The Weir

Conor McPherson

• Editore: Nick Hern Books
• Anno: 2013
• ISBN:
  9781780011530
• Argomento: Letteratura
• Categoria: Teatro

The spellbinding, beautifully observed hit from the master of suspenseful realism; combining superbly chilling tales of the supernatural with the hilarious banter of a small community in the heart of rural Ireland.

A bar in a remote part of Ireland. The local lads are swapping spooky stories to impress a young woman recently moved to the area from Dublin. As the drink flows and the stories become increasingly frightening, it's clear that Valerie has something on her mind. She has a tale to tell that'll stop them all dead in their tracks.

Winner of: Olivier Award for Best New Play, Evening Standard Award for Best New Playwright, Critic's Circle Award for Most Promising New Playwright.

'The play of the decade... a modern masterpiece' Express

'Puts one in mind of an Irish Chekhov. I have rarely been so convinced that I have just seen a modern classic' Daily Telegraph

A counter, left, with three bar taps. The spirits are not mounted, simply left on the shelf. There are three stools at the counter.

There is a fireplace, right. There is a stove built into it. Near this is a low table with some small stools and a bigger, more comfortable chair, nearest the fire. There is another small table, front, with a stool or two.

On the wall, back, are some old black and white photographs: a ruined abbey; people posing near a newly erected ESB weir; a town in a cove with mountains around it.

An old television is mounted up in a corner. There is a small radio on a shelf behind the bar.

A door, right, is the main entrance to the bar. A door, back, leads to the toilets and a yard.

This bar is part of a house and the house is part of a farm.

The door, right, opens. JACK comes in. He wears a suit which looks a bit big for him, and a white shirt open at the collar. Over this is a dirty anorak. He takes the anorak off and hangs it up. He wipes his boots aggressively on a mat.

He goes behind the counter. He selects a glass and goes to pour himself a pint of stout. Nothing comes out of the tap. He vainly tries it again and looks underneath the counter. He turns and takes a bottle from the shelf, awkwardly prising off the top. He pours it and leaves it on the bar to settle. He turns to the till which he opens with practised, if uncertain, ease. He takes a list of prices from beside the till and holds a pair of spectacles up to his face while he examines it. He puts money in the till and takes his change.

As he finishes this, the door at back opens. BRENDAN comes in. He wears a sweater, heavy cord pants and a pair of slip-on shoes. He carries a bucket with peat briquettes. He goes to the fireplace, barely acknowledging JACK, just his voice.

BRENDAN. Jack.

JACK. Brendan. (Lifting glass.) What’s with the Guinness?

BRENDAN (putting peat in the stove). I don’t know. It’s the power in the tap. It’s a new barrel and everything.

JACK. Is the Harp one okay?

BRENDAN. Yeah.

JACK. Well, would you not switch them around and let a man have a pint of stout, no?

BRENDAN. What about the Harp drinkers?

JACK (derision). ‘The Harp drinkers.’

BRENDAN. Your man’s coming in to do it in the morning. Have a bottle.

JACK. I’m having a bottle. (Pause.) I’m not happy about it, now mind, right? But, like.

They laugh.

BRENDAN. Go on out of that.

JACK (drinks). What the hell. Good for the worms.

BRENDAN. I’d say you have a right couple of worms, alright.

They laugh. Pause. BRENDAN stands wiping his hands.

That’s some wind, isn’t it?

JACK. It is.

BRENDAN. Must have been against you, was it?

JACK comes out from behind the counter.

JACK. It was. It was against me ’til I came around the Knock. It was a bit of shelter then.

BRENDAN goes in behind the counter. He tidies up, dries glasses.

BRENDAN. Yeah it’s a funny one. It’s coming from the north.

JACK. Mm. Ah, it’s mild enough though.

BRENDAN. Ah yeah. It’s balmy enough. (Pause.) It’s balmy enough.

JACK. Were you in Carrick today?

BRENDAN. I wasn’t, no. I had the sisters over doing their rounds. Checking up on me.

JACK. Checking their investments.

BRENDAN. Oh yeah. Course, they don’t have a fucking clue what they’re looking for, d’you know? They’re just vaguely... you know.

JACK. Keeping the pressure on you.

BRENDAN. This is it. (Pause.) At me to sell the top field.

JACK. You don’t use it much.

BRENDAN. No. No I don’t. Too much trouble driving a herd up. But I know they’re looking at it, all they see is new cars for the hubbies, you know?

JACK. Mm. You’re not just trying to spite them? Get them vexed, ha?

BRENDAN. Not at all. I’m, just. It’s a grand spot up there. Ah, I don’t know. Just...

