(Pause)
Albert, you standing in a draft. All right, your Majesty, when you look for me, I gone! And I mightn’t come back.
(Exits)
JORDAN
Mistress Jordan! Do me a favor! Don’t come back!
MABEL
(Offstage)
Right!
(The stage. Traffic sounds outside. A dog keeps up its frenzied barking. JORDAN goes to the armchair, and lifts up the paper. Then he puts it down slowly. He looks up to the ceiling. Then he sits. It grows dark. The clock chimes five)
JORDAN
We born alone. We suffer alone. We dead alone. Right?
(He keeps looking at the ceiling)
You know, since your own son dead, we ain’t been hearing much from you.
SCENE 2
The same. JORDAN sits in the armchair. From the dark, the INTERVIEWER’s voice.
INTERVIEWER
That was a great performance, Mr. Jordan. The way you read, them characters really leapt to life. Is just one little technicality. If you going to move around so much during the next story, is best you hold the mike, or else we find ourself all over the place.
JORDAN
So life is, young man. All over the place.
(INTERVIEWER turns on machine, speaks into it)
INTERVIEWER
That was “Barrley on the Roof, A Satire,” by A. P. Jordan, published last year. Now we go back thirty years to old colonial Port of Spain, via a story known as a pioneer work in our literature: “The War Effort.”
JORDAN
“My War Effort.” Yes.
INTERVIEWER
Do you remember it?
JORDAN
Vaguely.
(Projection: “My War Effort”
by
A. P. Jordan)
INTERVIEWER
It was published in 1948.
JORDAN
To heal the wound.
INTERVIEWER
What wound?
JORDAN
Never mind what wound. It was all a lie. I made it up. It happened to a friend of mine. And her name was not Hope; it was Esther Trout. I should have used Trout instead of Hope. Hope was too obvious and Trout got away. How does it begin? “In the balmy days”?…
(As the INTERVIEWER reads, a projection of JORDAN in volunteer cap and World War II uniform. JORDAN, listening, rises and moves away. ESTHER TROUT, a young Englishwoman, enters and sits at a desk)
INTERVIEWER
“In those balmy days of the Second World War, I was not English, but I considered myself to be. I was a colonial, but did not consider myself to be so. England belonged to me, her heritage, her war. I adored England and there was nothing more England to me than my immediate superior at the Information Office one desk away, than the adorable Miss Esther Hope.
(The Information Office: Morning. The INTERVIEWER, who has arranged the furniture, withdraws. ESTHER TROUT, a twenty-five-year-old, is at her desk. Above her desk a large Union Jack. JORDAN enters, pauses at the door. He is holding a rose)
JORDAN
I’m awfully sorry to be late, Miss Trout, but you can blame it on the war. May I wish you a pleasant working day. May our tropic sun not wilt your English rose.
ESTHER
Your accent is almost flawless, Mr. Jordan. When are you going to be yourself?
JORDAN
I waited at the Readers’ and Writers’ Club last night. I have written a little poem in somebody’s honor. Guess whose? I preferred not to read it. I spent a restless night wondering what happened.
ESTHER
I had to go to Government House. A reception. You … Why am I telling you all this, Mr. Jordan? Now, do you want the key to the library?
JORDAN
(Accepting key)
The library, again? Among musty tomes? Does that mean I won’t have the pleasure …
ESTHER
There’s something else.
(She holds up a note)
What is this, Mr. Jordan?
JORDAN
What is what?
ESTHER
This.
(Reads the note)
“Miss Trout, I’ve adored you from the day you came into this office. I’ve adored you without hope. I’ve worshipped you across the gulf of race and the chasm of time. Will you join me in a drink after work? A.J. P.S. Then marry me?”
Is this some sort of a joke, Mr. Jordan? Because if it is, I think it’s silly. You mustn’t trifle with people’s affections. It’s dangerous.
