Darker Shores by Michael Punter

Author:Michael Punter
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: A&C Black
Published: 2009-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

The golf course. Snow still in the air. A seat.

Beauregard sits alone, clutching his suitcase.

He sets it down. He is shaking.

Mrs Hinchcliffe approaches.

Mrs Hinchcliffe Do you mind if I . . .

Beauregard Go ahead.

She sits. They stare out to sea.

Mrs Hinchcliffe I like to watch the ships here.

Beat.

I think I’d like America. I’d like the sky.

Beauregard How so?

Mrs Hinchcliffe I saw a show about it at the Alhambra, years back. They put a ship upon the stage. A beautiful clipper in full sail. Lovely big painted clouds beyond. It was set before that war you had.

Beauregard Yes. That war we had.

Mrs Hinchcliffe What was that all about?

Beauregard I have not the faintest idea.

Beat.

Mrs Hinchcliffe Steamers took the place of clippers. Give me a sail any day. Progress they call it. What’s progress? My dad was a weaver. Worked the loom at home with us crawling and toddling. Factories came and first day he lost his finger. We were half starved. What progress is that? What does it mean, any of it?

Beauregard I really do not know, Mrs Hinchcliffe.

Beat.

Mrs Hinchcliffe Look, I told a lie about the house. But I’m not a liar.

Beat.

It’s a clean house, sir.

Beauregard Yes, you have said –

Mrs Hinchcliffe It’s ever such a clean house.

Beauregard Madam, I have never encountered in all my time such raw, such elemental power from the world of spirit as I discovered today in your home. I very much doubt that it can be cleansed.

Beat.

Mrs Hinchcliffe Well, there’s not a lot I can do about that.

She folds her arms.

Beat.

It knows me. It’s content with me. It only gets upset –

Beauregard When?

Mrs Hinchcliffe When others come.

Beauregard I admire your fortitude, Mrs Hinchcliffe.

Mrs Hinchcliffe Are you leaving?

Beauregard I must.

Mrs Hinchcliffe You’ll miss the last train from Hastings.

Beauregard Then I’ll get a hotel.

Mrs Hinchcliffe On Christmas Eve? Our Saviour couldn’t find a place on Christmas Eve.

Beauregard Then at least I am in good company. Goodbye.

He makes to rise.

Mrs Hinchcliffe Don’t go. Please. Stay . . .

Half-beat.

Beauregard I cannot.

Mrs Hinchcliffe Run, then! If that’s who you are! If you’ve no backbone!

A beat. Beauregard does not move.

Beauregard Have you ever heard of Gettysburg?

Mrs Hinchcliffe Can’t say I have.

Beauregard The last great battle of the Civil War. Maybe the worst there’s ever been. And I was there. A kid out of his depth, in Confederate grey. The losing side, you may have heard. The ones who wanted to keep the blacks enslaved. But some of us fought for other things. The right to preserve our patch of earth. Home and hearth. So there I was, no shoes and with the world on fire. They gathered us recruits together and marched us at the Yankee lines. And we walked. We opened up our guns and theirs fell silent. We marched on. And we got so close we could almost touch those Yankee guns! I recall, at my shoulder, Jeb Smith of Concord, Tennessee, turning and grinning. (He hesitates.) Grinning as the shot took away his chest and left him standing.

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