Script: Mary Rose (1964)
The following is based on Jay Presson Allen's second draft of "Mary Rose", dated February 15th, 1964.
A number of typos have been corrected, along with the unusual attempts at a Gaelic accent — for example, "very" is typed as "ferry" in the original draft when spoken by Cameron — which is spelling carried over from J.M. Barrie's original play.
Time Periods
The draft takes place over several years and Allen gives the character's ages as follows:
1896
- MARY ROSE is 18.
- SIMON is 33.
- MR. MORLAND is 50.
- MRS. MORLAND is 49.
- MR. AMY is (approx.) 47.
1898
- KENNETH is born.
1900
- MARY ROSE disappears.
- CAMERON is (approx.) 22.
1913
- MARY ROSE returns.
- MR. MORLAND is now 72
- MRS. MORIAND is 71.
- SIMON is 55.
- MR. AMY is 69.
- CAMERON is 40.
1939
- KENNETH’S return to house.
- He is 41.
Character Descriptions
KENNETH
- Fair and blue-eyed like mother (Mary Rose)
SIMON
- Tall man - dark - heavily built. Habitually rather solemn; he has a quality of passion.
MRS. OTERY
- Old, gaunt, narrow-eyed.
CAMERON (at 22)
- Old-young man ... gawky youth.
Scene 1
FADE IN:
Our picture opens on a fairly distant shot of The Island, lonely, sun-speckled yet mist-dim, somehow unsubstantial. Slowly, the CAMERA moves closer as a man’s voice speaks. It is a Highlander’s soft voice.
CAMERON (o.s.)
- Well, there it is. The Island. A mossy bank, a soft bit of sod, a spot to rest your oars and sit and sun yourself a spell. Somehow the sun does seem to favor the place. A toy island... a wee insignificant bit of grass and stone... as tranquil looking a piece of real estate as anyone could fancy. Stop! Stop here!
THE CAMERA obeys.
CAMERON (cont’d) (o.s.)
- We’ll go no closer. Not again. Not ever again.
- (draws a deep breath and speaks words in Gaelic)
- That is its name in Gaelic. In English it means The Island That Likes to be Visited.
- (his voice deeply ironic)
- Visited indeed. There are those who have found the island hospitable to a fault. There are those who have found the island... hungry… for visitors...
- We’ll go no closer. Not again. Not ever again.
FADE OUT.
FADE IN:Scene 2
LONG SHOT, HIGH, of a country house, not really isolated, but somehow alienated from its neighbours. It is run-down, neglected, empty and... even in the light of mid-afternoon... dark. Over this scene we once more hear the O.S. voice of CAMERON.
CAMERON (o.s.) (sighing)
- Yes... another choice bit of real estate. But here... there is no invitation here... no beckoning... no wanting to be visited. And yet this house... this house and the Island are for all time linked moat tragically together...
The voice fades as a jeep, vintage World War II, canes down the road, slowing down and finally stopping in front of the house. The CAMERA closes in and by the time the back door opens and a man, an American officer in battle dress, gets out of the car, we are in MEDIUM CLOSE-UP. The man turns and faces the house as if confronting it. His eyes narrow speculatively as he slowly, deliberately, takes in the dark decay of the place, the ‘FOR SALE’ sign, itself now old and forlornly awry on its base.
At last the man moves across the weedy stretch of lawn, mounts the steps, starts to knock, changes his mind and tries the door. It opens easily, and he steps into the house, closing the door gently behind him.Scene 3
He finds himself in a small entrance hall. On either side of him are closed-off rooms. Before him is a staircase curving gracefully upward. A pale light dimly penetrates the dirty fanlight above the door, making it possible for the man... and for us... to make out the gracious lines of the architecture. Even now, in this sorry state, one can imagine how inviting, how warm, this small manor house must once have been.
Without haste, the man takes in the sight, the ambiance. But, though unhurried, he wastes no time, far his interest his focus of attention, seems to be on the staircase and on the unseen floor above.
Slowly, he begins to mount the stairs. At the top, he discovers a door, open upon a dark and deeply silent room. Quietly, he enters. All of this room’s past, which can be taken away, has gone. Such light as there is... no more than enough to make shadows.. .comes from the only window, which is at the back and incompletely shrouded in sacking. Also toward the back of the room is another door. - It is closed. As his eyes adjust to the dark, they circle the room, taking in the peeling wallpaper, the desolated, deserted sadness of it all, until finally his eyes cane to rest upon the only furnishings in the room... if two upended packing cases and a chair may be called furnishings.
On top of one of the cases is an unlighted candle in a holder, and beside it is a chair, the back of which is turned toward the man. These objects seem only to add to the impression of empty desertion. And then, in the dark, the man becomes slowly conscious of the faintest, almost indiscernible movement. It is in the chair. He freezes. There is a moment of utterly suspended animation. Then he speaks, his voice hardly a whisper.
KENNETH
- Who’s there?
THE CAMERA closes in tight on the chair, as from its depth the movement takes shape and turns to face the man. In the chair is a woman, old, gaunt, narrow-eyed... as frightened by the man as he has been by her. Only when her old gimlet eyes observe the obviously corporeal nature of the intruder, does she let out her breath. Hostilely, she regards him.
MRS. OTERY
- What do you think you’re up to here now! This here’s private property!
KENNETH (relaxes, almost smiles)
- And you must be the caretaker. Your name is... ?
MRS. OTERY
- (compelled against herself to answer his gentle, but utterly assured command)
- Mrs. Otery.
- (trying to regain her authority)
- Mrs. Harry Otery, that’s who. And I’m in charge of this house. It’s my job to show it to prospective purchasers with appointments.
KENNETH
- Really? From the looks of things, I shouldn’t think you’d find yourself very busy.
MRS. OTERY (firmly)
- Also I’m to see that no mischief makers come pokin’ around...
KENNETH
- Good for you, but aren’t you allowed a bit of light? Why were you sitting here in the dark when you’ve plenty of candles there...
MRS. OTERY
- I’m not one to waste good candlelight when I’m sitting alone. There’s a war on, Mister.
KENNETH (cheerfully)
- Right you are, Mrs. Otery. But I don’t think our common cause will be fatally compromised if we burn an inch or so of that candle.
He attempts to light candle, but the wick has burned too low. He then removes a knife, a rather large, lethal-looking instrument, from inside his jacket and with it begins to carve the wick out of the wax.
MRS. OTERY (at the sight of the knife)
- ‘Ere now... what are you carrying a wicked thing like that for?
KENNETH
- As you rightfully pointed out. Madam, there’s a war on. Government issue.
He now lights the candle and in its feeble, flicking light, begins to look around the room. The light shows MRS. OTERY nothing she has not already seen; her attention is still riveted on the knife. We follow KENNETH’s examination of the room as MRS. OTERY speaks.
MRS. OTERY (suspiciously)
- Wot government? Knives is a nasty, foreign sort of weapon, I’d say.
KENNETH
- Not at all. In this year of our Lord knives are the calling cards of even proper English gentlemen.
To tease her, he picks up the knife and casts it at one of the packing cases where it sticks, quivering in the wood.
KENNETH (cont’d)
- One leaves it on favored parties, like that.
He moves away, looks about the room as memories come worrying up in him.
KENNETH (cont’d)
- There were peacocks... somewhere...
MRS. OTERY (indignantly)
- Peacocks! Wot peacocks?
KENNETH
- Long ago... in this room... decorations...
MRS. OTERY
- Oh, them sort of peacocks. I was told a cloth used to hang on the wall there... tapestries they’re called, and that it had pictures of peacocks on it. How would you know?
KENNETH (not really addressing her)
- This was the living-room...
MRS. OTERY (quotes from some brochure) ‘Specially charming is the drawing-room with its superb view of the Downs. This room is upstairs and is approached by...
KENNETH
- By a stair, containing some superbly romantic rat-holes.
- (moves to window)
- There’s an apple tree outside there, with one of its branches scraping against the window...
- (smiles)
- It was my own private entrance and exit...
- By a stair, containing some superbly romantic rat-holes.
He pulls aside the sacking, which lets in a little more light. We see that the window, which reaches to the floor, opens outwards. There is, however, no tree. The man stares in disappointment, lets out his breath.
KENNETH (cont’d)
- Ah...
MRS. OTERY
- Well, there was a tree, I believe. You can see the root if you look down.
KENNETH (at the window)
- Yes. Yes, I see it in the long grass. And a bit of the seat that used to be around it. There were blue curtains at the window, and there was a sofa at this end, and I had my first swimming lessons on it.
- (turns, smiles wryly at the sour, indifferent old woman)
- You are a fortunate woman to be here drinking in these moving memories.
- Yes. Yes, I see it in the long grass. And a bit of the seat that used to be around it. There were blue curtains at the window, and there was a sofa at this end, and I had my first swimming lessons on it.
She eyes him narrowly.
KENNETH (cont’d)
- I was hoping you would like to show me around the other rooms.
MRS. OTERY shrugs, stands, moves as if to stairs, but the little door at the back has caught his eye.
KENNETH
- That door...
MRS. OTERY (avoiding looking at the door)
- It’s nothing. Just a cupboard door. Come this way.
KENNETH (turns back toward the door)
- It leads into a little dark passage...
MRS. OTERY (agrees... too quickly)
- Yes. That’s all.
KENNETH
- No — no... it leads — it leads to a single room. Yes. And the door of the room faces this way.
Quickly, before she can stop him, he opens the door, disclosing, as he had surmised, another door beyond. He turns on her.
KENNETH (cont’d) (sharply)
- Why did you say it was only a cupboard?
MRS. OTERY
- It’s of no consequence, sir. No consequence.
KENNETH
- The room has... two stone windows... and wooden rafters...
MRS. OTERY
- It’s the oldest part of the house.
KENNETH
- I once slept there — when I was very young — I can’t really remember, but it is a bedroom.
MRS. OTERY
- Was.
- (insistent)
- If you’ll come down with me...
- Was.
KENNETH
- No. I’m curious to see that room...
She steps in front of him, barring his way, thin-lipped, determined.
MRS. OTERY
- No.
He gives a piercing look toward the room, then back at the woman, his face shows the beginning of understanding
KENNETH
- Ah...
MRS. OTERY
- You cannot go in there.
KENNETH (softly; deceptively casual)
- Indeed, Mrs. Otery? For what reason?
MRS. OTERY
- It’s locked. It’s kept locked.
KENNETH
- Since you are the caretaker, you must have the key.
MRS. OTERY
- It’s ... lost.
KENNETH
- Then why were you so anxious to stop me? When you knew I would find the door locked?
MRS. OTERY
- Sometimes it’s locked; sometimes not.
KENNETH
- Oh? Then it’s not you who locks it?
MRS. OTERY (grimly)
- Not me.
KENNETH
- Then who? Who has the key if not you, the lawful caretaker? Who locks and unlocks the door… without, I take it, leave from you?
MRS. OTERY (defiantly)
- Wot’s any of this got to do with you? You didn’t come here with any sort of proper appointment! I’m not obliged to show you around nor answer no impertinent questions neither!
KENNETH (still softly)
- Who, Mrs. Otery? Who locks the door?
MRS. OTERY (her defiance flickering out)
- It’s never locked... it’s... it’s held.
KENNETH (eyes her curiously)
- You’re shivering, Mrs. Otery. Are you cold? Here...
He bends down to the grate of the fireplace and puts a match to the few sticks there.
KENNETH (cont’d)
- May I light these bits of sticks?
MRS. OTERY (stubbornly resisting, but not ungrateful for the feeble little flames)
- Ask after you’ve done it! My orders are to have fires once a week, no more.
KENNETH (now turns and addresses her directly, casually)
- What is wrong with this house?
MRS. OTERY (again on guard)
- There is nothing wrong with it.
KENNETH
- Then why has it stood virtually empty for some twenty years? What made the last tenant leave in such an extraordinary rush? And the tenants before them? Why can no one live in the house?
MRS. OTERY (snorts)
- You’ve been listening to village gossip.
KENNETH
- Why, yes. The villagers are quite keen to discuss this house. When I inquired about it, they said the owners had to get a caretaker from a distance because no woman from around here would live in this house.
MRS. OTERY
- A pack of cowards.
KENNETH
- They said this caretaker, imported from another county, was a pretty bold number... when she came.
MRS. OTERY (pulls her sweater closer around her gaunt frame)
- I’m bold enough still.
KENNETH
- I was told that this caretaker had been seen to run out into the fields and stay there trembling half the night.
She does not answer, and more kindly, he continues.
KENNETH (cont’d)
- Village talk, I expect. They don’t care what they say about an outsider.
MRS. OTERY (relieved)
- That’s the mean way of them.
KENNETH (suddenly staring over her shoulder)
- What’s that?
With a frightened scream she whirls toward the small door. There is nothing.
KENNETH (clinically)
- What was it you expected to see, Mrs. Otery?
The woman only shivers silently.
KENNETH (cont’d)
- They say there is a ghost. Is there a ghost, my friend?
She remains sullenly silent.
KENNETH (cont’d)
- Because if there is a ghost about the premises, I’d like to...
- (smiles)
- ...pay my respects.
- Because if there is a ghost about the premises, I’d like to...
MRS. OTERY (hisses)
- You can smart-talk all you like, mister, when you’ve gone, but for God’s sake keep a civil tongue while you’re in this house!
- (straightens up, her voice pitched normally... perhaps a shade louder than normal)
- There is no use showing you the rest of the place. You haven’t come to buy. Now, if you want to be stepping, I have my duties.
- You can smart-talk all you like, mister, when you’ve gone, but for God’s sake keep a civil tongue while you’re in this house!
KENNETH (pleasantly, as be lights a pipe)
- My dear Mrs. Otery, we have got on so nicely, I wonder if you would give me a cup of tea? There is a deathly chill in the house.
- (he takes a bill from his wallet, presses it upon her)
- That wouldn’t be too much trouble for you, would it? Just a cup of tea?
- My dear Mrs. Otery, we have got on so nicely, I wonder if you would give me a cup of tea? There is a deathly chill in the house.
MRS. OTERY (eyes the money, speaks ungraciously)
- Well... I don’t suppose so.
KENNETH
- Since you are so pressing, I accept your hospitality.
MRS. OTERY
- Come on down then, to the kitchen.
KENNETH
- No, no, I’m sure the Prodigal Son got his tea in the ‘drawing- room’. I’ll wait here.
- (he leans against a wall, his arms folded)
- No, no, I’m sure the Prodigal Son got his tea in the ‘drawing- room’. I’ll wait here.
MRS. OTERY stares at him, and blandly, he returns her gaze. At last, the merest hint of a thin smile passes her lips.
MRS. OTERY
- I see. You are meaning to go into that room. I wouldn’t if I was you.
KENNETH
- If you were me... you would.
With a last look at the open door, she moves toward it and closes it gently, then she turns on her heel.
MRS. OTERY
- Prodigal whatever, if you want tea you can come to the kitchen.
At the door leading to the staircase, she looks back over her shoulder at him, and this time she smiles outright. It is a most unpleasant smile.
MRS. OTERY (cont’d)
- Stay here as long as you like, sir... with your brave uniform and your knife. She might take a fancy to you - or...
- (eyes the knife)
- to it.
- Stay here as long as you like, sir... with your brave uniform and your knife. She might take a fancy to you - or...
KENNETH
- So, it’s a woman, is it? Your ghost?
MRS. OTERY
- No concern of yours, I’d say.
KENNETH
- Yes. It is my concern. I am a Morland.
MRS. OTERY
- Picked up that name in the village too, did you? There’s no more of the Morlands around here.
KENNETH
- There is now.
MRS. OTERY (fretfully)
- The old admiral that died last year... he wasn’t even no Morland himself.
KENNETH
- I know.
MRS. OTERY (peering suspiciously at him)
- The only other Morland just disappeared, they say, years ago...
