The Playboy of the Western World - J. M. Synge (inspirational books for students txt) 📗

PEGEEN. I’m thinking you’re an odd man, Christy Mahon. The oddest walking fellow I ever set my eyes on to this hour to-day.

CHRISTY. What would any be but odd men and they living lonesome in the world?

PEGEEN. I’m not odd, and I’m my whole life with my father only.

CHRISTY — [with infinite admiration.] — How would a lovely handsome woman the like of you be lonesome when all men should be thronging around to hear the sweetness of your voice, and the little infant children should be pestering your steps I’m thinking, and you walking the roads.

PEGEEN. I’m hard set to know what way a coaxing fellow the like of yourself should be lonesome either.

CHRISTY. Coaxing?

PEGEEN. Would you have me think a man never talked with the girls would have the words you’ve spoken to-day? It’s only letting on you are to be lonesome, the way you’d get around me now.

CHRISTY. I wish to God I was letting on; but I was lonesome all times, and born lonesome, I’m thinking, as the moon of dawn. [Going to door.]

PEGEEN — [puzzled by his talk.] — Well, it’s a story I’m not understanding at all why you’d be worse than another, Christy Mahon, and you a fine lad with the great savagery to destroy your da.

CHRISTY. It’s little I’m understanding myself, saving only that my heart’s scalded this day, and I going off stretching out the earth between us, the way I’ll not be waking near you another dawn of the year till the two of us do arise to hope or judgment with the saints of God, and now I’d best be going with my wattle in my hand, for hanging is a poor thing (turning to go), and it’s little welcome only is left me in this house to-day.

PEGEEN — [sharply.] Christy! (He turns round.) Come here to me. (He goes towards her.) Lay down that switch and throw some sods on the fire. You’re pot-boy in this place, and I’ll not have you mitch off from us now.

CHRISTY. You were saying I’d be hanged if I stay.

PEGEEN — [quite kindly at last.] — I’m after going down and reading the fearful crimes of Ireland for two weeks or three, and there wasn’t a word of your murder. (Getting up and going over to the counter.) They’ve likely not found the body. You’re safe so with ourselves.

CHRISTY — [astonished, slowly.] — It’s making game of me you were (following her with fearful joy), and I can stay so, working at your side, and I not lonesome from this mortal day.

PEGEEN. What’s to hinder you from staying, except the widow woman or the young girls would inveigle you off?

CHRISTY — [with rapture.] — And I’ll have your words from this day filling my ears, and that look is come upon you meeting my two eyes, and I watching you loafing around in the warm sun, or rinsing your ankles when the night is come.

PEGEEN — [kindly, but a little embarrassed.] I’m thinking you’ll be a loyal young lad to have working around, and if you vexed me a while since with your leaguing with the girls, I wouldn’t give a thraneen for a lad hadn’t a mighty spirit in him and a gamey heart. [Shawn Keogh runs in carrying a cleeve on his back, followed by the WidowQuin.]

SHAWN — [to Pegeen.] — I was passing below, and I seen your mountainy sheep eating cabbages in Jimmy’s field. Run up or they’ll be bursting surely.

PEGEEN. Oh, God mend them! [She puts a shawl over her head and runs out.]

CHRISTY — [looking from one to the other. Still in high spirits.] — I’d best go to her aid maybe. I’m handy with ewes.

WIDOW QUIN — [closing the door.] — She can do that much, and there is Shaneen has long speeches for to tell you now. [She sits down with an amused smile.]

SHAWN — [taking something from his pocket and offering it to Christy.] — Do you see that, mister?

CHRISTY — [looking at it.] — The half of a ticket to the Western States!

SHAWN — [trembling with anxiety.] — I’ll give it to you and my new hat (pulling it out of hamper); and my breeches with the double seat (pulling it off); and my new coat is woven from the blackest shearings for three miles around (giving him the coat); I’ll give you the whole of them, and my blessing, and the blessing of Father Reilly itself, maybe, if you’ll quit from this and leave us in the peace we had till last night at the fall of dark.

CHRISTY — [with a new arrogance.] — And for what is it you’re wanting to get shut of me?

SHAWN — [looking to the Widow for help.] — I’m a poor scholar with middling faculties to coin a lie, so I’ll tell you the truth, Christy Mahon. I’m wedding with Pegeen beyond, and I don’t think well of having a clever fearless man the like of you dwelling in her house.

CHRISTY — [almost pugnaciously.] — And you’d be using bribery for to banish me?

SHAWN — [in an imploring voice.] — Let you not take it badly, mister honey, isn’t beyond the best place for you where you’ll have golden chains and shiny coats and you riding upon hunters with the ladies of the land. [He makes an eager sign to the Widow Quin to come to help him.]

WIDOW QUIN — [coming over.] — It’s true for him, and you’d best quit off and not have that poor girl setting her mind on you, for there’s Shaneen thinks she wouldn’t suit you though all is saying that she’ll wed you now. [Christy beams with delight.]