Short pause.

JACK. They over the whole day?

BRENDAN. They got here about two. They’d gone for lunch in the Arms. Got their story straight. Ah they were gone and all about half four.

JACK. They’ve no attachment to the place, no?

BRENDAN. No they don’t. They look around, and it’s... ‘Ah yeah...’ you know?

They laugh a little.

It’s gas.

JACK. Mm.

BRENDAN. Were you in Carrick yourself?

JACK. I was. Flew in about eleven, threw on a fast bet. Jimmy was there, we went for a quick one in the Pot.

BRENDAN. How is he? And the ma?

JACK. Ah. Jimmy. Be in tonight. He put me on to a nice one. We got her at eleven to four.

BRENDAN. You’re learning to listen, ha?

JACK. Ah. Fuck that sure. I know, but I’ve been having the worst run of shit you wouldn’t believe. I was that desperate, I’d listen to anybody.

BRENDAN. Go on out of that.

JACK. Ah no. No no. Fair dues. I’ll say it. He got us a right one. And it’s good, you know. Break a streak like that.

BRENDAN. You’re a user.

JACK (laughs). There’s worse.

BRENDAN. Yeah. There might be.

JACK. But, ah, he was telling me. Did you know about Maura Nealon’s house?

BRENDAN. No.

JACK. Well. Jim says he met Finbar Mack down in the Spar. Finally, either sold or’s renting the, the thing, after how many years it’s sat there?

BRENDAN. Jays, four or five in anyway.

JACK. Jim says five this month. And Finbar’s going bananas with the great fella that he is. Patting himself on the back, goodo, and talking about the new resident. Who, he says, is a fine girl. Single. Down from Dublin and all this. And Finbar’s nearly leaving the wife just to have a chance with this one. Only messing, like. But he’s bringing her in here tonight, the nearest place. To old... Maura’s. Bringing her in for a drink. Introduce her to the natives.

BRENDAN. The dirty bastard. I don’t want him using in here for that sort of carry-on. A married man like him.

JACK. Ah he’s only old shit. He wouldn’t have the nerve. Sure, how far’d he get anyway? The fucking head on him. He’s only having a little thrill. Bringing her around. And I’ll tell you what it is as well. He’s coming in here with her. And he’s the one. He’s the one that’s ‘with’ her, in whatever fucking... sense we’re talking about. He’s bringing her in. And there’s you and me, and the Jimmy fella, the muggins’s, the single fellas. And he’s the married fella. And he’s going ‘Look at this! There’s obviously something the fuck wrong with yous. Yous are single and you couldn’t get a woman near this place. And look at me. I’m hitched. I’m over and done with, and I’m having to beat them off.’

BRENDAN. Yeah. That’s the way cunts always go about their business. It’s intrusive, it’s bad manners, it’s...

JACK. Ah, it’s a juvenile carry-on. You know?

BRENDAN. Mm.

JACK. Let her come in herself.

BRENDAN. Yeah. That’d be better. That’d make more sense, for fuck’s sake.

JACK. Leave her be. Don’t know if I’ll stay actually.

BRENDAN. Mm.

Pause. JACK drains his glass and puts it on the bar.

JACK. Go on.

BRENDAN takes the glass and pours a fresh bottle.

Don’t want to leave Jimmy in the lurch. You know? Trying to hold his own in the Finbar Mack world of big business.

They laugh a little.

BRENDAN. Fucking... Jimmy talking all that crack with Finbar.

JACK. That’s the thing though. The Jimmy fella’s got more going on up here (Head.) than popular opinion would give him credit for.

BRENDAN. Sure, don’t we know too well for God’s sake?

JACK. I know.

BRENDAN. We know only too well.

JACK counts change out on the bar.

JACK. Would you give us ten Silk Cut please, Brendan?

BRENDAN. Red?

JACK. Please.

BRENDAN puts the cigarettes on the bar.

Good man.

Pause. JACK doesn’t touch them yet. BRENDAN counts the money off the bar. JACK pauses before drinking.

Are we right?

BRENDAN. Close enough. Cheers.

JACK. Good luck.

JACK takes a long drink. Pause.

I know I do be at you. I’ll keep at you though.

BRENDAN. About what?

JACK. Don’t be messing. Come on.

BRENDAN. Ah.

JACK. A youngfella like you. And this place a right going concern.

BRENDAN. Ah. The odd time. You know, the odd time I’d think about it.

JACK. You should though.

BRENDAN. Well then, so should you.

JACK. Would you go on? An auldfella like me!

BRENDAN. Would you listen to him?

JACK. Sure what would I want ...