The Road to Mecca

Athol Fugard

• Publisher: Theatre Communications Group
• Year: 1993
• Print ISBN: 9780930452797
• eBook ISBN: 9781559366922
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: African Drama
• Index: Literature

A career summation, its author's own 'Mecca.'—Frank Rich, New York Times

After her husband dies, aging Miss Helen begins to fill her home and garden in the remote South African bush with strange sculptures made from cement, glass, wire, and recycled materials. Marius, a local clergyman, believes Helen should cease this habit and move to a senior home. But Elsa, a young teacher from Cape Town, arrives and encourages Helen to keep going. The two visitors spar over whether the peculiar art is an outpouring of creativity or an outbreak of madness.

ACT

1

The living room and, leading off it, the bedroom alcove of a house in the small Karoo village of New Bethesda. An extraordinary room by virtue of the attempt to use as much light and color as is humanly possible. The walls—mirrors on all of them—are all of different colors, while on the ceiling and floor are solid, multicolored geometric patterns. Yet the final effect is not bizarre but rather one of light and extravagant fantasy. Just what the room is really about will be revealed later when its candles and lamps—again, a multitude of them of every size, shape and color—are lit. The late afternoon light does, however, give some hint of the magic to come.

Miss Helen is in the bedroom alcove. A frail, birdlike little woman in her late sixties. A suggestion of personal neglect, particularly in her clothes, which are shabby and were put on with obvious indifference to the final effect. She is nervously fussing around an old-fashioned washstand, laying out towels, soap, etc., etc, and from time to time directs her attention to the living room and a door leading from it to the rest of the house. In the course of moving around she sees an overnight bag and a briefcase on the floor near the living-room entrance. She fetches these and carries them into the alcove.

Elsa enters, a strong young woman in her late twenties dressed in a track suit or something else suitable for a long motorcar ride.

ELSA: Not cold enough yet for the car to freeze up, is it?

HELEN: No. No danger of that. We haven’t had any frost yet.

ELSA: I’m too exhausted to put it away. (Collapses on the bed) Whew! Thank God that’s over. Another hour and I would have been wiped out. That road gets longer and longer every time.

HELEN: Your hot water is nearly ready.

ELSA: Good. (Starts to unpack her overnight bag)

HELEN: Nice clean towels . . . and I’ve opened that box of scented soaps you brought me last time.

ELSA: What? Oh, those. Haven’t you used them yet?

HELEN: Of course not! I was keeping them for a special occasion.

ELSA: And this is it?

HELEN: Yes. An unexpected visit from you is a very special occasion. Is that all your luggage?

ELSA: When I said a short visit I really meant it.

HELEN: Such a long way to drive for just one night.

ELSA: I know.

HELEN: You don’t think you could . . .?

ELSA: Stay longer?

HELEN: Even just two nights?

ELSA: Impossible. We’re right in the middle of exams. I’ve got to be in that classroom at eight-thirty on Monday morning. As it is I should be sitting at home right now marking papers. I’ve even brought a pile of them with me just in case I get a chance up here. (Starts to undress— track-suit top, sneakers and socks)

HELEN: Put anything you want washed on one side and I’ll get a message to Katrina first thing in the morning.

ELSA: Don’t bother her with that. I can do it myself.

HELEN: You can’t leave without seeing Katrina! She’ll never forgive me if I don’t let her know you’re here. Please . . . even if it’s only for a few minutes.

ELSA: I won’t leave without seeing Katrina, Miss Helen! But I don’t need her to wash a pair of pants and a bra for me. I do my own washing.

HELEN: I’m sorry . . . I just thought you might. . . . There’s an empty drawer here if you want to pack anything away.

ELSA (An edge to her voice): Please stop fussing, Miss Helen! I know my way around by now.

HELEN: It’s just that if I’d known you were coming, I would have had everything ready for you.

ELSA: Everything is fine just the way it is.

HELEN: No, it isn’t! I don’t even know that I’ve got enough in the kitchen for a decent supper tonight. I did buy bread yesterday, but for the rest . . .

ELSA: Please, Miss Helen! If we need anything, I’ll get old Retief to open his shop for us. In any case, I’m not hungry. All I need at this moment is a good wash and a chance to unwind so that I can forget I’ve been sitting in a motorcar for twelve hours.

HELEN: Be patient with me, Elsie. Remember the little saying: “Patience is a virtue, virtue is a grace, and —”

ELSA (Unexpectedly sharp): For God’s sake, Helen! Just leave me alone for a few minutes!

Pause.

HELEN (Timidly): I’ll get your hot water

Miss Helen exits. Elsa slumps down on the bed, her head in her hands. Miss Helen returns a few seconds later with a large kettle of hot water. She handles it with difficulty.

I’ve got the small one on for tea.

ELSA: Let me do that!

She jumps up and takes the kettle away from Miss Helen. The two women stand staring at each other for a few seconds. Elsa puts down the kettle and then puts her hands on Miss Helen’s shoulders.

My turn to say sorry.

HELEN: You don’t need to do that.

ELSA: Please! It will help. Sorry, Miss Helen. I also need to hear you say you forgive me.

HELEN: To tell you the truth, I was getting on my own nerves.

ELSA (Now smiling): Come on.

HELEN: Oh, all right. . . . But I promise you it isn’t necessary. You’re forgiven.

ELSA (Leading Miss Helen over to a chair): Now sit down and stop worrying about me. We’re both going to close our eyes, take a deep breath and start again. Ready?

HELEN: Ready.

ELSA: One, two, three . . .

Closed eyes and deep breaths.

And now?

HELEN(With the sly, tongue-in-cheek humor we will come to recognize as characteristic of the relaxed woman): Well, if you really mean it, I think the best thing is for you to get back into your car, drive around the block and arrive again. And this time I want you, please, to hoot three times the way you usually do, so that I don’t think a ghost has walked in through the front door when you appear.

ELSA (Calling Miss Helen’s bluff): Right. Where are the car keys? (Finds them and heads for the front door)

HELEN: Where are you going?

ELSA: To do what you said. Drive around the block and arrive again.

HELEN: Like that?

ELSA: Why, what’s wrong?

HELEN: Elsie! Sterling Retief will have a heart attack if he sees you like that.

ELSA: But I wear less than this when I go to the beach. Oh, all right then, you old spoilsport, let’s pretend.

Elsa runs into the other room, revs up her motorcar, grinds through all its gears and “arrives.” Three blasts on the horn. The two women play the “arrival game” (specifics to be determined in rehearsal). At the end of it they come together in a good laugh.

If my friends in Cape Town were to have seen that! You must understand, Miss Helen, Elsa Barlow is known as a “serious young woman.” Bit of a bluestocking, in fact. Not much fun there! I don’t know how you did it, Helen, but you caught me with those stockings down from the first day we met. You have the rare distinction of being the only person who can make me make a fool of myself . . . and enjoy it.

HELEN: You weren’t making a fool of yourself. And anyway what about me? Nearly seventy and behaving as if I were seven!

ELSA: Let’s face it, we’ve both still got a little girl hidden away in us somewhere.

HELEN: And they like to play together.

ELSA: Mine hasn’t done that for a long time.

HELEN: And I didn’t even know that mine was still alive.

ELSA: That she most certainly is. She’s the one who comes running out to play first. Feeling better? HELEN: Much better.

For the moment all tensions are gone. Elsa cleans herself as thoroughly as a basin of ...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Contents
• Dedication
• A NOTE ON MISS HELEN
• ACT 1
• ACT 2