- (smiles grimly)
- Seems to run in the family, like. Disappearing.
- The only other Morland just disappeared, they say, years ago...
KENNETH
- Yes. Wall, this one has reappeared. I am Kenneth Morland Blake. The old admiral was my father and this house...
- (gazes around)
- now belongs to me.
- Yes. Wall, this one has reappeared. I am Kenneth Morland Blake. The old admiral was my father and this house...
MRS. OTERY
- Who says? If you’re him, why didn’t you come in here all proper with word from the agent?
KENNETH (obligingly hands her a piece of paper)
- Here you are. All proper with word from the agent.
MRS. OTERY (stares first at the paper, then at him)
- Well…
- (smiles cynically)
- I’d say you’ve been in no particular hurry to claim your fine inheritance.
- Well…
KENNETH
- It is not your place, Mrs. Otery, to say anything whatever. Except in answer to my questions.
MRS. OTERY sniffs and pulls her shawl more tightly about her. Her lack of truckle amuses him, and he relents, smiles.
KENNETH
- Mrs. Otery, I find your manners irresistible.
MRS. OTERY
- Be that as it may.
- (curiosity getting the better of her)
- You don’t speak like no Englishman to my ears.
- Be that as it may.
KENNETH
- I have been an American for over twenty years.
- (takes her measure)
- See here, I’ve no objections to satisfying your curiosity if you will, in turn, satisfy mine.
- (confidingly)
- You see, I’ve been away so long. I went to America shortly after the last war. I joined the army in 1914... I was only sixteen... I never got home again...
- I have been an American for over twenty years.
MRS. OTERY (interrupting; suspiciously)
- The army, was it? And you claim the old admiral was your father?
KENNETH (grimly)
- Cause and effect, Mrs. Otery.
- (there is a breath of silence. And on KENNETH’S face we can see residual pain, continuing bitterness)
- In any event. I was prisoner-of- war for three years, and then when I was finally released, I was advised to go directly to a nursing home in Switzerland, where a woman I barely recognized as my own grandmother informed me that my grandfather had suffered a stroke and was dead, that this house, the only home I’d ever known, was closed and would be sold or rented... at which point a nurse came in and said I was disturbing the patient, (he takes a deep breath and a grim flicker of a smile sets in) My father — not yet an admiral, but as always a commanding man... gave a short, brutally succinct account on what had happened in this house and of my own history — after which he gave me a fairly handsome pourboire and suggested that I try the ‘colonies’.
- (lets out his breath)
- I never saw him or my grandmother… or this house again. And that, old bean, is the story of my life. Now. It’s your turn. But not, if you please, the works. Just the last three years... since you’ve been here... will do.
- Cause and effect, Mrs. Otery.
MRS. OTERY (shrugs sullenly)
- I look after the house. I told you that.
KENNETH
- Yes, but I am interested in your social life here... your con5>anions. I am interested in your ghost. Have you ever actually seen her?
She nods.
KENNETH (cont’d)
- Where? In this room?
MRS. OTERY looks toward the inner room.
KENNETH (cont’d)
- Ah. Has she ever been seen out of that room?
MRS. OTERY (in a rush… at last she speaks)
- All over the house... in every room and on the stairs. I tell you I’ve met her on the stairs and she drew back to let me pass and said ‘Good evening’!
KENNETH (incredulous, humoring, he smiles)
- Indeed? She sounds a very gentle, harmless sort of ghost.
MRS. OTERY
- There’s some wouldn’t say that. Them that left in a hurry... there is a terrible wind-like thing... terrible... that comes when she gets restless and thinks you are keeping it from her. Then she’d do you a mischief... it’s terrible then...
KENNETH
- What do you mean ‘keeping it from her’? Keeping what from her?
MRS. OTERY
- Whatever it is she prowls about this cold house searching for, searching, searching. I don’t know what it is. But it is awful... her loss.
KENNETH (grimly)
- There’s worse than not finding what you’re looking for. There is finding it so different from what you had expected.
- (he sighs)
- All right, Mrs. Otery. Go on down to the kitchen and leave me here.
- There’s worse than not finding what you’re looking for. There is finding it so different from what you had expected.
MRS. OTERY
- You think you’re in no danger, but…
He has dismissed her, and is now utterly oblivious to her presence.
MRS. OTERY (cont’d)
- I’ll be in the kitchen...
- (she turns, walks from the room, does not look back to deliver her last line)
- Waiting.
- I’ll be in the kitchen...
As MRS. OTERY’S footsteps are heard descending the stairs KENNETH hesitates, his eyes fixed on the little door, but slowly he forces himself to relax, smiling at himself.
With a show of patience, indifference even, he sits down in the chair that MRS. OTERY had occupied. He taps out his pipe, his eye first on the door, then deliberately turned toward the delicate movement of the little fingers of dying fire. As the fire burns lower, he sits quietly, and in the increasing dusk, he ceases to be an intruder, and his figure becomes indistinct and fades from sight.Scene 4
When the haze lifts we are looking at the room as it was some forty-five years ago on the serene afternoon that began its troubled story. There are rooms that are always cheerful, and MRS. MORLAND’S little drawing-room is one of them. It is furnished, as we have already heard, with the blue curtains, the sofa on which KENNETH had his first swimming lessons, the peacocks on the veil, and the apple tree is in full blossom at the open window. One of the tree’s branches has even stepped into the room.
MR. MORLAND and the local clergyman, MR. AMY, are chatting importantly about sane matter of no Importance, while MRS. MORLAND is on her sofa at the other side of the room. She is knitting and she cones into the conversation occasionally with a cough or a click of her needles. This is her tactful way of telling her husband not to be so assertive to his guest. All three people are slightly over forty years of age. They are people who have found life to be, on the whole, an easy and happy adventure. The squire is only a small squire of very moderate means who passes life pleasantly and not unprofitably in being a J.P. and will discuss for days or months the advisability of putting a new roof on a tenant's cowshed. Eventually, without his knowing it, his wife will make up his mind for him. Even she does not know she has done it. MRS. MORLAND is a delightful woman with rather shrewder sense than her husband, and she has a joke that has kept her merry through all her married life, viz. her husband. She adores him, however, and they are an extremely happy sociable couple. MR. AMY is even more sociable than MR. MORLAND; he is reputed to know everyone in the county, and has several times fallen off his horse because he will salute all passers-by. On his visits to London he usually returns depressed because there are so many people in the streets to whom he may not give a friendly bow. Be likes to read a book if he knows the residence of a relative of the author, and at a play it is far more to him to learn that the actress has three children, one of them down with measles, than to follow her histrionic genius. He and his host have the pleasant habit of print-collecting, and a very common scene between them is that which now follows. They are bent over the squire's latest purchase.
MR. AMY
- Very Interesting. A nice little lot. I must say, James, you have the collector’s flair.
MR. MORLAND (modestly)
- Oh, I don’t know...
MR. AMY
- The flair. That is what you have, James. You got them at Peterkin’s in Dean Street, didn’t you? Yes, I know you did. I saw them there. I wanted them too, but they told me you had already got the refusal.
MR. MORLAND
- Sorry to have been too quick for you, George, but it is my way to nip in. You have some nice prints yourself.
MR. AMY
- I haven’t got your flair, James.
MR. MORLAND
- I admit I don’t miss much.
So far it has been a competition in saintliness.
MR. AMY
- No.
- (the saint leaves him)
- You missed something at Peterkin’s though.
- No.
MR. MORLAND
- How do you mean?
MR. AMY
- You didn’t examine the little lot lying beneath this lot.
MR. MORLAND
- I turned them over; just a few odds and ends of no account.
MR. AMY (with horrible complacency)
- All except one, James.
MR. MORLAND (twitching)
- Something good?
MR. AMY (at his meekest)
- Just a little trifle of a Gainsborough.
MR. MORLAND (faintly)
- What! You’ve got it?
MR. AMY
- I’ve got it. I am a poor man, but I thought ten pounds wasn’t too much for a Gainsborough.
The devil has them both now.
MR. MORLAND
- Ten pounds! Is it signed?
MR. AMY
- No, it isn’t signed.
MR. MORLAND (almost his friend again)
- Ah!
MR. AMY
- What do you precisely mean by that ‘Ah!’, James? If it had been signed, could I have got it for ten pounds? You are always speaking about your flair, I suppose I can have a little flair sometimes too.
MR. MORLAND
- I am not always speaking about my flair, and I don’t believe it is a Gainsborough.
MR. AMY (with dignity)
- If I had thought you would grudge me my little find — which you missed — I wouldn’t have brought it to show you.
- (with shocking exultation he produces a roll of paper)
- If I had thought you would grudge me my little find — which you missed — I wouldn’t have brought it to show you.
MR. MORLAND (backing from it)
- So, that’s it.
MR. AMY
- This is it.
The squire has to examine it like a Christian.
MR. AMY (cont’d)
- There! I have the luck this time. I hope you will have it next.
The exultation passes from one face into the other.
MR. MORLAND
- Interesting, George. Quite. But definitely not a Gainsborough.
By this time the needles have entered into the controversy but they are disregarded.
MR. MORLAND (cont’d)
- I should say the work of a clever amateur. No more.
MR. AMY
- James, I had no idea you had such a small nature.
MR. MORLAND
- No one would have been more pleased than myself if you had picked up a Gainsborough. But look at the paper, George.
MR. AMY
- What is wrong with the paper, Mr. Morland?
MR. MORLAND
- Machine made, my friend. Machine made!
After further inspection MR. AMY is convinced against his will, and the find is returned to his pocket less carefully than it had been produced.
MR. MORLAND (cont’d)
- Don’t get into a tantrum about it, George.
MR. AMY (grandly)
- I am not in a tantrum, and I should be obliged If you wouldn’t George me. Salle on, Mr. Morland, I congratulate you on your triumph. You have hurt an old friend to the quick. Bravo, bravo, dank you, Mr. Morland, for a very pleasant visit. Good-day.
MRS. MORLAND (prepared)
- I shall see you into your coat. George.
MR. AMY
- I thank you, Mrs. Morland, but I need no one to see me into my coat.
MRS. MORLAND (blandly)
- Nonsense. Now which of you is to say it first? James?
MR. MORLAND
- George, I apologize.
MR. AMY
- James, I am heartily ashamed of myself. I quite see that it isn’t a Gainsborough.
MR. MORLAND
- After all, it’s certainly in the Gainsborough school.
They clasp hands sheepishly, but the peacemaker helps the situation by showing a roguish face, and MR. AMY departs.
MR. AMY
- Goodnight, Fanny, what a saint you are.
MRS. MORLAND
- Not a bit! I’m a very selfish woman who bends everyone to her iron will.
Both MR. AMY and MR. MORLAND laugh and MR. AMY is gone.
MRS. MORLAND
- I coughed so often, James, and you must have heard me clicking.
MR. MORLAND
- I heard it alright. Good old George! It’s a pity he has no flair. He might as well order his prints by wireless.
MRS. MORLAND
- What is that?
MR. MORLAND
- Wireless it’s to be called. There is an article about it in that paper. The fellow says that before many years have passed we shall be able to talk to ships on the ocean.
MRS. MORLAND (who has resumed her knitting)
- What nonsense.
MR. MORLAND
- Oh, I don’t know, my dear. There is no denying that there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy.
MRS. MORLAND
- You and I know that to be true, James.
For a moment he does not know to what she is referring,
MR. MORLAND (edging away from trouble)
- Oh, that. My dear, that is all dead and done with long ago.
MRS. MORLAND (thankfully)
- Yes. But sometimes when I look at Mary Rose —
MR. MORLAND
- Fanny, don’t seek trouble.
MRS. MORLAND
- She’ll want to marry one day soon...
MR. MORLAND
- That infant! Really, Fanny!
MRS. MORLAND
- She’s eighteen. She only seems en infant, James... It’s her...
- (shrugs)
- ...her way.
- She’s eighteen. She only seems en infant, James... It’s her...
MR. MORLAND
- And a delightful way it is!
MRS. MORLAND
- I know, I know. And you are not the only man alive who will find it so.
- (she puts down her knitting)
- And she cannot marry, James, without your first telling the man. We agreed.
- I know, I know. And you are not the only man alive who will find it so.
MR. MORLAND
- Well, I’m no longer sure about that, Fanny. Let sleeping dogs lie, you know.
MRS. MORLAND
- James...
MR. MORLAND
- What difference does it make? Now?
MRS. MORLAND
- Whether we like it or not, Mary Rose is the same girl to whom it happened. Whether she remembers it or not, it happened to her. It makes her singular. Whomever she marries must understand...
MR. MORLAND (shrugging it all off)
- Possibly. Possibly. We shall think about all that when the time comes. But that time, mercifully, is not upon us yet.
- (reminded that this evening’s time is passing)
- However, I believe my bedtime is. Where do you think Mary Rose has hared off to with old Simon? Shouldn’t they be back?
- Possibly. Possibly. We shall think about all that when the time comes. But that time, mercifully, is not upon us yet.
MRS. MORLAND (smiles)
- They probably walked all the way to the river... I don’t believe the young people found your’s and George’s talk about old prints very stimulating.
MR. MORLAND
- Eh? Why Mary Rose is always extremely int...
- (interrupts himself )
- Young people? Simon? That old dog? Ha!
- Eh? Why Mary Rose is always extremely int...
MRS. MORLAND
- James, you have slipped into, the attitude of regarding Simon as one of our own generation... he’s only thirty-three, you know.
MR. MORLAND (mildly surprised to be reminded of SIMON’S relative youth)
- I do forget, you know. Simon has always been so... solid and all.
MRS. MORLAND
- Yes.
- (enigmatically)
- For which we may be grateful.
- Yes.
MR. MORLAND (looks keenly at her. He knows this tone)
- What is that supposed to convey?
MRS. MORLAND
- Just that if it is to be Simon, I am glad that he is what he is.
MR. MORLAND (frowning)
- If what is to he Simon? What on earth are you trying to suggest? Do you mean to tell me that you think Simon is... interested in Mary Rose? What utter nonsense! Simon and Mary Rose! Why he’s old enough to be her...
- (quickly calculates the age difference, is forced to finish lamely)
- ...uncle…
- If what is to he Simon? What on earth are you trying to suggest? Do you mean to tell me that you think Simon is... interested in Mary Rose? What utter nonsense! Simon and Mary Rose! Why he’s old enough to be her...
MRS. MORLAND
- He is thirty-three. She is eighteen. Not an unprecedented difference in ages.
MR. MORLAND
- But what on earth would a grown man... a Navy man... a Commander, mind you, why should a fellow like that bother with a baby like Mary Rose? Why he knew her in her pram! Absurd! Really, Fanny, it’s not nice of you to put such ideas into my head.
- (nervously drums his fingers on a table, takes a few short paces, turns abruptly and gives his wife a rather baleful glare, then without further to-do, strides to the window, pulls aside the curtain, peers out into the dark, then raises his voice peremptorily)
- Mary Rose? Mary Rose!
- But what on earth would a grown man... a Navy man... a Commander, mind you, why should a fellow like that bother with a baby like Mary Rose? Why he knew her in her pram! Absurd! Really, Fanny, it’s not nice of you to put such ideas into my head.
A soft answer comes from the nearby gloom of the impenetrably leafy tree.
MARY ROSE (o.s.)
- Yes, Daddy.
MR. MORLAND (startled, he steps back)
- What’s that? Confound it, Marry Rose, come inside at once. Where’s Simon? What are you doing in that tree? In the dark?
MARY ROSE (o.s.)
- I’m hiding.
MR. MORLAND
- From Simon?
MARY ROSE (o.s.) (her voice pales)
- No... not Simon.
MR. MORLAND
- Mary Rose? Are you frightened? Come in at once.
- (there is a beat while he waits for her to obey; but when she does not appear, he speaks again)
- What has frightened you? Has Simon frightened you?
- Mary Rose? Are you frightened? Come in at once.
