The Ferryman E-Book

Jez Butterworth

• Herausgeber: Nick Hern Books
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Serie: NHB Modern Plays
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 150

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

 'Vanishing. It's a powerful word, that. A powerful word.'  County Armagh, Northern Ireland, 1981. The Carney farmhouse is a hive of activity with preparations for the annual harvest. A day of hard work on the land and a traditional night of feasting and celebrations lie ahead. But this year they will be interrupted by a visitor. Developed by Sonia Friedman Productions, Jez Butterworth's play The Ferryman premiered to huge acclaim at the Royal Court Theatre, London, in April 2017, before transferring to the West End and then Broadway. The production was directed by Sam Mendes. It went on to win the Evening Standard Theatre Award for Best Play, and the Critics' Circle, Olivier and WhatsOnStage Awards for Best New Play. It also won the 2019 Tony Award for Best Play.

Leseprobe

Jez Butterworth

THE FERRYMAN

NICK HERN BOOKS

London

www.nickhernbooks.co.uk

Contents

Title Page

Original Production

Dedication

Epigraph

Characters

Setting

Prologue

Act One

Act Two

Act Three

About the Author

Copyright and Performing Rights Information

The Ferryman was developed by Sonia Friedman Productions, and premiered at the Jerwood Theatre Downstairs at the Royal Court Theatre, London, on 24 April 2017. It was subsequently transferred to the Gielgud Theatre, London, on 20 June 2017 by Sonia Friedman Productions, Neal Street Productions & Royal Court Theatre Productions with Rupert Gavin, Gavin Kalin Productions, Ron Kastner and Tulchin Bartner Productions.

The West End cast (in order of appearance) was as follows:

LAWRENCE MALONE

Turlough Convery

FRANK MAGENNIS

Eugene O’Hare

FATHER HORRIGAN

Gerard Horan

MULDOON

Stuart Graham

QUINN CARNEY

Paddy Considine

CAITLIN CARNEY

Laura Donnelly

MERCY CARNEY

Elise Alexandre, Meibh Campbell, Scarlett Jolly

NUNU (NUALA) CARNEY

Angel O’Callaghan, Isla Griffiths, Clara Murphy

AUNT MAGGIE FARAWAY

Bríd Brennan

SHENA CARNEY

Carla Langley

UNCLE PATRICK CARNEY

Des McAleer

JAMES JOSEPH (JJ) CARNEY

Niall Wright

HONOR CARNEY

Sophia Ally, Grace Doherty, Amy Jayne

OISIN CARNEY

Rob Malone

AUNT PATRICIA CARNEY

Dearbhla Molloy

TOM KETTLE

John Hodgkinson

MICHAEL CARNEY

Fra Fee

MARY CARNEY

Genevieve O’Reilly

SHANE CORCORAN

Tom Glynn-Carney

DIARMAID CORCORAN

Conor MacNeill

DECLAN CORCORAN

Oliver Finnegan, Michael McCarthy, Jack Nuttall

Director

Sam Mendes

Designer

Rob Howell

Lighting Designer

Peter Mumford

Composer & Sound Designer

Nick Powell

Casting Director

Amy Ball CDG

For Fred Specktor

When I come to die, I ask of you one favour, That with the braids of your black hair They tie my hands.

Traditional flamenco siguiriya

Characters

QUINN CARNEY, forties

MARY CARNEY, late thirties, his wife

CAITLIN CARNEY, early thirties, Quinn’s sister-in-law

AUNT PATRICIA CARNEY, eighties, Quinn’s aunt

UNCLE PATRICK CARNEY, seventies, Quinn’s uncle

AUNT MAGGIE FARAWAY, eighties, Quinn’s aunt

MULDOON, forties, from Derry

FRANK MAGENNIS, twenties, from Derry

LAWRENCE MALONE, twenties, from Derry

TOM KETTLE, forties, an English factotum

FATHER HORRIGAN, fifties, a priest

JAMES JOSEPH (JJ) CARNEY, sixteen, Quinn and Mary’s eldest son

MICHAEL CARNEY, fifteen

SHENA CARNEY, fourteen

NUNU (NUALA) CARNEY, eleven

MERCY CARNEY, nine

HONOR CARNEY, seven

OISIN CARNEY, fourteen, Caitlin’s only son

SHANE CORCORAN, seventeen

DIARMAID CORCORAN, sixteen

DECLAN CORCORAN, thirteen

Also, Bobby Carney, nine months, Quinn and Mary’s newborn child

Setting

The play is set in rural County Armagh, Northern Ireland, late August 1981.

