THE YOUNG MAN scans MIKE now, carefully. Hold on, I got it! Mike! It’s the first night of Lent!
MIKE It is, sir.
THE YOUNG MAN
Well, then, remembering your Lenten promise, why’s that cigarette in your mouth?
MIKE casts his eyes down on the smoke jiggling on his lip and shrugs.
MIKE Ah—I give up the ither.
There is a long moment during which THE YOUNG MAN stares.
THE YOUNG MAN The other?
MIKE (nodding wisely) The ither.
THE YOUNG MAN pulls as far back in his seat as possible to look at MIKE. Suddenly he reaches forward and twists the key in the ignition. With a great squealing, MIKE brings the car to a halt, surprised but not angry.
Why, will you tell me, did you do that? In silence, the two sit there.
THE YOUNG MAN Mike, for two hundred nights we have ridden together.
MIKE True.
THE YOUNG MAN
And each night as I came from my employer’s house I drank, at the door, a fiery douse of Scotch or bourbon “against the chill.”
MIKE A reasonable precaution.
THE YOUNG MAN
Then I walked out to this cab where sat a man, yourself, who, during all the long winter evening’s wait for me to phone for your services, had lived in Heeber Finn’s pub.
MIKE You might say, it’s me office!
THE YOUNG MAN (slaps his own brow) Fool!
MIKE Who is?
THE YOUNG MAN lam!
MIKE And why?
THE YOUNG MAN
Because, Mike, because there in Heeber Finn’s while you waited, you took onto yourself—a mellowness. And that mellowness distilled itself down in a slow rain that damped your smoldering nerves. It colored your cheeks, warmed your eyes soft, lowered your voice to a husking mist, and spread in your chest to slow your heart to a gentle jog-trot.
MIKE Ah, I wish the Guinness family could hear you!
THE YOUNG MAN
It loosened your hands on the wheel and sat you with grace and ease as you gentled us through fogs and mists that kept us and Dublin apart. And all the while, Mike, the liquor / drank stopped me from ever detecting the scent of any spirits on your breath.
MIKE What are you leading up to, sir?
THE YOUNG MAN
This, Mike! Tonight, the first night of Lent, for the first time in all the nights I’ve driven with you, you are sober!
He lets this sink in. MIKE lets it sink in, too, aghast.
MIKE By God now, that’s true.
THE YOUNG MAN
And all those other two hundred nights you weren’t driving slow and careful and easy just for my safety—
MIKE Well
THE YOUNG MAN
—but because of the gentle warm spirits sloping now on this side, now on that side of you, as we took the long scything curves.
MIKE (as if revealing something) If you must know, yes; I was drunk all of them nights.
They both sit and look at each other for a long moment.
THE YOUNG MAN And now you’ve given up liquor for Lent?
MIKE (nods righteously) You’ve noticed the improvement?
There is a moment of critical silence.
THE YOUNG MAN Drive on, Mike.
MIKE starts the car with a roar. They thunder on, rocking silently, THE YOUNG MAN studying the older.
MIKE And here we are! Dublin’s Fair City!
He stops the car. THE YOUNG MAN gets thoughtfully out. He looks around at the imaginary city. He speaks to the audience.
THE YOUNG MAN
Dublin’s fair city. Oh, who really knows the Irish, say I, and which half of them is which? Mike? {Turns to look at the man) Which Mike is the real Mike? Which is the Mike that everyone knows? (Gasps, shakes his head as at a foul vision) I will not think on it. There is only one Mike for me. That one that Ireland shaped herself with her weathers and waters, her seedings and harvestings, her brans and mashes, her brews, bottlings, and swiggings. If you ask what makes the Irish what they are, I’d point on down the road (Points) and tell where you turn to find Heeber Finn’s. (Turns) Mike?
MIKE Sir?
THE YOUNG MAN Wait here a second!
THE YOUNG MAN runs offstage. He comes running back out a moment later, something hidden under his coat.
Will you do me a favor, Mike?
MIKE Name it!
THE YOUNG MAN winces at the loudness of that voice.
THE YOUNG MAN Here.
MIKE What’s that, sir?
MIKE blinks at the bottle THE YOUNG MAN has brought from hiding.
THE YOUNG MAN A bottle of whisky.
MIKE I rarely see a whole bottle of it. That’s why I didn’t recognize—
THE YOUNG MAN
Mike, this is the first night of Lent, right? Now … on the second night of Lent—
MIKE Tomorrow night?
THE YOUNG MAN
On the second night of Lent, when you come to pick me up, in Kilcock, will you drink this, Mike?
MIKE Do you know what you’re doing?
THE YOUNG MAN Tempting you, Mike.
MIKE {sore torn between) You are indeed.
THE YOUNG MAN Take it, Mike.
MIKE Ah, God, it’s Lent.
THE YOUNG MAN Only the first night.
MIKE You said that before, but with repetition it makes sense.
