what I mean?

They laugh. (NB: any laughter denoted between the characters need not be literal. Tiny breaths or smiles may suffice and it’s up to the actors to find their own rhythm and pitch in rehearsal.)

Yeah . . . There’s an old pub there across the road, you know? The Strand.

MARK. Yeah I was in there.

JOHN. Yeah?

MARK. Yeah I was in there last night. After work. My girlfriend came down and met me there.

JOHN. Yeah?

MARK. Yeah. She knew it.

JOHN. Yeah?

MARK. Yeah. She knew it from before. She used to work down there in the stationery place.

JOHN. Oh right. Where’s she from?

MARK. Marino.

JOHN. Ah well, then, you know?

MARK. Yeah.

JOHN. Up the road.

MARK. Yeah.

JOHN. She’s only down the road. A lot of people would know it. Your man does give the regulars a Christmas drink and all this.

MARK. Yeah. It was fairly busy. A lot of people going home from work.

JOHN. Ah yeah, they do a, they used to always do a nice lunch, and you’d get all the people going in there for their nosh. You used to see a lot of priests going in. And that’s, did you ever hear that, that’s a sign the food is good, you know?

They laugh.

Because they know what side their bread is buttered on. That’s a little hint for you there now. The old girlfriend, ha? Does she still work up there?

MARK. No she’s an air hostess.

JOHN. Oh ho!

MARK laughs.

Very ‘How’s it fuckin’ goin’ . . . ’

MARK (slightly embarrassed). Yep.

JOHN. The uniform.

MARK. Yep.

JOHN. Did you meet her on a plane?

MARK. Nah. Met her at a party.

JOHN. With the uniform and all.

MARK (laughs, thinks). I don’t like the uniform.

JOHN. Why?

MARK. I don’t know. It makes her legs look fat.

JOHN. Ah now here. Where are you going with that kind of talk? Bloody air hostess, man.

MARK. Well you’re going a bit mad about it.

They laugh.

JOHN. I know. What’s her name?

MARK. Kim.

JOHN. Kim?

MARK. Yeah.

JOHN. That’s eh, that’s not an Irish name.

MARK. Mm. I don’t know what it is.

JOHN. Is it short for something?

MARK. I don’t know.

JOHN. Kipling or . . . Nn. What’s she like?

MARK. Em. She’s sort of dark. Like her skin is kind of dark.

JOHN. What, sort of tanned or kind of yellowy?

MARK (laughs). Yeah kind of.

JOHN. Was she on her holidays?

MARK. No. She just is.

JOHN. Janey Mack. There’s people’d love that, you know?

MARK. Yeah.

JOHN. Are you going out long?

MARK. Going out a year and three months.

JOHN. Oh my God. This is the big one, ha?

MARK. You never know.

JOHN. If it’s there, it’s there, you know? But ah . . . (Thinks better of what he is going to say.) . . . you know? How old are you, son?

MARK. Twenty.

JOHN. Jesus. Twenty. God. I don’t know. Grasp the nettle.

(Short pause.) But you obviously don’t have any trouble there. In that department.

MARK (good-naturedly). Give me a break, will you?

JOHN. I’m sorry. Hangover. Has me chatty. You did very well today, do you know that?

MARK. Did I really?

JOHN. Oh yeah. Very good. You’re a natural.

MARK grimaces slightly as if to say ‘This better not be my calling.’

MARK. Do you not find it kind of horrible, though?

JOHN. Ah that person was young, Mark. I’m telling you, it’s not usually like that. People get older, they’re naturally kind of ready for it, you know? And everybody knows that. And it’s all a few quid for the priest and soup and sandwiches in the Addison Lodge. You know? It’s different with old people. You get used to it. You were very good. Helping that girl.

MARK (hoping JOHN agrees). She couldn’t drive.

JOHN (matter-of-factly). No. (Sly pause.) What do you reckon? Was she a bit on the side.

MARK (catching on). Maybe an old girlfriend or something, alright.

JOHN. He was a drug addict, you know?

MARK. Oh really, yeah?

JOHN. See the amount of fucking young ones? I’d say he was a right little cunt, d’you ever get that feeling? Three and four-timing them left right and centre. Did you not see his little missus. Shooting daggers all round the grave?

MARK. Really?

JOHN. It was a mess! (Short pause.) Do you think I’m very callous, Mark, yeah?

MARK. No.

JOHN. I often think I must be. But with Noel out sick, and me having to run things a little bit. I’ve been having a . . . (Although almost certain of something.) Are you supposed to just fucking . . .

MARK. Yeah . . . ?

JOHN. No I’m just (As though this is what he’s been wondering about.) you’d think this kettle would never boil. I don’t drink loads of tea. It’s a thing with it that people go mad to put the kettle on. I know I’m after putting it on now, but we’re wet and so on. But people do be falling all over themselves to be giving you tea all the time.

Distant church bells ring out.

Do you go to mass?

MARK. No.

JOHN. The same as meself. Why d’you not go?

MARK. I don’t know. It’s hard to eh . . . (Almost unexpectedly deflates.) Psss. I don’t know. I just don’t go I suppose.

JOHN. Yeah . . . I haven’t gone in years either, you know? Although I feel like I do because there’s always mass going on at the funeral. Outside the porch, or sitting in the car like we were today. Go in at the end. Help the poor lads who want to carry the coffin and all this. Nobody carried it today. But you’ll get it where they want to. But it should feel like it’s a big part of my life because you do always be in churches all the time.

MARK. Well it is, isn’t it? Big part of your life. You’re more . . . than most people, you know?

JOHN (slightly vainly, as though they should get the details of his life correct). I’m around it. You know?

MARK. Yeah . . .

JOHN. Are you a Christmas man?

MARK. Yeah, I suppose I am. I like Christmas.

JOHN. Get the little lady a present and so on.

MARK. Well I suppose you have to, don’t you? You know?

JOHN. Ah you have to. Get her a nice jumper or something.

They laugh.

MARK. Get her a nice anorak.

JOHN. Oh she’ll be delighted. Nice pair of socks in the pockets. Little surprise, you know?

They laugh.

MARK. God. Imagine.

JOHN. Oh there’s lads and they do things like that. Buying the wives cutlery and toasters and all sorts of shite. But then again, a lot of it is shite. You know?

They laugh.

Fucking hairdryers.

They laugh.

You know in the pictures you never see a baldy Indian. In the cowboys and Indians.

MARK (thinks). Yeah.

JOHN. That’s you don’t wash your hair. You never see a bald knacker. You see the itinerants. They let the natural oils do the business. There’s not all hairdryers in the caravans and all this.

MARK. Do you have to get many presents?

JOHN. Ah sure not any more. A boy over in England there, and, you know . . . Jesus I never made you any fucking tea.

JOHN goes to make tea.

We can’t be having that.

MARK. No, it’s fine. I have to go.

JOHN. We never did the advent calendar. You do it.

MARK goes to the advent calendar and opens a little door on it. JOHN makes tea for MARK.

What is it?

MARK. Ahm. It’s little angels, like in a choir.

JOHN. A feast of heavenly angels, is it? No it’s a host of heavenly angels. ‘A feast.’ I’m losing the marbles entirely at this stage. Have you gone in to see your Uncle Noel?

MARK. Not yet, no, I haven’t. I should go really.

JOHN. Yeah. Ah he’s not very well, you know?

MARK. Yeah?

JOHN. Yeah. (Actively reassuring.) He’ll get better. But just it’s not great, in the hospital for Christmas, you know?

MARK. Mmm.

JOHN. But the nurses are great and all that. They help you, you know?

MARK. Yeah.