The Prologue takes place in Derry, the previous day.

Prologue

An alley in Bogside, Derry.

Back of a building. The wall is painted with Republican graffiti.

At one end stands LAWRENCE MALONE, smoking, watching the street beyond.

In the centre, FRANK MAGENNIS, reading a paper.

Near one side, a door in the wall, to the building beyond.

MALONE.

‘Cease, cease with all your drumming,

All your whoring, all your mumming,

By my smell I can tell

A Priest this way is coming.’

Enter FATHER HORRIGAN.

He passes MALONE, and approaches MAGENNIS.

MAGENNIS. Morning, Father. Please…

MAGENNIS indicates the priest to come closer. HORRIGAN does.

How was your journey?

HORRIGAN. I’m sorry I’m late.

MAGENNIS. Did you drive up?

HORRIGAN. I caught the bus.

MAGENNIS. Which bus is that now?

HORRIGAN. The 5D. Then the 8A from Sixmilecross into Waterside.

MAGENNIS. How long a journey is that?

HORRIGAN. All told? Roughly two hours.

MAGENNIS. Well, it must be beautiful down where you are this time of year. Harvest time and all.

HORRIGAN. Forgive me, why am I here?

Beat.

MAGENNIS. When I was a kid we used to go out to my grandfather’s place down in Fermanagh there, and help with the harvest. It was good craic. Got us out the smoke. Out in the fresh air. Harvest time’s a fine time of the year, so it is.

Pause.

Well, I’ll get straight to it. (Beat.) Three days ago, there’s two turf-cutters cutting turf in County Louth, just across the border there, when they come across a body in the bog. (Beat.) Now they’ve read the stories in the press about prehistoric finds, your Stoneyisland Man, your Tollund Man there, two thousand years old, and how the people that find them become famous. They’re hatching all these dreams, TV interviews, prize from the National Museum and whatnot, when one of ’em spots that your man’s wearing a pair of Gola trainers. A Timex wristwatch. Brown corduroys. (Beat.) So they rummage through his pockets and they find his car keys. His last pay packet from December 1971. Some Polos. A betting slip signed on the back by Georgie Best. A picture of his wee’un. (Beat.) So your two Herberts there call the Garda, and they run a quick check of your man’s dental records, and they come up with a name.

He takes a photograph out of his pocket. Leans forward and hands it to HORRIGAN.

Do you know that man, Father? The fella standing on the left.

HORRIGAN puts on his glasses. He studies the picture.

HORRIGAN. His name is Seamus Carney.

MAGENNIS. And who’s that fella standing on the right there?

Pause.

HORRIGAN. That’s me.

MAGENNIS. That’s grand. (Takes the picture back.) Now, Father, what can you tell me about your man there? What can you remember about Seamus Carney?

Pause.

HORRIGAN. Seamus disappeared ten years ago. 1972. New Year’s Day 1972. He was twenty years old.

MAGENNIS. Disappeared…

HORRIGAN. He left for work. Got in his car, drove off. And disappeared. The story was he’d gone to Liverpool. That was the story.

MAGENNIS. Anything else?

HORRIGAN. Seamus was in the IRA. The rumour at the time was that he was an informer.

MAGENNIS. He left a young wife back there.

HORRIGAN. And a son. Three years old.

MAGENNIS. I take it you know them well. The family.

HORRIGAN. I’ve known the Carneys all my life. I knew their father and mother. I’m their priest.

MAGENNIS hands HORRIGAN another photograph.

MAGENNIS. This is a police photograph of Seamus Carney as they found him on Tuesday.

HORRIGAN puts his glasses back on and looks at the photograph.

