Brownbread & War

  Donkey What’s tha’ you’re eatin’, Fergus?

  The Bishop hides the Twix and won’t let Donkey see.

  Ao (to Bukowski) What’s the story?

  Bukowski Have you elected a representative to speak to the President?

  Ao Yeah. Me.

  Bukowski And were you democratically elected?

  Ao Eh, —yeah.

  Bukowski Good. Aidan. I’m going to explain the procedure to you now. It’s pretty straightforward.

  Donkey It’d want to be.

  Bukowski Why is that, Sir?

  Donkey (about Ao) Cos he’s as thick as shite.

  Bukowski Is that right? —Well, that shouldn’t be too big a problem, Aidan. You won’t have to say much, I guess. The President will handle most of the talking side of the operation. The President will say ‘Good morning’ to you and, well, we think it would be kind o’ nice if you were to say ’Good morning’ to the President. How would you feel about that, Aidan?

  Ao Okay. No problem.

  Bukowski Could you say that now, please?

  Ao Wha’? Good mornin’?

  Bukowski Yes.

  Ao Eh —Good —

  biBukowski At the window, please. For the TV people.

  Ao Ah now.

  (After thinking.) Donkey.

  Donkey Yeah?

  Ao Take the gun here and put it to the Bishop —. No. Hang on. (Standing up; to Bukowski.) Sit down there.

  Bukowski sits beside the Bishop. The Bishop ignores him. Ao gives the gun to Donkey, and Donkey climbs onto the bed and stands behind Bukowski. He puts the barrel to the top of Bukowski’s skull.

  Ao (to Donkey) Now, if annythin’ happens to me while I’m over here at the window would you mind puttin’ a bullet in tha’ man’s head.

  Donkey Certainly. No problem. —I might do it annyway, cos I’ve never seen it done this way before an’ I’d be very interested to see if his brains go up, or down.

  Bukowski Hey, it’s cool. —No tricks.

  Donkey If it’s cool why are yeh shakin’ so much, man?

  John (imitating Plain-clothes) Okay, man.

  Ao goes to the window. Mr and Mrs Farrell are having their picnic. Farrell There’s Aidan.

  Ao (to Bukowski) Just ’Good mornin”?

  Bukowski Yes.

  Ao (out the window) Eh —Good mornin’. — Tha’ alrigh’? Mrs Farrell That was lovely, Aidan.

  Farrell Very clear. Like Alistair Burnett.

  Bukowski (‘sincere’) That was very good.

  Farrell Only he wouldn’t be sayin’ ‘Good mornin” on the ’News At Ten’. Unless he was scuttered.

  Bukowski So that’s how the operation will commence. It’s nice. Breaks the ice, I guess.

  Donkey (absently) Breaks your head, I guess.

  Donkey puts the gun to different parts of Bukowski’s head, trying to judge where the bullet would come out.

  Bukowski After the exchange of greetings the President will give us a short statement on yesterday’s tragedy. Brief. Some nice words for the bereaved personnel at home, I guess. —At the conclusion of which the President will ask you to release the Bishop. And, then, Aidan; it’d be neat if you could say something along the lines of, say, ‘We will release the Bishop immediately, Mister President’. I think that would be good. What do you think about that?

  Donkey It’s thick.

  Ao Okay.

  John (imitating Plain-clothes) Okay.

  Bukowski Or, if you prefer, something less formal like, say, ’‘Okay; here he is’ will be fine.

  Ao No; the first one’s better.

  Bukowski Good. I think so too. Could you say that, please?

  Ao (going to the window) Okay. —Wha’ is it again?

  Bukowski We will release the Bishop immediately, Mister President.

  Donkey He’ll never remember tha’.

  Ao (out the window) Eh, we will release the Bishop immediately, Mister President.

  (To Donkey.) There, bollix.

  Farrell I never knew he had it in him.

  Mrs Farrell Aidan, love. Pat down your hair. It’s standing up. Ao pats his hair, a bit embarrassed.

  Bukowski Good. Very good. I like that. — And, well, I guess that’s it.

  Ao Is tha’ all?

  Bukowski Yes.

  Donkey Hey, Mister. There’s somethin’ after movin’ in your hair. Bukowski (nervous; diplomatic) Is that — right?

  Donkey Yeah. Do yeh want me to shoot it for yeh?

  Bukowski I — guess not.

