A WAKE
PROLOGUE:
(Stage is set with a bed upstage center, a couple feet away from the wall—enough room for people to walk all the way around it; the head is nearer the wall, with the foot downstage; there is a body in it; above the bed is a painting of The Sacred Heart of Jesus; on the wall up stage left is a crucifix; up stage right is a clock stopped at 1:50 p.m.; there are no other set pieces; as the audience comes in, Kieran, the man in the bed, will occasionally jump up and surprise them, particularly if any of them get too close to the bed as they cross the stage to their seats; after the audience is seated a priest enters and looks at the bed; Kieran jumps up to scare the priest, who screams, but then gets angry)
FATHER MCPHERSON: Jesus Christ! (Pause, then he crosses himself) My Lord and Savior, save us.
KIERAN: Got ya, Father.
FATHER MCPHERSON: Kieran O’Neil, get out of that bed. Now! You’re lying in a dead man’s sheets.
KIERAN: Sorry, Father, it was just a joke.
FATHER MCPHERSON: What in tarnation did ya do with the body?
KIERAN: Sorry, Father, he’s in the closet. With his cousin, Tim.
FATHER MCPHERSON: Go get him. Put him back. It’s time. The mourners are about to arrive. And that’s not funny about Timmy. Just because he’s gentle doesn’t mean he’s queer. He’s a nice boy. But enough of that. Mrs. Molony would have a conniption fit if she saw this—she’ll think you died, too—as if she hasn’t suffered enough already in this world. Although it’s one nephew might not make her sad to lose. (Beat) What’re ya waiting for? Go. (Kieran exits; Father McPherson turns to the audience) I’m terribly sorry. The idiot has no sense of right or wrong. Never has. If I weren’t sworn to secrecy on the confessional thing you’d know what I was talking about. Anyway, I am sorry. We’ll get the body back soon. Then it’ll be time for the viewing. Sorry. I’m sorry. (He exits) Sorry.
(Lights to black)
THE PLAY:
(Lights up; there is a body in the bed; Eunice and Martha enter and cross to the body)
EUNICE: I don’t know why I couldn’t find cream for the coffee. I never drink it black like that. You’d think they would have some milk in the house for a thing like this.
MARTHA: Maybe they’ve overextended the credit at the grocery again.
EUNICE: Oh, here he is, all laid out so nicely. Doesn’t he look just wonderful?
MARTHA: He does.
EUNICE: He looks so nice. Mr. Toomey always does such good work. Why, if I didn’t know better I’d think he was just sleeping.
MARTHA: Or passed out. He looks just like he used to look when he was passed out. I should know. I saw it often. Of course everyone did. When you pass out in public places as often as Adam did people get used to seeing you look like this. He looks just like his dear departed father.
EUNICE: Did he have narcolepsy?
MARTHA: No, the drink. He passed out from the drink. He liked the bottle. Just like his father.
EUNICE: Except his father did have narcolepsy. Used to fall asleep in the middle of sentences.
MARTHA: When they weren’t about him, yes. And in the middle of the road, when he was driving drunk.
EUNICE: Still, it’s a shame about him. The young one here. Killed by a cow. You don’t see that every day. Not even in Wisconsin.
MARTHA: No, you don’t.
EUNICE: That’s our state domestic animal, you know. Not state wild animal. Domestic. It doesn’t seem right that . . .
MARTHA: He wasn’t killed by a cow.
EUNICE: I heard he came up over a hill and there was a cow in the middle of the road. By the Daley farm—they have Brown Swiss, you know—somehow she was outside the fence, and he plowed right into her.
MARTHA: They have Brown Swiss and Guernseys, yes, but the cow didn’t kill him. Her udder exploded—when the car hit her—simply exploded. His windshield was covered with milk. Unpasteurized, mind you. He couldn’t get the wipers going fast enough, so he ran off into a ditch. That’s where they found him. It was awful. Milk curdled on the windshield by morning.
(Pause)
EUNICE: That poor cow. I’m thinking of the brown cow now. How . . .
MARTHA: Well, she’s milkless, but alive.
EUNICE: Oh, good.
MARTHA: At least ‘til they take her to the slaughterhouse. A milkless cow doesn’t do anyone any good. (Beat) At least his drinking problem’s finally over.
EUNICE: Was he allergic to milk?
MARTHA: No, I’m talking the drink. As I said he liked the bottle.
EUNICE: Do you remember when they used to deliver the milk right to your door? Not from the cow, I mean. Every morning. In the wintertime there would be chunks of ice in the milk if you didn’t get to it soon enough.
MARTHA: Yes, those were the days.
EUNICE: Those were the days.
(Kieran enters and crosses to them)
KIERAN: Aunt Martha, Aunt Eunice. How are you ladies today?
MARTHA & EUNICE: Oh, fine. As much as possible, for a day such as this.
KIERAN: Would you mind if I have just a little private time with him before they open the doors? I see you got your chance.
MARTHA: Oh, were we early? We didn’t know.
EUNICE: We’ll go to the kitchen. You and your cousin were good friends.
(The women cross and exit to the kitchen; Kieran takes out a bag with some makeup and starts working on the body; he puts things away and heads out; Father McPherson and Mr. Toomey enter)
MR. TOOMEY: It was nice to hear the aunts thought that he looked natural.
FATHER MCPHERSON: Yes, it was. Oh, Mr. Toomey, before anyone else comes in, will ya check the body? There was some ruckus with it before.
MR. TOOMEY: What do you mean ruckus, Father?
FATHER MCPHERSON: It was moved.
MR. TOOMEY: Moved? And how might that be? Wasn’t one of the women watching it? When I lay a body out it’s meant to stay that way.
FATHER MCPHERSON: Well, it didn’t.
MR. TOOMEY: I knew this idea of having a wake in the home would lead to trouble. There’s a reason the tradition died out. That’s why we have funeral homes now, so people don’t have to deal with death in their own households. People don’t like death that close.
FATHER MCPHERSON: No, they don’t.
MR. TOOMEY: They like to keep it at a distance, not really look at it.
FATHER MCPHERSON: It’s true.
MR. TOOMEY: I don’t trust this idea of going back to old traditions. I just hate these people with their newfangled old-fashioned ideas.
FATHER MCPHERSON: You’re right. A funeral home is the place for a wake. But Kieran insisted . . .
MR. TOOMEY: This was his idea? I should have guessed. But he’s only a cousin.
FATHER MCPHERSON: He must’ve caught Mrs. Molony in a weak moment and she agreed.
MR. TOOMEY (moving toward the body): So who moved the body? Was it Kieran?
FATHER MCPHERSON: It doesn’t matter. It’s back. As I’ve often said a priest can’t tell secrets from the confessional.
MR. TOOMEY: Oh, dear God.
FATHER MCPHERSON: It’s true, I can’t. I’m sworn. It’s sort of like I’m the people’s defense lawyer and God’s the prosecutor and I have to honor the clients’ . . .
MR. TOOMEY: There’s rouge on him, and lipstick.
FATHER MCPHERSON: On him? What do you mean?
(Gilly and Quinn enter; Gilly is already somewhat drunk)
MR. TOOMEY: On his cheeks. Rouge on his cheeks. And his lips. There’s lipstick on his lips.
GILLY: At least his aim was good. At least it’s on his lips and not his tits.
MR. TOOMEY (pointing at the body): Gilly, did you do this?
GILLY: No, he just died. I think it was natural causes.
QUINN (to Gilly): Let’s sit for a moment, all right?
GILLY: Rare for this family. Natural causes. Sit. Right.
FATHER MCPHERSON: Have you been drinking? And you know he died in a car crash.
GILLY: In our family that’s natural.
FATHER MCPHERSON: You have been drinking, haven’t you?
QUINN: No, Father.
FATHER MCPHERSON: I meant your cousin. It smells like a cheap brewery in here.
GILLY: Not cheap, Father. It’s Harp.
FATHER MCPHERSON: And it’s not even noon yet.
GILLY: My brother’s dead. It’s past noon. It’s night, dark. It’s eternal darkness in my mind. He was my best friend, too, you know.
QUINN: It’s all right, Gilly, it’s all right.
GILLY: Like hell.
MR. TOOMEY & FATHER MCPHERSON: Quinn, do me a favor.
QUINN: What?
FATHER MCPHERSON: Watch him.
MR. TOOMEY: Watch the body while I get my tools. I have to get rid of the lipstick and do some final touching up. This is a travesty.
GILLY: Travis who?
QUINN: Quiet, Gilly. Just relax.
MR. TOOMEY (as he exits): It’s like putting makeup on a Picasso.
(There is silence for a moment; Quinn looks at the body)
QUINN: Hm. Picasso. He’s right. Father, don’t you think an undertaker would do better to model his work after some of the more realistic painters? Rembrandt? Leonardo?
FATHER MCPHERSON: I think he meant it’s a work of art is all.
QUINN: But I can see Picasso here. Under the lipstick. Or de Kooning. With a little less blush. Either one.
KIERAN (as he enters): Hey, everyone.
FATHER MCPHERSON: Speaking of artists.
KIERAN: What?
FATHER MCPHERSON: Kieran, this is not the 1800’s. It’s not Ireland. We should have had the wake at a proper funeral home. But we didn’t, at your insistence. The least you could do now is show some respect for the dead.
KIERAN: I am, Father. I think we all are. He always said he wanted a party. He said, when I go I don’t want a drab funeral. I want a party. You guys should celebrate me, not mourn me.
FATHER MCPHERSON: Not in drag, I’m sure. Why the makeup? Did you have to do that?
KIERAN: Just a little fun, Father. If you can’t have fun at the expense of one of your favorite cousins then what’s the point?
FATHER MCPHERSON: You know how upset his mother would be. Funerals are not for fun. They’re to pay respect to the dead.
KIERAN: Well, maybe we need to pay more respect to the living. Besides, it’s not a funeral. It’s a wake. An Irish wake. It should be fun.
FATHER MCPHERSON: You don’t know much of anything, boy. God doesn’t like parties. I should know.
QUINN (under his breath): That’s why I’m an atheist.
FATHER MCPHERSON (to Quinn): What did you say? I heard you.
GILLY: Then why ask what he said, Father?
FATHER MCPHERSON (to Quinn): What did you say?
QUINN: I said I’m an atheist. I don’t believe in God.
FATHER MCPHERSON: I don’t get it. The whole younger generation has turned away from the church.
QUINN: No, the church has turned away from us.
GILLY: I believe in dogs.
FATHER MCPHERSON: Maybe in the hair of the dog.
KIERAN: Irish wolfhounds and Irish setters.
GILLY: Oh, my.
FATHER MCPHERSON: Oh, for God’s sake, you’re not that Irish, Kieran. Your family moved here a hundred and fifty years ago.
KIERAN: So?
FATHER MCPHERSON: And intermarried. There’s even some British in you, I’m sure.
KIERAN: We’re Irish. I don’t acknowledge anything else.
FATHER MCPHERSON: As I said you’re not that Irish.
KIERAN: My blood runs deep in the old sod.
FATHER MCPHERSON: The bullshit runs deeper in your veins.
KIERAN: Father, you swore.
FATHER MCPHERSON: When in Rome.
