St James Infirmary

Nick Enright

• Editore: Currency Press
• Anno: 2015
• ISBN:
  9781925359176
• Argomento: Littérature
• Categoria: Théâtre

As protesters march against the Vietnam War, boys in a Catholic school prepare for their final exams. One student paints an anti-war mural in the cadet drill hall and is forced to confront the consequences of his action.

ACT ONE

SCENE ONE

Late morning. A room in an old sandstone cottage by a river. In it are three iron beds. One door opens onto a hall. French doors give onto a verandah facing the river. JENNIFER WALSH, in uniform, holds her veil in her hand. She looks out at the view. Rowing crews call on the water. FATHER D’ARCY appears at the hall door, carrying a portfolio.

D’ARCY: They’re pleasant sounds, aren’t they?

She is startled.

Stroke... stroke... stroke. Regular and comforting. You’ll catch every sound across the water. The punt chugging to and fro. Sometimes you can hear bellbirds on the other shore. I’m sorry if I startled you. The front door was wide open.

JENNY: It’s warm for October.

D’ARCY: It will get warmer. You’ll be grateful for the breeze. And you’ll need your mosquito net.

JENNY: [adjusting her veil] Excuse me. I can’t get this to stay on.

D’ARCY: I doubt you’ll need to. There’ll be no patients today. It’s our last week before swot vac, and the calendar’s very full. The art show. The passing-out parade. Prize day. Drama night. They’re all too busy to be sick. Enjoy your freedom. We could walk down to the cricket. Or I could show you the library.

JENNY: Thank you. But I’m still settling in, Father...

D’ARCY: D’Arcy.

JENNY: Of course. I beg your pardon.

D’ARCY: Why? You met eighteen men in black. You wouldn’t remember all the names. Certainly not mine. I’m very small fry. I’m not even a Division Master.

JENNY: What do you teach, Father?

D’ARCY: Painting and drawing, chiefly. And you can imagine how much status that has. You want to get on with your unpacking.

JENNY: There is some straightening up to do...

D’ARCY: Of course. Things got beyond Matron by the end. But if you could spare me a few minutes, I want to enlist you in a cause.

JENNY: I’m not a great one for causes.

D’ARCY: This one might interest you.

JENNY: Well... what is it?

D’ARCY: The salvation of a soul.

JENNY: Goodness.

D’ARCY: That was a bit over-dramatic, wasn’t it? What do I mean? Salvaging, redirection... I don’t know. And I’m afraid the Fathers have turned their backs. I’ve had any number of promising students. But this place being what it is, they go on to be doctors or solicitors or stockbrokers. I’ve never cared much. They’d need something more than promise to make them artists. But this one boy, Dominic Connolly, he has that. He has a fire in his belly.

JENNY: And a soul that needs saving.

D’ARCY: Well... he’s adrift. He needs help. Guidance.

JENNY: What about his mother and father?

D’ARCY: Both dead. Let me show you what he can do. You can throw me out in five minutes. But first. Look, please.

He opens the portfolio.

Time is short. He’s only with us for another month. What do you think?

JENNY: Doesn’t he have a guardian? Foster-parents?

D’ARCY: His grandparents pay the fees. He’s been ours since the age of eleven. And that makes us... makes me feel all the more responsible.

JENNY: For what?

D’ARCY: Up at the college, I’m known as a red-hot liberal. Dangerous D’Arcy. Nudes in the art room, photography, collage. Pop art. And there’s worse. I actually encourage the boys to argue and to read. There are usually one or two lively minds that can be fed. And Connolly is the liveliest. [Showing a bold poster] Look at this.

JENNY: ‘Old soldiers never die. Not while they’ve got the young ones to do it for them.’ Why do you show me this?

D’ARCY: I’ve set something in motion that I can’t control. Last year, he was so hungry. I thought he needed to know something about the world. In the Christmas vacation I arranged for...