The Night Alive E-Book

Conor McPherson

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

Seitenzahl: 97

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013

Beschreibung

An inimitably warm and stylish play that deftly mines the humanity to be found in the most unlikely of situations. Tommy's not a bad man, he's getting by. Renting a run-down room in his uncle Maurice's house, just about keeping his ex-wife and kids at arm's length and rolling from one get-rich-quick scheme to the other with his pal Doc. Then one day he comes to the aid of Aimee, who's not had it easy herself, struggling through life the only way she knows how. Their past won't let go easily. But together there's a glimmer of hope they could make something more of their lives. Something extraordinary. Perhaps. The Night Alive premiered at the Donmar Warehouse, London, in June 2013, before transferring to the Atlantic Theater in New York. It was named Best New Play at the New York Drama Critics' Circle Awards 2014.

Leseprobe

Conor McPherson

THE NIGHT ALIVE

NICK HERN BOOKS

London

www.nickhernbooks.co.uk

Contents

Title Page

Original Production

Epigraph

Characters

The Night Alive

About the Author

Copyright and Performing Rights Information

The Night Alive was first performed at the Donmar Warehouse, London, on 19 June 2013 (previews from 13 June), with the following cast:

AIMEE

Caoilfhionn Dunne

KENNETH

Brian Gleeson

TOMMY

Ciarán Hinds

DOC

Michael McElhatton

MAURICE

Jim Norton

Director

Conor McPherson

Designer

Soutra Gilmour

Lighting Designer

Neil Austin

Sound Designer

Gregory Clarke

Casting Director

Alastair Coomer CDG

‘When they saw the star they rejoiced. They went into the house and they saw Mary and her child. And falling to their knees they offered their gifts of gold and frankincense and myrrh.’

Matthew 2:11–12

Characters

MAURICE, seventies

TOMMY, fifties

AIMEE, late twenties

DOC, forties

KENNETH, late thirties

Dialogue in square brackets [ ] is unspoken.

Setting

An Edwardian house near the Phoenix Park in Dublin.

Autumn. The present.

This ebook was created before the end of rehearsals and so may differ slightly from the play as performed.

The first-floor drawing room of an Edwardian house near the Phoenix Park in Dublin. High double doors lead to a small metal balcony with steps down to the rear garden. The room is now a bedsit. It is cluttered and messy. Boxes of knick-knacks and old newspapers and magazines are piled into corners, spilling out on to a single bed on one side of the room and a camp bed on the other. There is a battered old armchair, a foldaway chair or two. A door leads to a little toilet that has been built in one corner. Another door leads to the landing and the rest of the house.

There is a little gas hob and a sink with dirty dishes and saucepans piled into it. There is a framed poster of Steve McQueen on his motorbike from the movie The Great Escape, a framed poster of Marvin Gaye’s album cover, What’s Going On?, and two posters advertising Finland as a holiday destination.

As the play begins, moonlight pours in through the double doors from the balcony. The door to the hallway is open and electric light spills in from the landing. An elderly gentleman, MAURICE, is standing in the room looking out at the garden. He wears pyjamas and a dressing gown and carries a walking stick. He stands still for a moment until distant church bells and a dog barking somewhere stir him from his reverie. He looks about the room in disgust. He lifts a garment or two with his stick, wondering how anyone can live like this. He hears voices approaching and hurries quietly off upstairs.

We hear voices coming from the garden:

TOMMY (offstage). Now, that’s it. Yeah. This is it. Up the steps. Are you alright? That’s it. Head back. Nice and easy. Around here now. This is us.

We see TOMMY leading AIMEE in. He is in his fifties, well built but well worn. She is in her twenties, skinny and also well worn. She holds her head back, pressing TOMMY’s Dublin Gaelic football tracksuit top to her face. It is covered in blood. She stands there while TOMMY goes and switches on a little lamp.

Come in we’ll sit you down and we can have a look.

The lamp blinks off again.

Ah balls! Hold on. You don’t have a euro? No, it’s alright. I’ll jimmy the lock. I’ll just grab this.

