Twist of Gold (4 page)

SEAN:
’Spose it must be.

ANNIE:
Are we alone?

    
SEAN
looks around him.

SEAN:
Yes.

ANNIE:
Why do we always leave everyone behind? Why does everyone we love have to leave us?

SEAN:
Donnelly left us his fiddle. Said we should play it and dance to it – and we will. And whenever we do, we shall remember him.

    
He opens the case and takes out the fiddle. It rattles. He shakes it: it rattles some more. He looks inside the fiddle.

ANNIE:
What is it Sean?

SEAN:
’Tis the torc. ’Tis the golden torc. The two of them hid it for us, Annie: Mr Blundell and Fiddler Donnelly.

ANNIE:
And we’ll never be able to thank them.

    
They let this thought sink in.

    I’m so hungry, I could eat a horse.

SEAN:
Then let’s find one!

    
They walk along the beach.

ANNIE:
’Merica is quite different from Ireland.

SEAN:
Do you think?

ANNIE:
Well look: more trees grow here than I’ve ever seen in my life. And they’re all great tall trees – not bent and stunted by the
wind like back home. And the leaves shine scarlet and gold.

    
Some of the leaves fall like snowflakes around them.

    Beautiful.

    
They hear a rustling in the leaves.

    Listen. Did you hear that?

    
The rustling gets louder.

SEAN:
(To the rustling.)
It’s only us: Sean and Annie O’Brien! Who’s there?

    
More rustling.

    We’re from the ship. Who are you?

    
And a
PIG
lets out an almighty squeal which frightens the living daylights out of
SEAN
and
ANNIE
before it goes grunting off.

ANNIE:
(Laughing.)
’Tis a pig, a ’Merican pig! And you were so scared!

SEAN:
Wasn’t.

ANNIE:
Yes you was.

SEAN:
So were you. Let’s follow it.

ANNIE:
Why?

SEAN:
Because if it’s anything like an Irish pig, its nose will be taking it home. And its home will be a farm. And a farm will have food. And
people.

    
They follow it and come to a village – where dogs yap at them.

ANNIE:
How do we know they’ll be friendly?

SEAN:
We don’t.

    
The hiss of geese and cackle of hens scattering. And then a group of
VILLAGERS
approach, one holding a gun. Both sides keep a
wary distance.

ANNIE:
Is this Boston, ’Merica?

    
A
VILLAGER
sniggers.

    
(Raising her voice and ar-ti-cu-la-ting slow-ly to foreigners)
We Are Loo-king For Bos-ton, ’Me-ri-ca…

    
The
VILLAGERS
all laugh.

VILLAGER:
Hell no! This ain’t Boston! Boston’s a mite bigger’n this.

    
The
VILLAGERS
laugh again.

VILLAGER:
You gone and got yourself lost in them woods, I guess. Why, you ain’t more’n little children!

ANNIE:
We’re
not little
…

VILLAGER:
What’s your ma and pa doing lettin’ you run wild out in them woods? Where you from anyhow? You ain’t from hereabouts.

SEAN:
We come from Ireland. And the ship we were on went on the rocks in the storm.

    
The smiles vanish – the gun is raised.

VILLAGER:
Ireland? You on one of them migrant ships?

SEAN:
Yes.

VILLAGER:
Did you have the sickness on board?

ANNIE:
The malady of the sea, some of them had.

VILLAGER:
I knew it! A plague ship. You keep your distance, do you hear? Don’t come any closer.

    
The gun is cocked.

SEAN:
What’s the matter? Why are you looking at us like that?

VILLAGER:
’Cos you got the plague, that’s why. Git back, else I’ll shoot. And that’s a promise.

SEAN:
But we need food. And water. Won’t you give us some water?

VILLAGER:
You got any kin-folk, any family?

ANNIE:
Of course we have! We’ve come to ’Merica to look for our father. Perhaps you know him? Patrick O’Brien’s his name. Big
fellow.