The thickly-leaved branches of the tree tremble and we see a girl lower herself onto the branch that is level with the window. She does not yet step into the room.
MR. MORLAND (heavily)
- I said has Simon frightened you?
MARY ROSE (a faint smile)
- Partly. Partly, he has.
MR. MORLAND
- Then what else? Who else?
MARY ROSE now steps into the drawing-room.
MARY ROSE
- You. I am mostly afraid of you.
If there is anything strange about this girl of eighteen, it is no more than an elusiveness of which she herself is unaware. She appears to be a happy, straightforward girl, only perhaps a little younger in manner than eighteen would imply. She is likely to give way to a tomboyishness of gesture or a child's guileless amusement that a more demure or more tactful eighteen would restrain. However, now, at the moment we first see her, she is quite keyed up, trying everything to ease over the situation... girlish appeal, teasing, bullying, candour, evasion. Her mother gets up from the couch and approaches MARY ROSE.
MR. MORLAND (quite flattered to hear that his daughter might find him frightening)
- Of me!? Frightened of me?
MARY ROSE stifles a giggle, butts her head impulsively into MRS. MORLAND’S comfortable bosom.
MRS. MORLAND
- Ah.
MR. MORLAND
- ‘Ah‘? What the devil is ‘ah’ supposed to convey?
MRS. MORLAND (to MARY ROSE)
- I take it Simon's been disturbing you.
MARY ROSE (pulls her head up. She likes her mother's way of expressing the situation)
- Yes. he has. It's all Simon’s fault.
MR. MORLAND
- What is? What's Simon's fault? Where is he?
MARY ROSE
- At the foot of the tree.
- (laughs, her manner becomes even more high-strung)
- He's so pompous...he wants to come in by the door!
- At the foot of the tree.
MR. MORLAND
- Well what’s a stopping him?
MARY ROSE (in a breath - it all pour a nervously out)
- Me. I told him it would be better if I case first... after all, I knew you wouldn’t seriously abuse me!
- (can’t help a grin of mischief)
- You can’t think how quickly he agreed! He’s positively craven! But I don’t care. I love him anyway.
- Me. I told him it would be better if I case first... after all, I knew you wouldn’t seriously abuse me!
MR. MORLAND
- Love?
MR. MORLAND is aghast. MARY ROSE rushes into his arms to help in this terrible hour.
MARY ROSE
- Poor Daddy!
MR. MORLAND
- Mary Rose...
- (blankly)
- Mary Rose... you’re not in love with Simon! Are you?
- Mary Rose...
MARY ROSE
- Oh, Daddy, I am sorry!
- (turns to her mother)
- What can we do?
- (with no warning whatever, she begins to cry)
- Oh, Daddy, I am sorry!
MRS. MORLAND
- Oh, darling... pet... don’t. Don’t cry.
MARY ROSE
- But everything is so changed!
- (awed)
- Before... before he was Just... well... good old Simon... and then, Daddy... he wasn’t.
- (back to her mother)
- You will scarcely know him!
- But everything is so changed!
MRS. MORLAND
- Well, love, he breakfasted with us; I think I shall know him still.
MARY ROSE
- He is quite different from breakfast time. He’s simply awful! He’s... he’s talking about properties and lawyers and income.
- (she begins to cry again)
- He is quite different from breakfast time. He’s simply awful! He’s... he’s talking about properties and lawyers and income.
MR. MORLAND (with spirit)
- Income! He’s got as far as that has he? Does he propose that this marriage should take place tomorrow? Tonight!
MARY ROSE
- Oh, no! Not for ages and ages!
- (a breath)
- Not till his next leave.
- Oh, no! Not for ages and ages!
MRS. MORLAND
- Mary Rose!
MARY ROSE
- He is waiting down there, Mummy. He’s terrified... or just hang-dog, poor thing!
MRS. MORLAND
- Run down and tell him to come up, Mary Rose.
MR. MORLAND
- But don’t come with him.
MARY ROSE
- Oh!
MRS. MORLAND (soothing her daughter, and at the same time warning her husband of what must be said to Simon)
- Your father is right, Mary Rose. You know Simon must feel quite... discomfited.
MR. MORLAND (snorts)
- Discomfited indeed!
MRS. MORLAND
- Send Simon up, Mary Rose. Alone.
MARY ROSE (anxiously)
- He wants to do the right thing, Father.
MR. MORLAND
- What’s that?
- (darkly)
- The right thing?
- What’s that?
MRS. MORLAND (calmly smiling)
- I’m sure he does, darling.
MARY ROSE
- Daddy... you won’t try to put him against me...
MR. MORLAND (adamantly)
- I most assuredly will...
MRS. MORLAND (interrupting smoothly)
- ....not try... to ‘put him against you’, sweetheart.
At this phrasing, MR. MORLAND turns with sudden memory and looks at his wife. He clears his throat, turns gently now to his daughter.
MR. MORLAND
- Run along, Mary Rose, and tell Simon we’re waiting for him.
MARY ROSE moves slowly toward the door leading to the stairs, turns back once to regard her parents questioningly.
MARY ROSE (almost a whisper)
- I love Simon. I love him.
She leaves. We stay with the MORLANDS only long enough to see their uneasy exchange of looks, then we follow MARY ROSE in her flight down the stairs. What starts as a stately, solemn descent, degenerates into a headlong, three-steps-at-a-time plunge. She quite literally lunges at the door and yanks it open, out of the breath with which to call SIMON. But there is no need. For he is there, framed in the door, waiting. Startled, delighted, MARY ROSE gasps and flattens herself against him. She finds the breath to whisper... ‘Simon’...
He takes her in his arms and gently kisses her heir.
CUT TO:Scene 5
MR. & MRS. MORLAND, waiting. MR. MORLAND has opened the leaves of a photograph album, an album which one instantly surmises is principally dedicated to MARY ROSE. Stopping at a picture that seems to move him particularly - perhaps one of a small girl hanging trustingly onto his own hand. It is charmingly period. It’s colour is the sepia of the period’s photography.
MR. MORLAND
- ...Oh, Fanny, my dear... look, here is one that you took, Fanny. Very steady you were.
- (sighs deeply)
- Such a child... Fanny, did you hear what she said? She said, ‘You won’t try to put him against me, Daddy?’
- ...Oh, Fanny, my dear... look, here is one that you took, Fanny. Very steady you were.
MRS. MORLAND
- He must be told.
MR. MORLAND
- I suppose — In any event, he will be an ass if it bothers him.
- (a look out the dark windows)
- Won’t he, Fanny?
- I suppose — In any event, he will be an ass if it bothers him.
Scene 6
MARY ROSE and SIMON, her face now raised to his as he kisses her mouth. When at last, breathlessly, she breaks away, she cannot bear the solemnity of the moment. She makes a silly face and hisses.
MARY ROSE
- I wouldn’t like to be you, Simon. Guess what happened up there?
- (Ides of March sort of reading)
- Daddy, you know? My darling old daddy? He turned into a father! Before our very eyes! All right, Simon. Courage! In you go... and me for the attic!
- I wouldn’t like to be you, Simon. Guess what happened up there?
MARY ROSE stifles a laugh and runs away leaving SIMON to make his way alone to the house and up the stairs to the drawing-room where the MORLANDS await him. SIMON enters the room and we see him as the MORLANDS see him: a tall man, dark, heavily built. We feel that he is habitually rather solemn, but certainly more so now. He has a quality of passion. If MARY ROSE seems young for her age, SIMON then seems old for his. He approaches the MORLANDS with a steady step and a look of assurance... assurance of himself, at any rate. But MRS. MORLAND’S almost warning look and MR. MORLAND’S averted face, cause him to falter slightly. There is an unexpected moment of strained silence between these old and happy acquaintances. MRS. MORLAND breaks the uneasy silence.
MRS. MORLAND
- Simon.
SIMON (a faint feeling-out sort of smile)
- I feel as If I’ve been brought before a hanging judge.
MR. MORLAND (gruffly)
- And so you should. That’s what we used to do with poachers.
SIMON (he is not without shame)
- Oh Lord! I really an in Dickie’s meadow... I understand perfectly that you think Mary Rose too young...
MR. MORLAND
- Don’t be plausible, sir! You will need something better than plausibility to plead your case.
MRS. MORLAND
- Oh Simon... couldn’t you have waited? Just a little time longer?
SIMON (directly. To MRS. MORLAND he can speak candidly)
- No. I don’t believe I could.
MR. MORLAND
- Your... urgency does you no credit, sir!
There is now heard, startling the MORLANDS but not SIMON, a gentle tapping from the ceiling. SIMON smiles.
MR. MORLAND (glancing upwards)
- What on earth...?
SIMON
- It’s Mary Rose. She’s lending me her support, from the attic. She saw instantly that I might show the white feather...
- (his smile broadens)
- ...she wouldn’t put it past me to bolt.
- It’s Mary Rose. She’s lending me her support, from the attic. She saw instantly that I might show the white feather...
He catches MRS. MORLAND’S smile and addresses his next line at her
SIMON (cont’d)
- She suggested that she back me up like an admiral with a questionable link in the line of command. She was to make her presence felt, indicating that England expects her officers this dread day to do his duty.
MRS. MORLAND
- Simon. You two are moat flagrantly in cahoots against us. You should be ashamed.
SIMON
- Well of course I am ashamed. But there it is.
MR. MORLAND (aggressively)
- Are you aware, Simon, what a fool this business makes you out? After all, Mary Rose is quite simply an infant.
SIMON
- No, sir. Not quite and not simply.
MR. MORLAND shoots him a look, reddens, starts to deliver a killing rejoinder, but once again MRS. MORLAND interferes.
MRS. MORLAND
- I expect you are right, Simon. She isn’t altogether a child... nor... yet is she altogether a woman.
Again there is heard the gentle tapping from above.
QUICK CUT TO:Scene 7
ATTIC.
MARY ROSE seated on the floor of attic. She holds an old gold stick that she has obviously used for the tapping. Now she puts her ear to the floor, straining to hear. But the voices do not penetrate and impatiently she sits up again and prepares wait further, using the gold stick as a prop to lean against.
CUT TO:Scene 8
DRAWING-ROOM. SIMON
- Mrs. Morland...
- (turns to Include MR. MORLAND)
- …sir, I think Mary Rose is more woman than you know... or want to admit. She wants to marry me as much as I want to marry her.
- (pleading now)
- See here. I’m not kidnapping the girl, you know! We’ll always be close by... Mary Rose will probably even want to stay on here with you while I’m on sea duty, at least to begin with. Even when we open up my place... it’s still only a meadow away.
- Mrs. Morland...
MR. MORLAND turns to his wife, gives her a gentle look, puts his arm around her.
MR. MORLAND
- That’s true enough, Fanny. She would be near... that is certainly to be considered...
SIMON (decides to finish the painful discussion)
- Precisely.
- (he picks up a fire tool and points it at the ceiling; gives the MORLANDS a sheepish grin)
- I promised to knock back as soon as I thought things were going well. Shall I call her down?
- Precisely.
MR. MORLAND (looks into the honest, earnest eyes of the other man, then averts his gaze, dears his throat, doesn’t quite look straight at his wife)
- Well... Fanny, I think he might...
MRS. MORLAND (of sterner stuff)
- No.
- (takes a deep breath, faces SIMON)
- Simon, there’s more than... there is something... a little thing, Simon... but we feel we ought to tell you... before you knock, dear.
- No.
Curiously, SIMON gives her his attention.
MRS. MORLAND (cont’d)
- It’s not very important, I think, but it is something she doesn’t know of herself. And it... it makes her a little different from other girls.
SIMON (smiles)
- She’s quite different from other girls.
MRS. MORLAND
- For you, of course. But this is...
- (a small, nervous ‘social’ laugh is forced from her)
- I’m really finding this most difficult!
- For you, of course. But this is...
SIMON (slowly)
- Mrs. Morland. I don’t want to hear anything against Mary Rose.
MR. MORLAND
- No, Simon. We have nothing to tell you against her.
MRS. MORLAND
- It is just something that happened, Simon. She couldn’t help it. It hasn’t troubled us in the least for years, but we always agreed that she mustn’t be engaged before we told the man. And we must have your promise, before we tell you, that you will keep it to yourself. You must never speak of it to her... not to anyone... but especially to her. You must give us your promise.
SIMON (frowning, hesitates before he answers)
- Very well, I promise.
MRS. MORLAND sits down as if suddenly weary. Her husband eyes her with tender concern, begins the story.
MR. MORLAND
- It happened eleven years ago, when Mary Rose was seven. We were on holiday in a remote part of Scotland... the Outer Hebrides.
SIMON
- I once went on shore there from the Gadfly. Very bleak and barren... hardly a tree...
MR. MORLAND
- Yes, it is mostly like that. There is a whaling station. We went because I was fond of fishing...
- (sighs)
- Anyway, quite close to the inn where we put up there is... a little island...
- Yes, it is mostly like that. There is a whaling station. We went because I was fond of fishing...
And here he stops. He sees that little island so clearly in his mind’s eye that he forgets to go on with the story.
MRS. MORLAND
- James...
MR. MORLAND
- Eh? Oh... yes... it... is quite a small island, uninhabited, no sheep even. No more, I suppose, than five, six acres. Not unusual in any way...
MRS. MORLAND
- It had more trees than the other islands.
MR. MORLAND
- Yes, that’s right. Scotch firs and a few rowan-trees... and it has what might be called a lake, I suppose. A little pool, really, out of which a small stream flows. And it has hillocks and a glade, a sort of miniature land... curiously complete in itself. That was all we noticed.
He sees that his wife has put trembling fingers to her lips.
MR. MORLAND (cont’d)
- I can tell him without your being here, Fanny.
She shakes her head, does not move. And he resumes his tale, now moving about the room, nervously recreating that other place and time.
MR. MORLAND (cont’d)
- I fished a great deal in the loch between that island... that damned island...
- (he takes a steadying breath)
- ...and the larger one. Mary Rose always wanted to go with me, but she didn’t like to see the baiting... the little island with its tiny pool attracted her. She claimed she could catch everything from minnows to whales in that pool... without bait... if she wanted to. But she preferred to sketch and colour in a little notebook she carried. So I would row her across to the little island and leave her there sitting in her favourite spot - on an old tree stump beside the little pool, pretending to fish...
- I fished a great deal in the loch between that island... that damned island...
There is now, once again, the tapping from the attic; this time, the tattoo has an impatient ring.
CUT TO:Scene 9
CLOSE-UP - MARY ROSE
IN ATTIC as she give one last imperious thump on the floor with the golf stick she holds. The thump startles even her and she pulls her head into her shoulders and swings herself around to hunch herself into a smaller size. We are now behind her, and in the dark of the attic the diminished shape, holding the golf stick, is not at all unlike…
FADE INTO...Scene 10
The back of a small girl by the island pool holding, instead of the golf stick, a fishing rod, the line of which bobs harmlessly in the water. Over this scene we continue to hear the O.S. voice of MR. MORLAND as he describes what happened.
MR. MORLAND (o.s.)
- ...I could see her from the boat most of the time and we used to wave to each other...
We see the child and man... the man at a distance over the water... do just that. They wave. And somewhere, muffled by time and distance, deep below the present voice of MR. MORLAND, there are the faint, dim sounds of that other place... the wind, the water and the childish voice carried across it.
MR. MORLAND (cont’d) (o.s.)
- We would wave and then I would fish awhile longer and then go back for her. Mary Rose was very fond of the place. She called it her island, her darling, things like that. It had a Gaelic name which means ‘The Island That Likes To Be Visited’. We were only told about it later. After... well, it happened on what was to be our last day. I had landed her on the island as usual, and in the early evening I pulled across to take her off. From the bet I saw her and waved that I was coming for her. She waved back...
We see this scene from the boat’s P.O.V.
MR. MORLAND (cont’d) (o.s.)
