The CTR Anthology Read online

  Uncle John: Skipper. The table!

  Skipper Pete: Eh? Oh, aye. The table.

  (He gets up slowly and goes back to John. With difficulty they raise the table and bring it down right centre. The gear is left on it. John unhooks oilskins from right wall, hands them to Pete, who begins to draw them on. John sets three plates, knife and fork and places them up stage left. Busies himself sharpening the splitting knife. Just as he’s done this the sound of the motor stops. For a minute only the sound of the sea, and the occasional gull cry. Pete turns on his barrel and stares at the doorway. John – standing – does the same thing. Absalom stands framed in the stage head door, six fish hanging from a hook in his huge hand. He is gaunt and bent. Despite the age of Pete and John, we’ve been expecting, because of the conversation, someone much younger. But he is, of course, sixty, or near to it. He has still, however, the face of a child – a characteristic of some aspects of retardation. He speaks slowly, with difficulty, and has trouble looking his father in the face.)

  Absalom: I got some fish, father.

  Skipper Pete: Good boy. That’s a good boy. Bring them here, Absalom. Bring them here me son.

  Absalom: I forgot to tell you I was going fishing, father.

  Skipper Pete: That don’t matter now boy. Bring them here.

  (Absalom advances cautiously into the room towards the table. Places the fish upon it.)

  Absalom: You see, father, the sun was shining.

  Skipper Pete: (His eyes gloating over the fish) That’s all right boy. All right.

  Absalom: And I had a dream of fishes, father. Just like you talk about and I can never remember. The sea was all fish, father. There was no water hardly.

  Skipper Pete: (Impatient) It doesn’t matter, son. Dreams don’t matter. Fish – that’s all that matters.

  Absalom: (Persistent, like a child) But you were in the dream, father.

  (Pete takes a splitting knife from his trousers and a small sharpening stone. He begins to sharpen it with slow, deliberate actions, ignoring Absalom.)

  Absalom: I told ye. The sea wasn’t the sea. It was fish. And ye were there, picking them up in your hands. Your hands, I couldn’t tell what was fish and what was your hands (Agitated) I had to go, ye see, father. On account of yer hands.

  Uncle John: I told him Absalom. And it was the right day to go. A good day to go. The one day … (He eyes Pete furtively, slides round table to barrel with mugs and shine on it. Pete, humming now, still sharpening knife. John pours. He whispers.)

  Uncle John: Drink, Absalom?

  (Absalom reaches for the mug eagerly, both lift mugs to their lips when …)

  Skipper Pete: Nobody drinks. Not yet.

  (Like guilty school boys, both pause.)

  Skipper Pete: The fish, first.

  (The two hold a tableau, mugs to mouth almost. Put mugs down. Move to table. Pete splits, guts and removes the sound bones of the fish. Absalom, at a word from John, draws water. With a swish of his hand he sweeps the offal to the floor. John guts remainder of fish, passes to Pete who splits them. John takes the fish to the bucket still containing salt water and rinses them.)

  Skipper Pete: Water ready?

  Uncle John: She’s bilin’.

  Skipper Pete: Put this one in the pot. Keep the rest for another day.

  (John puts the fish into the pan on the stove. He takes the remaining three backstage to a salt barrel, lifts the lid, drops the fish in. Replaces the lid. Absalom clears off the knives. Pete removes oilskins. John comes down, rinses his hands in the bloody water in the bucket, then joins Pete and Absalom who have moved right to drinks. The two look at him expectantly. Pete pours himself a mug of shine, raises his glass to his lips. The other two, with audible sighs of relief, do the same, when …)

  Skipper Pete: No.

  (In pained disbelief they watch Pete lower his mug.)

  Skipper Pete: The table first. John. Absalom.

  (With reluctance they lower their mugs. John opens the trap. Throws down the bloody water. Lowers the bucket. Raises it. Swills down the table, wiping the remnants away with his hand. Absalom fetches a mop. Sweeps water and offal towards the trap. John raises bucket again, washing down floor. The operation complete, the trap is lowered. John and Absalom return to the drinking barrel. They pause – ancient fishing soldiers awaiting orders …)

  Skipper Pete: Well, b’ys.

  Uncle John: Well.

  Absalom: (After a pause) Well.

  Skipper Pete: The end of the voyage.

  Uncle John: The end of a voyage.