He goes to a few drawers and roots noisily around unsuccessfully in the gloom before he finally finds a hammer amid the detritus on the counter. He takes the hammer and uses it to tap the meter open. He takes a coin from the drawer and sticks it back in the slot.

Out she pops and back in the slot.

He turns the dial and the lamp pops back on again.

Now. That’s it.

He climbs down off the chair.

Now come here till we have a look at you. Sit down here. There we go.

He shifts a pile of crap off the armchair and sits AIMEE down.

AIMEE. Your jacket is wrecked.

TOMMY. Don’t mind that, I’ll bang that in the washing machine. Show me.

AIMEE lets TOMMY gently pull the tracksuit top away from her face. Her nose has bled down her chin and onto her clothes. TOMMY adjusts her head so he can see.

Well, the bleeding has stopped.

AIMEE. Is it broken?

TOMMY. I don’t know, love – it looks swollen.

AIMEE. I have a big nose anyway.

TOMMY. Like very big?

AIMEE. Big enough.

TOMMY. Was it always crooked?

AIMEE. Yeah, a bit.

TOMMY. Crooked to the left or the right?

AIMEE. The left.

TOMMY. To my left?

AIMEE. Yeah.

TOMMY. Okay. Then I don’t think he broke it.

TOMMY goes rooting through a cupboard near the sink. He finds a little plastic bowl and a tea towel.

Do you think you might get sick again?

AIMEE. No.

He runs some water and wets the towel, bringing the bowl to AIMEE.

TOMMY. You can use this if you are.

AIMEE. Thanks.

She holds the bowl on her lap.

TOMMY. Up to me, love, we wipe this up a bit.

She raises her face to him and winces while he wipes her face.

Wup, sorry, too hard. That alright?

AIMEE gives a tiny nod. TOMMY cleans her face.She takes the towel from him and cleans it herself.

God, I wonder should we ring an ambulance.

AIMEE. No.

TOMMY. No?

AIMEE. No, it’ll be alright.

TOMMY. I could run you down to the hospital.

AIMEE. No, they’ll ring the guards.

TOMMY. Will they?

AIMEE. Yeah, they’ll think it was you.

TOMMY. They’d think it was me?!

AIMEE. Probably.

TOMMY. Well, look… I certainly don’t need that, so…

AIMEE. I don’t want the guards.

TOMMY. No, you don’t want the bleeding guards in all over it. (Looks at her face.) Well, now I’m not an expert, but in my [opinion]… I would say, that it’s probably going to be [alright]… You see, I’ve no ice! I’ve no fridge!

He throws his eye ineffectually around the room for something that might substitute for ice.

AIMEE. Can I use your bathroom?

TOMMY. Yeah! (Indicating the door in the corner of the room.) There’s a little toilet in there, or there’s a bigger, proper bathroom down the landing out there.

AIMEE. No that’s fine.

AIMEE gets up.

TOMMY. Wait, hold on.

TOMMY bolts towards the little loo. He switches the light on and goes in. We hear the toilet flush. TOMMY bangs around trying to make it presentable. AIMEE stands waiting, gingerly touching her nose. She goes to a little mirror above the sink and has a look. TOMMY comes out, grabs a two-pack of toilet rolls, smiles apologetically at AIMEE, holding them up, and disappears inside the loo again, and emerges, wiping his hands.

There you go.

AIMEE. Thanks.

TOMMY. Do you want a cup of tea?

AIMEE (uncertainly). Em…

TOMMY. It’s no problem. I’m having one.

AIMEE. Okay. Thanks.

She goes into the loo and shuts the door. TOMMY checks the kettle and flicks the switch. He looks for some mugs. There are no clean ones. He picks one up from the floor and sniffs it, it seems acceptable. He rinses their mugs in the sink and throws two teabags into them. He quickly shoves some used takeaway containers and dirty work-clothes away. He tidies up to make some space as best he can. He piles some newspapers on top of others, mostly copies of the Evening Herald, but they cascade on to the floor again. At a loss, he kicks them in under the bed. AIMEE comes out.