(She tears up the note)
Now, be a good boy and don’t get ideas. Because we’re on the verge of becoming friends. Please go to the library, Mr. Jordan. Now. Oh, and by the way …
JORDAN
Yes, sir?
ESTHER
What’s happened to those back numbers of The Illustrated London News?
JORDAN
They’re being kept in my digs. As hostages. Till you agree to have lunch.
ESTHER
You know very well that they aren’t to leave Reference, Mr. Jordan. Or it’s my neck.
JORDAN
Passion has made me dauntless, Miss Trout.
ESTHER
The library, Mr. Jordan. There’s a war on. Now …
(JORDAN exits. ESTHER looks up from her work, rests her chin in one palm, smiles; then, the smile fading, stares as the lights fade)
SCENE 3
JORDAN
(Recites)
“Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead!
In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility;
But when the blast of war blows in our ears…”
ESTHER
What is this, Mr. Jordan?
JORDAN
Sorry to appear in civvies, sir, but I simply couldn’t find a spot to stash my gear.
ESTHER
Stash your gear?
JORDAN
I’ve joined the local defense force. I’m up for pips. Lieutenant Albert Perez Jordan of the Home Guard. Shh … the walls have ears. From a meek office lamb to a tiger on the battlefield. I hope I’m severely wounded; then you could look after me. I’m quite excited by it all, excuse me.
ESTHER
You’ve seen too many war films, Albert. It isn’t like that. War’s very boring, actually. It’s mostly administration. Could you check this list?
JORDAN
We might see a little action. You never know.
ESTHER
Action? We?
JORDAN
The war, I mean.
ESTHER
In Trinidad?
JORDAN
Oh, don’t dismiss the idea so easily, Miss Trout. There’re submarines. There’s the threat of invasion.
ESTHER
By whom, Mr. Jordan?
JORDAN
By Vichy France. They’re sinking our ships. Our boys are going down. I was considered essential to the war effort here, so they didn’t let me enlist. There was a rumor about a commission if I’d gotten in. At least one pip. But I doubt I’d have gotten it. Black officer in the British Army’d be a rare sight, what?
ESTHER
I’ll say. Take that silly thing off and help me proof this inventory, you idiot.
JORDAN
When you call me an idiot, Miss Trout, I feel like a prince. If I wore my uniform, then would you consider going out with me?
ESTHER
The inventory.
JORDAN
Does that mean you might? I can’t decipher that smile.
ESTHER
You’re engaged to be married, aren’t you, Mr. Jordan? That’s what I hear.
JORDAN
I am. I was. It’s meant nothing since I met you. I could break it off. You only have to nod. Means nothing, really.
ESTHER
It’s meant something to me. Shall we start working now?
> JORDAN
It’s all hopeless, is it?
ESTHER
Not hopeless, but pointless. Bit of a difference there.
JORDAN
I joined up to impress you. I would die to impress you. How about that?
ESTHER
Don’t you ever give up?
JORDAN
Has Britain given up? Won’t we fight to the last Winston said? On the beaches, on the landing grounds? We shall never surrender!
ESTHER
We?
JORDAN
Oh. You.
(Removes the cap)
I see.
ESTHER
All right. Come on: let’s start on the third paragraph, page 5. Got it? What’s wrong, Mr. Jordan?
(JORDAN is staring into space)
JORDAN
Someday, someday. We’ll have our own flag. Our own wars! And the British lion will come crawling on its knees to the Trinidadian quenk.
ESTHER
What … is a “quenk,” Mr. Jordan?
JORDAN
Oh, don’t you know, Miss Trout? It’s a small jungle animal pretending to be a boar. Like me. So, you may take your war, your flag, your rose, your key, and stuff it!
(Marches out)
ESTHER
Well. Independence at last!
(She is smiling. Fade)
SCENE 4
Night. Softly, sound of a tropic night. Spotlight on ESTHER at her desk. Then, a spotlight on JORDAN. ESTHER rises from her desk, stretches, then sits on its edge, thinking. She takes off her shoes, then the jacket of her uniform, and rehearses a dance.