The bog water turns a body black, but it preserves it. You see, Father, there’s no oxygen down there. The peat is acidic. It pickles you. The years roll by and nothing changes. Did you know, Father, that when they found the Tollund Man, that his hands and feet were bound too. I wonder what went on there. What went down all the way back then. Can you see he’s holding the rosary beads there?

HORRIGAN. I can. I can also see his wedding ring, which his wife is still working to pay off today.

MAGENNIS. We need your help.

Beat.

HORRIGAN. Okay, listen –

MAGENNIS. I appreciate this is all somewhat sudden, and it’s doubtless something you’ll wish to reflect upon. But right now, before we do anything else, I just need to know, broadly, if you’re of a mind to help us. (Beat.) Are you willing to do that, Father?

Pause.

HORRIGAN. I… Look –

MAGENNIS. It’s a Yes or a No.

HORRIGAN. Listen… Wait a minute.

MAGENNIS. No. Not ‘Listen’. Not ‘Wait a fucking minute’. ‘Yes’ or ‘no’.

HORRIGAN. For pity’s sake. Do you not think you’ve caused the Carney family enough misery?

Pause. MAGENNIS gets out another photograph.

MAGENNIS. Who’s that?

HORRIGAN. That’s my sister.

MAGENNIS. And where is she there?

HORRIGAN. She’s coming out of the Spar in Killclogher.

Pause.

MAGENNIS. Can you help us, Father?

Pause.

HORRIGAN nods.

MAGENNIS walks to the door, knocks three times, then takes up a position at the other end of the alley and keeps a look-out.

From the door, a man enters. This is MULDOON. He comes and stands in front of the priest. Silence.

MULDOON. Do you know who I am?

HORRIGAN. No.

Beat.

MULDOON. I’m going to ask you some questions, now, and I just want you to answer how you feel is best.

HORRIGAN. Okay.

MULDOON. Good. Do you know who I am?

Pause.

HORRIGAN. Yes.

Pause.

MULDOON. Seamus had a brother. An older brother.

HORRIGAN. Yes.

MULDOON. What’s his name now?

HORRIGAN. His name is Quinn Carney.

MULDOON. What can you tell me about him?

HORRIGAN. Quinn Carney is a farmer. He farms fifty acres in the parish. He has a wife. A family, he’s a good man…

MULDOON. Was he always a farmer?

HORRIGAN. With respect, sir, what game are we playing here? Sure, everyone knows who Quinn Carney is. Most of all you.

Beat.

MULDOON. You’re his priest.

HORRIGAN. Yes.

MULDOON. He confesses to you. You hear his confession…

HORRIGAN. Yes.

MULDOON. Why don’t you tell me everything you know about Quinn Carney?

Blackout. Music.

‘Street Fighting Man’ by The Rolling Stones, loud.

ACT ONE

The Carney home. 5.30 a.m. End of August 1981.

A farmhouse kitchen, in rural Northern Ireland, harvest time.

Flagstone floor. Wooden beams. Washing hanging high in rows. At the back, a large coal-fired range.

A sink and crockery board. A steep wooden staircase leads upstairs. On the walls are pinned countless children’s drawings, photographs, swimming awards. A John Deere 1981 calendar. A rota for feeding the animals, on which are stuck photographs of children. An old, torn Rolling Stones poster from when the Stones played Belfast in 1965 (also covered in children’s drawings, etc.). On another wall, almost completely obscured by pictures of children from communions, sports days, swimming galas, dancing competitions, is an old, very weathered Irish flag.

A door stage-right to the larder. A boot room at the back, beyond through which entrances are made from outside – so people are seen putting on coats there, sometimes boots, before entering and leaving to the yard outside.

Above the central fireplace at the back is an old farmhouse clock, next to which is a large dusty framed picture of Big Jack Carney. Along the shelf, under him (backed by a long knitted Celtic FC scarf), is an array of old soccer programmes, egg timers, an old squeeze box, an old hand-held fire extinguisher, an old biscuit tin, a foot-high dusty plastic model of George Harrison with his French horn from Yellow Submarine (painted in psychedelic colours). Dozens of candles. Some birthday cards. A framed photograph of Brigitte Bardot in Helen of Troy, another of George Best.

