MRS WILSON: Well, I’ll speak with you downstairs, David dear, before you’re ready to leave. (Silent for a moment, searching for words) May I say it’s been a pleasure having you here. Don’t worry about settling the rent, the last week is on the house. My Stanley would never forgive me if I didn’t make a small sacrifice for a soldier… Well, I’ll leave you two alone for a minute.
[MRS. WILSON exits. Conspicuously, we do not hear her footsteps descend the stairs. She is evidently listening outside to the events inside the room.]
DAVID: Hello.
EMILY (already emotional): Is that all you can say? You’re going away to war, aren’t you, and that’s all you have to say?
DAVID (patiently): Yes, of course I’m going, Em. It’s my duty as a civilised human being, not some stupid patriotic crusade. You know how I feel about it. And what else do you expect me to say? It was you who went cold on me, remember? I haven’t seen you in ages.
EMILY: I know exactly how you feel about Hitler, David. The question is, how do you still feel about me? About us?
DAVID: I wish I knew if there was still an “us” about which to feel. Only you can decide that. I haven’t stopped loving you.
EMILY: I was worried you might have…
DAVID (tenderly, shaking his head and approaching her as though to embrace): No…
[Emily backs away, recoiling from the embrace.]
EMILY (exasperated, confused): David – I can’t! I won’t allow myself to become a war widow or a sweetheart pining for news from the front, only to be sent a heartless bloody telegram from King George. I want no part of it!
DAVID: What about doing your bit? Joining up? Do you hate the idea of a war so much that you won’t pitch in now that it’s started?
EMILY: I’m not heartless, David – whatever you think of me. I’ll help out in some way or another. But I won’t be a nurse – one of those wretched, broken casualties laid out on a stretcher might be you. I’ll make sure that I’m doing something as far removed from you as possible.
DAVID: Then you really don’t love me any more.
EMILY: No, you stupid fool! Of course I still love you. But for both our sakes, I have to stop loving you now. I have no other choice. If you still want to find me again when it’s all over, we could start again, I don’t know. But until then, it must end.
DAVID: So that you don’t have to wait for me?
EMILY: Yes. We should both be spared that torture.
DAVID: Until the end of the war, then.
EMILY: Goodbye, David. Good luck.
DAVID: Thank you. That’s better than saying “Break a leg” – I doubt I’ll be doing much play-acting.
EMILY: If it’s a play, I hope it has a short run.
DAVID: I love you, Emily…
[EMILY turns sharply on her heel as he says these last words and exits quickly. We hear the sound of her running down the stairs. DAVID starts to run after her, hesitates and remains standing in the room, alone now. He sits, turns the radio back on, studies his watch. He stands again and looks out of the window.]
[The remainder of the time left on stage – approximately five minutes – begins with a contemporary news report on the outbreak of war, with solemn and sombre BBC voices. As the stage lights fade to black, the grave news reports merge with and become a montage of other sounds – Hitler ranting at a Nuremberg rally to the hypnotic chants of “Sieg Heil”, the scream of Stuka dive bombers and falling bombs, staccato machine gun fire, flames, sirens, crying babies and – finally – the monotonous drone of endless boots marching.]
[Fade to black, with DAVID continuing to stand silent and motionless at the window, as though transfixed by the sounds the audience can hear. These noises continue for a minute or two after the stage has become completely darkened.]
Curtain. End of Act Two.
Finis.
# # #
To find more works by William Andrews, visit:
https://www.darkcorners.com.au
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