GILLY: Bullshit from a priest. Never thought I’d hear that.
(Gilly laughs heartily; Deirdre and Riona enter; a pair of deer antlers is imbedded into Deirdre’s chest; the men stop talking; after a moment Gilly stops laughing)
DEIRDRE: And he’s the one who lives. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us. (Putting her arm around Riona) Thank God I have a daughter, a good Catholic daughter.
KIERAN: Aunt Deirdre, how’re you doing? We were just talking about the old country.
DEIRDRE: What old country?
FATHER MCPHERSON: Mrs. Molony, Riona, I am deeply sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine how it must feel to lose a child.
DEIRDRE: No, you can’t, Father. You’re a priest.
FATHER MCPHERSON: I think you understand what I meant.
DEIRDRE: Just as you couldn’t imagine the troubles with my dear departed husband, may he rest in peace.
RIONA: Mother, please.
KIERAN: Ireland.
DEIRDRE: What?
KIERAN: You asked what old country.
RIONA: I said please.
GILLY (crossing to her): Mom, Sis.
DEIRDRE: You’re drunk already? Riona, is he drunk already?
RIONA: I . . . yes.
DEIRDRE: You couldn’t have waited until after the rosary at least?
GILLY: It’s no big deal, woman. I had a couple sips of Harp. A toast to my brother. Can you blame me for that?
DEIRDRE: Your brother was drunk when he died. Do you never learn? (Pause) Father, do you think God could give me a few more crosses to bear? I haven’t suffered enough yet in my life.
FATHER MCPHERSON: What can I do to help, dear?
DEIRDRE: Nothing; never mind. It’s the way of the Lord. It’s the way of the world. Whatever comes my way was meant to come my way. It’s my lot to suffer. It’ll make heaven all the sweeter when I get there.
RIONA: Mother, don’t say those things.
QUINN (crosses to Riona): I’m terribly sorry.
(He turns to Deirdre and gives her an awkward hug around the antlers)
GILLY: Doesn’t my mom have a nice rack, Quinn?
QUINN: I’m sorry, Deirdre. If you need anything.
DEIRDRE: My son.
QUINN (pulling Gilly over): Right here.
DEIRDRE: I meant the one I lost. Not the lost one. (Looking at the crucifix) Jesus, what have I done to deserve this? (Long pause) I think he lost his hearing there on the cross. But it’ll be okay. We’re put here to suffer, aren’t we? It’s part of God’s plan, isn’t it, Father? We suffer. Terribly. Then we suffer more. We lose our children. We suffer some more. We lose our bodies and our minds. We suffer even more. We die. Then we get to live in eternal happiness. The meek shall inherit the earth. The suffering, what, shall suffer never more? It’s as simple as that. It’s as simple as that? (Pause) Father, a mother should never outlive her children. It’s the one thing that can call into question a woman’s good faith. It’s a cruel god that allows a mother to outlive her son.
FATHER MCPHERSON: May he rest in peace.
(She and Riona cross to the body; just as they get there Mr. Toomey enters; he tries to prevent Deirdre from looking, but is too late)
MR. TOOMEY: Mrs. Molony!
DEIRDRE (turning to him): He looks nice, Toomey. You always do such good work. You brought the redness back to his lips and face. That ruddy complexion. I always liked it.
MR. TOOMEY: Why, thank you.
KIERAN: No. Why thank you?
DEIRDRE: You’ll do me too, Toomey.
GILLY: Me too.
RIONA (looking at the body): It’s not natural. There’s something wrong.
(Deirdre grabs Riona’s blouse and starts to pull her away; Mr. Toomey starts working on removing the makeup)
GILLY: Riona’s right. Don’t be talking about that. You’re not going to die.
DEIRDRE: Talking won’t make it happen or I’d have brought it up long ago.
KIERAN: Aunt Deirdre, can we have an Irish wake for you too?
DEIRDRE: Don’t bury me before I’m dead, Kieran. I’m sure there’s more pain to come first. Speaking of that, I should join the ladies in the kitchen. Have you seen Darby yet? Her own husband, you’d think she’d be the first one here.
(Darby, Dillon, and Jillian enter)
DARBY: Good morning, everyone. Mrs. Molony.
DEIRDRE: You can call me Mom, dear.
DARBY: Good morning Mom, dearest.
DEIRDRE: We were just talking about you.
DARBY: I know. I was in the kitchen. Suffering. Now I’m here.
DEIRDRE: And how’s my little granddaughter today?
JILLIAN: I’m sad.
DEIRDRE: I know.
JILLIAN: There’s no milk.
DEIRDRE (sternly): No, we’ll be serving no milk today. I’m protesting cows.
(She exits)
DILLON: Hi, Gramma. Nice to see you too.
GILLY: That may mean no milk ever in the house again. She’s a stubborn woman.
DILLON: She doesn’t know I exist.
QUINN: We haven’t had venison since her accident.
KIERAN: Or cheese since the little girl.
MR. TOOMEY: I’m so sorry for what you’re going through right now.
DARBY: Thank you.
(Father McPherson crosses to the family)
FATHER MCPHERSON: Darby, I’m sorry for your loss. Jillian. Dillon. You’ll need a father figure now—actually you could have used one before—and I can do that for you. With the help of Jesus. I’m a priest. I’m even called Father.
DARBY: Father . . .
FATHER MCPHERSON: See?
DILLON: Father?
MR. TOOMEY: It’s a title of respect, Dillon.
DILLON: Respect? He didn’t respect my dad.
DARBY: Dillon. Stop. We’re in a social setting. Remember what I told you about talking in social settings. Let me handle this. What are you doing here, Father?
FATHER MCPHERSON: Your mother invited me.
DARBY: Mrs. Molony is not my mother. She’s my mother-in-law. It’s my husband being buried.
MR. TOOMEY: And her child.
DARBY: That’s why I said she could arrange things. She needed to feel important, take care of some things in order to feel good about him going. If a priest being here helps her and a few other people it doesn’t hurt me any to let her have one.
FATHER MCPHERSON: Are you saying I’m not wanted here?
DARBY: I’m saying I didn’t invite you here today and I’m not inviting you into my children’s lives after today. They’ll do fine without your salvation, thank you. For today you can pray up a storm if you’d like. Deirdre Molony needs it. She lost her son. Stay. Please. Do it for her. Me, I need my husband, sorry lot that he was sometimes, because I did love him and he loved me and treated me and the kids well. What more can you ask of a husband?
FATHER MCPHERSON: I am sorry for your loss. Certainly you must believe that.
DARBY: I have faith in what I know, Father; nothing more and nothing less.
FATHER MCPHERSON: I know that Jesus saves.
DILLON: By shopping at Wal-Mart.
DARBY: Dillon!
GILLY: He learns from the best.
MR. TOOMEY: Well, I should get going. I’ve got two more bodies this week to drain and embalm and try to make them look all peaceful and everything. You know how it is. (Long pause) Oh . . . goodbye. Thanks for coming. I’m glad you could make it. (Long pause) Oh, that’s right, this isn’t my funeral . . . it’s your . . . it’s in your . . . I’ll, uh . . . I guess I’ll see you later.
(Mr. Toomey exits)
FATHER MCPHERSON: I think I too will leave you alone with your husband.
DARBY: Thanks for your concern. I do appreciate the intention.
(Father McPherson exits; Quinn and Gilly cross to Darby and the children)
QUINN: Hey, Darby.
DARBY: So I see the Irish mafia is all out in full force. How’s he looking? Do I dare look at him? I don’t know if I can.
GILLY: Well, he was looking better, but Mr. Toomey fixed him back up again.
DARBY: What d’you mean?
GILLY: Well, Kieran had him all fixed up like a truck stop whore, but Toomey freaked out and cleaned him up.
DARBY: You didn’t? Tell me you didn’t.
KIERAN: You think I would do such a thing to one of my favorite cousins, on the day of his own wake? What kind of man do you think I am? I have more respect . . .
DARBY: I’m glad Mr. Toomey fixed him before I got here. (Beat) But I hope you took a picture first.
KIERAN: Didn’t think of it.
QUINN: But his mom liked it. She thought Toomey had put the ruddiness back in his face.
DARBY: Let’s maybe not share more. Would you boys mind if me and my little ones have some time alone here?
QUINN: Of course.
(The men start to exit)
GILLY: Ah, I need another Harp anyway.
KIERAN: It’s 12:15 already. I think the shebang’s starting at one.
GILLY (exiting): It’s after noon? In that case I think I’ll have me one of the Guinesses. I was saving ‘em for later in the day.
(They have exited; Darby crosses to the bed; the children cross to the other side; Darby closes her eyes and stays silent)
DILLON: You praying?
DARBY: No. I’m thinking. I’m imagining, remembering.
JILLIAN: Is Daddy asleep?
DARBY: Yes, Jillian, he is.
DILLON: No, Jillian, he’s dead.
JILLIAN: What?
DARBY: Dillon.
JILLIAN: What?
DILLON: What?
DARBY: Dillon’s right. Your Daddy’s dead. That means he is asleep, but he’s not going to wake up again.
JILLIAN: Can we buy an alarm clock?
DARBY: No, baby, he’s resting, with God.
JILLIAN: Is God dead too?
DARBY: No, he’s not.
DILLON: He’s sleeping. So I thought we didn’t believe in God.
DARBY (quietly): I don’t.
DILLON: Me neither. So what the fuck are you talking about? Why fill her mind with that kind of crap? God is dead.
DARBY: Don’t talk that way in front of your sister. Or your father.
DILLON: God, my father. I don’t think he heard me.
DARBY: Well, she did. Dillon, she needs a way to understand this. That’s all religion is, is a way to try to understand things that don’t make sense. Sometimes it’s easier to explain things that way. Or to understand them that way.
DILLON: You’re a hypocrite.
DARBY: Dillon, please, let it go. Not today. Please not today. Besides, she’s too young for this discussion. Just take a moment. Relax. Look at your father. This is your last chance.
DILLON: That’s not my father.
DARBY: It is. (Pause) He was a good man. You know that. He treated you well. He loved you. I hope you know that.
DILLON (gets up and runs out): That’s not him. It’s not true! Not true!
DARBY (looking after Dillon): Say goodbye to your Daddy, Jillian.
JILLIAN: Bye, Daddy.
DARBY (taking Jillian’s hand): Let’s go. It’s time to let some other people in. (They stop at the door and Darby yells out; Jillian waves goodbye from the door) It’s okay. You can come in now. (They exit; a moment later Martha and Eunice enter)
MARTHA: Have you heard how her boy, the sick one, how he is these days? I haven’t seen them in ages. Well, since the last time we met for a funeral, you know, which had to be at least two, maybe three weeks past? Or so. Don’t you think?
EUNICE: He died. The boy died.
MARTHA: No!
EUNICE: Yes, he was the funeral before that.
MARTHA: Before the last one? Two, three weeks ago?
EUNICE: Yes.
MARTHA: No. Wait. Was I there?
EUNICE: No. Wait. Yes.
MARTHA: No, the last one was the girl, the one who was—what do I want to say—you know, the slut, the one who—I don’t know, shall we say—shopped around after the store should have been closed. I know I didn’t go to that. I couldn’t stand that it was a full Mass of Catholic burial and she—being, you know—being such a . . .