The shutters are closed. The curtains drawn. The room is full of smoke.

A tape playing on a big ghetto blaster. The Rolling Stones, quietly.

On the table, candles burn. A full ashtray. A bottle of Bushmills, two inches left.

Either side of the table, sit CAITLIN CARNEY and QUINN CARNEY, both smoking, both playing Connect Four.

QUINN. You’re on a ship with The Rolling Stones, The Beatles and Led Zeppelin. It hits an iceberg. There’s only room in the lifeboat for you plus one of those legendary combos. Three seconds. Go.

CAITLIN. Led Zeppelin.

QUINN. You have three seconds.

CAITLIN. I don’t need three seconds.

QUINN. You’d save Led Zeppelin.

CAITLIN. I just did.

QUINN. The Stones. The Beatles. They’re all going to drown. All those geniuses. And Bill Wyman. All gone. Because you saved Led Zeppelin.

He lights a cigarette off a candle, puts it down too near a table lamp, which catches fire.

CAITLIN. Stop me before I kill again.

QUINN. Well, Cait Carney. You’ve made a terrible mistake. An unrightable wrong.

CAITLIN. The lamp’s on fire.

QUINN. Don’t change the subject.

CAITLIN. I’m just pointing it out.

He goes to the drawers and roots around.

QUINN. Okay, let’s just. May I? Please. Just quickly. (On his fingers.) Sticky Fingers. Beggars Banquet. Let It Bleed… The Stones could…

He finds what he’s looking for. A small fire extinguisher.

Fuckin’ John, Paul, George and Ringo could be sat there with you in the boat doing the whole of Sergeant Pepper, just for you, while you row ’em to safety. But no. Because you saved Led Zeppelin. You’re sat there, in the lifeboat, listening to four wee pricks singing about Hobbits…

With one blast, he puts the fire out.

CAITLIN. You never said anything about music. You said who would I rather be stuck in a lifeboat with. If it’s between Jimmy and Robert and all those other spotty wee fucks? If I can pick ’n’ mix, Jimmy Page, Robert Plant, George Harrison, and Keith Richards. But he’s going to have to have a fuckin’ good wash first.

She drops in her counter.

One. Two. Three. Four.

She writes it down.

QUINN. Wait. Wait. What have you done? It was my go.

CAITLIN. That’s seventeen plays one.

She releases the counters.

QUINN. You’re a fuckin’ cheat, Cait Carney.

CAITLIN. I don’t have to cheat to beat you. Sure, I could beat you with a blindfold on.

QUINN. A pound.

CAITLIN. Done.

He gets up, fetches a tea towel. And blindfolds her.

QUINN. Here we go. Now we’ll see. Now we’ll find out who’s the real champion. Who’s got what it takes to put four coloured circles in a row. Before the other fella. Now then. Ready? I’ll go first.

CAITLIN. It’s my turn to go first.

QUINN. This is a new competition. The last one was abandoned. (Fast, off her look.) Shall I flip a coin? Heads or tails…?

CAITLIN. Tails.

He tosses an imaginary coin.

QUINN. Bad luck. It’s heads. Best of three?

CAITLIN. Fuck it. I’ll still win.

QUINN. Well, let’s even it up. Let’s make it an even playing field now. I don’t want you griping after, saying it was unfair and all…

He gets another tea towel. Blindfolds himself.

Ready. Go.

They take turns. Until –

CAITLIN. Stop. I’ve won.

QUINN. How the fuck do you know that?

CAITLIN. Trust me. You’ve lost. (Preparing to remove the blindfold.) Ready? One, two –

QUINN. Wait! I don’t want to take this off because I know I’ve fucking lost.

CAITLIN. Of course you’ve lost.

QUINN. Let’s just stay like this. Let me just dream for a moment… Imagine what it feels like to have won. I just want to stay like this…

He lifts his glass.

CAITLIN. Cheers.

QUINN. Cheers.

They try to clink glasses. The music plays.

Caitlin Carney. Would you like to dance?

CAITLIN. Why thank you, Quinn Carney. That would be wonderful.

