The Road to Damascus, a Trilogy Part 14

MOTHER. I don't know whether you were born full of worldly wisdom, or foolishness.

LADY. I don't know myself.

MOTHER. If the sun s.h.i.+nes and you've enough to eat, you're content.

LADY. Yes. And when it goes in, I make the best of it.

MOTHER. To change the subject: did you know your husband was being pressed by the courts on account of his debts?

LADY. Yes. It happens to all writers.

MOTHER. Is he mad, or a rascal?

LADY. He's neither. He's no ordinary man; and it's a pity I can tell him nothing he doesn't know already. That's why we don't speak much; but he's glad to have me near him; and so am I to be near him.

MOTHER. You've reached calm water already? Then it can't be far to the mill-race! But don't you think you'd have more to talk of, if you read what he has written?

LADY. Perhaps. You can leave me the book, if you like.

MOTHER. Take it and hide it. It'll be a surprise if you can quote something from his masterpiece.

LADY (hiding the book in her bag). He's coming. If he's spoken of he seems to feel it from afar.

MOTHER. If he could only feel how he makes others suffer--from afar.

(Exit left.)

(The LADY, alone for an instant, looks at the book and seems taken aback. She hides it in her bag.)

STRANGER (entering). Your mother was here? You were speaking of me, of course. I can almost hear her ill-natured words. They cut the air and darken the suns.h.i.+ne. I can almost divine the impression of her body in the atmosphere of the room, and she leaves an odour like that of a dead snake.

LADY. You're irritable to-day.

STRANGER. Fearfully. Some fool has restrung my nerves out of tune, and plays on them with a horse-hair bow till he sets my teeth on edge....

You don't know what that is! There's someone here who's stronger than I! Someone with a searchlight who s.h.i.+nes it at me, wherever I may be. Do they use the black art in this place?

LADY. Don't turn your back on the sunlight. Look at this lovely country; you'll feel calmer.

STRANGER. I can't bear that poorhouse. It seems to have been built there solely for me. And a demented woman always stands there beckoning.

LADY. Do you think they treat you badly here?

STRANGER. In a way, no. They feed me with t.i.t-bits, as if I were to be fattened for the butcher. But I can't eat because they grudge it me, and I feel the cold rays of their hate. To me it seems there's an icy wind everywhere, although it's still and hot. And I can hear that accursed mill....

LADY. It's not grinding now.

STRANGER. Yes. Grinding... grinding.

LADY. Listen. There's no hate here. Pity, at most.

STRANGER. Another thing.... Why do people I meet cross themselves?

LADY. Only because they're used to praying in silence. (Pause.) You had an unwelcome letter this morning?

STRANGER. Yes. The kind that makes your hair rise from the scalp, so that you want to curse at fate. I'm owed money, but can't get paid.

Now the law's being set in motion against me by... the guardians of my children, because I've not paid alimony. No one has ever been in such a dishonourable position. I'm blameless. I could pay my way; I want to, but am prevented! Not my fault; yet my shame! It's not in nature. The devil's got a hand in it.

LADY. Why?

STRANGER. Why? Why is one born into this world an ignoramus, knowing nothing of the laws, customs and usage one inadvertently breaks? And for which one's punished. Why does one grow into a youth full of high ambition only to be driven into vile actions one abhors? Why, why?

LADY (who has secretly been looking at the book: absent-mindedly). There must be a reason, even if we don't know it.

STRANGER. If it's to humble one, it's a poor method. It only makes me more arrogant. Eve!

LADY. Don't call me that.

STRANGER (starting). Why not?

LADY. I don't like it. You'd feel as I do, if I called you Caesar.

STRANGER. Have we got back to that?

LADY. To what?

STRANGER. Did you mention that name for any reason?

LADY. Caesar? No. But I'm beginning to find things out.

STRANGER. Very well! Then I may as well fall honourably by my own hand. I am Caesar, the school-boy, for whose escapade your husband, the werewolf, was punished. Fate delights in making links for eternity.

A n.o.ble sport! (The LADY, uncertain what to do, does not reply.) Say something!

LADY. I can't.

STRANGER. Say that he became a werewolf because, as a child, he lost his belief in the justice of heaven, owing to the fact that, though innocent, he was punished for the misdeeds of another. But if you say so, I shall reply that I suffered ten times as much from my conscience, and that the spiritual crisis that followed left me so strengthened that I've never done such a thing again.

LADY. No. It's not that.

STRANGER. Then what is it? Do you respect me no longer?

LADY. It's not that either.

STRANGER. Then it's to make me feel my shame before you! And it would be the end of everything between us.

LADY. No!

STRANGER. Eve.

LADY. You rouse evil thoughts.