- ...then I rowed over, with, of course, my back to her... less than a hundred yards to go, but when I got across she wasn’t there. She just wasn’t there. Not on the island. No one in the village went to bed that night...
We see the tension, the consternation of the villagers, their eyes on the distant flickering lights of the searchers on the island… there is a heightening of sound under MR. MORLAND’S voice.
MR. MORLAND (cont’d) (o.s.)
- It was then we learned how they feared the island. They had not realized that I had been landing Mary Rose there... and they are deeply religious people, ashamed I expect of their superstition... not wanting to bring it to the attention of strangers... not without reason.
- (sighs)
- The pool was dragged... everything. There was nothing we didn’t try; but she was gone. Gone. After the third day, the searchers gave up… except two whom I paid to continue with me... hopelessly. Finally, I had to let them go. There wasn’t a leaf or a stone or a blade of grass that wasn’t examined fifty times. It was twenty days. But we couldn’t leave. We couldn’t leave! That day... that twentieth day, I was wandering along the shore of the loch, you can imagine in what state of mind. I stopped and stood looking across the water at the island, and... and I saw her! I saw her sitting there on the tree trunk... as I had seen her last... she waved at me and I... I waved back. It was like a dream. I got into my boat and rowed across, in the old way... except this time I sat facing her, so that I could see her all the time. When I landed, the first thing she said to me was, ‘Daddy, why did you row in that funny way...’
- It was then we learned how they feared the island. They had not realized that I had been landing Mary Rose there... and they are deeply religious people, ashamed I expect of their superstition... not wanting to bring it to the attention of strangers... not without reason.
Scene 11
HOUSE. MRS. MORLAND, still on the sofa, weeping silently now, SIMON riveted with attention to MR. MORLAND.
MR. MORLAND (cont’d) (his face seems older than when he began the story)
- I knew at once that she didn’t know anything had happened.
SIMON
- But that’s simply not possible I now could... where did she say she had been?
MR. MORLAND
- She didn’t know she had been anywhere, Simon. She thought I had just come for her at the usual time.
SIMON
- But twenty days! You aren’t suggesting she had been on the island all that time?
MR. MORLAND
- We don’t know.
MRS. MORLAND
- James brought her back to me just the same little...
- (catches her breath)
- ...unselfconscious girl. She had no thought that she had been away from me for more than an hour or two.
- James brought her back to me just the same little...
SIMON
- But when you told her...
MRS. MORLAND (fiercely)
- We never told her; she does not know!
SIMON
- But surely...
MRS. MORLAND
- No. We had her back. No one here knew the story. Why should she be different? Why should she be made to doubt herself... her senses?
SIMON
- You told no one?
MRS. MORLAND (darkly)
- Doctors. Several doctors.
SIMON
- How did they explain it?
MRS. MORLAND (with heavy bitter irony)
- They explained about fatigue and hysteria and nerves... they explained ‘time disorientation’. They explained nothing. Nothing.
MR. MORLAND
- They had no explanation for it except that it never took place. You can think that too, If you like.
SIMON
- I don’t know what to think.
- (after a moment of uneasy silence)
- It has had no effect on her, at any rate.
- I don’t know what to think.
MR. MORLAND
- None whatever — and you can guess how we used to watch.
MRS. MORLAND
- Simon, I am very anxious to be honest with you. I have sometimes thought that Mary Rose is curiously young for her age — as if — you know how just a touch of frost may stop the growth of a plant and yet leave it blooming — it has sometimes seemed to me as if a cold finger had once touched my child.
MR. MORLAND
- We have sometimes thought that she had momentary glimpses back into that time but before we could question her in a cautious way about them the gates had closed and she remembered nothing. You never saw her talking... to some person who wasn’t there?
SIMON
- No.
MRS. MORLAND
- Nor listening? As if for some... some sound that never came?
SIMON
- A sound?
- (he shakes his head)
- A sound?
MRS. MORLAND (sighs deeply, shudderingly)
- At any rate she has outgrown it all... the listening... all of it.
SIMON
- It is curious that she’s never spoken to me of that holiday. She tells me everything.
MRS. MORLAND
- No, that isn’t curious; it is just that the island has faded from her memory. I should be troubled if she began to recall it. Well, Simon, we felt we had to tell you. That is all we know; I am sure it is all we shall ever know. What are you going to do?
SIMON (smiles, once more picks up fire tool)
- Why, I’m going to knock on the ceiling, Mrs. Morland.
He does so.
CUT TO:Scene 12
ATTIC.
MARY ROSE is instantly mobilized by the sound. She jumps to her feet and excitedly answers the tap, then flings the golf stick aside and dashes to the stairs. Once more we witness her headlong way with stairs, half run, half flight. At the bottom, she grasps the handrail and brings herself to an abrupt halt, mindful suddenly of her dishevelled appearance. Child-like, she thinks to rub her possibly dirty face with her dress sleeve, runs an abortive hand through her tangled hair... she has achieved nothing, really, by her efforts, when once again, SIMON appears suddenly before her. She stares wide-eyed at him.
SIMON
- It’s all right, Mary Rose.
MARY ROSE (flings herself at him)
- Oh, Simon! You and me!
SIMON kisses her, then gently speaks.
SIMON
- Come along, darling. They’ve been most decent and they’re waiting.
MARY ROSE
- Oh, poor them!
Scene 13
He takes her arm and leads her Into the DRAWING-ROOM where her parents are, Indeed, waiting. MARY ROSE takes one brief look at her mother and father, smiles tremulously at her mother, goes to her father and put a her arms around him.
MARY ROSE
- It’s frightfully difficult, isn’t it, darling... being a father?
MR. MORLAND
- It’s pure hell, that’s all. Pure hell.
MARY ROSE helps him to find his handkerchief. He blows his nose. MRS. MORLAND kisses MARY ROSE, then moves to SIMON and kisses him as well.
SIMON (pleased)
- That is the official seal, isn’t it, Mrs. Morland?
MRS. MORLAND
- More or less.
SIMON
- Thank you.
MARY ROSE
- Oh, goodness, this is all so solemn! It’s horribly embarrassing. When I get embarrassed I have to run!
- (grabs SIMON’S hand)
- Come on, Simon... I’ll race you to the summer-house.
- Oh, goodness, this is all so solemn! It’s horribly embarrassing. When I get embarrassed I have to run!
SIMON
- Nothing of the kind, my girl. Now that we are properly engaged, we shall decorously stroll to the summer-house.
MARY ROSE throws a hasty kiss to her parents; SIMON gives them an apologetic grin as he is pulled from the room by the impulsive, over-stimulated girl. When SIMON and MARY ROSE are out of sight, MRS. MORLAND moves to her husband and now gently kisses his forehead.
MR. MORLAND
- Well, it is hell!
- (sighs, turns sadly toward the open window, holding onto his wife)
- I say, Fanny, I don’t suppose we could sit out in the apple tree.
- Well, it is hell!
Scene 14
LAWN, curving gently down to a stream on which the summer-house is situated. SIMON has succeeded in restraining MARY ROSE, if not to a stroll, at least to the extent of her having to keep to his pace even if it means walking backward in front of him, circling him, taking two or three steps to his measured one.
MARY ROSE
- How dreadful to be old and have to sit up there In that room.
SIMON
- I know quite a bit about age, love, and I assure you most of us don’t Rind at all sitting about in dull places.
MARY ROSE
- Simon, you won’t mind if I don’t bother to get old, will you? I don’t think it would suit me somehow.
SIMON (smiles)
- Oh, I don’t expect you’ll mind... you’ll want to keep up with me, you know.
MARY ROSE (curiously)
- Will I? Not if you take to sitting about in rooms.
- (laughs uncertainly)
- I mean, Simon, I don’t think it would be very considerate of you... getting old and all....
- Will I? Not if you take to sitting about in rooms.
SIMON PULLS her to him in a hug, forcing her to march at his side for a few paces.
SIMON
- What a silly nit it is.
MARY ROSE (agreeably)
- Oh yes. Still... I am quite frightened by it all, you know...
SIMON
- What all, darling?
MARY ROSE
- Well, I don’t mind the idea of the wedding, of course...
- (laughs)
- ...that’s just rather an expensive way of playing dress up! But...
- (seriously)
- Simon. How shall I be... a wife?
- Well, I don’t mind the idea of the wedding, of course...
SIMON (smugly)
- In quite the regular way, poppet.
She hugs herself as if chilled.
SIMON (cont’d)
- See here, you’ve dashed out into the night without a wrap...
- (takes off his jacket)
- Here. Put this around your shoulders.
- See here, you’ve dashed out into the night without a wrap...
MARY ROSE
- Oh, bother...
She starts to move ahead but firmly he takes her arm, pulls her back.
SIMON
- You are in my care now; I am responsible for you. I order you to pat on this jacket.
MARY ROSE (her mood suddenly changed; she is delighted)
- Order? Oh, Simon! You do say the loveliest things!
- (quickly she slips into the wrap, smiles happily at him)
- Simon... while I was up in the attic waiting, I had the most delicious idea about our honeymoon. There is a place in Scotland... in the Hebrides... I should love to go there.
- Order? Oh, Simon! You do say the loveliest things!
SIMON (comes to an abrupt halt)
- The Hebrides?
MARY ROSE
- Yes. We went to it once when I was little. Isn’t it queer? I had almost forgotten about that island, and then suddenly, as I was sitting up there in the attic, I saw it quite clearly. Quite clearly.
SIMON (cautiously)
- Mary Rose, tell me... what was there, I mean in particular about that place?
MARY ROSE
- Oh, the fishing for father. But there was another island... a very small one where I often... Oh! My little island!
- (her face, radiant with the rush of memory, turns from him)
- Oh, the fishing for father. But there was another island... a very small one where I often... Oh! My little island!
SIMON (disturbed, but not wanting to let her see. His voice is careful)
- Mary Rose. Mary Rose, are you listening for something?
MARY ROSE
- What? Listening? I don’t hear anything. Do you?
- (moves once again within his orbit, but continues to explore the rediscovered excitement within herself)
- Oh, darling... I should love to show you my island. There is a rowan-tree and an old stump beside the dearest baby pond...
- (laughs)
- I used to pretend to fish there... I didn’t want daddy to be disappointed that I didn’t really like to fish, you know.
- (solemnly)
- Fishing is unkind, Simon. Anyway, Daddy would land me on the island. I expect he didn’t like to put up with my wriggling about in the boat... and the little island was such a safe place.
- What? Listening? I don’t hear anything. Do you?
SIMON (troubled)
- That had been the idea.
- (gives her a little shake)
- I have no intention of spending my honeymoon by the sea or anything like it. I hope you can bring yourself to come to Italy with me.
- That had been the idea.
She laughs and kisses him. Then arm in arm they walk, silent for a long moment before Simon’s voice again penetrates the night.
SIMON (cont’d)
- And yet... I should like to go to the Hebrides… someday... to see that island of yours.
MARY ROSE
- Oh, yes. Let’s.
SLOW FADE OUT.
FADE IN:Scene 15
At the base of the apple tree a small celebration is in progress. There is a tea-table on which there is a birthday cake with one candle. MARY ROSE is seated with her year-old son on her knee. She helps him blow out the candle. There is laughter and applause. SIMON watches proudly nearby and it is this picture that MR. MORLAND, with MRS. MORLAND’S assistance, takes.
MRS. MORLAND
- How like you he looks, Mary Rose!
MR. MORLAND
- Mary Rose, bounce him a bit, let us see his tooth...
MARY ROSE obliges.
MRS. MORLAND
- Now! Now, James! Be still, Mary Rose.
There is a flash. The picture is taken. We see the reality and then a moment later, we see the picture as it eventually will repose in MR. MORLAND’S album, oval in shape, sepia in colour.
CUT TO:
Scene 16
Another year, another celebration, the action varied this time perhaps by the presence of MR. AMY and a maid bringing the cake toward the now toddling child. SIMON hugs MARY ROSE’S shoulder as the little boy clutches at his mother’s skirt.
SIMON
- Look at your grandfather, Kenneth.
The flash. And this picture we see, in turn, among the leaves of the album.
FADE OUT.
SLOW FADE IN:Scene 17
THE ISLAND.
The day is clear and bright. Now for the first time we are actually on the island and it is not at all frightening. The day is clear and sunny; the pond is clear and fresh, the growing things are a simply... growing things... firs, rowan, green grass, whin.
There is a soft, languorous breeze, and in the distance, across the loch, can easily be seen the other larger island. There is a boat skirting along the outer edges of the lit island and a young Highlander, a Cameron, guides it. We hear a woman’s laugh. It is MARY ROSE. And now, she and SIMON come into sight. They are dressed as English people dress in Scotland. And only by her clothes can we see that this is a possibly older MARY ROSE.
MARY ROSE (thrilled)
- I think... not I don’t think at all, I am quite sure. This is the place. Simon, kiss me! Quickly! You promised that when we found the place...
SIMON (obeying)
- Certainly I am not a man to break my word. Still, I might point out to you that this is the third spot you have picked as being the one and only place, and three times I have kissed you quick on that understanding. ...
MARY ROSE (laughs)
- Stingy!
SIMON
- Not at all. It’s not the kissing I begrudge... it’s this clambering around that you insist must precede it... at any rate, we’ve covered the island, as my bleeding limbs testify.
- (the whins have been tearing at him, and he rubs his legs)
- Not at all. It’s not the kissing I begrudge... it’s this clambering around that you insist must precede it... at any rate, we’ve covered the island, as my bleeding limbs testify.
MARY ROSE
- They didn’t hurt me at all. They favour me.
SIMON
- Oh. I see. And you... do you favour this spot? You are quite sure this is the one?
MARY ROSE
- Darling, I know I’m not clever, but at least I am always right.
He laughs.
MARY ROSE (cont’d)
- Well, aren’t I? Look... the rowan-berries! I used to put them in my hair.
- (she does so again)
- Simon... I feel absolutely positive that this rowan-tree is glad to see me back!
- (addresses it)
- You don’t look a bit older. How do you think I’m wearing?
- (she pulls a little branch of the rowan-tree around her shoulders)
- Oh, Simon, how I loved this place! I remember it all so... so passionately!
- Well, aren’t I? Look... the rowan-berries! I used to put them in my hair.
He smiles indulgently.
MARY ROSE (cont’d)
- Don’t smirk, you clod! This was my first love!
SIMON
- Never mind your first. So long as I am your ultimate.
MARY ROSE (laughs)
- Why does ‘ultimate’ sound much grander than ‘last’? I’m not at all sure I will concede you the glory of ‘ultimate’. Oh, I’m so glad to be here!
- (abruptly)
- Simon... you know I wanted to come away. I wanted to leave...
- (stricken)
- He was so little... waving me his sad little goodbye. Oh, Simon, how could I have wanted to come away from him!
- Why does ‘ultimate’ sound much grander than ‘last’? I’m not at all sure I will concede you the glory of ‘ultimate’. Oh, I’m so glad to be here!
SIMON (reasonably)
- It’s only a short holiday, Mary Rose. We haven’t been away together in donkey’s years...
MARY ROSE
- But don’t you see? I shouldn’t want to leave my baby!
He takes her into his arms.
SIMON
- Stop it, Mary Rose. You’re being absurd.
MARY ROSE (seriously)
- Am I?
SIMON
- Indeed you are. At this very moment Master Kenneth is most likely being happily bounced on your mother’s knee without any thought whatever of us.
MARY ROSE (not thinking of her? This is a new idea. She acknowledges it with a wry smile)
- Oh. Do you think so? Are you sure he doesn’t think I’ve abandoned him?
SIMON (firmly)
- Quite sure. Come on now, you goose, are you going to let your island see how utterly displaced in your affections it is?
She shakes off her mood, laughing a little at herself and obediently moves about making discoveries.
MARY ROSE
- This moss! I feel sure there is a tree-trunk beneath it, the one on which I used to sit.