  Skipper Pete: A drink.

  (John once again pours three mugs of shine. Once again the three mugs are tipped slowly, deliberately, and drained. Moment of silence and intense inner satisfaction.)

  Skipper Pete: Well, b’ys, what’s the news?

  (A pause.)

  Absalom: Father. I heard Aunt Alice died.

  Skipper Pete: That’s not news. That’s history.

  (A pause.)

  Uncle John: They’s catching plenty of herring in Placentia Bay.

  Skipper Pete: They are?

  Uncle John: I heard it on the news. The big boats. They’s all there, catching herring.

  Skipper Pete: Why ain’t there none here then?

  Uncle John: I don’t know. (The drink has made him more belligerent.) How the hell do I know. You always ask foolish questions. All I know is they’s herring in Placentia Bay.

  Skipper Pete: That’ll be the last place.

  Uncle John: I ’low it will.

  Skipper Pete: None after that. They stripped her clean, boys.

  Absalom: Can we take the boat, father? Can we catch herring in Placentia Bay?

  Skipper Pete: (Roaring) It’s four hundred miles away, boy. (Laughs) And if they heard ye was coming they’d all swim away. Absalom, the fisherman.

  Uncle John: He got today’s fish. And they isn’t any fish. Give the boy credit.

  Skipper Pete: I’ll give him credit. I taught him all he knew. If there was just one fish left in the ocean he should be able to find it. That’s what I taught ye. And them damn politicans, and their stupid industries; and that damned Ottawa letting every bloody foreigner in the world drag the beds clean – they don’t know nothing.

  Uncle John: Ye should have taught them too. To spill their guts out into the ocean.

  Skipper Pete: (Unmoved) Relief. (Spits) Welfare. Education. What was wrong with these, eh? (Holds up hands) What was wrong with these?

  Uncle John: But ye knows, Skipper – they’s no fish now. We’re playing a game, that’s all. A death game. The woman’s right.

  Skipper Pete: (Suddenly strikes John, who stumbles and falls) It’s not a game. Ye cursed blind fool. We gits ready fer the fish year after year, that’s all. And we waits. And out there, they knows we’re waiting. And one day, they’ll come back, in their t’ousands, when all the boats has gone away, and nobody thinks they’s anymore. They’s waiting for the old days like we is. When the trap and the handline and the jigger was something they understood and we understood. We took what we could get. They knew us, and we knew they, and they bred faster than we could take them. They bred enemies too, theirs and ours. (John rises slowly, holding his head.) We understood each other – the sea, and the cod, and the dog fish, and the sculpin, and the shark, and the whale. They knew us and we knew they. And if we keep ready, and we keep waiting, they’ll come again. We can’t give up on ’em. We can’t give up on ourselves. I nivir give up on ye.

  (Pete is nearly in tears. He stumbles and puts an arm round each shoulder – John’s and Absalom’s.)

  Uncle John: Christ. Ye’re mad, Skipper. Mad. I knew it all along. But God help me, I prayed ye might be right. (He too in tears) I still prays. I looks out over the sea, and it looks the same, but it isn’t. It’s dead. The hulks rotting on the shore. Maybe, maybe we should give it all up, eh? Should turn our backs on this and lock the door and nivir come back no more. Die decent. We got our memories, Skipper. No one can take they
…

  Skipper Pete: Memories ain’t no good unless you can see someone else working out the same ones.

  Absalom: Father, Father … when we going into St John’s?

  (A pause.)

  Uncle John: Ye see. Six fish. When we going into St John’s? Jesus Christ – it’s funny. If it wasn’t Absalom, it’d be funny.

  Skipper Pete: They’s nothing funny about it. The boy just remembers, that’s all.

  Uncle John: Oh yis. We’ll take the schooner now. We’ll go down through the sound out into the bay and sail right round to St John’s and there we’ll sell our season’s catch. Six fish. It’s all right to get drunk here because this is us. And I don’t mind. But I’m dying, Skipper. And so is ye. And the trouble is the god damn place has died afore us. We can’t git that out of our guts, can we?

  (A pause.)

  Skipper Pete: Drink. (He pours three more mugs. Once again they drain the cups. All are tangibly drunk)

  Skipper Pete: (As if talking to a child) Ye remembers sometimes ye’d plant potatoes in a dry year. No rain. And the tops burnt before they had a chance to flower?