    
The
VILLAGERS
chuckle again.

SEAN:
Can you tell us how far it is to Boston?

VILLAGER:
Fifteen miles – twelve if you keep to the coast road.

    
The
VILLAGERS
confer in whispers.

ANNIE:
Hey, what are you all whispering about?

VILLAGER:
We’re thinking it wouldn’t be right for us to have you walking all the way to Boston on an empty stomach, not with night coming on
and winter in the air.

SEAN:
No.

VILLAGER:
So here’s what we’re gonna do: we’ll bring you what you need, and you kin go in with the fish wagon into Boston.

SEAN:
That’s very kind.

VILLAGER:
Hell, yes!
(To themselves.)
Though you ain’t smelled the fish wagon…
(To
ANNIE/SEAN
.)
Follow me.

    
They do, at a distance. The
VILLAGERS
bring a fresh set of clothes and two pairs of boots. Music plays under the
following.

    
ANNIE
and
SEAN
change into the clothes.

ANNIE:
They’re too big!

SEAN:
But no holes. And they’re warm. And dry.

ANNIE:
How do you get these boots on? I don’t think I’ve ever worn a pair of boots in my life.

SEAN:
You squeeze ’em on with an oomph – and then stamp around. Just like Father.

    
They do so.

ANNIE:
Sean, Sean, I feel like dancing!

    
SEAN
gets out the fiddle and plays a jig, which
ANNIE
dances, lifting her new woollen skirt above her
boots as she does so. The
VILLAGERS
gather.

VILLAGER:
Where’s you learn to play and dance like that?

ANNIE:
We had a friend. He taught us. But he’s dead now, so we’ll be playing and dancing for him from now on.

VILLAGER:
You take good care in Boston. ’S’a wicked town for young folk like you to be ’lone in.

VILLAGER:
Good luck little people. Safe journey.

    
And they leap up onto the cart – driven by
MARTY
.

MARTY:
You sits on the back thar and I’ll not catch the plague – though judgin’ by the way you dancin’ little lady, if you have
got the plague then I’d like it too!

ANNIE:
Your wagon’s a bit smelly.

MARTY:
Aw, there are worse smells than fresh fish.

    
He chews tobacco and spits impressively.

SEAN:
How do you do that?

MARTY:
Thar’s an art to it. Why, I kin knock a hairy-legged buzzard clean off his post at fifty paces. Don’t kill him of course, but he
hears it a-coming and he knows it’s one of mine so he don’t wait around, no sir.

ANNIE:
Can I have a go?

SEAN:
Annie!

MARTY:
Why surely, ma’am. Chew on this leathery baccy until your jaw aches – then use your tongue like a catapult.

    
She does – spectacularly.

SEAN:
How did you…?

ANNIE:
Away she goes!

    
They spit their way to Boston.

    
Boston: a teeming city of refugees. Cold and grey and snowing.

SEAN:
‘A Paradise aplenty where the sun’s always shining…’? – not in Boston, not in winter.

ANNIE:
Have you ever seen so many people? Sure ’tis teeming like an anthill.

MARTY:
Well good luck. Here’s half a dollar. And mind whom you talk to.

    
And he rides off.

ANNIE:
How will we ever find Father?

BOSTON CHANCER:
(Smiling broadly.)
Have you just got in from the Old Country?

    
The
CHILDREN
nod.

    And I suppose you’ll be looking for somewhere to sleep?
(Not waiting for an answer.)
Well you’ve met the right fellow. I’ve a
little attic room, just suit you fine. Two dollars a week – ain’t that a bargain?

ANNIE:
But we’ve only half a dollar.

    
SEAN
looks daggers at
ANNIE.

BOSTON CHANCER:
All right, I’m a fair man. You’re down on your luck, I can see that. A dollar and a half, how will that be?

SEAN:
We’re not looking for somewhere to stay, Mister.