Obligingly, SIMON clears away some moss.
MARY ROSE (cont’d)
- I believe... I believe I cut my name on it with a knife...
SIMON
- You’re absolutely right. Here... see it? M... A... R... Just M.A.R. It stops there.
MARY ROSE (puzzled)
- Why didn’t I finish?
SIMON
- I expect the knife blade broke.
MARY ROSE (disappointed)
- I can’t remember.
SIMON (not unpleased he tickles her)
- What a trumpery love. You are fickle, Mary Rose.
MARY ROSE (she appears to take his accusation seriously)
- Am I?
- (restlessly)
- Oh, Simon, it isn’t a wrong thing that I left him, I know that... what is wrong is that I was so glad to go... and when he waved, it was sad. It was.
- Am I?
SIMON
- Mary Rose...
MARY ROSE (in her mind, a parallel)
- Isn’t it funny to think that from this very spot I used to wave to father? That was a happy time.
SIMON (down to earth)
- I should be happier here if I wasn’t so hungry. I wonder where Cameron is. I told him after he landed us to tie up the boat at any good place and make a fire. I suppose I had better try to make it myself.
MARY ROSE
- How you can think of food!
SIMON (who is collecting sticks)
- All very well, but you will presently be eating more than your share.
MARY ROSE
- Do you know, Simon, I don’t think daddy and mother like this island.
SIMON (on his guard)
- Help me with the fire, pet.
MARY ROSE
- They never seem to want to speak of it.
SIMON
- Forgotten it, I suppose.
MARY ROSE
- I shall write to them from the inn this evening.
SIMON (casually)
- I wouldn’t write from there. Wait till we cross to the mainland.
MARY ROSE
- Why?
SIMON
- Oh, no reason. But if they have a distaste for the place, perhaps they, wouldn’t like our coming. I say, praise me, I have got this fire going.
MARY ROSE (who is often disconcertingly pertinacious)
- Simon, why did you want to come to my island without me?
SIMON
- Did I? Oh, I merely suggested your remaining at the inn because I thought you seemed tired. I wonder where Cameron can have got to?
MARY ROSE
- Here he comes.
- (solicitously)
- Do be polite to him, dear; you know how touchy they are.
- Here he comes.
SIMON
- I am learning!
The boat, with CAMERON, draws in. He is a gawky youth… an old-young man, in the poor but honourable garb of the ghillie, and is not especially impressive until you question him about the universe.
CAMERON (in the soft voice of the Highlander)
- Is it the wish of Mr. Blake that I should land?
SIMON
- Yes, yes, Cameron, with the luncheon.
CAMERON steps ashore with the fishing basket.
CAMERON
- Is it the wish of Mr. Blake that I should open the basket?
SIMON
- We shall tumble out the luncheon if you bring a trout or two. I want you to show my wife, Cameron, how one cooks fish by the water’s edge.
CAMERON
- I will do it with pleasure.
- (he pauses)
- There is one little matter, it is of small importance. You may have noticed that I always address you as Mr. Blake. I notice that you always address me as Cameron; I take no offense.
- I will do it with pleasure.
MARY ROSE
- Oh dear, I am sure I always address you as Mr. Cameron.
CAMERON
- That is so, Ma’am. You may have noticed that I always address you as ‘ma’am’. It is my way of indicating that I consider you a very genteel young matron, and of all such I am the humble servant.
- (he pauses)
- In saying I am your humble servant I do not imply that I am not as good as you are. With this brief explanation, ma’am, I will now fetch the trouts.
- That is so, Ma’am. You may have noticed that I always address you as ‘ma’am’. It is my way of indicating that I consider you a very genteel young matron, and of all such I am the humble servant.
SIMON (taking advantage of his departure)
- That is one in the eye for me.
MARY ROSE
- Simon, if you want to say anything to me that is... oh... that you don’t want him to understand, say it in French.
CAMERON returns with two small sea-trout.
CAMERON
- The trouts, ma’am, having been cleaned in a thorough and yet easy manner by pulling them up and down in the water, the next procedure is as follows.
He wraps up the trout in a piece of newspaper and soaks them in the water.
CAMERON (cont’d)
- I now place the soaking little parcels on the fire, and when the paper begins to bum it will be a sure sign that the trouts is now ready, like myself, ma’am, to be your humble servant.
- (he is returning to the boat)
- I now place the soaking little parcels on the fire, and when the paper begins to bum it will be a sure sign that the trouts is now ready, like myself, ma’am, to be your humble servant.
MARY ROSE (who has been preparing the feast)
- Don’t go away.
CAMERON
- If it is agreeable to Mistress Blake I would wish to go back, to the boat.
MARY ROSE
- Why?
CAMERON is not comfortable. She smiles persuasively.
MARY ROSE (cont’d)
- It would be more agreeable to me if you would stay.
CAMERON (shuffling)
- I will stay.
SIMON
- Good man — look after the trout. It is the most heavenly way of cooking fish, Mary Rose.
CAMERON
- It is a tasty way, Mr. Blake, but I would not use the word heavenly in this connection.
SIMON
- I stand corrected.
- (tartly)
- I must say ---
- I stand corrected.
MARY ROSE
- Prenez garde, mon brave!
SIMON
- Mon Dieu! Qu’il est un drole!
MARY ROSE
- Mais moi, je l’aime, il est tellement — What is the French for an original?
SIMON
- That stumps me.
CAMERON
- Colloquially ‘coquin’ might be used, though the classic writers would probably say simply ‘un original’.
SIMON (with a groan)
- Phew, this is serious. What was that book you were reading, Cameron, while I was fishing?
CAMERON
- It is a small Euripides I carry in the pocket, Mr. Blake.
SIMON
- Latin, Mary Rose!
CAMERON
- It may be Latin, but in these parts we know no better than to call it Greek.
SIMON
- Crushed again! Well, I daresay it is good for my character. Sit down and have pot luck with us, Mr. Cameron.
CAMERON
- I thank you, Mr. Blake, but it would not be good manners for a paid man to sit with his employers.
MARY ROSE
- When I ask you, Mr. Cameron?
CAMERON
- It is kindly meant, but I have not been introduced to you.
MARY ROSE
- Oh, but — oh, do let me. My husband, Mr. Blake — Mr. Cameron.
CAMERON
- I hope you are ferry well, sir.
SIMON
- The same to you, Mr. Cameron. How do you do? Lovely day, isn’t it?
CAMERON
- It is a fairly fine day.
- (he is not yet appeased)
- It is a fairly fine day.
MARY ROSE (to the rescue) Simon! SIMON
- Ah! Do you know my wife? Mr. Cameron — Mrs. Blake.
CAMERON
- I am very pleased to make Mistress Blake’s acquaintance. Is Mistress Blake making a long stay in these parts?
MARY ROSE
- No, alas, we go across tomorrow.
CAMERON
- I hope the weather will be favourable.
MARY ROSE
- Thank you.
- (passing him the sandwiches)
- And now, you know, you are our guest.
- Thank you.
CAMERON
- I am much obliged.
- (he examines the sandwiches)
- Butcher meat! This is very excellent.
- (he bursts Into a surprising fit of laughter, and suddenly cuts it off)
- Please to excuse my behaviour. You have been laughing at me all this time, but you did not know I have been laughing at myself also though keeping a remarkable control over my features. I will now have my laugh out, and then I will explain.
- (he finishes his laugh)
- I will now explain. I am not the solemn prig I have pretended to you to be. I am really a fairly attractive young man, but I am shy and I have been guarding against your taking liberties with me, not because of myself, who am nothing, but because of the noble profession it is my ambition to enter.
- I am much obliged.
They discover that they like him.
MARY ROSE
- Do tell us what that is.
CAMERON
- It is the profession of medicine. I am a student of Aberdeen University, and in the vacation I am a boatman, or a ghillie, or anything you please, to help to pay my fees.
SIMON
- Well done!
CAMERON
- I am obliged to Mr. Blake. And I may say, now that we know one another socially, that there is much in Mr. Blake which I am trying to copy.
SIMON
- Something in me worth copying!
CAMERON
- It is not Mr. Blake’s learning; he has not much learning, but I have always understood that the English manage without it. What I admire in you is your very nice manners and your general deportment, in all of which I have a great deal to learn yet, and I watch these things in Mr. Blake and take memoranda of them in a little note-book.
SIMON expands.
MARY ROSE
- Mr. Cameron, do tell me that I also am in the little notebook?
CAMERON
- You are not, ma’am, it would not be seemly in me. But it is written in my heart, and also I have said it to my father, that I will remain a bachelor unless I can marry some lady who is very like Mistress Blake.
MARY ROSE
- Simon, you never said anything to me as pretty as that. Is your father a crofter in the village, Mr. Cameron?
CAMERON
- Yes, ma’am, when he is not at the University of Aberdeen.
SIMON
- My stars, does he go there, too?
CAMERON
- He does so. We share a very small room between us.
SIMON
- Father and son. Is he also entering into the medical profession?
CAMERON
- Such is not his purpose. When he has taken his degree he will return and be a crofter again.
SIMON
- In that case I don’t see what he is getting out of it.
CAMERON
- He is getting the grandest thing in the world out of it; he is getting education.
SIMON feels that he is being gradually rubbed out, and it is a relief to him that CAMERON has now to attend to the trout. The paper they are wrapped in has begun to burn.
MARY ROSE (for the first time eating of trout as it should be cooked)
- Delicious!
She offers a portion to CAMERON.
CAMERON
- No, I thank you. I have lived on trouts most of my life. This butcher meat is more of an excellent novelty to me.
- (he has been eating all this time)
- No, I thank you. I have lived on trouts most of my life. This butcher meat is more of an excellent novelty to me.
MARY ROSE
- Do sit down, Mr. Cameron.
CAMERON
- I am doing ferry well here, I thank you.
MARY ROSE
- But, please.
CAMERON (with decision)
- I will not sit down on this island.
SIMON (curiously)
- Come, come, Mr. Cameron. You are a scientist. Surely you are not superstitious?
CAMERON
- This island has a bad name. I have never landed on it before.
MARY ROSE
- A bad name, Mr. Cameron? Oh but what a shame! When I was here long ago, I often came to the island.
CAMERON
- Is that so? It was a chancy thing to do.
SIMON (brazenly)
- I have heard that its Gaelic name has an odd meaning — ‘The Island That Likes To Be Visited’ but there is nothing terrifying in that.
MARY ROSE
- Oh! I never heard that. It’s charring.
CAMERON
- That is as it may be, Mistress Blake.
SIMON
- What is there against the island?
CAMERON
- For one thing, they are saying it has no authority to be here. It was not always here, so they are saying. Then one day it was here.
SIMON
- That little incident happened before your time, I should say, Mr. Cameron.
CAMERON
- It happened before the time of anyone now alive, Mr. Blake.
SIMON
- I thought so. And does the island ever go away for a jaunt in the same way?
CAMERON
- There are some who say that it does.
SIMON
- But you have not seen it on the move yourself?
CAMERON
- I am not always watching it, Mr. Blake, or listening.
SIMON
- Listening to the silence? An island that is as still as an empty church?
MARY ROSE
- And has the poor little island many visitors?
CAMERON
- An island that had visitors would not need to want to be visited. And why has it not visitors? Because they are afraid to visit it.
MARY ROSE
- Whatever are they afraid of?
CAMERON
- That is what I say to them. Whatever are you afraid of, I say.
MARY ROSE
- But what are you afraid of, Mr. Cameron?
CAMERON
- The same thing they are afraid of. There are stories, ma’am.
MARY ROSE
- Do tell us. Simon, wouldn’t it be lovely if he would tell us some misty, eerie Highland stories?
SIMON
- I don’t know; not unless they are pretty ones.
CAMERON
- There is many stories. There is that one of the boy who was brought to this island. He was no older than your baby.
SIMON
- What happened to him?
CAMERON
- No one knows, Mr. Blake. His father and mother and their friends, they were gathering rowans on the island, and when they looked round, he was gone.
SIMON
- Lost?
CAMERON
- He could not be found. He was never found.
MARY ROSE
- Never! He had fallen into the water?
CAMERON
- That is a good thing to say, that he had fallen into the water. That is what I say.
SIMON
- But you don’t believe it.
CAMERON
- I do not.
MARY ROSE
- What do the people in the village say?
CAMERON
- Some say he is on the island still.
SIMON
- Mr. Cameron! Oh, Mr. Cameron! What does your father say?
CAMERON
- He will be saying that they are not here always, but that they come and go.
SIMON
- They? Who are they?
CAMERON (uncomfortably) I do not know. But that is what they say. He had heard the island calling. SIMON (bluffly)
- Calling? How calling?
CAMERON
- I do not know. No one can hear it but those for whom it is meant. This is how it is. I might be standing close to you, Mistress Blake, as it were here, and I might hear it, very loud, terrible, or in soft whispers — no one knows — but I would have to go, and you will not have heard a sound.
MARY ROSE (delighted)
- Simon, isn’t it creepy!
SIMON
- How long ago was this supposed to have happened? The lost child?
CAMERON
- It was before I was born.
SIMON (smiles)
- I see.
MARY ROSE
- Simon, don’t make fun. Do you know any more stories about the island, Mr. Cameron?
CAMERON
- I cannot tell them if Mr. Blake will be saying things the island might not like to hear.
MARY ROSE
- Simon, promise to be good.
SIMON
- All right, Cameron.
CAMERON
- This one is about a young English miss, and they say she was about eight years of age.
MARY ROSE
- Not so much older than I was when I came here. How long ago was it?
CAMERON
- I think it is almost fifteen years ago.
MARY ROSE
- Simon, it must have been the year after I was here!
SIMON thinks she has heard enough.
SIMON
- Very likely. But, I say, we mustn’t stay on gossiping. We must be getting back. Did you bail out the boat?
CAMERON
- I did not, but I will do it now if such is your wish.
MARY ROSE
- The story first; I refuse to budge without the story.
CAMERON
- Well, then the father of this miss he will be fond of fishing, and he sometimes landed the little one on the island while he fished round it from the boat.
MARY ROSE
- Just as father used to do with me!
SIMON
- I daresay lots of bold tourists come over here.
CAMERON
- That is so, if ignorance be boldness, and sometimes —
SIMON
- Quite so. But I really think we must be starting.
MARY ROSE
- No, Simon! Please go on, Mr. Cameron.
CAMERON
- One day the father pulled over for his little one as usual. He saw her from the boat, and it is said she kissed her hand to him. Then in a moment more he reached the island, but she was gone.
MARY ROSE
- Gone? Doesn’t it make one shiver!
CAMERON
- My father was one of the searchers; for many days they searched. They searched ma’am, long after there was no sense in searching this small island.
MARY ROSE
- What a curdling story! Simon dear, it might have been me. Is there any more?
CAMERON
- There is more. It was about a month afterwards. Her father was walking on the shore over there, and he saw something moving on the island. All in a tremble, ma’am, he came across in a boat, and it was his little miss.
MARY ROSE
- Alive?
CAMERON
- Yes, ma’am.
MARY ROSE
- I am glad; but it rather spoils the mystery.
SIMON
- How, Mary Rose?
MARY ROSE
- Because she could tell them what happened, stupid. Whatever was it?
CAMERON
- It is not so easy as that. She did not know that anything had happened. She thought she had been parted from her father for but an hour.
MARY ROSE shivers and takes her husband’s hand.
SIMON (speaking more lightly than he is feeling)
- You and your bogies and wraiths, you man of the mists.
CAMERON
- It is not good to disbelieve the stories when you are in these parts. I believe them all when I am here, though I turn the cold light of remorseless reason on them when I am in Aberdeen.
SIMON
- Oh? An island that has such extraordinary powers could surely send its call to Aberdeen or farther.
CAMERON (troubled)
- I had not thought of that. That may be very true.