EUNICE: Oh, the niece. Bernice’s niece. The slut. Oh, I thought she was nice.
MARTHA: Nice and slutty. But that’s between you and me, and now between her and God, may she rest in peace, which she never did here from what I hear. Rest, that is. She was a slut, if I do say so myself.
EUNICE: But nice. A nice slut. And a good mother. I liked her.
MARTHA: She had children?
EUNICE: Yes. Five.
MARTHA: Five? But she was only . . .
EUNICE: By six different fathers.
MARTHA: Six?
EUNICE: Yes, there was one infant never made it out of the womb.
MARTHA: Abortion?
EUNICE: Who?
MARTHA: Bernice’s niece.
EUNICE: Oh, no, her infant daughter never made it out of the womb. Not an abortion though. These things happen. Poor thing. Never baptized.
MARTHA: That is so sad. (Beat) I’m thinking for the children, of course, including the fetus. Someone has to think for the fetus. It deserved better. Poor thing, you’re right. Not making it out of the womb. But it was natural?
EUNICE: As natural as that can be. It was only a short time into it, so I guess it was a tiny fetus.
MARTHA: That is sad.
EUNICE: That it was tiny?
MARTHA: That it was dead.
EUNICE: Yes, of course. (Pause) You’d think God would have plenty of room in heaven for the tiny fetuses that never get a chance to get baptized, wouldn’t you? Heaven’s spacious. There should be room.
MARTHA: Think about it, my dear, if there was room enough for Sarah, remember how fat she was, there must be room for lots more up there.
EUNICE: Oh, she’s fat no more.
MARTHA: She was fat when they put her in the ground. I’m sure she’s lost a little since then. It’s been a while. It is sad about the fetus, though. I didn’t know that.
EUNICE: I thought you knew. Never baptized. I hope God makes room. Maybe He has a fetus corner up there somewhere. The thought of limbo, a bunch of fetuses in limbo with unbaptized adults, I don’t know. It’s not very . . .
MARTHA: Yes, it is sad. So the boy is dead, too? The sick one? No longer sick, but dead?
EUNICE: Yes, I think it was three funerals ago now that I do think about it.
MARTHA: You may be right. What disease was it that ravaged him so horribly? I can’t remember.
EUNICE: I don’t remember. But he didn’t die from that. He could have lived ten years more with that. Whatever it was.
MARTHA: So what took him? He couldn’t have been very old. I remember when he was just a toddler. Just walking around, stumbling, toddling all over, making strange with all the aunts and uncles.
EUNICE: He wasn’t old. He was the youngest.
MARTHA: That’s what I thought. The youngest.
EUNICE: Twelve.
MARTHA: He most certainly was not.
EUNICE: He was.
MARTHA: How can that be? I know he had a driver’s license. I saw him driving once, just months ago, with my own eyes.
EUNICE: It’s true. Youngest of twelve. I think sixteen.
MARTHA: Well, which is it, dear? Twelve or sixteen?
EUNICE: What? You’re confusing me.
MARTHA: How young was he?
EUNICE: The youngest of twelve; he was sixteen, I think. I think that’s what I said. Sometimes you don’t listen very well. You just like to hear the sound of your own voice. Like a bird in the morning, but it’s often morning all day.
MARTHA: I misunderstood. I thought you said he was twelve, which I just knew wasn’t true, but you really said sixteen, the youngest of twelve.
EUNICE: Yes, and his little brother looked up to him so.
MARTHA: Yes, he did. He did indeed. I remember that. The little one.
EUNICE: Yes, the little one.
MARTHA: The stepson.
EUNICE: Yes.
MARTHA: Now it all makes sense. (Pause) So anyways, what did he die of, if not the disease?
EUNICE: The stepson’s not dead yet, I don’t believe. There’s only been three children died in that family.
MARTHA: No, not the stepson. I was talking about the other boy, the youngest of the twelve, the sixteen-year old.
EUNICE: Oh, he was blinded you see . . .
MARTHA: He most certainly was not. I saw him driving one day, with my own eyes.
EUNICE: Then he would have been blind before the accident. I’ve seen how your eyes work.
MARTHA: The accident?
EUNICE: Yes, he got his license, first time he had freedom his whole life, went out for a drive . . .
MARTHA: Yes?
EUNICE: Oh, I can’t bear to think of it.
MARTHA: You have to. You can’t leave the story hanging there.
EUNICE: . . . oh, it’s a sad story, it is.
(Pause)
MARTHA: Yes?
EUNICE: Yes.
MARTHA: Do tell.
EUNICE: Well, okay. This is what I heard. Forty, fifty miles an hour—in a twenty-five mile zone—the car ran right into a hardware store, yard rake right through his eyes, blinded him instantly.
MARTHA: What a horrible way to go.
EUNICE: Well, that wasn’t it. He survived that, but he got scared and turned around and ran into the street, not waiting for traffic, of course, because he didn’t see any—he was blind—you know, the rake in the eye—and then he got hit by a truck.
MARTHA: And killed on the spot. Dear, dear, dear, that’s tragic.
EUNICE: No, the impact pushed him off the street into a bed of flowers in the park. Rose bed, I think it was.
MARTHA: Somebody else said that before they died, didn’t they?
EUNICE: Said what?
MARTHA: Rose bed.
EUNICE: I don’t know. Maybe. It does sound familiar.
MARTHA: Anyway, that doesn’t sound so bad, falling into a bed of roses.
EUNICE: No, except that he got stung by a bee and died within a minute. Turns out he was allergic to bees all those years. He went into anti-phallus shock, or whatever it’s called. No one ever knew it, about the allergy, what with all the hullabaloo over the disease, whatever that was. It’s a shame.
MARTHA: It is.
EUNICE: He could have lived another ten years with that disease, whatever it was. That’s what I heard. It may never have killed him. And who knows, a person lasts ten years with a disease maybe St. Jude will find a cure.
MARTHA: The patron of lost causes. (Kieran enters) Speaking of . . .
KIERAN: Afternoon, ladies. Ready to party?
EUNICE: Oh, no, we’re not. It’s a wake.
MARTHA: We’re here to pay respect to the dead.
KIERAN: You haven’t been talking about him behind his back, have you, Aunt Martha? Because that’s not very respectful of the dead, you know.
MARTHA: No, I wouldn’t. Eunice, let’s go see if we’re needed in the kitchen.
(They get up and exit; Kieran crosses toward the bed and looks at the body)
KIERAN: Dude, you’re too young. I miss you already, man. (Quinn enters and watches for a moment) I hope you like the party. I think some of the older folks, they don’t get it. They just wanna hear a priest drone on and say prayers and put you away and forget about you. Because that way they don’t have to think about their own time comin’. But I wanna remember you. I wanna party down with ya one last time. They don’t get it. (Pause) Fucker, ya left too early.
QUINN: Not all about fun and games, is it?
KIERAN: What’re ya talkin’ about?
QUINN: Death, it’s a bastard. I mean, it’s fun to get together with family and friends and reminisce and tell stories, but the person’s still gone when the stories are over, when all the beer’s drunk and gone. Then what? There’s no bringing him back. No matter how you do this, whether you have a regular funeral home and a Mass or whether you have an old-fashioned Irish wake, when you wake he’s still gone.
KIERAN: What do you know about anything?
QUINN: As much as you. Our family . . . you see, our family has had its share. Hell, you know that. The old joke was that we didn’t have to have reunions because we did it with funerals. I think by the time I was a legal adult I knew more people who had died than most people know by the time they’re 50.
KIERAN: I hear ya, dude. It sucks.
QUINN: Think about it. All the car crashes, aneurisms, heart attacks, and a few just plain strange passings. That’s our family. It’s the way it is. But then you add on the friends. More car crashes, a suicide, several murders.
KIERAN: One of those was family.
QUINN: That’s right. Two murdered friends, one in the family. And a few other strange ones, like my buddy who fell drunk trying to climb up to the bedroom of his frat house.
KIERAN: Damn. I don’t remember that one.
QUINN: Maybe I never told you. I remember when Richie was killed in Vietnam. He was my favorite cousin, you know.
(Lights flash and we are in the past; Richie is working and Quinn is behind him)
RICHIE: Why you always followin’ me around?
QUINN: ‘Cause I like watchin’ ya work.
RICHIE: Well, I ain’t doin’ nothin’ special. Makin’ fences. Good fences make good cow keepers.
QUINN: Wow.
RICHIE: What’re ya wowing?
QUINN: You say things that are deeper than your fence holes.
RICHIE: I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about, boy.
QUINN: You swore. I can’t.
RICHIE: Well, ya can, ya just don’t know how.
QUINN: I know how.
RICHIE: No, ya don’t. Let’s hear ya.
QUINN (after much effort): Poop.
RICHIE: That’s not swearin’. Say “fuck”. That’s swearin’.
QUINN: You said the “f” word!
RICHIE: Fuck yeah.
QUINN (scared): Oh, poop.
RICHIE: Sayin’ fuck ain’t gonna put ya in hell. It’s a venial sin. Killin’ people, fuckin’ your sister, that kind of thing, that’ll rot ya.
QUINN: Wow.
RICHIE: What’re ya wowin’?
QUINN: You’re so smart.
RICHIE: I ain’t smart. I’m a dumb farm boy. You’re smart. But you’re a dumb kid.
UNCLE SAM (popping head through curtain): Richie! Richie! Come here. Right now.
RICHIE: Oops, gotta go.
QUINN: Where ya goin’?
UNCLE SAM: Richie! Right now.
RICHIE: Uncle Sam’s calling me.
QUINN: We don’t have an Uncle Sam.
RICHIE: My country.
QUINN: Your country?
UNCLE SAM (pointing): I need you!
RICHIE: My country. (Beat) I say it with pride. (Beat) My country.
(He exits; Quinn looks sadly after him; a moment later Richie enters with Lieutenant)
LIEUTENANT: You’re a good soldier, boy. You learn fast.
RICHIE: Thank you, Lieutenant, sir!
LIEUTENANT: For an 18 year old boy.
RICHIE: Thank you, Lieutenant, sir!
LIEUTENANT: Watch how I kill gooks, boy!
RICHIE: Yes, sir.
(Lieutenant fires his rifle; we hear a scream off stage)
LIEUTENANT: Try it, boy!
RICHIE: Sir, yes, sir!
(Richie fires his rifle; we hear a scream off stage)
LIEUTENANT: Nice shot, boy.
RICHIE: Sir, that was a woman, sir.
LIEUTENANT: I said you learn well, boy.
RICHIE: Thank you, sir. May I have another?
LIEUTENANT: Sure, boy.
(Richie fires his rifle; we hear a scream off stage)
RICHIE: Sir.
LIEUTENANT (with pride): Nice shot, man.
(Lieutenant starts to walk off)
RICHIE: Sir, this area is booby-trapped.
LIEUTENANT: Man, I don’t care.
(Lieutenant exits with Richie close behind; before Richie exits a loud explosion is heard and a brilliant flash of light is seen; several rags and one body part fly onto the stage; two soldiers come in with a stretcher and put the pieces on it and leave; Richie takes out a piece of paper and pencil and starts to write; Ma enters opposite with a letter in her hand)
RICHIE & MA: Dear Ma, I feel as though I am following in the footsteps of a friend. He died by stepping on an American booby trap. I think I’ll be home soon. Love, Richie.