JORDAN
“One evening, Padmore went for his usual cycle on his trusty Raleigh Sir Winston around the Savannah. Seeing a single light in his office he approached, hoping to catch a spy in flagrante delicto. But Padmore stood, in the doorway, unseen, and watched, in tears, with silent wonder. He knew, in that illuminating moment, that though dancer and watcher would grow old and change, the music never would, nor would the vision which the music preserved. The rose he had given her had blackened and withered on her desk, but it was there. That gave him trout.”
SCENE 5
Day. Music: Les Sylphides, softly. The INTERVIEWER, dressed as a waiter, sets the desk with tablecloth, a freshly cut rose, etc., in the restaurant. JORDAN, carrying three back numbers of The Illustrated London News, enters.
WAITER
Yes.
JORDAN
Made a reservation. Lieutenant Jordan, Home Guard. Expecting young English officer to join me shortly.
WAITER
I hope he reach shortly. Is wartime, you know, and it have blackout and curfew.
JORDAN
I know. When it tolls, we’ll depart.
WAITER
Eh? Oh ho!
(Enter ESTHER. WAITER seats her)
JORDAN
(Presenting magazines)
The hostages. As promised.
(Pause)
I love you, Esther. I love you and I’m afraid.
ESTHER
Will you stop it?
JORDAN
All right.
(WAITER exits)
Once you know it, that’s all.
ESTHER
I was afraid you were making a fool of me, do you understand? Listen to that, Les Sylphides. I used to dance to that. Me, a sylph. I should starve. I’m getting too fat, living off the war.
JORDAN
You’re a ballet dancer?
ESTHER
Was. War stopped all that. Glad they’ve turned it off. But somebody here’s very chic, my dear. I came because I thought it was time we had this all out. No more little games. I hate flirtations. We aren’t a very frivolous race, the Brrr … itish. So your little notes were very annoying. Not at all flattering. I thought: Who is this foolish man? I’m younger than you, Albert, but I’ve seen more. Mind my chattering? I think it’s for our good, you see.
JORDAN
Oh, no, no, go on.
ESTHER
Everybody’s got sad stories about this war, so I shan’t tell you mine. Just swiftly, British manner. Both parents. I’ve none, shall we say. No, no. It’s our war. It’s just Europe ripping its own guts out again. It did it before, with my dad. So I’ve been alone a lot. Lost a fiancé on the Ark Royal. Just a boy, but lost all the same, so I asked to be posted out here. I’ve grown to love it here. You mustn’t make fun of that. Albert, I think you’re a silly, affected, but lovely man. You’ve pestered me relentlessly for three months. It’s been worse than the Blitz. And I’ve thought very carefully about this, all the possible complications, but if you want me to, I’ll marry you.
(Silence)
I see. What’s her name, Albert? Your fiancée?
(Silence)
JORDAN
It doesn’t matter, does it?
ESTHER
I’d just like to know who I lost you to. I think you should leave the office, don’t you? Either that, or I do.
JORDAN
Excuse me, love. Men’s room.
(Exits. He turns and walks toward the armchair, reciting from memory)
I went to the men’s room for twenty years. I never saw Esther Trout, I mean Esther Hope, to talk to again. I never went back to the office. Not even for my things, until I heard that she had gone back to England. To their war. A mortal error. To stay within the boundaries of my race and not cross over, even for love. Esther! I’ll never look upon her like again. Since then I have been a mind without a country. From that day onward I have always known my place. The end.
Well, did you prefer that story, Mr.… I’ve forgotten your name. No, no, it’ll come back. Roberts … R … R … Your face …
INTERVIEWER
Rogers, sir. You taught my father.
JORDAN
Ah, yes. There were two Rogerses, about your father’s age; one was rather timid, and one was dim-witted but excellent with his hands. He runs a garage.
INTERVIEWER
That’s my father, sir.
JORDAN
Not dim-witted exactly. Just that he hated books. I remember he built us an excellent cabinet. I loved him. I loved them all, you see. Is he doing well?