TOMMY. Okay?

AIMEE nods.

I’m sorry about that loo. It’s just one that I use. The one on the landing is for the whole house but it’s always freezing.

AIMEE. Is there many people?

TOMMY. No, only my Uncle Maurice. It’s his house. He lives upstairs. (Pause.) There’s another lad who kips in here with me sometimes if we have an early start, ’cause he gives me a hand with the van. Did you see that van outside? White Datsun Urvan?

AIMEE. No, I…

TOMMY. That’s my van.

TOMMY goes to pour hot water in their cups. AIMEE looks down at some books on the camp bed.

Do you like Westerns? You can have all of them. (Short pause.) I’ve been meaning to drop them up to the Vincent de Paul but I’m just so busy. Do you take sugar?

AIMEE. Thanks.

TOMMY brings AIMEE’s tea and a bag of sugar to her, finding something to put it down on.

TOMMY. Spoon’s in the bag.

AIMEE. Thanks.

TOMMY gets his tea and watches her spoon a few spoonfuls into her cup. They are silent for a moment.

TOMMY. There’s milks in the bag.

He gestures to a bag of UHT miniatures on the table.

I’ll tell you one thing. You were extremely lucky.

AIMEE. Yeah?

TOMMY. Yeah! ’Cause I bumped into this fucking eejit on my way out of Joyce’s who said he owed me a pint – I didn’t know who he was. But you see I was starving. I’d been promising myself a bag of chips, so… (Signals with his thumb: ‘I left.’) Only for that I wouldn’t even have seen what happened you.

AIMEE. Yeah, well…

TOMMY. Yeah! Split-second timing. (Pause.) And I dropped my bleeding chips. In the end. (Short pause.) Somewhere.

AIMEE. I’m sorry.

TOMMY. Who was he? Boyfriend?

AIMEE. No.

TOMMY (unconvinced). Yeah?

AIMEE. Just someone giving me a lift.

TOMMY. Do you know him well?

AIMEE. No.

TOMMY. Well, this is it. There you go. You can’t just get in a car with fellas you don’t know. You know? I mean, unfortunately, that’s… but there you are.

AIMEE. I don’t know you and I’m in your flat.

Short pause.

TOMMY. But that’s different.

AIMEE. How is it different?

TOMMY. It’s different because I’m different.

AIMEE. Different to what?

TOMMY. What do you mean ‘different to what’? Different to fellas like him.

AIMEE. Yeah?

TOMMY. Yeah! Listen. I’ve never hit a woman in my whole life – ever. And listen, believe me there was times I had good reason to. Very good reason to. Maybe I fucking should have!

AIMEE. Okay.

Pause.

TOMMY. Yeah. (Short pause.) I can’t believe you’d compare me to someone like him.

AIMEE. I never said that.

Pause.

TOMMY. Do you want a biscuit?

AIMEE. No thanks.

TOMMY. I’m starving.

TOMMY goes to get himself a biscuit.

So what did he hit you for?

AIMEE. I don’t know, ’cause I was trying to make a phone call I think.

TOMMY. A phone call?

AIMEE. Yeah, he grabbed my phone and he pulled over. I thought he was just gonna let me out but…

TOMMY. Yeah I saw him! Only he heard me shouting… I mean… (Shakes his head, indicating how much worse it could have been.) I got his reg. 09 D something something.

AIMEE. It’s just a phone.

TOMMY. Yeah, I suppose. Do you need to call anyone? Unfortunately I have no credit but Uncle Maurice would probably let us use his landline, if you want me to wake him.

AIMEE. No it’s alright.

TOMMY. Are you sure?

AIMEE. Yeah, it’s okay, really. Thanks.

TOMMY. He might only go mad if I woke him up now anyway.

He looks at AIMEE, watching her stare into her cup.

Do you want to stay here?

She looks at him. Pause.

AIMEE. Where?

TOMMY. In the camp bed. Or over here and I can kip in the front room, Maurice won’t mind. I mean, if that’s… if you want to get a taxi, I’d give you the money only I don’t… (Looks at some change from his pocket