SOLDIER (entering): Sir, we have to leave now, Lieutenant.
RICHIE: Thank you, boy.
(Richie starts to exit)
SOLDIER: Sir, that area is booby trapped. They’re American traps, but it’s still dangerous.
RICHIE: Follow me, boy.
(Richie exits with the soldier following closely; a loud explosion is heard and a brilliant flash of light is seen; several rags and one body part fly onto the stage; two soldiers come in with a stretcher and put the pieces on it and leave; Uncle Sam comes in with an American flag and drapes it over the bed; family members, including Ma, enter and look at the casket, weeping; Taps begins to play; an explosion of rifles is heard three times; each one is an abstracted sound that feels like an eternity; each one is a jolt to Quinn and makes him start; Uncle Sam removes the flag from the bed, folds it, hands it to Ma, and exits; she looks after him for a moment, then exits; lights flash and there is a shift back to the present)
QUINN: Fuck. His country.
(Darby enters, with Jillian and Dillon)
DARBY: It’s time. Some of the neighbors are coming.
QUINN: We’ll leave you alone then.
KIERAN: Let’s find Gilly. Have a drink.
(Kieran and Quinn exit; Darby and her children sit)
DARBY: Okay, you two. The way this works is that people are going to come in and pay their respects to your father. They’ll say a few polite words to us, which they may or may not mean, then they’ll leave as quickly as they can, because nobody likes to be around death.
DILLON: So why can’t we leave?
DARBY: We’re family. His intimate family. We have to be here for these people. It’s all part of the ritual. They come to be polite, for us.
DILLON: Obviously it’s not for him. He’s gone.
DARBY: Right. You’re such a smart boy sometimes. And such a smart ass at others. So anyway we have to accept their politeness. And when one of their relatives dies we do the same thing for them. And nobody’s the worse for it.
DILLON: Why? This is stupid.
DARBY: I don’t know really. It is sort of stupid. We just have to, okay?
JILLIAN: Okay, Mom.
DARBY: Thank you, Jillian. Dillon, chin up. I hear someone coming.
(A moment later three men enter; they cross to the bed, and pause a moment)
OATS: Is that long enough, do you think?
BARLEY: Yeah, I think. I don’t know. Maybe just a moment more. That would be awfully quick for three prayers.
WHEAT: But we’d all be saying them at the same time, so’s it could be as fast as one quick prayer.
BARLEY: He’s got a point there, Oats.
OATS: Well, we’ve been discussing long enough we could have done the stations of the cross. Let’s go.
DARBY: Oh, Jesus, the three wise men. Your dad used to laugh at what idiots the three of them were.
DILLON: Here they come.
(The three men cross and stop in front of the family)
OATS: Don’t know if you remember me, Darby. Oats McFadden. And this here’s Barley O’Toole and Wheat Chaffee. You know, we all loved Adam. That’s why we stopped by. He was a good man.
DARBY: Of course I know all of you. How are you? And these are my children, Dillon and Jillian.
DILLON & JILLIAN: Hi.
DARBY: Of course I remember you. It’s been a while.
WHEAT: Well, it’s good to see you again. Sorry it has to be at something like this.
BARLEY: Last time I saw you I think you were knee high to a grasshopper. And now look at you. One of the prettiest young heifers in the county. Sorry to hear about your husband gettin’ drunk and hittin’ the cow. (To Dillon) And you, I think you were a baby, still stinking up diapers . . . spittin’ image of your dad, you are.
OATS: The Daleys contact you yet? About payment for her?
DARBY: Her? I’m not sure . . .
OATS: The cow. She was a prizewinning milker, she was. Now her teats [pronounced with a long E sound] are gone. I’m guessing they’ll want somethin’ for the loss.
DARBY: You might say I’m wanting for the loss.
WHEAT: Tits. You can say tits. Teats is citified. It sounds stupid.
BARLEY: Well, there is a young one here.
WHEAT: Okay, then, teats it is. For now. It’s a goddam shame we can’t have the language we grew up with, don’t you know. On the farm and in strip joints tits is good enough. I like tits.
OATS: I’m a leg man myself.
BARLEY: Point is on the farm we talk a little different than in social society. Wheat, you know better than that. (To Darby) Sorry.
DARBY: You might remember I grew up on a farm. No problem.
OATS: Anyway, Mrs., we’re all sorry to hear about your loss. He was a good man.
BARLEY: Everyone said so.
OATS: A good man.
WHEAT: If there’s anything we can do . . .
BARLEY: . . . anything at all . . .
OATS: . . . just let us know.
WHEAT: If you need to talk . . . you need a man around . . .
DARBY: I will. Thank you, gentlemen. Thanks for coming. My husband always spoke so highly of you.
OATS & DILLON: Did he?
DARBY (pushing Dillon back down into his seat): Yes.
OATS: That’s nice. Well, again, if you need anything just let us know.
WHEAT: Anything.
BARLEY: Anything at all.
DARBY: Okay.
BARLEY: Just call.
WHEAT: If there’s anything we can do for you.
DARBY: I will. Thank you.
WHEAT: Whatever it is.
OATS: We mean it. The phone’s at your fingertips. If there’s anything . . .
DILLON: Get the fuck outta here!
(There is an awkward silence)
DARBY: He’s a little stressed. You know, a boy’s father doesn’t die every day.
BARLEY: Well, that’s true, I guess.
OATS: I guess it’s time to go.
BARLEY: Well, seriously, if you do need anything . . . (Oats grabs him) . . . just call.
OATS: Come on, Barley, let’s go.
DARBY: There’s food and beer in the kitchen.
OATS & BARLEY: Oh!
BARLEY: Sorry for your loss.
(Oats pulls him away; Wheat crosses behind them)
WHEAT: I didn’t scream at anybody when my dad died.
BARLEY: Nope, that was sort of rude. He is just like his Dad. Looks like the bastard and acts like him, too.
(They exit; as they do Estella Mann enters; she crosses to the body and stops for a moment)
DILLON: Who’s that?
DARBY: Estella Mann. She’s dated half the married men in the town.
DILLON: How?
DARBY: Secret charm, I guess. It’s not visible.
(Estella crosses to them)
ESTELLA: Hello, dear.
DARBY: Hi Estella.
ESTELLA: Hi, children. You must be very sad today.
JILLIAN: Hi.
DILLON: Duh.
ESTELLA: Well, cheer up. Life’s for the living, as they say. I know it feels bad now, but time does heal all wounds.
DARBY: Thanks for such thoughtful words. I know how hard that must be for you to say.
ESTELLA: I am so sorry for your loss. He was a good sport.
DARBY: He always said the same about you. Well, everyone does.
ESTELLA: Believe me, I am sorry. Did he have insurance? Will you be getting some money?
DARBY: I haven’t begun to. . .
ESTELLA: I hope so. He didn’t always take care of things you know.
DARBY: No, he . . .
ESTELLA: Well, if you need anything, please feel free to call. Any time, day or night. I can be a good friend when you need one.
DILLON: What number?
ESTELLA: It’s in the book. Estella Mann. M-A-N-N. Two N’s. Do take care and again, I’m so sorry. I wish I could see you under better circumstances. Call if you need anything. It’s in the book.
(She crosses away and out)
DILLON: And on bathroom walls all over town.
DARBY: Dillon!
DILLON: You said it.
DARBY: Well, I didn’t say that.
DILLON: No, but it is. I always wondered who she was. (Deirdre enters and crosses to the body) Hi, Grandma.
DEIRDRE: He looks paler than he did earlier. The blood must be leaving his face.
DARBY: I think the blood . . .
DEIRDRE: Nothing lasts in this world. Nothing lasts. He looked so good before and now look at him.
(Deirdre crosses to sit opposite of Darby and her family; Johnny Hunter enters and crosses to the body; he nods to her)
JOHNNY: Afternoon.
(He stops at the body)
DEIRDRE: Young man. What’s your name?
JOHNNY HUNTER: Johnny Hunter, ma’am.
DEIRDRE: Which Hunter family? Is your father Johnny, Senior or are you Jimmy’s boy?
JOHNNY: Neither. Their nephew. Bobby’s boy. On Route Four.
DEIRDRE: Oh, yes. I should have seen the resemblance. You look just like your father.
JOHNNY: I’m sorry about your troubles, ma’am.
(He closes his eyes in prayer)
DEIRDRE: Which? My troubles are never-ending.
(He opens his eyes and crosses to Darby and the children)
JOHNNY: I’m sorry about your troubles. I knew Mr. Molony from the tavern. He was a good man and a heckuva darts player.
DARBY: He was.
JOHNNY: If there’s anything I can do for you, give me a call.
DARBY: I will.
JOHNNY: It’s the least I can do for all the beer he bought me.
DARBY: Thank you. Aren’t you a minor?
JOHNNY: No, farmer. Uh, well, goodbye now. Am I supposed to say something to the kids? Hi, kids. Better behave. Now your dad can see everything.
(He crosses away just as Bubber Jones enters)
DEIRDRE (as he’s crossing to the body): Hello, Bubber. Good to see you.
BUBBER: Sorry it’s under these circumstances.
(He stops at the body for a moment)
DEIRDRE (to Darby): It looks like all the Protestants are coming at one time.
(Bubber crosses to Darby; as he does Miles Millstone enters and crosses to the body)
DARBY: Kids, this is Bubber Jones. These are my children, Dillon and Jillian.
BUBBER: I’m so sorry for your loss. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.
DARBY: I’ll do that, thanks.
BUBBER: I’m good with the belt if the kids ever need it.
DARBY: Uh, no, I . . . thanks, but no . . .
(Bubber exits as Miles crosses to her; as he does the Cattons enter and cross to the body)
MILES: Hi.
DARBY: Kids, Miles Millstone.
MILES: Too bad about this. He was a good man for a Catholic. He was so young.
DARBY: Yes, I know.
MILES: You know if you need anything . . .
DARBY: I’ll call, yes, thank you.
MILES: Really, he was a good man. Trust me. He paid all his gambling debts. You don’t find a man like that every day.
(Miles exits as the Cattons cross to her; as they do other unnamed townsmen start to enter, until there is a line waiting to view the body and say their piece)
DARBY: Mr. Catton, Mrs. How are you?
MR. CATTON: Better than you, I’m sure. Sorry about your loss.
MRS. CATTON: I know how it feels. Don’t I, honey?
MR. CATTON: Yes, you . . .
DARBY: No, you . . .
MRS. CATTON: If you need anything.
DARBY: Thanks.
MRS. CATTON: These must be your children. We left the boy and the girl at home. To protect them, you know. We didn’t know it would be an open viewing after hearing what happened.
DARBY: I see.
(A line has formed behind the Cattons; Darby tries to look around them; Deirdre crosses over and sits next to the children)
MR. CATTON: Well, dear, we should go. There’s people waiting. Again, sorry for your loss.
MRS. CATTON: We should get together . . .
DARBY: Yes.
MRS. CATTON: . . . under better circumstances.