SIMON
- Beware, Mr. Cameron, lest some day when far from here, you are setting a broken leg or swabbing a throat, the call plucks you out of your very hygienic and scientific surgery and brings you back to the island like a trout on a long cast.
CAMERON
- I will go and bail the boat.
He goes back to the boat which soon drifts out of sight.
MARY ROSE (pleasantly thrilled)
- How awful for the girl when her father told her that she had been away for weeks!
SIMON
- Perhaps she was never told. He may have thought it wiser not to disturb her.
MARY ROSE
- Yes, I suppose that would have been best. And yet — it was taking a risk.
SIMON
- How?
MARY ROSE
- Well, not knowing what had happened before, she might come back and — and be caught again.
She draws closer to him. SIMON
- If she ever comes back, let us hope it is with an able-bodied husband to protect her.
MARY ROSE (comfortably)
- Nice types, husbands.
SIMON (all business)
- And now to pack up the remnants of the feast and escape from the scene of the crime. We will never come back again Mary Rose. I find I’m not so enchanted with your island.
She helps him to pack.
MARY ROSE
- Then I daresay I shall never visit here again. The last time of anything is always sad, don’t you think, Simon?
SIMON (briskly)
- There must always be a last time, Mary Rose. For everything.
MARY ROSE
- Yes — I suppose — for everything. There must be a last time I shall see you, Simon.
- (playing with his hair)
- Someday I shall flatten this wretched tuft for the thousandth time, and then never do it again.
- Yes — I suppose — for everything. There must be a last time I shall see you, Simon.
SIMON
- Someday I shall look for it and it won’t be there.
MARY ROSE
- Oh dear!
She is whimsical rather than merry and merry rather than sad. SIMON touches her hair with his lips.
MARY ROSE (cont’d)
- Someday, Simon, you will kiss me for the last time. But if you plan to be bald and fat, I daresay I shan’t mind!
SIMON
- Just as I said, fickle.
He kisses her again, sportively, she quivers.
SIMON (cont’d)
- What is it?
MARY ROSE
- I don’t know; something seemed to pass over me. Simon... I hate last times! The thought that there must be a last time to kiss you... to hold my baby…
SIMON
- Darling, the day after you have held Kenneth for the last time as a baby you will see him for the first time as a little boy, and then before you know it, as a man. Think of that.
MARY ROSE
- I shall like that, I think. To have Kenneth grown and handsome and strong... and he can hold me in his arms and comfort me...
SIMON (he has been watching her, listening to her. Now he deliberately breaks into her mood)
- Well, I suppose I ought to stamp out this fire?
MARY ROSE
- Let Cameron do it. Simon... come sit beside me and hold me.
SIMON
- What a life. Let me see now, how does one begin?
MARY ROSE
- Shall I make love to you, Simon?
- (touches his face, then puts her head against his chest)
- I wonder if I have been a nice wife to you... I mean a tolerably good wife on the whole, not a wonderful one, but a wife that would pass in a crowd?
- Shall I make love to you, Simon?
SIMON
- Look here, Mary Rose, if you are going to butt me with your head in that way, you must take the pins out of your hair.
MARY ROSE (although he has not meant this suggestion seriously, she does take the pins from her hair, and it falls now around her shoulders)
- Have I been all right as a mother, Simon?
SIMON (smiles)
- You must wait a few years and ask that of Kenneth Morland Blake.
MARY ROSE
- Have I...
SIMON
- Shut up, Mary Rose. I know you; you will be crying in a moment, and I used your handkerchief to wrap around the trout whose head came off.
MARY ROSE (this time he does not find it so easy to disrupt her mood)
- Simon, if one of us had to... to go. . .to leave Kenneth… and we could choose which one...
SIMON (an exaggerated sigh)
- Oh, Lord. She’s off again.
MARY ROSE
- But if? I wonder which would be best? I mean for him, of course.
SIMON
- Oh, then me. I should have to hop it.
MARY ROSE
- Oh, Simon!
SIMON (grins)
- Steady, old girl. I haven’t skipped off yet.
- (he regards her curiously)
- I expect you’re not unlike mothers generally. If their husbands do... as you say, go... their first thought is, ‘the baby’s happiness must not be interfered with for a moment’.
- Steady, old girl. I haven’t skipped off yet.
MARY ROSE
- Is that the way we are?
SIMON (confidently)
- You would blot me out forever, Mary Rose, rather than see your child lose one of his hundred laughs a day. It’s true, isn’t it?
MARY ROSE
- It is true that if I was the one to go, that is what I should like you to do.
SIMON
- Get your feet off the table-cloth, slattern.
Her mouth opens.
SIMON (cont’d)
- And don’t step in the marmalade.
MARY ROSE (throws her head back, laughs gloriously)
- Oh God! Isn’t life lovely? I am so happy! Aren’t you, Simon?
SIMON
- Rather.
MARY ROSE
- But you can put the lid on the marmalade. Why don’t you scream with happiness? One of us has got to scream.
SIMON
- Then I know which one it will be. Scream away, it will give Cameron the jumps.
CAMERON draws in.
SIMON (cont’d)
- There you are, Cameron. We are still safe, you see. You can count us — two.
CAMERON
- I am very glad.
SIMON
- Here you are.
- (handing him the luncheon basket)
- You needn’t tie the boat up. Stay there and I’ll stamp out the fire myself.
- Here you are.
CAMERON
- As Mr. Blake pleases.
SIMON
- Ready, Mary Rose?
MARY ROSE
- I must say good-bye to my island first. Good-bye, old mossy seat, nice rowan... goodbye ...
SIMON
- I say, Mary Rose, do dry up that drivel.
MARY ROSE
- I won’t say another word.
SIMON
- Confounded fire. Just as it seems to be out, sparks cone again. Do you think if I were to get some stones — ?
He looks up and she signs that she has promised not to talk. They laugh at each other. He is then occupied for a little time in dumping wet stones from the loch upon the fire. CAMERON is in the boat with his Euripides. MARY ROSE is sitting demure but gay, holding her tongue with her fingers like a child.
Scene 18
Scene 19
SIMON (on his knees)
- There... that’s finally done. We can go now. How cold and grey it’s become.
- (smiling, but without looking up)
- You needn’t grip your tongue any longer, you know.
- (he rises)
- Mary Rose, where have you got to? Please don’t hide. Darling, don’t. Cameron, where is my wife?
- There... that’s finally done. We can go now. How cold and grey it’s become.
CAMERON rises in the boat, and he is afraid to land. His face alarms SIMON, who runs this way and that and is lost to sight calling her by name again and again. He returns livid.
SIMON
- Cameron, I can’t find her! Mary Rose! Mary Rose!
In spite of his trepidation, CAMERON joins SIMON on the island and as the CAMERA moves back to show their two figures running, crossing and recrossing each other’s in a frantic ballet, we see them too rise to the height of the little hillock. But we also see them descend to its other side where they discover... nothing. The CAMERA moves back and back as SIMON’S voice continues to keen the name of his wife. ‘Mary Rose!’... ‘Mary Rose!’ … ‘Mary Rose!’ And as his figure diminishes in the mist, so will his voice. The retreat of the CAMERA, the FADE OUT, will continue until the figures, the voice, are utterly diminished and as lost to us... in their way... as MARY ROSE, Who has become, it seems, no more than the haunting echo of SIMON’S fading voice.
Scene 20
From the final dim vision and failing whisper of SIMON on the island to the stillness of utter nothing. Now... from this nothing... the CAMERA again moves to life. But its moving should be like a wakening, and it comes from a distance, a great distance, slowly forward until, from timeless mists, there is a gradual focusing and the minutiae, the facts, of images are again ours. We are once more in the MORLAND'S DRAWING-ROOM. The CAMERA'S approach to the voices we hear (as SIMON'S voice diminished as we moved away from him, so now do these voices augment as we approach) is oblique, circling the room, little changed from our last visit, until it comes to rest... at last... on the three occupants. They are MR. and MRS. MORLAND and MR. AMY. Before we see them we hear their talk. MR. MORLAND says…
MR. MORLAND (o.s.)
- It's the sugar I mind most. We haven't had a proper puddin' in weeks.
MR. AMY (o.s.) (replies)
- Well, personally I believe these small sacrifices have been a bit of a blessing in disguise. Since I've had to walk about so much, I've dropped a full stone...feel like a boy. You would too, James, if you followed in my footsteps every day.
MR. MORLAND (o.s.)
- I daresay I feel as much a boy as you, George.
Now, finally, the CAMERA closes in on MORLAND, and we see that he is now an old man. He is still straight and lean but there is simply not the vigour and chestiness of fifty nor the look that all is still possibly recoverable. His hair is quite white, his complexion ruddier and veined.
MR. MORLAND (cont'd)
- You never say precisely what your age is, George.
MR. AMY (He too is much aged, but he doesn't carry his age as well as MR. MORLAND. He seems to have shrunk)
- I am in my late sixties. I am sure I have told you that before.
MR. MORLAND
- It would seem that you have been in the sixties longer than it is usual to be in them.
MRS. MORLAND (she too, like her husband, carries her years well, but there is no denying that she is now an old woman)
- James!
MR. MORLAND
- No offense, George. I was only going to say that at seventy-two I certainly do not feel my age. Nor would it seem, at, uh... sixty-nine?... do you.
MR. AMY (testily)
- Whatever my age, Mr. Morland, but I have not yet found it necessary to complain about the pitiful economies of a government at war.
MR. MORLAND
- Are you suggesting that I... I, who administer this county’s rationing, have been heard by you to complain!
MR. AMY
- Perhaps ‘complain’ is too strong a term. Your attitude might best be described as ‘fretful’.
MR. MORLAND (outraged)
- Fretful! Me!
MR. AMY (triumphantly)
- Your chagrin can well be understood!
- (rises)
- I believe I must go. I have quite a distance to walk. I quite look forward to breathing the invigorating night air. Thank you, Mrs. Morland, for your unvarying hospitality.
- Your chagrin can well be understood!
He is followed to the door by MRS. MDRIAND.
MRS. MORLAND (as they leave the room)
- I shall see you into your coat, George.
MR. MORLAND (satisfying himself with the last word, he does not presume to make it audible to his departing guest)
- Yes, Fanny. Do help the doddering old fool. He’ll never make it alone.
- (kicks at a burning log, sighs, then follows out the door)
- Yes, Fanny. Do help the doddering old fool. He’ll never make it alone.
Scene 21
MRS. MORLAND and MR. AMY at front door. MRS. MORLAND helps him with his coat.
MR. AMY
- Dear Fanny...
- (timidly he touches her arm)
- How generous of you to give us your smile through everything you’ve had to bear. You know, Fanny, I feel that I mustn’t speak of it in James’s presence... poor old James has never had your serenity of spirit, Fanny... but lately... I can’t explain it... lately I’ve had the strongest conviction that Kenneth is alive and well. That he is surely prisoner-of- war somewhere across the lines and quite safe.
- Dear Fanny...
MRS. MORLAND
- Do you feel that, George? I do. Otherwise I’m sure I couldn’t go on.
MR. AMY (pats her gently, sighs)
- Will Simon be home?
MRS. MORLAND
- Yes, we’re bound to see him any day. They cannot keep his ship in constant engagement. They must be relieved soon.
MR. AMY
- I should love to see him and hear about it all.
- (levers his voice confessionally)
- It is thrilling to think about, isn’t it? The icy black reaches of the sea, our grave ships, the gallant men guarding our shores against the silent prowling killers. They Shall Not Pass! Oh Fanny, I wish I were young!
- (a sudden disturbing thought)
- Not that I personally should ever wish to harm anyone… even the Hun. But I would like to stand guard.
- (sighs)
- Ah well. Now. I really cannot leave poor James in wrath...
- (turns as if to remount the stairs, sees MR. MORLAND at the top)
- Oh...
- I should love to see him and hear about it all.
MR. MORLAND
- It fretted me, George, to have you go without saying goodnight.
MR. AMY (pleased. He smiles)
- Goodnight, then, James. Goodbye, Fanny.
- (he leaves)
- Goodnight, then, James. Goodbye, Fanny.
MRS. MORLAND looks up, smiles at her husband, begins to climb back up the stairs. While he comes down a few to meet her.
MR. MORLAND
- What were you two gossiping about?
They walk up the last few steps together during the ensuing dialogue and re-enter the DRAWING-ROOM, he to stop again by the fire, she to where the old album lays.
MRS MORLAND (smiles)
- Nothing really. Just how George wishes he were in the Navy like Simon.
MR. MORLAND
- Ha! At his age? He’s getting positively senile.
MRS. MORLAND has picked up the album and opened it. Her smile doesn’t altogether disappear, but it becomes painfully poignant as she looks at the pictures. We, too, see them, these faded images of the past, the colour of the present giving way to the sepia shades of memory. The first one we see, at first glance might almost be the one taken on KENNETH’S second birthday. But we must stay with it long enough to take in the three candles on the cake, MRS. MORLAND now occupying the place of the absent MARY ROSE, and somewhat apart, unsmiling, SIMON, who is looking not at the little boy on his birthday, but into some distance of his own. The boy, KENNETH, is seen to be fair and blue-eyed like his mother, and he has something of her open gaze and look of innocent joy. This first picture should be followed by several more... five or six... all on KENNETH’S birthdays. MRS. MORLAND is always there. SIMON is sometimes not. The pictures in which SIMON is present should reveal the estrangement between father and son. They are never touching, never smiling at each other, always separated by some person or thing. The last shot should be dated 1914 and we should see SIMON in some attitude indicating his role as warrior and KENNETH’S envy and eagerness to join the company of men. Under the date 1915 there is no picture. Instead, in a firm hand should be written the words, ‘Private Kenneth Moreland Blake, Missing in Action.’
MR. MORLAND
- Fanny, don’t, my dear.
MRS. MORLAND
- I was just remembering how lovely the apple tree is in bloom.
MR. MORLAND
- But it must come down, Fanny. It has become a danger. It might fall on someone any day. You know that.
MRS. MORLAND
- But it was Kenneth’s tree... his ladder from this room to the world! How sad it will be for him if...
- (firm with herself)
- when he comes back.
- But it was Kenneth’s tree... his ladder from this room to the world! How sad it will be for him if...
MR. MORLAND (staunchly)
- When Kenneth comes back, we shall plant another tree.
MRS. MORLAND (looking out)
- And it was her tree.
- (he does not respond to this)
- Can we forget that, James?
- (sighs)
- It seems so.
- And it was her tree.
MR. MORLAND (sighs)
- Fanny, I have found it better to forget... so many things.
MRS. MORLAND
- Yes. Of course. It is all to the good, I suppose, that as the years go by the... the dead should recede farther from us.
MR. MORLAND
- Fanny... how long is it since... since you last thought of her as...
MRS. MORLAND
- As not dead?
- (she looks at him frankly, speaks simply)
- Years.
- As not dead?
MR. MORLAND (relieved)
- We had Kenneth.
MRS. MORLAND (reassuringly)
- And will again, James. I feel so sure of that. As I never did after... oh, it was all so unfathomable. Sometimes I feel as if Mary Rose was just something lovely I had dreamed. Even that room...
- (her head toward the small back room)
- ...after we moved Kenneth out of it, I never again seemed to connect it with her. I go in there now without a memory.
- And will again, James. I feel so sure of that. As I never did after... oh, it was all so unfathomable. Sometimes I feel as if Mary Rose was just something lovely I had dreamed. Even that room...
MR. MORLAND (gently)
- I’m glad.
MRS. MORLAND
- In a way I suppose it has all been harder for Simon...
MR. MORLAND
- Poor old chap. And he has Kenneth on his conscience, of course.
MRS. MORLAND (this is undoubtedly a conversation that they have had many times... each of them knows the litany only too well)
- He was with Kenneth so little...
MR. MORLAND
- Well, those first years... he was consumed with it all... to the Hebrides again and again... every leave...