BOSTON CHANCER:
In this winter? You’re kidding me! Now what about that fiddle? It must be worth a fair bit. I’ll take it off you and you
have the room for free for a fortnight.

SEAN:
(Gripping the case tightly to him.)
’Tis not mine to sell.

BOSTON CHANCER:
(Advancing.)
Then I’ll just borrow it for a while.

    
A tall
BLACK MAN
appears.

BLACK MAN:
(To
BOSTON CHANCER
.)
You after somethin’ friend?

    
The
BOSTON CHANCER
weighs up the situation.

    ’Cos if you are, you gotta remember that these is my friends, an’ if they don’t like you then I don’t either. Get my
meanin’, friend?

    
The
BOSTON CHANCER
scarpers.

    Now you two is gonna get into all kinds of trouble. I’s can see I’s gonna have to keep my eye on you two.

ANNIE:
But how do we know you are our friend?

BLACK MAN:
Am I bein’
un
friendly? Hope that fiddle of yours ain’t broke, boy.

    
SEAN
opens the fiddle case, rattles the fiddle.

SEAN:
Nothing broken.

BLACK MAN:
You sure, boy? It rattles some, somethin’ loose inside maybe?

SEAN:
(Slamming shut the lid of the case.)
No.

BLACK MAN:
That there is a fine fiddle.

ANNIE:
I’m Annie, and my brother’s called Sean. We are O’Briens.

BLACK MAN/LIL’ LUKE:
An’ I’m Lil’ Luke, Miss Annie. My privilege, my privilege.

    
He raises his hat.

ANNIE:
Why are you called Little Luke? You’re not little, you’re big. We had a brother called Little Joe. But he
was
little –
the littlest.

LIL’ LUKE:
I was lil’ when I was born, an’ that’s when my mammy first knew me, so I guess that’s why she called me
Lil’ Luke, an’ it’s kinda stuck.

ANNIE:
You speak very good English.

LIL’ LUKE:
I been speakin’ it all my life, lil’ missy.

ANNIE:
Then can you tell us if you’ve seen our father, Mister Patrick O’Brien?

LIL’ LUKE:
When, missy?

ANNIE:
Oh, about a year ago.

LIL’ LUKE:
Well if he were here that long ago, he sure ain’t likely to be here now. If he got any sense he’ll be long gone.

SEAN:
Yes. Out West.

LIL’ LUKE:
Well that’s where they all head for in the end.

ANNIE:
How did you get so black, Mister?

SEAN:
Annie!

LIL’ LUKE:
(Chuckling.)
Well, I puts it on every morning before sun-up and I takes it off every night. You rub me hard enough and
it’ll come off just like the brown off a hen’s egg. You wanna try?

    
He offers her his face – and she rubs it, but of course nothing happens.

    
(Mock shock-horror.)
Well, bless my soul, looks as if I put it on once too often! Now I’m stuck with it for life.

    
He smiles.
ANNIE
realises he’s been teasing her.

ANNIE:
Are you telling me you were born like that?

LIL’ LUKE:
That’s what my Mammy said. You mean you ain’t never seen no black man before?

ANNIE:
In Ireland everyone’s white. Well, dirty white.

LIL’ LUKE:
And there was me thinking that you were all little green folk in Ireland!

ANNIE:
Really?

    
LIL’ LUKE
raises an eyebrow as if to say ‘what do you think?’

LIL’ LUKE:
We got all sorts here in ’Merica, folks from all over: England, Ireland, Dutchland, Swedenland. Hundreds of ’em
comin’ in every day. ’Cos this is a mighty big country an’ there’s room for everyone who’s a mind to come.
(To
SEAN
.)
You play that fiddle of yours?

SEAN:
(Clutching the fiddle case tightly to him.)
A bit.

LIL’ LUKE:
Yes you keep a tight hold of it. But if you play, you may be able to earn yourself a crust. So long. I must get back to my ladies. Take
care now, d’you hear?

    
He leaves. Snow falls. The chill wind whines.