(They cross away; the next person steps up; after each one says his/her lines they move to the back of the line)
TOWNSPERSON 1: I’m terribly sorry about your loss.
DARBY: Thanks.
TOWNSPERSON 2: I wish this could be under better circumstances.
DARBY: Yes, I do, too.
TOWNSPERSON 3: If you need anything you know where to find me.
DARBY: I do, thanks.
TOWNSPERSON 4: He was a good man, he was.
DARBY: Yes, I thought so.
TOWNSPERSON 5: I’m so sorry about your loss.
DARBY: Thank you.
TOWNSPERSON 6: This could be under better circumstances.
DARBY: Yes, that’s true.
TOWNSPERSON 7: Please call if you need anything.
DARBY: Thanks, I will.
TOWNSPERSON 8: He was definitely a good man.
DARBY: Yes, he was.
TOWNSPERSON 9: I’m sorry about your loss.
DARBY: Thanks.
TOWNSPERSON 10: Could be under better circumstances.
DARBY: Yes.
TOWNSPERSON 11: Call if you need anything.
DARBY: Thanks.
TOWNSPERSON 12: He was a good man.
DARBY: Yes.
TOWNSPERSON 13: Sorry about your loss.
DARBY: Thanks.
TOWNSPERSON 14: Be under better circumstances.
DARBY: Yes.
TOWNSPERSON 15: If you need anything.
DARBY. Thanks.
TOWNSPERSON 16: Was a good man.
DARBY: Yes.
TOWNSPERSON 17: About your loss.
TOWNSPERSON 18: Under better circumstances.
TOWNSPERSON 19: You need anything.
TOWNSPERSON 20: A good man.
DARBY: Yes, thanks.
TOWNSPERSON 21: Your loss.
TOWNSPERSON 22: Better circumstances.
TOWNSPERSON 23: Need anything.
TOWNSPERSON 24: Good man.
DARBY: Thanks, yes.
(As the townspersons say each of the following, they exit)
TOWNSPERSON 25: Your.
TOWNSPERSON 26: Circumstances.
TOWNSPERSON 27: Need.
TOWNSPERSON 28: Good.
TOWNSPERSON 25: Your.
TOWNSPERSON 26: Circumstances.
TOWNSPERSON 27: Need.
TOWNSPERSON 28: Good.
DARBY: Yes. (Pause) Yes.
(The last of the townspersons has exited; Darby lets out a sigh)
DEIRDRE: People are so good.
DARBY: They certainly try. But I’m glad they’re gone and it’s just family now.
KIERAN (entering): They’re not all gone. There’s a bunch of them out eating in the kitchen.
OATS (off stage): We’ll be leaving now. Thanks for the food. Remember if you need anything just give a holler. We’ll just go out the back door.
DEIRDRE: Thanks, Oats.
(He exits; Gilly and Quinn enter)
DARBY (laughing): Sometimes Adam called them the Grain Brains, because of their nicknames and all.
DEIRDRE: I don’t get it.
DARBY: Grain.? Brain.?
DEIRDRE: I still don’t get it. I’m a little flaky. Is that what you mean? That I’m a flake, like cereal? You kids confuse me.
DARBY: It’s okay. Kieran, now what?
KIERAN: This is the best. I’ve been waiting all day for this. I hired a keener.
GILLY: What the hell’s a keener? You didn’t hire a stripper, did you? For a funeral? That’s just not right. Maybe later in the day.
KIERAN: It’s not a funeral, it’s an Irish wake. And a keener is an Irish singer, a mourner. She mourns for the family.
DEIRDRE: I think we can do that for ourselves. It’s my son in the bed there. If I have to hire someone to express my own sadness then it’s a sorry sort of shape I’m in.
KIERAN: Wait ‘til you hear it. (He crosses to the door) You can come in now. (The Keener enters) Really, wait ‘til you hear it. It’s authentic.
KEENER: I don’t know about authentic, I’m from Boston originally. I learned it on my own. Or with the help of my grandmother. She remembered it from a visit once to Ireland when she was 12. But I’m from Boston, so I don’t know how authentic it is.
QUINN: Boston’s about as Irish as it gets in this country. Your dad a cop?
KEENER: No, he was a . . . oh, I can’t bear to think . . . (She starts to wail in an agonizing voice, a piercing, almost inhuman wail of pain and terror, while at the same time rocking back and forth on her heels)
KIERAN: It’s all right, it’s all right. You’re here now. It’s okay. It’s okay.
MARTHA (entering): For the love of Mary, who brought the banshee?
KIERAN: It’s not a banshee. It’s a keener.
DARBY: She. I think you can say she.
KIERAN: She’s a keener.
GILLY: She’s a screamer.
MARTHA: Whatever she is she scared the bejesus out of your Aunt Eunice; chased her right out of the house. What’s a keener?
KIERAN: She is.
KEENER: It’s an ancient Irish art of wailing at wakes and funerals.
QUINN: I thought you said she was a singer.
KIERAN: It’s a type of singing, a very specialized type of singing.
MARTHA: Well it sounded like a hound under a full moon. Please, dear, refrain.
(The keener goes into the same agonizing wailing and rocking as before; Martha exits)
KIERAN: Whoa, whoa, stop dudette. It’s okay. Stop.
KEENER: But she asked for a refrain.
KIERAN: This is . . . that’s what you do? I thought you were just screaming about your dear old dead dad.
KEENER: I was; that’s what keening is.
KIERAN: Oh, man, I paid that kind of money for that?
KEENER: You asked for keening.
GILLY: Can you do something else? Do ya know When Irish Eyes Are Smiling? Or Danny Boy? Now that’s Irish music.
(Keener starts wailing and rocking again)
GILLY: Oh, Jeez-uzz! That’s not The Road to Tipperary that’s for sure.
DEIRDRE: More like the road to hell.
KIERAN: Hey, hey, there’s no need to cry.
KEENER: Did you hear the songs he asked for?
QUINN: How about something else then? What else do you know?
KEENER: I’m paid to keen.
DEIDRE: Then keen and be done with it. (Under her breath; to Darby) Before Christ comes down from his cross and slaps her across the face. (To Keener) Just go ahead and do it. We’ll all shut up and listen for a moment.
(Keener starts her wailing and rocking again; as she continues Darby joins in with a real lament, followed by Jillian, Dillon, and then others; Aunt Martha comes in and raises her hand to get them all to stop; they do; Deirdre is the last one to finish; after they’re done there is a moment of silence)
AUNT MARTHA: What the fuck?
(Pause)
DEIRDRE: It felt good to get that out of my system.
QUINN: I didn’t know you had it in you, Aunt Deirdre.
DEIRDRE: Well, you know I don’t usually sing in public but I figured it couldn’t be worse than what anyone else was doing. And it did feel good, oddly enough.
DARBY: I have to say that was one of the more unique things our family has ever done.
GILLY: In a long genealogy of uniqueness.
QUINN: Who knows, it may have been healthy for us. (To Keener) Thanks. Thank you very much. I mean it. You helped our family mourn and honestly we’re not so good with real emotions most of the time. So thank you for coming to us and helping us out.
KEENER: Am I done then?
QUINN: I think you’re done.
KIERAN: But I paid for a whole hour.
KEENER: Yes, he asked for an hour.
KIERAN: She’s only been here five, six minutes at the most.
QUINN: I think we got an hour’s worth in 10 percent of it, Kieran. Take it as a bargain and let her go.
KIERAN: Okay, you got a deal tonight, hon.
DEIRDRE: Honey, do you take tips?
KEENER: Yes, I do.
DEIRDRE: Stay away from piano bars.
QUINN (reaching into his pocket and handing her some cash): Here. That was a joke. She has a cruel sense of humor sometimes.
KEENER: Thank you. I’m sorry for your loss. (She crosses to door, then crosses back to Quinn and hands him a business card) My card. Should you ever need my services again.
QUINN: I’ll die before I need keening, so the card won’t do much good.
KEENER: Not for yourself, you silly man.
QUINN: I know. Thanks again.
(She crosses and exits; a moment later she steps back in with a quizzical look on her face, then exits a final time)
DARBY (to Keener): There’s food and beer in the kitchen. (To Kieran) So Kieran, how do you top that?
(Father McPherson and Mr. Toomey enter)
FATHER MCPHERSON: It’s time for the rosary. Everyone set?
(Mr. Toomey passes out rosaries to everyone)
MR. TOOMEY: Here you go. Here you go. Here you go . . .
JILLIAN: Mommy, what’s this?
DARBY: It’s called a rosary.
DILLON: They’re for fashion, like a necklace. You wear it with a lot of black clothes.
(Dillon and Jillian put theirs around their necks)
DARBY: Dillon, your grandmother’s here.
(She takes the rosary off of Jillian’s neck and puts it in her hands)
DILLON: So?
DARBY: This has meaning for her. Act like you respect it.
JILLIAN: What is it?
DARBY: Dillon, I’m not kidding. Take it off. Now.
(He does so, but the moment she’s not looking puts it back over his neck)
FATHER MCPHERSON: First of all, let me express my condolences for your deep loss. We are gathered here to pray a rosary for Adam Molony, a good man if ever there was one. Part of the tradition in our Church is to pray the rosary for the dear departed. So if everyone has one we’ll get started. In the name of the Father . . .
JILLIAN: Daddy?
FATHER MCPHERSON: . . . and of the Son . . .
DILLON: Me.
FATHER MCPHERSON: . . . and of the Holy Spirit.
(Deirdre screams)
DEIRDRE: I’m sorry. I thought I saw a ghost or something. I don’t like the idea of having dead bodies in the house.
GILLY: The funeral’s tomorrow, Mom. He’ll be moved then.
DEIRDRE: You mean I have to sleep with him in the house? Nobody told me. Kieran, you never told me that.
KIERAN: We have people assigned to watch the body. It’s part of the tradition. He won’t go anywhere. Any more.
FATHER MCPHERSON: Can we . . . we were in the middle of something here. Something a little more spiritual than discussion of spirits.
DEIRDRE: Go ahead, Father. It’s your rosary.
QUINN: Yes, it is. Why are we doing this?
DEIRDRE: Because you always recite a rosary at a wake.
GILLY: But this is an Irish wake. Do we have to? None of us frickin’ believe in all the Catholic mumbo-jumbo.
DEIRDRE: Hold your tongue, Gilly. If I have to say a rosary for each of you it’ll be done.
KIERAN: Hey, hey, hey, everyone! Unfortunately it’s one of the traditions. Believe it or not I was the one who invited Father McPherson to do it.
FATHER MCPHERSON: A rosary is not said for tradition. It’s said out of faith. For those who want to say one over the body please join me. The rest of you can go get drunk for all I care. (They all get up fast and exit except for Deirdre and Kieran) I’d rather that than you sully the rosary by pretending.
DEIRDRE: Father, that’s not very Christian.
FATHER MCPHERSON: I’m not trying to be Christian. I’m trying to lead some prayers.
DEIRDRE: Kieran, you’re joining the rosary. You’re the only one left with faith enough for it.
KIERAN: It’s tradition. I have to.
FATHER MCPHERSON: Do you remember how?
KIERAN: I’m sure it’ll come back.