MRS. MORLAND
- I think Simon couldn’t bear to look at Kenneth... the resemblance... the eyes...
MR. MORLAND
- Ah... poor Simon...
MRS. MORLAND
- Poor Kenneth.
- (a dim, sad smile)
- Poor everyone.
- Poor Kenneth.
The telephone rings. MR. MORLAND moves to answer it.
MR. MORLAND
- Morland here... yes, that’s what I said, Morland here... Long distance?
- (impatiently)
- Yes, of course I’ll talk... Yes?... Please speak up... Who? I’m afraid I didn’t catch... Who? …
- (slowly, as he listens his expression becomes rejecting, suspicious)
- Oh? Yes... yes, I remember the name. Certainly. Yes... yes, she’s quite well, thank you...
- (looks at his wife, raises his eyebrows in bewilderment)
- Where are you calling from? I didn’t catch the… Oh.
- (his face goes quite blank)
- I see. From... there... Yes… I assure you we’re quite well... What is... is there anything I can do for you? ...
- Morland here... yes, that’s what I said, Morland here... Long distance?
MR. MORLAND now listens at some length. MRS. MORLAND watches, at first curiously, then with gathering alarm as she sees her husband slowly lower himself into a chair, his face blank with shock; he simply listens to the voice coming from the phone and stares blindly ahead. At last MR. MORLAND whispers hoarsely.
MR. MORLAND (cont’d)
- Mary Rose...
White-faced MRS. MORLAND rises, crosses to her husband.
MR. MORLAND (cont’d) (into the phone)
- When? ... Of course, of course... We’ll meet you... Oh... but we are a mile from the station... Yes, I see. Certainly... of course. As you say. We’ll... we’ll be here... goodbye. Goodbye.
- (as he slowly bangs up)
- And...
- (the word catches in his throat)
- and... thank you.
- When? ... Of course, of course... We’ll meet you... Oh... but we are a mile from the station... Yes, I see. Certainly... of course. As you say. We’ll... we’ll be here... goodbye. Goodbye.
MRS. MORLAND
- James...
MR. MORLAND looks up at her, instantly is shaken out of himself, takes her hand.
MR. MORLAND
- Fanny, it’s Mary Rose. Mary Rose. He says she has been... found.
MRS. MORLAND (clutches her breast as if to restrain her heart from bursting from its cage)
- Ahhhhh…
MR. MORLAND
- Cameron... the ghillie... the one who took Simon and Mary Rose to the island... it was he. He is Dr. Cameron, it seems.
MRS. MORLAND
- Where? Where is she?
MR. MORLAND
- They found her... on the island... and he’s bringing her to us... bringing her... here. He said that was best... he was quite... firm... I didn’t know what to say...
MRS. MORLAND
- When?
MR. MORLAND
- Tomorrow night.
- (stares)
- Fanny... it is a hoax! It must be! After eighteen years... it can’t be... it just can’t be!
- Tomorrow night.
MRS. MORLAND
- It’s all right, James. We mustn’t... be afraid. It’s our Mary Rose.
MR. MORLAND
- Alive? She is really alive? He said she was... all right, Fanny. That she was... very nervous, he said, but all right. Somehow, it sounded like a warning, Fanny.
MRS. MORLAND
- We must get in touch with Simon. Somehow we must get in touch with Simon.
MR. MORLAND
- You know, I remembered the man’s voice... even now... after all these years. His voice instantly...
MRS. MORLAND
- James... we must call the admiralty. If Simon’s ship is in port or on its way, he must be informed. We must have Simon here.
MR. MORLAND stares at her a moment, then pulls himself together. He is somehow comforted, reinforced by the thought of SIMON. He reaches for the telephone, picks it up.
MR. MORLAND
- Of course, of course. Simon must be here.
SLOW FADE OUT.
FADE IN:Scene 22
INTERIOR TRAIN COMPARTMENT - NIGHT
The train is moving through the night. In the darkened compartment, lighted only by the reflection of the moon, we see the wide-awake, erect figure of a bearded, soberly dressed man. THE CAMERA moves in close enough and slowly enough for us to recognize behind the beard and the years CAMERON. We see that his face has not actually aged. The beard is perhaps the desperate measure of a youthful professional man seeking all available aids to dignity. He is, at this moment, a deeply worried man as he gazes with pity and compassion on the sleeping figure which he is guarding through this long night journey. The figure is, of course, MARY ROSE. But she is in deep shadow, her head averted. The figure moves; there is a faint moan. Quickly CAMERON takes out his watch, checks the time, then opens his medicine kit and takes from it a hypodermic which he prepares, silently, efficiently.
FADE OUT.
FADE IN:
Scene 23
INTERIOR MORLAND DRAWING-ROOM
CLOSE-UP SIMON. His weather-beaten, exhausted face still tight with shock.
SIMON
- I would not give this one moment’s credence if it were anyone but Cameron. Are you quite sure…
THE CAMERA moves back to include MR. and MRS. MORLAND. And also to allow us to see that SIMON has just recently arrived at the house... his cap, a captain’s now, beside him on the sofa.
MR. MORLAND
- His voice was unmistakable, I tell you.
- (a moment of almost. hostile tension)
- Simon... you knew the man... do you think... I know it’s mad, but could this be some sort of wild plot to extort money? Something of that sort? It makes no sense... but it makes more sense than what he said.
- His voice was unmistakable, I tell you.
SIMON
- No. Not if it was Cameron. If it was Cameron...
MR. MORLAND
- It was Cameron I tell you.
SIMON (like a sigh)
- Then... she is alive. She’s alive?
MRS. MORLAND
- Simon, dear... she will be... very changed. You must prepare yourself.
SIMON
- However changed... if it is truly Mary Rose... Oh God I Did he say how... where...
MRS. MORLAND
- Oh, my dear! You’re exhausted. This is too cruel...
MR. MORLAND
- He said that two men fishing from a boat saw her... there. On the island. She called to them. She... apparently does not know... rather, she is confused about what happened. She... thinks you left her there…
SIMON
- Left her!
MRS. MORLAND
- We must compose ourselves... she’ll be here any moment...
SIMON
- How will they get from the station? Why are we not to meet the train?
MR. MORLAND
- He was most explicit that the reunion be private...
- (the possible reasons for this are too frightening for any of them to pursue)
- ...he said she would benefit by the walk...
- He was most explicit that the reunion be private...
SIMON (very quietly. Conversationally)
- You know, I don’t believe I can bear this...
- (his face changes, alerts. He stands)
- They must be almost here. I am going to meet them. I do not give a damn what he said. I am going to meet Mary Rose.
- You know, I don’t believe I can bear this...
He moves from the room without another word. THE CAMERA follows SIMON’S flight down the stairs, out the door, and into the night. He runs at full speed across a broken field until he sees two dim figures cutting through the foggy dark. Then he slews to a suddenly shy and halting walk. The thought of what his next steps might bring to him are too awesome. But as his step slows, the slighter of the two distant figures begins to move forward, gaining momentum until it is, at last, a small missile that throws itself into his rusty arms.
MARY ROSE
- Simon! Oh, Simon! Oh, thank goodness! Hold me! Simon!
Scene 24
CLOSE-UP - SIMON’S FACE
His eyes are closed in a dream of ecstasy as his arms enfold the slight body. There are tears in his eyes when they open. And what he sees through the tears’ soft glitter is the mature, bearded, infinitely sad face of CAMERON. The warning in the face causes him to clutch more tightly at the girl.
MARY ROSE (cont’d) (between tears and laughter)
- Oh, Simon... whoever would have thought that being crushed to death would feel so safe!
CAMERON
- Mr. Blake... Captain, I should say... I am greatly relieved. I hadn’t dared hope to find you here...
MARY ROSE (not without some malice)
- Simon, this gentleman very kindly...
- (a small laugh)
- chaperoned me home…
- Simon, this gentleman very kindly...
CAMERON
- I will go ahead and pay my respects to Mr. and Mrs. Morland...
- (his warning eye moves from SIMON to rest gently on MARY ROSE)
- You and your husband should walk together at your leisure...
- I will go ahead and pay my respects to Mr. and Mrs. Morland...
CAMERON moves rapidly away from SIMON and MARY ROSE.
MARY ROSE (whispers)
- He behaves as if he knows us all... I think he must be quite mad... although he has tried to be kind... I suppose...
Once more she buries herself in his arms. Her high young voice, the quickness of her movements, the feel of her body... but most of all, her lack of the astonishment of this reunion... all of these things have begun to work on SIMON.
SIMON (softly)
- Mary Rose... close your eyes, Mary Rose...
Unquestioningly , she obeys. Slowly, he lifts her chin and stares into her face. His piercing scrutiny penetrates even the pale starlight, and he sees her face. It is the same face; unmarked, unlined, exactly as he saw it last eighteen years ago. He sees her youth and he feels her youth and his loss. Her eyelids flutter... quickly he kisses them closed again.
SIMON
- No... no, darling...
He is utterly bewildered by what he is feeling... or not feeling. Automatically, he pets and soothes her as, clutching her to his side, his face in darkness above her, he begins to walk her slowly toward the house.
MARY ROSE
- Oh, Simon... I’m so relieved. I couldn’t think what had happened to you! Everyone behaved so strangely... I have no idea what became of my luggage... I got rather hysterical... that man... Simon, he drugged me…
Her speech is quick, over-animated. However deeply troubled and uneasy she is, she bravely attempts now to cover her fears. She chatters in a spritely manner and does not wait for answers that might be unnerving.
MARY ROSE (cont’d)
- I’ve been in this wretched dress for three days! I’ve had to sleep in it! As a matter of fact, I seem to have slept almost the entire trip... when I waked up... on the island… and couldn’t find you... I was so disturbed... I was taken to that man... he said he knew me... he said he was a doctor. Simon, he did not know me... I have no idea why he would lie, but imagine how I felt... I’d never seen the hairy old thing... if he would lie about knowing me, then maybe it was a lie about his being a doctor. Absolutely nothing made sense! They were so solemn and silent and wouldn’t answer any of my questions... I thought I was going mad... Simon, what happened? Why did you leave me? I hadn’t any luggage or even a pocket book! Can you wonder I became a little overwrought? He gave me pills… he made me take them, Simon, and after that... it’s all been a horrible blur. I knew I was on a train, but I couldn’t speak or cry out... then he was trying to force me to drink coffee and Simon, he shook me and made me walk and then when the train stopped... Oh God! You can’t imagine how relieved I was to see that I was really here! Simon, I’m home!
- (she stumbles a little)
- I’m still groggy, I guess. Oh, darling, take me in the house. Get rid of that man... he is too strange, Simon. Oh, I want to see everyone.
- (moves precipitously ahead in her old way)
- Is Kenneth asleep? Of course he is, and I shall have no conscience whatever about waking him! Simon! Don’t drag!
- I’ve been in this wretched dress for three days! I’ve had to sleep in it! As a matter of fact, I seem to have slept almost the entire trip... when I waked up... on the island… and couldn’t find you... I was so disturbed... I was taken to that man... he said he knew me... he said he was a doctor. Simon, he did not know me... I have no idea why he would lie, but imagine how I felt... I’d never seen the hairy old thing... if he would lie about knowing me, then maybe it was a lie about his being a doctor. Absolutely nothing made sense! They were so solemn and silent and wouldn’t answer any of my questions... I thought I was going mad... Simon, what happened? Why did you leave me? I hadn’t any luggage or even a pocket book! Can you wonder I became a little overwrought? He gave me pills… he made me take them, Simon, and after that... it’s all been a horrible blur. I knew I was on a train, but I couldn’t speak or cry out... then he was trying to force me to drink coffee and Simon, he shook me and made me walk and then when the train stopped... Oh God! You can’t imagine how relieved I was to see that I was really here! Simon, I’m home!
She pulls the resisting SIMON toward the house.
SIMON
- Please, Mary Rose... wait...
MARY ROSE
- Darling, I do believe you’re catching a cold. Your voice sounds so raspy... we must get inside.
- (moves determinedly toward door of the house)
- You are to come in at once and attempt to give me some explanation…
- (her manner is meant to be sweetly teasing, but there is a tremor of uncertainty in her voice)
- It appears on the face of it, that my beloved old Simon simply bolted, abandoning me to the northern elements and...
- (a nervous little laugh and tosses her head in the direction of the house and CAMERON)
- ...and that... that extraordinary Scotsman! Darling, when we get inside, do take a good look at him and see if you think he looks in any way familiar... oh...
- (she gives another uneasy little laugh)
- This has all been so confusing... I shouldn’t think it possible to get a sun-stroke in Northern Scotland, should you?
- Darling, I do believe you’re catching a cold. Your voice sounds so raspy... we must get inside.
SIMON is stunned and already done in by the barely subdued hysteria of this girl who is his wife and with his total in adequacy to deal with the situation.
MARY ROSE (cont’d)
- Simon?
SIMON
- Yes, Mary Rose?
MARY ROSE
- Well! You do at least recall my name! Oh... I won’t stay out here any longer! I want to see my baby...
This time she is determined. She darts from him and into the house. Into the light. In the foyer she stops, her attention caught at once by the electric light. She begins to tremble slightly, controls herself, then notices a collection of prints that now hang in the foyer. She attempts a smile, turns back toward the open door outside which SIMON stands, unable to bring himself to cross the threshold into the revealing light.
MARY ROSE (cont’d) (determinedly down to earth)
- Goodness! Daddy must have been to London and spent a packet!
- (insistently)
- Simon, do come inside! Why are you shuffling about out there in the dark?
- Goodness! Daddy must have been to London and spent a packet!
SIMON does not move or answer and her voice goes quavery.
MARY ROSE (cont’d)
- Simon...
And now, slowly, irrevocably, poor SIMON steps into the light. His face, taut with anxiety and, strangely, shame, shows itself to her. Her nervous, insistent smile is turned full on him. For a long moment, her expression does not change at all. And then suddenly, a little grimace that is almost a tic replaces the smile. Her reactions are small, very small, as they are when one’s confidence in one’s physical senses are dangerously shaken. One’s primary instinct is not to expose this terrifying failure. Under SIMON’S sad and silent gaze, MARY ROSE, her young body as still as a stopped heart, forces her mouth slowly back into the lines that are meant to delineate a smile.
SIMON (in pity)
- I am sorry, Mary Rose...
She blinks and turns her head slightly to one aide, no longer able to look directly at him. A small shudder nans through her. She seems to become before our eyes a cruel travesty of herself. It not that she is any older, but that her youth is now somehow determined... what was once vivacity is now nerves pulled too tight; what was once ingenuous, is now disingenuous.
MARY ROSE
- Why is the house so quiet? What happened to that sinister Scot?
- (ducks her head away from SIMON’S... laughs)
- What’s been going on behind my back, Simon... you look absolutely exhausted...
- (she starts to run up the stairs, quickly putting distance between herself and SIMON)
- Where is everybody? Daddy?
- Why is the house so quiet? What happened to that sinister Scot?
Scene 25
She dashed furiously up the stairs and bursts into the brightly lighted DRAWING-ROOM. Her confrontation with her white-faced, trembling parents is no more than a tear-dimmed streak across the distance that separates them. She flights herself into her mother’s arms. MRS. MORLAND, beyond tears, almost beyond feeling, simply holds, with a mother’s reflexes, this memory of a girl.
MARY ROSE
- Oh, mother! Oh, I’m so glad to be home!
As if touched by some marvellous, forbidden enchantment, no one moves or speaks. Only the sound of SIMON’S footsteps at the top of the stairs, now entering the DRAWING-ROOM, breaks the spell, causing MARY ROSE to look into her mother’s face for reassurance. She sees, undeniably sees, the age. Slowly, her eyes more from MRS. MORLAND to MR. MORLAND, where she finds again, the same inexplicable blight. She turns from one face to another, and on each she sees deeply etched, in unaccountable lines, love, grief, shock, shame. Time.