  John Does it have wings, Donkey?

  Donkey I’m after losin’ it. —Come ou’ with your wings up.

  Ao D‘yeh want me to say ’God bless America’ or somethin’ like tha’? It’d be no problem.

  Bukowski No, I guess not, Aidan. I think the President plans on using that one himself after the Bishop has been re-instated into a, eh —

  Crabacre (still against the wall) Nonrestrictive environment, Sir. Bukowski — nonrestrictive environment.

  Ao Ah well, fair enough then.

  John Tell him all his films are poxy.

  Bukowski I don’t think that would be advisable.

  Donkey He’s only messin’.

  (Looking into Bukowski’s hair.) Do they have Head an’ Shoulders in America?

  Bukowski (bemused) —Yes. —Well. — Thank you all for your cooperation. I guess I can stand up now?

  Ao Yeah. Donkey, guard the Bishop.

  Bukowski stands up carefully. Donkey sits on the bed, beside the Bishop.

  Donkey Howyeh, Fergus. Did yeh miss me?

  Bishop I have got nothing to say to you.

  Donkey Ah, Fergus. —Have yeh anny tickles?

  Donkey starts tickling the Bishop, and the Bishop squirms.

  Bukowski Bishop Treacy? Sir?

  Bishop (stops squirming) Yes!?

  Bukowski Goodbye, Sir.

  Bishop (gruff) Goodbye.

  Bukowski (to all; exiting) Goodbye. And thank you again.

  Crabacre ’Preciate it.

  Exit Bukowski. Crabacre remains, unable to move.

  John Cheerio.

  Donkey Seeyis.

  Crabacre Lieutenant!

  Bukowski (entering) Private?

  Crabacre I’m kinda stuck here, Sir.

  John and Bukowski help Crabacre to the door.

  Crabacre (exiting; in pain) ’Preciate it.

  Donkey (looking in the box) D’yeh want a banana, Fergus?

  Bishop No, thank you.

  John You can eat them, yeh know.

  The lads laugh, excited.

  John Are yeh goin’ to say wha’ they want yeh to?

  Ao Ah, yeah. I’d better.

  John Yeah.

  Donkey Chicken.

  Ao Fuck off.

  Enter Bukowski and Crabacre from the left wing. Crabacre is having problems walking. Bukowski is talking into the field phone.

  Bukowski (into the phone) Is that right, Sir? That is good news. (To Mr Farrell.) Budweiser are sponsoring the broadcast.

  Farrell Go ’way.

  Mr Farrell raises his eyes to heaven.

  Bukowski (into the phone) I’ll do that now, General.

  Crabacre (taking the phone) Sir!

  Bukowski I have to liaise with TV personnel, Private. You entertain these good people while I’m gone.

  Crabacre Yes, Sir!

  Exit Bukowski. The Bishop is dozing.

  Ao (at the window) Hey, Da. Is it on live?

  Farrell Yeah. But come here. It’s on at the same time as ‘Neighbours’ so there mightn’t be annyone watchin’ it.

  Mrs Farrell (remembering; then disappointed to miss it) Oh! ‘Neighbours’.

  Crabacre That your boy, Mam?

  Mrs Farrell That’s right. Aidan.

  Crabacre (giving out to Ao) You all might should be ashamed of yourselves abductin’ the aux-hillary Bishop an’ cahootin’ with them A-rabs an’ leavin’ your mamas frettin’ an’ beatin’ their breasts in anguish.

&
nbsp; Ao What’s he sayin’?

  Mrs Farrell (explaining) His mammy had an operation. Crabacre That’s right, Mam.

  John She needed one after him. The head on him.

  Crabacre Sixteen growths removed.

  Farrell Where are the other fifteen?

  Mrs Farrell Eddie; stop that. Leave him alone.

  Enter Bukowski.

  Bukowski The link-up is operational, Private.

  Crabacre That’s good news to hear, Sir.

  Bukowski (to the lads) One minute. —This is live TV, right? The lads put on serious television faces. John and Donkey push each other for better position.

  Farrell (indignant, to Bukowski) We’re washed, ready an’ waitin’.

  Bukowski Is that right? —So, well, thank you for your cooperation.

  Farrell (dismissive) Ah, no problem.

  Crabacre ’Preciate it.

  Bukowski So, well —. Stand by.

  Farrell (rubbing his hands) Here we go.