FATHER MCPHERSON: Do it out of faith, boy, out of reverence, or don’t do it at all. If it doesn’t mean anything to you than you shouldn’t participate. (He starts speaking incredibly fast): I believe in God the Father almighty, Creator of heaven and earth; and of Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord; Who was conceived by the Holy Spirit . . . (A wailing starts in the kitchen; he stops for a moment; the Keener suddenly comes into the room, wailing and rocking as before) . . . Oh, God, no, not . . . (She wails, but quietly) . . . born of the Virgin Mary . . . (the lights begin to fade to black) . . . suffered under Pontius Pilate . . . (there is a wail to match great suffering; lights are out; the keening and praying continue, overlapping each other at a fast pace until it is a cacophony; the lights start to slowly come back) , , , Hail, Holy Queen, Mother of Mercy, our life, our sweetness and our hope! To thee do we cry . . . (the wailing gets louder for just a moment) . . . poor banished children of Eve; to thee do we send up our sighs . . . (the wailing gets even louder for a couple of moments) . . . mourning and weeping in this valley of tears . . . (the lights are back at full; the Keener is practically screaming now; Father McPherson mumbles his way through the rest of the rosary) . . . Amen.
DEIRDRE: Amen. (She glares at the Keener, whose wailing quiets a bit) Amen. (She glares again, and the volume goes down again) Amen! (The Keener stops)
KEENER: It’s a special rosary keen I learned from my great aunt, Mathilde.
FATHER MCPHERSON: There’s no such thing as a rosary keen.
KEENER: You just heard it. It puts me closer to God.
KIERAN (as he’s exiting): And us, too, I think.
FATHER MCPHERSON: I must go, too. It’s getting late. I need to rest my ears before tomorrow.
(Father McPherson and Mr. Toomey exit)
KEENER: I do what I do for the glory of God.
DEIRDRE: You are a good Catholic then, a woman of faith.
KEENER: I couldn’t do this work if I weren’t.
DEIRDRE: I appreciate your faith, dear, just not the way you get to it.
KEENER: May I ask a personal question?
DEIRDRE: Sure, go ahead.
KEENER: What happened to you?
DEIRDRE: To make me so bitter? I’ve led . . .
KEENER: No, the uh . . . (she makes hand signals to reference the antlers)
DEIRDRE: Oh, that. I tend to forget about it.
KEENER: Do you mind me asking?
DEIRDRE: No, given that you didn’t seem to mind me pointing out the faults of your voice. I was a young woman once, like you, carefree, like the young ones you see around here today. Funerals don’t even make them realize how precious everything is and how you won’t stay young forever. We were in a car, my husband and I, may he rest in peace, and a deer jumped out and crashed right through the windshield and right into my chest. One point lit right next to my heart so they couldn’t remove it and I thought, well, I’m lucky it wasn’t a moose, I guess. Then I thought it must be a sign from God, a constant reminder that we are here to suffer, that we can’t escape it. So I had them cut the deer away and leave the antlers in to protect my heart so I could wear the antlers proudly like some kind of deer stigmata, except it wasn’t on my hands and feet, just my chest, which I guess really isn’t stigmata after all. If it were on the side, maybe, but then it doesn’t ever bleed either. It just sits there sort of festering and . . .
KEENER: It must be painful.
DEIRDRE: Oh, no, it isn’t, I don’t feel anything. It’s more emotionally painful than anything. You can’t imagine being the butt of so many jokes. Nice rack, that sort of thing, even from my own son. Hunting season—better find some orange clothes! Oh deer, I didn’t see you. Is this where I hang my hat? They’re never-ending. Got a buck I could borrow?
(Keener, after giggling slightly through the previous jokes, starts laughing; Deirdre looks at her; she changes the laughter into a strange keen and then looks up at Deirdre)
KEENER: Antler keen.
DEIRDER: I could go on and on, each one as cruel as the last and even moreso when you’ve heard each one at least a hundred times. Listen, it’s time for me to do my daily Novena. Would you care to join me?
KEENER: Sure. That would be nice. I do a Novena every day for world peace. What do you pray for?
DEIRDRE: That my boys grow up and straighten out and come back to God. It’s too late for one of them.
KEENER: You never know, he may have turned back to the church just as he was dying. That’s what a lot of Catholics do. They live their sinful lives and then sneak back in under the wire. You can hope he did that.
(Deirdre takes her out; as they are exiting a group of relatives comes in opposite—Darby, Dillon, Jillian, Kieran, Gilly, and Quinn; they all have beers and sandwiches; Kieran is carrying a twelve-pack)
GILLY: I see you saved a little money on the beer, Kieran. Should have gotten something better.
JILLIAN: This beer sucks.
DILLON: Drink it and shut up. It’s good for you.
DARBY: Who gave her the beer? And you?
DILLON: Uncle Gilly.
DARBY: Gilly.
GILLY: For fuck’s sake, their Dad died, let ‘em have a beer. They’ll sleep better.
DARBY (to the kids): Just one.
(They all grow silent, a lull in the conversation, and just sit for a moment; Kieran gets up and takes a beer, crosses, and puts it in the bed, then crosses back to them; during the following Dillon crosses to the bed and sits next to the body)
KIERAN: Not a party if he’s not drinking with us.
QUINN: Remember the time he got drunk and took his car for a drive on the golf course? I thought your mother was going to kill him.
GILLY: He didn’t. Where was I?
DARBY: Probably passed out in the back seat.
KIERAN: You’d be the caddy, if anything. No, don’t use the nine iron. Use the tire iron on the restaurant window.
GILLY: I wasn’t there. Must have been when I was in Mississippi.
QUINN: I don’t even remember you living in Mississippi. When was that?
GILLY: ‘Bout ten years ago, or so.
QUINN: That’s about when the golf course thing happened. What were you doing there?
GILLY: I was working as a roofer.
KIERAN: For a day job.
DARBY: What’s that mean?
GILLY: Don’t. There’s younger ones here. They don’t need to hear it.
KIERAN (quietly, to Darby): He was about the biggest drug dealer in Jackson.
GILLY: You didn’t need to do that.
DARBY: Oh, I don’t care, Gilly. We all have our history.
GILLY: I got busted. Spent two years in prison. I had a friend in Jackson who’d forward letters to Mom for me. So she thought I was this successful roofer when in reality I was working in the prison laundry. It’d kill her if she ever knew. As if she hasn’t suffered enough in this world.
(Darby notices Dillon crying and crosses to him; the rest notice and go mostly silent)
QUINN: Poor kid.
DARBY: It’s all right, Dillon.
GILLY: Yeah.
DILLON: No, it’s not. I had all these plans for college and how I was going to make him proud of me.
DARBY: He can still be proud of you.
DILLON: He’s dead, Mom. Don’t pretend he ain’t.
DARBY: Yes, he is. And if there’s any kind of anything after this I’m sure he’s watching us with love. And you know what? You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone. Your Dad and I have always been proud of you. You don’t have to make him proud—he was already.
DILLON: I’m going to miss him.
DARBY: I know, hon, believe me I know.
(She hugs him; Ed and Tim enter)
ED: Hello, all.
TIM: Hi.
GILLY: You’re a little late, Uncle Ed.
ED: You know how it is. The cows need milking when it’s milking time. You can’t change the schedule on ‘em, even for a dead man. Let me check ‘im out. (He crosses to the body) Darby, Dillon, damn I’m sorry for this. He was too young, way too young. What d’ya need from me?
DARBY: Ed, hi. Tim, you can come in.
ED: He’s being shy, as always. Well, he looks good. It’s easier to make ‘em look good when they’re that young. It’s a damn shame. What’re you going to do?
GILLY: I’m getting another sandwich. Anyone else?
(Kieran raises his hand)
QUINN: I’ll come with you. We might as well just bring a bunch back in. Hungry crowd.
DARBY: Thanks for being here. I know how hard it is for you to get away from the farm.
KIERAN: I’ll take another sandwich.
(Quinn and Gilly exit)
ED: It’s a bit of a drive.
DARBY: It means a lot to me.
ED: If it was just chickens and cats, no big deal. But a cow’s on a routine and you gotta follow it. We can’t stay long ‘cause I gotta get up early in the morning, too. Where’s my sister?
DARBY: Off praying, I’m guessing. I think it’s Novena time. Every day about this time.
ED: The woman prays more than a monk.
DARBY: She does. She just finished a rosary. It’s not for her, though. She prays for everyone around and never saves one for herself.
ED: She’s with Riona no doubt. Deirdre’s always been religious like that, but Riona . . . Riona’s still too young to be that faithful. That girl is so religious I’d swear her rosary was a chastity belt. I thought she was heading for the convent ‘til she married and divorced that Gallagher guy.
DARBY: I think we all did.
ED: It was a shock. The meek Catholic girl marrying out of the church, to a fallen-away Catholic. I don’t know if Deirdre ever got over it.
DARBY: I think she has. You know Riona got an annulment and came back to the faith.
ED: Yeah, I remember now. So she could still become a nun. With the annulment. It’s as if it never happened in the first place. Maybe I could have my youth annulled. (He looks at her) Anyway. Anyway, it’s tough. I’m sorry. I always liked him. How are you doing?
DARBY: As good as can be expected. It can’t get worse, can it? Thanks for asking. Thanks for caring enough to ask.
ED: I’ve been through it.
DARBY: I know.
ED: And it’s not always good but you’re right—it won’t get worse.
DARBY: It does mean a lot that you’re here.
ED: Wouldn’t have missed it, cows or no.
DARBY: Anyway, I think Deirdre’s in the bedroom praying and I think Riona went for a walk. She’s been very quiet today. I’m sure they’ll both want to see you. You don’t have to leave right away, do you? Why don’t you stay and have a drink and a bite to eat?
ED: I think I will. (Yelling across the room to Tim) Tim, come over here, check out the body. That’s what we’re here for.
(Gilly and Quinn return with more sandwiches)
QUINN: Eat up, everyone.
GILLY: Drink up, everyone.
KIERAN: Plenty of food, Ed. Molony bologna and such.
(Ed, Dillon, and Darby cross back to the others as Tim crosses to view the body; Riona enters)
RIONA: Oh, hi Ed.
ED: Ah, there she is. My favorite niece on this side of the family. And my godchild. We were just talking about you.
GILLY: Riona, where the hell you been?
RIONA: I went for a walk.
ED: Riona, good to see ya. It’s been awhile.
RIONA: Yes it has.
(He hugs her)
ED: How’re ya doing? Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t you come stay at the farm for a little while? You used to love that when you were a little girl. Might be good for you.
RIONA: Me and Quinn, we both did. Thanks, maybe I will. I remember how Quinn used to follow Richie around and I used to follow you around.
ED: I don’t like thinking about Richie. That was a long time ago.
(He stands with an intense glaze in his eyes as Riona continues talking)
RIONA: And we both had our favorite cows. Mine was Greta. And Quinn I don’t remember . . .
QUINN: I don’t know what her name was. I called her Milk Maid Marion.