INTERVIEWER
Just well enough, sir.
JORDAN
Rogers’s garage, of course! Tell him One Jacket sends his love and ask him if he recalls making that cabinet.
INTERVIEWER
I shall, sir.
JORDAN
He had an amusing cranium.
(Demonstrates)
The others called him Mango Head, and I’d, oh, how, how it all comes back so clearly, I’d stroke … he had a funny dent right here, like a cleft crown, ha ha! And I’d say, “Did you learn so and so, Mango Head,” and give it a little rub, and he’d grit his teeth in rage. Oh, he was a lovely boy. Tell him about that cabinet, you hear, don’t you forget now, and tell him that One Jacket says he’s got a fine son.
INTERVIEWER
Yes, sir. Shall we continue…?
JORDAN
Don’t know what happened to the other Rogers. I sent them out into the world, frail, confident things. To have that happen every year. Every year. It broke my heart. You look a little like my son. The longer you stay in this house, the more you resemble him.
INTERVIEWER
That was one of my questions, sir. Everybody in Trinidad knows what happened. How come you have never written about it?
JORDAN
Because … It is a subject for thunder, not for me, a mouse with a fountain pen. You must go now. My memory is so strong, Master Rogers, that I confound the living and the dead. Reading those stories had the power of incantation. They sounded real, and now I find reality hard to bear. I’m afraid of the power of the resurrecting word. Go, and come back some other morning, thank you. That machine contains their voices, and it’s strange.
INTERVIEWER
Goodbye, sir.
JORDAN
Good
morning, Master Rogers.
(INTERVIEWER rises, exits. JORDAN remains in the living room. The INTERVIEWER passes ANNA HERSCHEL at the front door; she is carrying a baby. ANNA sits on a veranda chair, tired. Then rises, hesitant)
JORDAN
He’s left the book behind. How’s he going to do his homework?
(Acting out young JORDAN and young ROGERS)
Where’s your book, Mango Head? How can you do your homework without your book?
(As young ROGERS)
Ah leave it home, sir. It lose.
(He laughs. Opens the book, reads)
“A mortal error. To stay within the boundaries of my race and not cross over, even for love. Esther! I’ll never look upon her like again.”
(The front door creaks open wider. ANNA HERSCHEL, a young white woman, stands in the doorway, carrying a sleeping baby on one shoulder, a bag slung over the other. JORDAN does not turn)
ANNA
Can I come in?
JORDAN
I’m so glad you came. I’d given up, Trout. Sometimes I say Trout instead of Hope. It’s a little joke of mine. It’s a game you might play sometime. Come in.
(Fade)
Act Two
SCENE 1
The same. The drawing room, next morning, JORDAN in a floral, tasseled dressing gown, EZRA PILGRIM sits on the couch, a bottle of rum and a soda near him. He drinks. JORDAN watches patiently.
JORDAN
Love never dies, it stays the same.
PILGRIM
I can’t face Monday without at least two of these, boy, as you know. Nah, nah, don’t worry, Al. It ain’t the poem. Right. Read. Read.
(JORDAN offers him the bottle)
No, no, I done, no more. You could move the bottle.
JORDAN
(Recites)
“Love never dies, it stays the same;
though lovers die, the more Love grows
in others with a different name,
it is their heart’s immortal rose.
A vision from across the years,
although sons die, and friends betray,
waters this rose with joyful tears.
Ah, Hope, that never went away
but hid within me all this while,
when sons have died and friends betray,
you greet me, at the closing day
with that forlorn, forgiving smile.
A. P. Jordan”
(Pause)
What’s the verdict, Pilly?
(Pause)
You know I can take it.
(PILGRIM pours another drink)
PILGRIM
It kinda Christmas-cardish. Or, worse, is like one of them things at the back of the paper with a very dim photo of the deceased, but the author is A. P. Jordan, so I’d be mad to turn it down. What’s the title?