They stand. QUINN goes over and turns the music up. And with their blindfolds on, they dance around the kitchen.

QUINN Jaggers along as the music builds.

QUINN. Where are you?

CAITLIN. Over here.

He finds her.

QUINN. There you are.

They dance to the music. Together. Close.

In the dance, they separate.

QUINN takes his blindfold off and looks at CAITLIN, dancing.

He seems transfixed.

Enter MERCY CARNEY from down the stairs. QUINN doesn’t see her. He’s only looking at CAITLIN.

The song ends.

MERCY. What are you two doing?

QUINN turns. CAITLIN removes her blindfold.

QUINN. I could ask you the very same, young lady. What are you doing up? You should be in bed.

MERCY. It’s morning.

QUINN. Don’t be ridiculous.

MERCY. It’s light out.

CAITLIN. She may have a point there.

QUINN. Right then. It’s time to get up.

MERCY. I want to blow the horn.

QUINN. Oh, you do, do you?

MERCY. I want to blow the horn.

QUINN. Do you have the lungs? It’s an important job.

MERCY. I’m ready.

QUINN. What do you think, Cait? You think she’s ready?

CAITLIN. She says she’s ready…

MERCY. I’m ready!

QUINN. Well, come on then. But you gotta do it right now. Are you ready? One two. Three.

She blows the horn. Loud. Fruity.

MERCY. It’s morning!

QUINN. See, that’s not bad. That’s good enough to wake the dead, so it is.

MERCY (bellows). Everybody up!

CAITLIN opens the curtains and shutters. QUINN fans the smoke out the door. Calls up the stairs.

QUINN. MICHAEL CARNEY! GET YOUR ARSE OUT OF THAT SCRATCHER. THERE’S A GOOSE TO KILL!

QUINN exits to the toilet. As –

Enter NUNU (NUALA) CARNEY, from upstairs, in her Muppet Show pyjamas. MERCY exits to the main part of the house.

CAITLIN. Morning, Nunu…

NUNU. Honor Carney has eaten an entire bottle of vitamin-C tablets. And Oisin Carney said the F-word.

CAITLIN. Is that so?

NUNU. Then Michael Carney said the C-word. Then Oisin said the C-word back.

Re-enter MERCY wheeling out an old lady in a 1920s wheelchair, a blanket on her knee.

During the following, MERCY positions the wheelchair in the room, where the old lady sits staring vaguely, benignly, out, as if trying to remember something just beyond her reach. This is AUNT MAGGIE FARAWAY.

MERCY. What’s the C-word?

CAITLIN. Never you mind.

NUNU. Morning, Aunt Maggie.

CAITLIN. Morning, Aunt Maggie. Did you sleep well now, Aunt Maggie?

She kisses her as she passes.

NUNU and MERCY both kiss her, then go and put on aprons and begin making breakfast.

Enter SHENA CARNEY from upstairs, carrying her baby brother, singing the second verse of ‘Ashes to Ashes’ by David Bowie.

That smock goes on the other way round. Buttons up the back.

SHENA. But they’re such nice buttons. He’ll be wanting to show ’em off for the photo.

CAITLIN. He doesn’t want to spend eternity up on the wall there sat on a tractor dressed skew-whiff now.

SHENA. Look. He’s got a fresh freckle.

CAITLIN. Where? (Stops and looks.) That’s dirt. (Licks her finger and wipes it off.)

NUNU. Where’s Dad?

CAITLIN. Getting washed.

NUNU. Has he killed the goose?

CAITLIN. Michael’s killing the goose.

NUNU. Can we watch him kill it?

CAITLIN. If you’re good.

Enter UNCLE PATRICK CARNEY, from upstairs, in his old moth-eaten dressing gown.

UNCLE PAT. In the beginning, all the gods were hunting gods. Then one day the Greeks discovered that the land was magical.

CAITLIN. Morning, Pat.

ALL. Morning, uncle Pat.

UNCLE PAT. Good morning, Caitlin. Good morning to all.

MERCY. I want to crack the eggs.

CAITLIN. Well, get your wee apron on there.

CAITLIN fills a bucket with soapy water. UNCLE PAT