RIONA: Well, we did have our favorites . . . until the day . . . (looking at Ed) . . . you sent mine off in that big semi truck. I still remember you poking at her with that electric prod thing. Every time you jabbed her in the ass end I swear I felt it. (She stares vacantly into space for a moment, then starts talking very loudly) Greta, no, don’t get in the truck! Stop! (Almost sobbing) Stop. (Suddenly) Someone grab that prod and shove it up his ass—see how he likes it! Don’t go with them, Greta! Jump down, girl, jump down! Don’t you know where you’re going? (Pause) Because I do. (She catches herself and looks around at the group; pause) Oh, sorry . . . I was just . . . Some thoughts came into my mind . . . Now I have an image of Dad . . . when he was in the hospital . . . all the shots . . . then I never saw him again. (Pause) Oh, I don’t know, Ed, maybe I won’t. I don’t really have time right now.
ED (coming out of his reverie): Well, if you change your mind it’s an open invitation.
RIONA: Thanks.
DILLON: I could come visit, Uncle Ed.
GILLY: I don’t think I’ve been there since you ran the cheese factory.
ED: I don’t like thinking about the cheese factory. (He stands for a moment with an intense gaze in his eyes; then comes out of it and sees Jillian) Hey, Jillian, come ‘ere. Let’s go find your grandma. I have to see her before I go.
(He takes Jillian’s hand and leads her out of the room; Tim follows)
DILLON: Nobody knows I exist.
KIERAN: Whoa. Ed just took a trip somewhere.
GILLY: Couple of ‘em.
QUINN (to Gilly): Because you brought up the cheese factory.
KEIRAN: So what exactly happened there anyway? I mean the guy was seriously in fuckin’ la-la land there for a while.
RIONA: He lost his little girl. Can you blame him?
KIERAN: Yeah, I know that, but I don’t think I ever really heard.
RIONA: There’s a family story.
DARBY: That’s a surprise.
GILLY: Terrible story. It was a wheel of cheese. Brick, I think . . .
QUINN: Okay, I know the story. The way I heard it—and I think I got this from Aunt Eunice—was this. Ed’s little girl—what was her name?—was in the factory playing around, running around in the middle of all the cheeses . . .
(Lights shift into flashback; little girl enters in corner; she sings her ABC’s as she jumps rope; suddenly a giant wheel of cheese collapses on her; she screams for help and struggles to get out from under it, but to no avail)
GIRL (as she stops moving under the cheese): Ow.
(Ed and a farmhand enter)
ED: What was that!?
FARMHAND: I don’t know. I thought I heard a scream.
ED: Oh, my God, a brick wheel fell on her. Lift it, quick.
(They struggle with lifting it)
FARMHAND: This weighs a ton.
ED: Keep trying.
(They manage to pull it off of her and push it away, but it’s too late)
FARMHAND: I don’t think she’s breathing.
ED: God, why!? She’s an innocent girl.
FARMHAND: She’s not breathing.
ED: What kind of god . . . ?
FARMHAND: She . . . she’s not . . .
ED: . . . not fair . . .
FARMHAND: . . . she’s not . . .
ED: . . . breathing . . .
FARMHAND: . . . breathing . . .
ED: . . . you can’t . . .
FARMHAND (pleading): . . . breathe . . .
ED: . . . breathe . . .
FARMHAND: . . . breathe . . .
ED: . . . please . . .
FARMHAND: . . . breathe . . .
ED: . . . please . . .
(Pause)
FARMHAND: Dead. (Ed holds her for a moment, then picks her up and exits with her) Damn brick! Damn cheese. (He exits; lights shift back to present)
GILLY: If only they’d been making Swiss that day she might have survived.
DARBY: You know, I think it was a cheese factory wall that fell on her. Brick wall. Not brick cheese. Collapsed. That’s what I always heard.
QUINN: I heard wheel of cheese.
GILLY: I heard wheel, too, but now that I think of it wall makes more sense. The old cheese factory was still there when I was a kid and I do remember part of the wall was gone.
KIERAN: And all the windows.
GILLY: So it could have been a brick wall rather than a wheel of brick.
KIERAN: Either way she was done in by dairy.
DARBY: And Deirdre hasn’t served cheese since.
KIERAN: Lactose intolerant.
DARBY: No, it’s a protest against cheese because of the incident.
KIERAN: I meant the girl, not Deirdre. It was a bad joke.
DARBY: Yes, it was.
(Pause)
RIONA: I don’t really like curds.
QUINN: I still think it was a wheel of cheese.
RIONA: But I don’t think I’m allergic or anything. The squeaking just goes right through me . . . on the good curds . . . you know . . . how they squeak against your teeth when they’re supposed to be good . . . sends chills up and down my spine . . . makes me want to scream . . . but I don’t mind them when they’re not squeaky . . . they taste all right . . . I guess I just don’t like food that makes sounds . . . two senses at once . . .
DARBY: That almost makes sense. Otherwise your mother would be protesting cheese factories instead of protesting cheeses.
RIONA: She would never protest Jesus! She loves Him.
QUINN: Cheeses, dear.
KIERAN: And now milk.
DILLON: Chill.
GILLY: Okay, okay. Let’s agree to disagree. A wheel of cheese makes for a better story, I think. And in our family a better story is far more important than what really happened.
DILLON: Maybe we should ask Ed and get the real facts.
QUINN: He won’t talk about it.
DILLON: Yes!
QUINN: No. No, he won’t. Besides, I know it was a wheel of cheese.
DARBY: Pretty sure it was a wall.
GILLY: Maybe it was a well. Maybe she fell down a brick well into a vat of boiling cheese. Let’s let it go before Ed comes back.
KIERAN: I like that story best.
(Ed, Tim and Jillian enter)
DARBY: Quiet, they are back.
(Everyone stops talking; a moment passes)
QUINN: Where’s Deirdre?
ED: Looks like we’re a conversation stopper. Talking about Tim behind his back? Is that it? The fact that he’s living in Sin Francisco . . . San Fun Crisco . . . San Fran? Still single? Working in the service industry in a hotel? Well, you should all be ashamed of yourselves. He has a new girlfriend, you know. I’ll bet you didn’t know that.
QUINN & GILLY: Really?
QUINN: Do share.
TIM (nervously): Oh, she’s beautiful. Five-eleven. Big-boned gal. Long, poofy hair.
GILLY: Poofy.
QUINN: That’s nice. What’s she do?
TIM: She’s a dancer in some clubs there. And a singer. Well, more a lip-syncher.
ED: He sent me photos. She’s quite a looker.
KIERAN: Five-eleven. Wow, that’s taller than a lot of dudes.
QUINN: How do you like San Francisco? Ever get to the Castro?
TIM: Yeah, I live right around . . . wait, where did you say?
QUINN: Let’s just say I didn’t say Nob Hill or the Tenderloin. Another neighborhood. A little more festive. You probably wouldn’t know it.
(Deirdre enters)
TIM: Say, are there more sandwiches?
DEIRDRE: By the way, Tim, I forgot to ask . . . how’s the boyfriend?
(Everyone stops and turns to her)
TIM: Pardon me?
DEIRDRE: Ed sent me a copy of the photo. Obviously a man in drag. He looks cute.
TIM: I don’t know what you’re talking about. What photo?
DEIRDRE: The photo that Ed sent. Don’t worry about me. I don’t care. The Pope always says to love the sinner and hate the sin.
RIONA (motioning to Ed and shaking her head): Mother.
JILLIAN: Grandma said you were a nancy girl.
DEIRDRE: What? Oh. Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. You’re still clos . . . oh, I just assumed. (Pause) So Tim, do you have a girlfriend, out there in San Francisco? Handsome young man like you; must have girls fighting all over you.
TIM & ED: Yes.
ED: I sent you the picture. Remember?
DEIRDRE: Oh, that one, yes, beautiful. That’s his girlfriend? Very pretty, she is. Hold on to her, Tim. Tightly—she looks pretty strong. (She sits on the bed next to the body) I think I’m a little bit tired from all the excitement.
DILLON: Grandma, are you all done praying now?
RIONA: I can feel him. There’s a presence here.
QUINN: What do you mean?
RIONA: I can feel Adam. His physical presence is here.
DEIRDRE: Yes, I’m sitting next to it. We have a body in my house . . . on a bed in my dining room. (Beat) I don’t think we’re ever going to do this in the house again.
KIERAN: That’d be cool if he was here, listening to us. (Crossing to the foot of the bed) Dude, don’t worry about the fifty bucks you owe me. I got you covered.
DEIRDRE: There’s no ghosts. He’s either in Heaven or Hell by now. He would’ve already met either God or the devil.
GILLY: Well, I think he met the devil when he was here, so I hope he’s meeting God now.
RIONA: I do, too. I want to see him again when I die.
GILLY: Pretty certain you’re going to the good place when you go, huh?
DEIRDRE: She’s a woman of faith. Something you could use more of.
QUINN: More? Don’t you mean some?
GILLY: No, Ma, I think you got plenty for the whole family. I’ll pass. I’ll just be the cross on your back. Just, please, get to Golgotha soon.
DEIRDRE: You don’t know me, Gilly. Sometimes I don’t have any faith at all. I make doubting Thomas look like a pillar of faith. Sometimes I think to myself, I think, Deirdre, what’s the use of praying? If God doesn’t answer I just accept it as His will. If He does it’s because it was His will, right, because otherwise it would have been His will not to answer it. And so I think, what’s the use? Why bother? My prayers don’t matter one way or the other.
RIONA: Mother!
ED: It’s all right, Riona. Even Jesus questioned God. Right there on the cross.
DEIRDRE: Sometimes I feel like God has abandoned me. My husband died too young. My son is gone now. My parents were too young, too, if I think about it, after years of struggle and hardship. What kind of God would be so cruel? What kind of God allows hurricanes and earthquakes, loneliness? Millions and millions of people around and still there’s loneliness. A dozen people in your house and still there’s loneliness. My children forget me. My old friends are all dead. And God doesn’t even answer when I speak.
RIONA: But He listens.
(Gilly crosses to her and puts his arm around her)
GILLY: It’s okay, Ma.
DEIRDRE: No, it isn’t, really, it’s not okay. You know, sometimes I swear at God.
RIONA: Mother!
DEIRDRE: Then I worry, will that keep me out of Heaven? Which doesn’t make sense, I know. If I can’t swear at God what kind of God is He? I swear at my family and I love every one of you. Cursing Him only means that I’m disappointed. It doesn’t mean I love Him any less. It just means He let me down. You’ve all let me down and still I love you. I’ve let you down and here you are listening to me blather and you let me do it. That’s what a family’s all about, I guess.
GILLY: It’s okay, Ma.
(Pause while she collects herself)
DEIRDRE: So why has no one offered me a beer? I’m done with praying for the day.
DILLON: That’s what I asked you before.
KIERAN (getting one for her): Here ya go ya old drunken biddy. Enjoy.
DEIRDRE: I believe I will. Now you all know I only do this about once a decade, right?
QUINN: Yeah. I’ve seen it once or twice my whole life. Are you sure you’re Irish?
DEIRDRE: I am. Oh, Kieran, speaking of drag, the makeup job was nice, by the way.
KIERAN: What?
QUINN: You knew?
DEIRDRE: No, not at first. I really thought Mr. Toomey had done a nicer than usual job. Until I came back in and it was gone.
TIM: What makeup job?
QUINN: On the body.
TIM (to Kieran): Are you studying to be a mortician?