  Donkey Fergus.

  The Bishop snaps awake and sits up, alert.

  Mrs Farrell (as the Marines exit) Bye bye now.

  Bukowski Goodbye, Missis Farrell.

  Exit Bukowski.

  Mrs Farrell John Wesley?

  Crabacre Mam?

  Mrs Farrell You’ll be able to get those vests I was tellin’ you about in Guiney’s on Talbot Street, if you’re not goin’ straight back to America.

  Crabacre ’Preciate it, Mam.

  Mrs Farrell Bye bye.

  Crabacre (saluting) Mam.

  Exit Crabacre.

  Mrs Farrell He has a bad chest.

  Farrell Fuck’m.

  Ao (to the Bishop) Remember now, Your Bishop. We didn’t kidnap yeh.

  Bishop (still sulking) Yes. I know.

  Donkey Good man, Fergus.

  There is a short pause. The lads stare out the window, braced and excited; pushing a bit.

  Reagan’s Voice Hello, Iceland-Ireland. —Good morning, boys. Ao Good mornin’, Mister President.

  Reagan You’re the one they call Aidan?

  Ao Yeah. —Yes, Mister President. That’s righ’.

  Mrs Farrell grabs Mr Farrell’s arm.

  Donkey I’m the one they call Donkey.

  Reagan Good morning to you, Donk, em, Donkey.

  Donkey How’s it goin’.

  Reagan Boys, I’m sure you know why we are talking to each other like this across the mighty Atlantic Ocean. There is no death more tragic or more wasteful than the death of youth. Without youth to follow in our steps our dreams, our goals, our achievements mean nothing.

  The lads begin to look bored; stifle yawns etc.

  Reagan Our efforts to protect and preserve freedom with peace are empty if there are no young people to flourish in that freedom. A nation is only as alive and as vigorous and as essential as that nation’s young citizens. Boys, yesterday our nation, the United States of America, lost seventeen young men she could not afford to lose.

  Donkey (quietly) Aw!

  Reagan (on the verge of tears) Boys, I’m asking you now this morning, so the loss of those seventeen young lives might in one way become meaningful. I’m asking you now. Let Bishop Treacy go home.

  Farrell I thought we’d be here for the rest o’ the fuckin’ day. Mrs Farrell Shhh, you.

  Ao (nervous but determined) Mister President. I’ve got three words to say to you.

  John Not ‘God bless America’!?

  Ao The first one is ‘Fuck’. An’ the second one is ‘Off’. An’ the third one is ‘Pal’.

  The lads are shocked, but delighted: they’re definitely on the map now.

  Mrs Farrell Aidan! Oh, my God almighty!

  Mr Farrell looks around for Marines and bullets, and then starts laughing.

  Reagan —I —

  Ao Now I think the Bishop wants to say a few words to yeh. — Your Bishop.

  The Bishop goes to the window. He stands there, erect and dignified in underpants and lady’s dressing-gown.

  Donkey (warning the Bishop) Hey.

  The Bishop ignores him.

  Bishop Mister Reagan, —

  Reagan Your Grace, I’m glad to see —

  Bishop I was not kidnapped.

  Reagan (after a pause) Oh.

  Bishop (getting into his stride) I have been incarcerated in this house with these —boys for the last two days because if we had attempted to step outside we would without doubt have been shot and killed. By your boys.

  Ao (quietly) Good man, Your Bishop.

  Bishop (after glaring at A6) Your pretext for this fiasco, Mister Reagan, was my American citizenship. Well, let me tell you: when I get home — If I manage to make it all that way without being shot or bombarded by your boys —I will immediately locate my precious American passport and burn the wretched thing. —My regard for you, Mister Reagan, has never been high. As of today it isn’t even low!

  The Bishop about-turns and strides grimly and manfully out of the room.

  Donkey Good luck, Fergus!

  Enter the Bishop.

  Bishop (pointing to Donkey) You go and shite!!

  Exit the Bishop.

  Donkey (a bit hurt) Ah, there was no need for tha’.

  Ao (out the window) We will release the Bishop immediately, Mister President.

  Farrell (the proud father) There now. Follow tha’!

  He hugs Mrs Farrell.

  The lads celebrate, and sing ‘Here we go, here we go, here we go’.

  Donkey exits.

  Farrell Tha’ was gas.

  Mrs Farrell (collecting the picnic things) Aidan was very rude.