  Uncle John: Aye, I can remember that.

  Skipper Pete: Did that stop ye planting next year?

  Uncle John: ’Course not. Every year’s different.

  Skipper Pete: (Triumphant) There ye are. And suppose we didn’t mend nets, and make the killicks, and then come a year when even we could take to the boat and haul fish out like in the good old days. Suppose we wasn’t ready then. And they’s no young men to go out and get their hands dirty. What then?

  Uncle John: Skipper. Ye haven’t been in the boat for two year now. They’s only Absalom got the strength in his arm to heave the engine over. Every year the same, roll her down, tie her to the collar, and then pukin’ ’cos you can’t crawl aboard’n. Why you was blarin’ at him ’cos he went out on his own …

  Skipper Pete: I don’t care. We’ve got to be ready. I got one more trip to make. I don’t know when. But I got one more trip to make.

  (He slumps into the chair. For a moment he looks tired and defeated. John makes a move towards him – half puts out a hand. Draws it back. Turns. Pours out three more mugs of shine. Looks at Absalom. Looks at Pete. Conspicuously puts both the other mugs together but makes no move to offer them to anyone. Picks up his own glass with great care. Walks down front right. Raises glass to his lips, lowers it. Belches with satisfaction. Looks round slyly towards Pete. Looks front. Raises mug and drains it. Walks back, a little unsteadily towards the table. Thumps the mug down hard! Absalom jumps like a rabbit. No response from Pete. Slowly and deliberately goes right. Unzips his fly, and stands as if about to urinate …)

  Skipper Pete: (Without raising his head) I told ye … I told ye before. Dirty bugger.

  (John sighs with relief. Doesn’t turn yet.)

  Skipper Pete: (Raising his head and glowering malevolently) Never learn, will ye? Only yistiday I told ye.

  Uncle John: Today. (With satisfaction) It was today.

  Skipper Pete: (Roaring) Today. Yistiday. What’s the difference?

  (Absalom picks up his father’s mug and proffers it gingerly. After a moment, Pete grabs it and drinks.)

  Skipper Pete: (To Absalom) And I told ye. No more fishin’ on yer own. Ye wait fer me.

  (John lets out a sharp burst of laughter. Absalom nods in agreement. Picks up mug. Drinks. There is a general silence. All three are waiting.)

  Skipper Pete: Well. (No response) (To John) Are ye going to stand there with yer cock out all day?

  Uncle John: It’s not out. (A pause) I nivir got’n out. (A pause) I couldn’t fin’n. (Begins to laugh. Pete digests this but if the information means anything, doesn’t show it. John moves unsteadily across left and looks out of the window.)

  Uncle John: They’s lots of fun out there. Big crowd. Half the place on the wharf. (A pause) Looks as if they’s fishing for something. That’s odd now.

  (He turns, and there’s a moment of uncertainty as if trying to recollect something. He shakes the thought away. Staggers back down to the table. Discovers that his fly is unzipped. Zips it up, catching his finger in the process. Curses …)

  Uncle John: (To Pete) I bet you can’t find it neither. I bet it’s all covered with kelp and barnacles. (Laughs. Pours another drink.)

  (Absalom, after having been perfectly still throughout this interchange, suddenly falls against the table. Straightens himself in slow motion.)

  Absalom: Father. (He speaks with some difficulty.) Father. Aren’t ye going to sing, father.

  Uncle John: Oh Absalom, my son. Absalom. Absalom. (Going to him and putting his arm round his neck) What did he sing to ye, boy. When ye was in the cradle. Rocking ye to and fro in his clammy hands … (He sings in a mutilated voice)

  I sailed out to the Labrador

  When I was but thirteen (Pauses)

  I never could sing. And now I can’t find it neither. (A pause) Yer father now. Like a goddam foghorn. Could hear him right across the Bay. (Sings again)

  I sailed out to the Labrador

  When I was but thirteen …

  Me mother wept …

  Me mother wept …

  Aw to hell we’ it.

  (Lets go of Absalom and collapses heavily on to the bench. Suddenly Pete begins to sing …)

  Skipper Pete: I went out to the Labrador

  When I was but thirteen. (He stops)

  Absalom: (Claps his hands together) That’s it, father. That’s it.

  Skipper Pete: No, son. No. I’ve forgot the words.