KIERAN: Yes. That’s why I organized the wake. Practice. I’m going to start killing people for more practice.
DEIRDRE: He’s a mechanic, Tim. Don’t pay him any attention.
(There is silence for a moment)
ED: Must be seven minutes. You know, the lull in conversation.
DARBY: I don’t think our family has ever gone seven minutes of silence.
ED: No, I mean every seven minutes there’s supposed to be a lull in the conversation.
DARBY: Well, there isn’t. We’re talking now.
DEIRDRE: Gilly, where did you get that ring?
GILLY: It was Adam’s. I wanted to keep it to remember him.
DEIRDRE: It’s not yours to keep.
RIONA: Yeah, why should you get it? He had two siblings.
ED: I gave him that ring for confirmation. I was hoping I could get it back. It was expensive.
GILLY: I’m his brother.
RIONA: I’m his sister.
DEIRDRE: I’m his mother.
JILLIAN: It’s pretty.
DILLON: He promised it to me. He wanted it to go to the next generation.
RIONA: Prove it.
DILLON: He told me. He’s my dad.
ED: I never heard that. I’d like it back. It really was an expensive gift.
DEIRDRE: What, so you can sell it? I’m old. I should get it and then pass it on when I’m gone.
GILLY: Are you people blind? I’m the one who has it. See. Right here on my finger. Possession is nine-tenths of the law.
RIONA: Yes, and the other ten percent is trials for murder.
ED: And theft.
TIM: We can sue for ownership. I know a lawyer.
KIERAN: Dudes, settle down. It’s just a ring.
JILLIAN: I want my daddy.
QUINN: There has to be a way to do this.
DARBY: Excuse me.
GILLY: Finder’s keepers.
RIONA: You took it off of his finger. Finder!
DARBY: Excuse me.
DILLON: It was my dad’s.
DEIRDRE: You’re too young to take proper care of it.
DILLON: Holy shit, she spoke to me.
DEIRDRE: I should hold it for now and then pass it on when my time comes.
DILLON: Did you hear that? She . . .
DEIRDRE: I am the matriarch of this family. Give me the ring, Gilly.
GILLY: Fuck off, old lady.
DEIRDRE: Gilly, don’t you talk . . .
DARBY: Excuse me.
ED: Yeah, take it off, Gilly, and then we’ll decide.
TIM: My father bought the ring. We can sue. We can take it to court.
(Tim grabs Gilly’s hand and tries to take the ring off his finger; Gilly pushes him away; Riona reaches in and tries to do the same; Gilly pushes her out of the way as well; Ed steps in and pushes Gilly, who makes a fist and is about to punch Ed when Darby screams)
DARBY: I said excuse me you sons a bitches! Shut the fuck up and stop it! Right now! Or I’m gonna kick some Irish ass from here to the cemetery.
(They all go silent)
DEIRDRE: A woman should not use that kind of language.
DARBY: Oh, kiss my ass. Like you’re a saint. Martyr, maybe. Saint, I’m not so sure. Okay, you’re all forgetting that Adam had a wife. Oh, and guess what? She’s standing right in front of you and she doesn’t like greedy people. Neither did Adam. Give me the ring, Gilly.
GILLY: I don’t know if I can get it off my finger.
DARBY: Do it. (Pause) You have to trust me.
GILLY: All right, all right, you’re right. It’s not mine.
(He takes it off and hands it to her)
DARBY: Okay, who thinks they have a claim on this ring?
(All who had been arguing raise their hands)
ALL: I do, me, etc.
DARBY: Ed, you gave it as a gift. You didn’t expect to outlive him when you gave it to him. Deirdre, you had nothing to do with this ring and it’s not as if you can wear it. It won’t fit. Riona, you couldn’t wear it either. Gilly, you could and I know that you’d treasure it, but he did promise it to his son. It’s a man’s ring, so I don’t want it. I have my wedding ring. Dillon, I know he promised it to you, but it might not fit you yet and I agree you might be too young to take proper care of it. Now, with that said . . . (She hands it to Dillon) . . . do with it what you will, but let me suggest loaning it to Uncle Gilly with the understanding that you’ll get it back. And if you keep it for yourself, you best not ever lose it.
KIERAN: One ring to rule them all, one ring to bind them.
GILLY: Twit.
KIERAN: Well, it seems like it’s leading you all to the dark gates . . .
GILLY: Nerd.
DILLON: I don’t want to loan it to him. (Pause) I want to give it to him. (To Gilly) But I’d like it back when you’re gone.
GILLY (taking the ring from Dillon): Sure, kid, but you know I’m gonna outlive you all.
DARBY: There are plenty of other personal things that you guys can have. You can come over and look through his stuff and decide what you want. I just don’t want any more arguments over possessions or none of you ’ll get anything. Clear?
QUINN: Couldn’t be clearer.
KIERAN: Well, that takes care of that.
ED: Look, we have to go. Chores in the morning. Tim’s going to help me with the milking, aren’t you?
TIM: I suppose.
GILLY: More tits than you’ve touched in San Francisco, I’m sure.
(Deirdre crosses and hugs Ed and Tim; they all say goodbye, etc.; Ed and Tim exit)
DEIRDRE: Why are you always so mean to Tim?
GILLY: Because he’s not real. His father’s one of the most down-to-earth people in the world, but Tim pretends to be somebody he ain’t. If he’d just be himself and come out of the closet we’d all be more comfortable.
KIERAN (to Deirdre): Even you know he is.
QUINN: The only one who doesn’t is his dad.
DEIRDRE: It would kill Ed. That’s why . . .
QUINN: No, it wouldn’t. Not any more than lying to him.
GILLY: You remember when our cousin Brett was diagnosed with AIDS. Nobody was concerned he was gay because we all knew it already. We were concerned for his health. When he died it was one of the largest funerals our family’s ever had.
DARBY: Everyone loved that guy. He was funny.
GILLY: And he looked better in a dress than Tim’s “girlfriend”.
DEIRDRE: Listen, I’m exhausted. I have to go to bed. I’d love to stay up all night with you hooligans but I’ll sleep through the funeral if I do.
KIERAN: Good night, Aunt Deirdre.
QUINN: It has been a long day.
DARBY: Kids, remember we’re staying here with Grandma tonight. You should go up to bed now, too. It’s going to be an even longer day tomorrow.
(All of them exchange hugs and goodbyes; cell phone rings; Gilly answers it)
DEIRDRE: Now who could that be, calling at this hour? It’s awfully late.
GILLY: Hello? (Holding his hand over the mouthpiece): It’s Aunt Martha. Something’s wrong. Uh-huh. You’re kidding. Oh, my God.
DEIRDRE: What is it?
GILLY: Yeah, so she . . . Oh, my God. That’s terrible. She . . . yes . . . yes . . . Oh, no. Yes. Okay, I will. Are you all right? Okay, good. Thank you.
DEIRDRE: What is it?
GILLY: I’m afraid I have some bad news.
DEIRDRE: What is it?
GILLY: Aunt Eunice was walking home . . . she stumbled and she fell on the railroad tracks. Right in front of a train.
(Riona lets out a muffled sound)
DARBY: Oh, God.
DEIRDRE: That’s horrible.
GILLY: Well, fortunately the train was stopped.
DARBY & RIONA: Oh, thank God.
GILLY: But the conductor freaked and ran and grabbed her and threw her off the tracks.
DEIRDRE: He was trying to be helpful. That’s nice.
GILLY: Except that he pushed her down a hill on the other side of the tracks. I guess she rolled down and hit rocks and pieces of garbage—old appliances, refrigerators—all the way down to the bottom.
DEIRDRE: Oh, dear God.
RIONA: And you know how sturdy those Maytags are. Even when they’re rusty.
QUINN: Why does our family always have such strange deaths?
GILLY: Well, she didn’t die from falling down the hill—just lots of cuts and abrasions and the like.
DARBY: Thank God.
DEIRDRE: So she’s not dead?
KIERAN (imitating the Monty Python sketch): She’s not dead yet.
GILLY: Well, unfortunately she did die a minute later.
KIERAN: She’s not . . . oh. Never mind.
QUINN: So did she bleed to death before they got to her?
GILLY: Drowned.
QUINN: Ugh. In her own blood?
GILLY: No, turns out she landed face down in a two-inch puddle of rainwater. At least that’s what Martha said. Drowned to death clutching her walker like a snorkel.
DEIRDRE (looking up at the Sacred Heart of Jesus painting): You can’t leave us alone for maybe even one day? A few hours?
RIONA: At least she lived a good long life.
DEIRDRE: Yes, she did, the poor dear.
DARBY: What can you do?
KIERAN (to Quinn): Let’s get some more sandwiches, all right? We gotta watch the body tonight.
QUINN: Sure.
DARBY: Kids, time to go to bed.
RIONA: It’s time for me to go, too.
(All of them hug and say their goodbyes again; cell phone rings)
GILLY: Hello? Oh, okay. Okay, thanks. (He hangs it up) That was Aunt Martha, saying good night.
QUINN: So it looks we’re doing this again next week.
KIERAN: Another family reunion.
GILLY: At Aunt Martha’s. She just offered to host the wake.
KIERAN (laughing a bit): You’re kidding.
GILLY: I never laugh about death. (He laughs) Especially in this family. (Laughing) Bring out your dead.
RIONA: Yes, you do. All the time.
DEIRDRE: Well, you shouldn’t. Death is no laughing matter.
GILLY: Neither is life apparently. You gotta laugh at something, Ma. Might as well be about the things you can’t control.
QUINN: There better be some sandwiches left.
KIERAN: And beer.
(Kieran and Quinn head to the kitchen; Riona exits)
DARBY: Grandma, can you show the kids their beds?
DEIRDRE: Sure, dear. Good night. Come on Jillian.
(She takes Jillian’s hand and exits with her, with Dillon following)
DILLON (as he’s exiting): Grandma, where should I go? (off stage) Grandma?
(GILLY crosses to the body)
DARBY: Aren’t you going to bed?
GILLY: Soon. When Kieran said he wanted to do an Irish wake I did some research about ‘em. The evening should always end in a song. There’s a bunch of them they choose from, so I learned one for him.
DARBY: That’s a nice tradition.
GILLY: I thought so.
DARBY: Nice of you to learn one for him, too. What’s it called?
GILLY: The Parting Glass. (He takes a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket and hands it to her) Care to join me?
DARBY: I’ll try. You start.
GILLY: Bless me Father, for I shall sing.
DARBY: Don’t you know, lad, a bad note is a mortal sin.
GILLY: For these and all my sins I am sorry.
(He starts to sing)
Oh, all the money that e’er I spent, I spent it in good company,
And all the harm that e’er I’ve done, alas it was to none but me.
GILLY & DARBY (singing; as they near the end the lights fade to black):
And all I’ve done for want of wit, to mem’ry now I can’t recall,
So fill to me the parting glass; good night and joy be with you all.
Oh, all the comrades that e’er I had, are sorry for my going away.
And all the sweethearts that e’er I had, would wish me one more day to stay.
But since it falls unto my lot that I should rise and you should not,
I’ll gently rise and I’ll softly call, goodnight and joy be with you all.
(Lights are at black)