SHAWN — [in terrified earnest.] — She wouldn’t suit you, and she with the divil’s own temper the way you’d be strangling one another in a score of days. (He makes the movement of strangling with his hands.) It’s the like of me only that she’s fit for, a quiet simple fellow wouldn’t raise a hand upon her if she scratched itself.

WIDOW QUIN — [putting Shawn’s hat on Christy.] — Fit them clothes on you anyhow, young fellow, and he’d maybe loan them to you for the sports. (Pushing him towards inner door.) Fit them on and you can give your answer when you have them tried.

CHRISTY — [beaming, delighted with the clothes.] — I will then. I’d like herself to see me in them tweeds and hat. [He goes into room and shuts the door.]

SHAWN — [in great anxiety.] — He’d like herself to see them. He’ll not leave us, Widow Quin. He’s a score of divils in him the way it’s well nigh certain he will wed Pegeen.

WIDOW QUIN — [jeeringly.] It’s true all girls are fond of courage and do hate the like of you.

SHAWN — [walking about in desperation.] — Oh, Widow Quin, what’ll I be doing now? I’d inform again him, but he’d burst from Kilmainham and he’d be sure and certain to destroy me. If I wasn’t so God-fearing, I’d near have courage to come behind him and run a pike into his side. Oh, it’s a hard case to be an orphan and not to have your father that you’re used to, and you’d easy kill and make yourself a hero in the sight of all. (Coming up to her.) Oh, Widow Quin, will you find me some contrivance when I’ve promised you a ewe?

WIDOW QUIN. A ewe’s a small thing, but what would you give me if I did wed him and did save you so?

SHAWN — [with astonishment.] You?

WIDOW QUIN. Aye. Would you give me the red cow you have and the mountainy ram, and the right of way across your rye path, and a load of dung at Michaelmas, and turbary upon the western hill?

SHAWN — [radiant with hope.] — I would surely, and I’d give you the wedding-ring I have, and the loan of a new suit, the way you’d have him decent on the wedding-day. I’d give you two kids for your dinner, and a gallon of poteen, and I’d call the piper on the long car to your wedding from Crossmolina or from Ballina. I’d give you …

WIDOW QUIN. That’ll do so, and let you whisht, for he’s coming now again. [Christy comes in very natty in the new clothes. Widow Quin goes to him ad miringly.]

WIDOW QUIN. If you seen yourself now, I’m thinking you’d be too proud to speak to us at all, and it’d be a pity surely to have your like sailing from Mayo to the Western World.

CHRISTY — [as proud as a peacock.] — I’m not going. If this is a poor place itself, I’ll make myself contented to be lodging here. [Widow Quin makes a sign to Shawn to leave them.]

SHAWN. Well, I’m going measuring the race-course while the tide is low, so I’ll leave you the garments and my blessing for the sports to-day. God bless you! [He wriggles out.]

WIDOW QUIN — [admiring Christy.] — Well, you’re mighty spruce, young fellow. Sit down now while you’re quiet till you talk with me.

CHRISTY — [swaggering.] I’m going abroad on the hillside for to seek Pegeen.

WIDOW QUIN. You’ll have time and plenty for to seek Pegeen, and you heard me saying at the fall of night the two of us should be great company.

CHRISTY. From this out I’ll have no want of company when all sorts is bringing me their food and clothing (he swaggers to the door, tightening his belt), the way they’d set their eyes upon a gallant orphan cleft his father with one blow to the breeches belt. (He opens door, then staggers back.) Saints of glory! Holy angels from the throne of light!

WIDOW QUIN — [going over.] — What ails you?

CHRISTY. It’s the walking spirit of my murdered da?

WIDOW QUIN — [looking out.] — Is it that tramper?

CHRISTY — [wildly.] Where’ll I hide my poor body from that ghost of hell? [The door is pushed open, and old Mahon appears on threshold. Christy darts in behind door.]

WIDOW QUIN — [in great amusement.] — Cod save you, my poor man.

MAHON — [gruffly.] Did you see a young lad passing this way in the early morning or the fall of night?

WIDOW QUIN. You’re a queer kind to walk in not saluting at all.

MAHON. Did you see the young lad?

WIDOW QUIN — [stiffly.] What kind was he?

MAHON. An ugly young streeler with a murderous gob on him, and a little switch in his hand. I met a tramper seen him coming this way at the fall of night.

WIDOW QUIN. There’s harvest hundreds do be passing these days for the Sligo boat. For what is it you’re wanting him, my poor man?

MAHON. I want to destroy him for breaking the head on me with the clout of a loy. (He takes off a big hat, and shows his head in a mass of bandages and plaster, with some pride.) It was he did that, and amn’t I a great wonder to think I’ve traced him ten days with that rent in my crown?

WIDOW QUIN — [taking his head in both hands and examining it with extreme delight.] — That was a great blow. And who hit you? A robber maybe?

MAHON. It was my own son hit me, and he the divil a robber, or anything else, but a dirty, stuttering lout.

WIDOW — [letting go his skull and wiping her hands in her apron.] — You’d best be wary of a mortified scalp, I think they call it, lepping around with that wound in the splendour of the sun. It