THE YOUNG MAN Give something else up!
MIKE
Ah, Jesus, in all of Ireland, there’s not so much joy, beauty, and riotous pleasure about you can count them on more than five fingers! Gimme the damn thing!
THE YOUNG MAN Good old Mike!
MIKE (eyeing the bottle) Do I drink it all?
THE YOUNG MAN Or as much as will turn Mr. Hyde into Dr. Jekyll!
MIKE How’s that?
THE YOUNG MAN (rephrasing it)
Enough so Mike will come for me tomorrow night, instead of you.
MIKE Mike instead of me? I’m Mike. Michael Finneran Seamus Kelly!
THE YOUNG MAN A re you?
He peers in at the fellow, MIKE gets his meaning, uncorks the bottle, takes a long swig.
MIKE Ah!
He takes another swig as THE YOUNG MAN beams, MIKE leans out, his voice immediately softer, mellower.
Is that better?
THE YOUNG MAN Mike, Mike you’re back!
MIKE {nods slowly) I was long away.
THE YOUNG MAN You were!
They clench hands in a great shake, steadfast, true.
MIKE Here now, take these precious bits of pure gold!
He shoves over his cigarette pack.
THE YOUNG MAN (taking them) Thanks, Mike.
MIKE (gently) Ah, shut up.
THE YOUNG MAN See you tomorrow?
MIKE If we’re both alive.
THE YOUNG MAN Do you doubt we will be?
MIKE (with a last swig) Strange—I’m thinking now—I’ll live forever.
He drives off, waving beautifully, THE YOUNG MAN watches the car go. He lights one of MIKE’S1 cigarettes, studies it, studies the smoke on the air.
THE YOUNG MAN
The Irish? The Irish. Here they come out of the mist. There they vanish into the rain.
He calls into the growing darkness.
Michael Finneran Seamus Kelly! Who and what are you?
He listens.
No answer. And (Checks watch)—already, look! It’s the second day of Lent! So—what am / giving up?
He looks at the cigarette pack, rips it open. What indeed?!
He tears the cigarettes apart, sprinkles the tobacco about, beaming. A harp plays in the darkness offstage, THE YOUNG MAN, hearing it, laughs and shrugs.
All right, all right! Let the harp play all it wants! I’m done, finished, through!
He moves briskly for the exit stage right as the harp lilts up playing a zestful reel. Just before exiting, THE YOUNG MAN turns about once, and maybe clicks his heels. When he is gone, from the darkness MIKE reappears on his throne, in his car, swinging back out in one long wonderful slow curve, MIKE’S smile is mellow. The motor is quiet. The harp plays gently now, as MIKE vanishes back into the Irish dark, and on away toward . . .
THE END
A Clear View of an Irish Mist
CHARACTERS
HEEBER FINN
KATHLEEN (HIS WIFE)
OLD MAN
CASEY TIMULTY
NOLAN
FATHER LEARY
HOOLIHAN (THE SALESMAN)
NOONAN
O’HARA
KELLY
At the rise of curtain we see the bar of Heeber Finn’s pub somewhere deep in Ireland’s jogs and rains, deserted in the early-morning hour. For a change, a rosy glare comes through the stained-glass windows to either side of the bar; the day has begun with rare weather.
HEEBER FINN enters, breathing the good air, scratching himself, yawning, fully dressed for a day of business. He looks about at the silent room.
FINN
Ah, there you are, waiting for it all to begin. What will happen today? Only God knows in the morning. By ten tonight /’// know. Some day I should set it down.
He moves about, arranging the chairs.
His WIFE (entering) Set what down?
FINN
All that happens, Katy, in a single day with the doors open and the world flocking in.
His WIFE Would you rather write it or live it?
FINN Since you put it that way—living’s best.
His WIFE
Live and work. I wish you’d do more of that. There’s much needs mending here. That chair leans favoring the left, the table leans favoring the right. . . .
FINN (polishing)
Playing with these spigots is my work!
His WIFE
And you play them fine, like the organist at the Variety Cinema in Cork, but—
FINN But, Woman! It’s opening time!
His WIFE (checking) Ten seconds after.
FINN (hustling) Wait till I get set up! Peep through the door! What do you see?
She peeps.
His WIFE
A band of hoodlums, as is usual, elbowing each other and smacking their lips.
FINN Well, what are you waiting for?
His WIFE (peeking through a chink) It does me good to make them stay out in the cold a bit overtime.
FINN You’ve a hard heart!
His WIFE I thought you only worried about my soft behind.
She fiddles with the latch. There is a groan of relief from outside.
Ah, listen to them craitures stir, will ya? Like so many cows in need of milking!
She fiddles the latch again, smiling. Another groan from outside. They’re fairly seething!
FINN Inhuman woman, let be!
She unlocks, unbolts, and lets the Red Sea in.
His WIFE One at a time! No hurry!
THE OLD MAN (entering indignant) One at a time? No