MRS. MORLAND
- Oh, my darling.,..
MARY ROSE (tremulously)
- Daddy?
CAMERON (to MRS. MORLAND)
- Don’t you think Mary Rose might like a cup of tea?
MARY ROSE (brightly)
- Oh, no thank you...
- (her voice starts to break)
- I don’t need anything.
- Oh, no thank you...
CAMERON (kindly)
- If you don’t fancy tea, I expect a sip of something stronger might... ward off a chill.
MARY ROSE
- I’m quite all right, thank you...
Her smile Intact, MARY ROSE disengages herself from the group and moves, with a pitiful attempt at casualness, toward a wall mirror.
MARY ROSE (cont’d)
- ...although I’m sure I look a wreck... these clothes…
As if to straighten her hair, her appearance, MARY ROSE forces her gaze into the mirror, quite unable to disguise the trembling anxiety with which she regards her image. She sees herself... lets out her breath... for it is really herself, the self she knows. For an instant she goes slack with relief, and a smile springs spontaneously to her lips. It is shaky, but it is real.
However, before she can turn back to face the others, she sees in the mirror... his face reflected beside her own... SIMON. And the nightmare is real. He is so much older, and she is not. Only she is unchanged. The others are OLD and ALIEN. She whirls around, faces them like an animal at bay.
MARY ROSE (cont’d)
- Tell me! Tell me!
MR. MORLAND (simply)
- How can we, Mary Rose? We don’t know.
MARY ROSE (to SIMON)
- Tell me.
SIMON (manfully, but stumbling over the words, all the wrong words)
- Darling... when I lost you... it was... Mary Rose... you must understand... I did not leave you darling. It was you who… went away… who left me… us…
MARY ROSE (whimpers)
- Tell me...
MRS. MORLAND (once more it is she who faces up to the worst)
- She wants to know about Kenneth.
MARY ROSE
- Where is my baby?
SIMON (he cannot bear this)
- No! You mustn’t go on like this... believe me...
She gives SIMON one brief, baleful look, turns toward the little door at the far end of the DRAWING-ROOM end runs for it... her dash toward the door has the desperation of an attempted escape. Skirting the periphery of possibly restraining hands, she reaches the door, flings it open, runs down the little hallway to the second door, and, as if anticipating resistance, puts her shoulder fiercely against the wood, twists the door handle and pushes violently into the room to find... nothing whatsoever. The room now seems to function as a small study. There is no bed in it and, certainly, there is no child. MARY ROSE swivels around. MRS. MORLAND has had the courage to follow her.
MARY ROSE
- I left my baby here! Right here! Where is my baby? Where?!
MRS. MORLAND
- This isn’t used as a bedroom anymore, Mary Rose...
MARY ROSE (breaking in, her voice rising dangerously)
- Where is my baby?
MRS. MORLAND
- Kenneth hasn’t slept in here...
- (bravely)
- ...since he was seven. He... needed a larger room...
- Kenneth hasn’t slept in here...
MARY ROSE looks at her mother with fear and horror, drawing frantically back as SIMON and MR. MORLAND come down the hall, to precisely whose rescue they do not know.
SIMON (attempting to prevail over this sea of unreality with the only weapons he has, courage and command)
- Mary Rose. Your mother... your mother cannot stand this, Mary Rose. She has borne too much... too many losses…
MARY ROSE (barely even a whisper)
- What losses?
MRS. MORLAND (faintly, with infinite pity)
- First there was you, my love. You have been... away, for a very long time.
SIMON (dully)
- Eighteen years.
MARY ROSE (scarcely audible now)
- Where is my baby?
SIMON
- There is no...
- (is there the faintest hint of accusation in his voice?)
- Mary Rose... there is no baby.
- There is no...
MARY ROSE (she has been waiting for this blow, but when it comes, her reaction is one of faint stupor. She sits. There is even the beginning of a smile on her lips as if she wanted to understand the joke too)
- No baby?
SIMON (feeling that the worst is over, that she is calming down)
- Kenneth is...
- (finishes lamely; there is too much guilt)
- ...he is... not here
- Kenneth is...
MARY ROSE
- Not here?
SIMON
- He is...
- (he cannot go on)
- He is...
MARY ROSE (still falsely calm)
- He is where?
CAMERON (In a rush, hoping to lend comfort, any comfort)
- Mrs. Blake, your family has been given reason to hope...
MARY ROSE (the same almost-smile)
- To hope?
MRS. MORLAND
- That he has been taken prisoner...
As the room begins to spin about her and the torturing sound of the voices and the terrible sight of the faces melt and flow into one another, both visually and aurally (the repeated words are ‘missing’, ‘you went away’, ‘he has been taken’, ‘you went away’...) the tormented girl throws back her head in agony, her body stiffens, her threat arches and swells with a sound that rises in her to drown out all other sounds. She manages only to choke out four words...
MARY ROSE
- Who took my baby?
...before the sound is finally torn from her. It is a scream to shake the senses of all who hear it. It fills the little room with its very essence, unquenchable sorrow and rage. And as the scream is born, MARY ROSE dies. She never rose from the chair. It is as though she were dead long before the scream had finished making its relentless, tearing course through her body. When she falls, it is as if the scream, triumphant in its monstrous birth, had simply discarded what was left of her. Of the figures in the tableau around the body of MARY ROSE, only SIMON makes a pitiful little human gesture of protest. Gently he touches her pale, almost luminous cheek., And when he takes his hand away, his fingers, where they touched her, are faintly blue. There is one small, awful, choked sound from SIMON, as the scene fades. There is no further movement MRS. MORLAND, MR. MORLAND, CAMERON, all stand frozen in the icy echoes of the scream.
FADE OUT.
FADE IN:Scene 26
And it is the still rebounding waves of this echoed scream that move now into the dusty old room where KENNETH sits and waits in the dark, the fire and candle long since guttered out. The little door at the back opens slowly to the extent of a foot. Thus might a break of wind blow it if there were any wind. Presently KENNETH rises slowly to his feet. He hears nothing; he sees nothing. But the feel of the scream is with him. As he watches, the door closes softly. Now he picks up the candle, relights it, and with hardly a moment’s irresolution, moves toward the door. He opens it, crosses the short length of the hall and now tries the final door. Easily, without a murmur of protest, it opens for him. He holds the candle up, looking waiting... there is nothing. He lets out his breath, turns back, slowly retracing his steps into the drawing-room. And it is there, at last, that he is met by MARY ROSE. She stands quietly in the middle of the room, as if made out of the light he has brought back with him. She nods politely and speaks.
MARY ROSE
- Have you come to buy the house?
KENNETH
- No.
MARY ROSE
- But it is a nice house.
- (doubtfully)
- Isn’t it?
- But it is a nice house.
KENNETH
- It was a very nice house once.
MARY ROSE (pleased)
- Wasn’t it!
- (suspiciously)
- Why are you here?
- Wasn’t it!
KENNETH
- I used to know the house. When I was very young.
MARY ROSE (eagerly)
- Young? Was it you who laughed? There used to be someone who laughed in this house... was it you?
KENNETH
- I don’t know. Perhaps.
MARY ROSE
- No. I don’t think so. You’re quite old.
- (fretfully)
- Would you mind telling me why everyone is so old?
- No. I don’t think so. You’re quite old.
KENNETH
- It is only because you have stayed so young.
MARY ROSE (smiles; pleased)
- Do I know you?
KENNETH
- I wonder. Do I look like anyone you ever knew?
MARY ROSE
- You don’t look like... Simon.
- (frowns with concentration)
- You are not ... Simon, are you?
- You don’t look like... Simon.
KENNETH
- No, not Simon. But he sent me here. He has died you know.
MARY ROSE
- Died? Why?
KENNETH
- He was old.
- (venturing)
- My name is Kenneth.
- He was old.
MARY ROSE (stiffens)
- I don’t think so.
KENNETH
- But that is my name. And I would like... very much... to hear you call me Kenneth.
MARY ROSE (firmly)
- No.
KENNETH
- I’m sorry.
MARY ROSE
- Are you?
- (still pertinacious)
- I think you are sorry for me.
- Are you?
KENNETH
- I am.
MARY ROSE
- I’m rather sorry for myself. I just don’t seem to know anyone... it’s lonely...
KENNETH
- You know Simon.
MARY ROSE
- Simon? Well...
- (confesses)
- I don’t really remember him. I Just know the name.
- Simon? Well...
KENNETH
- Only that?
MARY ROSE (dismisses the thought of SIMON)
- Anyway... it isn’t he I’m looking for...
KENNETH (hopefully)
- No?
MARY ROSE
- No.
- (unexpectedly)
- Who is it?
- No.
KENNETH
- Who?
MARY ROSE
- Who is it I’m searching for?
KENNETH
- Have you forgotten? Even that?
MARY ROSE (defensively)
- I knew. But it was such a long time ago. And I’m so tired.
KENNETH (smiles sadly)
- Of searching? Of searching this old house?
MARY ROSE (whispering)
- Don’t tell.
KENNETH
- No, of course not.
MARY ROSE
- You are nice.
KENNETH
- My name is Kenneth. Won’t you please try to say it?
MARY ROSE (she likes the sound)
- Kenneth, Kenneth, Kenneth, Kenneth....
KENNETH
- But you don’t know what Kenneth I am.
MARY ROSE
- No.
KENNETH
- I would like to help you... M... Mary Rose.
MARY ROSE
- Do you think you could? If I could find him... he would tell me that he understands and doesn’t blame me. Then I could go back.
KENNETH
- I see. To the island?
MARY ROSE (perplexed)
- Where?
KENNETH
- Have you forgotten the island too?
MARY ROSE (crushed)
- I am sorry.
KENNETH
- I think that it is the island to which you want to return. Is it so nice there?
MARY ROSE
- Oh, it is lovely!
KENNETH
- Are there ghosts in that place?
MARY ROSE (firmly)
- No.
KENNETH
- Are you so sure?
MARY ROSE (rather crossly)
- Of course!
KENNETH
- Why is it so lovely?
MARY ROSE (a beginning look of radiance)
- It’s so beautiful and loving and there is only oneself...
- (the expression fades)
- ...one needn’t ever... search...
- It’s so beautiful and loving and there is only oneself...
KENNETH (impulsively)
- Mary Rose... listen... I believe I can help you go back... I know who you are looking for...
MARY ROSE (she stiffens, her attention suddenly riveted on him)
- You know?
KENNETH
- I think so.
From the beginning of his next to last speech, where he says, ‘I know who you are looking for’, a sound has begun to build, and now it surrounds KENNETH and MARY ROSE. It is not wind, but a sort of pressure, palpable and infinitely menacing. MARY ROSE’S face has darkened. She does not take her baleful eyes from KENNETH.
MARY ROSE (with an almost unseeable advance upon him)
- Did you do it? Was it you who took him?
KENNETH, chilled, watchful, he steps back. As he does, he moves against the side of the packing case, stumbles slightly against it, glances quickly down and sees instantly that his knife, which was embedded in the wood, is now suddenly gone. He pulls himself together at once and faces MARY ROSE, faces her growing, terrifying wrath.
MARY ROSE (we see her now, her hand gripping the knife, the fury growing around her)
- Give him back.
KENNETH
- Mary Rose... stop it, Mary Rose!
MARY ROSE
- You are the one who stole him from me!
KENNETH (faltering)
- In a way...
MARY ROSE
- Give him back!
KENNETH
- But you said you didn’t know who. Who? Who do you want, Mary Rose? Tell me who?
MARY ROSE (almost a scream)
- My baby! Kenneth! Kenneth!
KENNETH (quietly)
- Your baby is gone beyond recall, but I am Kenneth.
She stops, stares at him, the knife still poised, the sound no longer swelling, but not abating.
KENNETH (cont’d) (he takes a cautious step towards her)
- Surely I can help you... give me back the knife...
MARY ROSE (so puzzled)
- Kenneth?
KENNETH
- Yes. And I understand and do not blame you. Don’t you see that, poor thing?
MARY ROSE
- OH!
The sound begins to diminish.
MARY ROSE (cont’d)
- Oh, are you sure?
KENNETH
- Yes, I’m quite sure.
Her hand, the one holding the knife, falls to her aide.
KENNETH (cont’d)
- There is no one who blames you.
MARY ROSE
- Ahhhhhh…
KENNETH
- Now let me have my knife. Before you hurt yourself.
Sweetly obedient, she gives it to him. For a long moment they look at one another.
MARY ROSE
- Have you had to search too? You look so sad.
KENNETH
- Do I? I expect it’s just an old leftover look. I’m not sad anymore.
MARY ROSE (guilelessly)
- I’m glad. You are so tall and grown-up and... comforting. Do you think I might... lean against you... for just a moment?
KENNETH gently takes her in his arms. She sighs.
MARY ROSE (cont’d)
- Ah. That is... nice...
- (she smiles contentedly, then pulls slightly away)
- How good you were to cone...
- Ah. That is... nice...
KENNETH
- Not good... I was searching too.
MARY ROSE
- What for?
KENNETH
- For you.
- (sighs)
- Or for something you might have been... Do you know now who I am?
- For you.
MARY ROSE (simply)
- Your name is Kenneth and I’m sure I would remember you, except that... that everything seems so dim...
KENNETH sighs, then his attention is caught by the window open now on the dark of early evening. The stars have triumphantly worked their way through the clouds.
KENNETH
- The stars are out. They always seem so promising... are there stars above your island?
MARY ROSE
- My island? Oh...
- (her face begins to light as the call is heard; softly it begins... ‘Mary Rose, Mary Rose, Mary Rose...’)
- Oh yes! Yes!
- My island? Oh...
As the sound swells, it wraps her around, the weary little ghost. Her face is shining as her arms stretch hopefully before her; she whispers now ‘yes’ ... and takes one step. Only one. And she is gone at last, taking the sweet beckoning sound with her.
KENNETH, at the window still, has heard nothing except her voice answering, as he supposed, his question. Now he turns and finds... an empty room. It is a room no longer filled with anything at all but a chair, a pair of packing cases, himself... and dust. He sucks in his breath leans weakly against the wall, closes his eyes. Softly, he whispers ‘Oh God! You didn’t say goodbye.’ Then, at last, he opens his eyes, takes a look, a long last look about, sighs, and moves toward the stairs. He calls as he starts down, ‘Mrs. Otery? I’m coming down. Mrs. Otery…’
SLOW FADE OUT.
FADE IN:
Scene 27
Once more THE ISLAND as we saw it first, a sweetly solitary place, a promising place. And now again, we hear CAMERON’S voice.
CAMERON (o.s.)
- The Island. The Island That Likes To Be Visited. Surely we all know at least one such tempting place... such an island... where we may not go. Or if we do dare to visit such an island... we cannot come away again without ...
- (there is bitter humour in his voice)
- ...without embarrassment. And it takes more than a bit of searching to find someone who will forgive us that.
- (CAMERON’S voice changes now, becomes louder, matter-of-fact, and final)
- Well, that is it. Let’s go back home now.
- (ironically)
- There of course it’s raining...
- The Island. The Island That Likes To Be Visited. Surely we all know at least one such tempting place... such an island... where we may not go. Or if we do dare to visit such an island... we cannot come away again without ...
THE CAMERA begins to retreat. The Island grows smaller, mistier.
CAMERON (cont’d) (o.s.)
- ...as usual. And there’s a naughty boy waiting for punishment and an old villager who had the fatal combination weak heart and bad temper. He’s waiting to be buried. All the usual, dependable, un-islandy things.
- (he sighs deeply)
- You understand.
- ...as usual. And there’s a naughty boy waiting for punishment and an old villager who had the fatal combination weak heart and bad temper. He’s waiting to be buried. All the usual, dependable, un-islandy things.
As the Island becomes no more than a distant vision, CAMERON’S voice diminishes as well, until at last, we have lost them both.
FADE OUT.
THE END.