  Uncle John: Forgot the … ye nivir forgot a word ye spoke or sang in yer whole life. Sing, ye old walrus … Sing. (He bangs his mug on the table.)

  (Pete rises slowly. Takes a few paces. Starts to sing the first two lines again. Stops. Absalom, slowly and unsteadily, goes around the table and down to him. He holds his arm, and the pair slowly start to shuffle their feet. Pete starts the song again, growing in power and intensity. Absalom joins in softly on the end of words. John stops banging his mug and becomes absorbed, murmurs encouragement at intervals)

  I sailed out to the Labrador

  When I was but thirteen,

  Me mother began to keen

  I raised you at my tender breast

  I loved you deep and strong

  And now I fear my own true dear

  The sea will drag you down.

  Oh the sea will drag you down my son

  Like your father long ago

  And I’ll be left on the wild shore

  To wander to and fro.

  (As Pete begins the second verse he holds out his hand to John. John slowly moves forward, and the three now form a kind of misshapen circle swaying, stamping their feet, shaking each other’s hands and arms up and down. All three raise their voices in triumph for the chorus at the end of the second verse. For a moment they are all one. All free.)

  (Second verse of song)

  I didn’t go home that year boys

  But stayed out on the sea

  And was down in the West Indies

  When a message came to me

  “Your mother she was drowneded

  While looking out for ye”

  A wild wave is all her grave

  But still I hear her plea …

  Oh the sea will drag you down me son

  Like your father long ago

  And I’ll be left on the wild shore

  To wander to and fro.

  (At the end, all three break into chin music, and step dance appropriately. At the end of the dance they stand as in a trance. The woman enters silently right. They don’t notice her, holding their trance a moment longer.)

  Woman: (Very quietly) Young Jimmy Fogarty’s lost. (No response) He fell off the wharf. (And again there is no response.)

  (The woman moves down a little, speaks with a growing intensity.)

  Woman: John! Ye were here. They’re saying ye could have saved him.

  (With a violent movement Skipper Pete e
xplodes out of the group and swings on her. John staggers and falls on all fours. Absalom sways but stays upright. Pete raises his arm as if to strike her. She doesn’t flinch or move.)

  Skipper Pete: They! Who’s they?

  Woman: Aiden. Lew. Old Mr Fogarty himself. They say …

  Skipper Pete: And ye just couldn’t wait to bring the news, could ye. (He turns and stomps to the table.) Absalom, the fish should be ready. (He sits. He spits.) Daughter. Hop the Lard Jesus out of here.

  (Absalom shakes his head and moves to the stove, lifts the lid, inspects the fish. Starts to serve the fish)

  Skipper Pete: John! Come and have a bite to eat. Get on yer feet, man.

  (The woman goes towards Pete a pace or two. John gets to a sitting position.)

  Woman: But ye could have got there. Just a few yards. And ye were told. But you didn’t even try.

  Skipper Pete: (Roaring) Mind yer own business d’you hear. Blood of mine. Jesus, I’ll carry the shame o’ ye to the grave. Go tell the others what ye want, but I’ll tell ye .. (He lowers his voice, passionately believing what he wants to believe) The sea wanted him. Old Molly. She took him in her good time. She marked him down. Today, tomorrow, next year … it doesn’t matter. She touched him the day he was borned.

  (The woman stares at him as if for the first time seeing the soul of him. And she is both frightened and horrified. He raises his head and locks eyes with hers. Challenging he suddenly roars:)

  Skipper Pete: John! Ye drunken fool. Yer meal’s spoiling.

  (For a few seconds he holds her with his gaze. She struggles to break the hold, summoning up the one emotion she has inherited from him but rarely used – hate. It flares up and breaks the spell, rushing her to action. She almost runs to John, still sitting dazedly on the floor, only dimly aware of what has been said, of what’s going on.)

  Woman: Ye heard that, did ye? (She shakes John, bends over him, pouring the words into his ear as if they are hot oil to be used for melting the wax that has deafened him for years.) So. It’s God’s will, is it, to leave a poor mite like that struggling in the water while two grown men – if I durst call you that – let him drown. All it needed was a walk and a rope. Look at ye. (She stands up – raging) He curses the day I was born. But I curse the day I took ye for a man in my bed. Thank God I dropped me son before me time. Did ye ever tell him that. Did ye? Stupid, selfish, drunken …