  Farrell He was dead righ’. If he hadn’t o’ sayin’ it, I would’ve.

  Mrs Farrell He could’ve said it nicer.

  Farrell We might as well go home.

  Mrs Farrell Yeah. I’m jaded.

  Farrell I don’t think we’ll get anny compensation ou’ o’ the Yanks now.

  Mrs Farrell Ah well.

  Farrell I got some rashers an’ sausages in.

  Mrs Farrell Wha’? All by yourself?

  Farrell I’ll tell yeh one thing. They’re an awful fuckin’ price.

  Mrs Farrell Are yeh goin’ to give me more money?

  Farrell Oh, I am, yeah. —In my arse.

  Exit Mr and Mrs Farrell.

  Ao and John are sitting on the bed. Enter Donkey with a hoover, singing ‘Here we go’ quietly.

  Donkey Oh fuck. Fergus is after goin’ off with me ma’s dressin’-gown.

  Ao Don’t worry. We’ll get a new one an’ rip some o’ the threads ou’ of it.

  The three lads are sitting on the bed, facing the audience.

  John (after a pause) Tha’ was brilliant crack, wasn’t it?

  Ao Yeah; brilliant.

  Donkey Brilliant.

  (After a pause.) What’ll we do now?

  John searches in the grocery box and takes out the gun. They look at it, and then at the audience.

  As the lights go down Sam the Sham and The Pharaohs play ‘I’m In With The Out Crowd’.

  War

  Dedicated to Belinda

  CHARACTERS

  The Quiz scenes all take place on a Monday night. The Kitchen scenes take place on different occasions before the quiz.

  War was first staged at the SFX Centre, Dublin, in September 1989.

  Act One

  SCENE ONE - THE QUIZ

  The set is in two parts; the Pub Lounge and the Kitchen. The Lounge, stage-right, is a newish suburban lounge; large, gaudy and colourful. It is beginning to show signs of wear. It is known as The Gaza Strip by the people of Barrytown, but the owner insists on calling it The Hiker’s Rest. There are posters on the walls: ‘Sunday 15th-Barrytown Utd V. Raheny Boys-3.00 pm-Support and lifts welcome’; ‘Larry O’Rourke-Barrytown’s Elvis—Sings for the Third World-Here-Sat. 14th-Tickets £2—Great Cause’. The pitch ’n‘ putt club’s fixture list, a complicated-looking chart, is also tacked to a wall. Only a corner of the total Lounge is s
een onstage. There are three tables and sets of chairs and stools, and a leatherette couch. Behind the bar there are rows of bottles, optics, a cocktail shaker, a glass full of little paper umbrellas. There are sports trophies and tacked-up postcards. There are some collection boxes on the counter, and some of Denis’s reference books. Denis’s homemade scoreboard is on the ground, leaning against the counter. The toilet doors are at the end of the bar, towards centre back-stage.

  The Kitchen, stage-left, is in a corporation house and is small, bright and modern, but not cluttered with gadgets: the Finnegans are comfortable but not well off. There are some cupboards and a worktop, and an old fridge. There is a well pawed kettle-jug on the worktop, and some old biscuit and tea tins. There is a Whitney Houston calendar on the wall, and a teenager’s heavy-metal-inspired drawing attached, to the fridge door by a magnet. Two of Briget’s completed jigsaws, framed, are also on the wall. There is a biscuit-tin lid full of sand in a comer, and a saucer of milk.

  Groucho Marx sings ‘Lydia The Tattooed Lady’. It is 7.45 pm. The Quiz is due to start in fifteen minutes, at 8.00 pm.

  Briget is in the Kitchen. She turns on the kettle. She takes dirty plates off the table and brings them to the sink, perhaps offstage. When the kettle boils she makes a cup of tea. Then she sits at the table and does the Evening Herald crosswords. She does all this while the action in the Lounge takes place. Towards the end of Scene One Briget gets up and makes a second cup of tea, for George. The Lounge seems empty.

  There are two half-drunk pints on one of the tables. They are Noel’s and Tommy’s.

  Enter Leo, the perfect barman, from stage-right as the music fades. Leo is in his late thirties, is from Dundalk, and was once called the Red Adair of the Lounge-bar world. He is carrying a pile of glass ashtrays. He quickly, but without rushing, lets an ashtray drop, spinning, onto each table.