Ann-Marie MacDonald - Belle Moral - A Natural History

Scene 5 The Drawing Room

VICTOR lies on the couch, naked and wet under a blanket . DR REID attends him .

DR REID [gently]. Victor. Victor, lad, what is it, eh? A woman? Are you in debt lad, is that it? Or were you just pullin’ a wee pliskie?

VICTOR covers his head with the blanket .

DR REID. Come along now, son, the North Sea in April is hardly a congenial prospect, and I know you not to be a swimmer. What were you doing leaping from the rocks?

VICTOR [soliloquizing from under the blanket] . There are times when I cannot fathom why any sane person would choose to live out the natural length of their days. Life is an expanse of arid predictability, relieved now and again by hilarious and brutal jokes. This, we call tragedy.

DR REID. Go on.

VICTOR [lowering the blanket, earnestly relishing his own words] . I strayed along the barren beach and heard the kelpies singing, each … to each. And then they sang to me; a beckoning back to the dank, devouring womb of the sea; their sweet and deadly strains, the echo of my own futility. I parted the waters to mate with Nothingness.

DR REID. I see. How long have you felt this way?

VICTOR. I haven’t been myself since the funeral.

DR REID. You miss your father.

VICTOR. I don’t know if I’d go that far.

DR REID. How does the prospect of being master of Belle Moral cause you to … feel?

VICTOR. Like jumpin’ into the sea.

DR REID. Victor, what would have become of your aunt and sister had you succeeded in your bid today? Who would look after them?

VICTOR. You would. They don’t need me.

DR REID. Ah but they do. You’ll find out soon enough, lad. Your father’s burdens will soon be yours. But luckily, so will his oldest friend.

VICTOR takes his flask from under the quilt and drinks . FLORA enters with a bowl and spoon . VICTOR hides the flask .

FLORA. How’s ma poor laddie?

VICTOR [feigning weakness] . I feel I’m fading, Auntie.

FLORA. See if you canna tak a bittie o’ parritch, ma hinnie.

VICTOR. I’ll try.

DR REID. Have you no beef tea, Flora?

FLORA. Ay, but the lad’s gone vegetative.

PEARL enters .

PEARL [brisk]. He’s fallen in with the Fabians. Armchair revolutionaries nibbling celery.

FLORA [spoon poised] . Here comes the coach-and-six, clop-clop clop-clop …

DR REID [taking her aside] . Pearl, I’m worried about your brother.

PEARL. As am I.

DR REID. Victor shows signs of neurasthenia: a degenerative instability which threatens the delicate edifice of brain and nerve.

PEARL. He gets that from Mother, no doubt.

DR REID does not immediately reply, reluctant to reveal to her the full extent of his concern .

DR REID. He has confessed an attempted suicide.

PEARL [loudly so VICTOR can hear] .

DR REID., my brother is suffering from nothing more than extreme foolishness and a common cold.

FLORA. Pearl, we’re lucky your brother is alive. Ask Rhouridh MacGregor, who plucked him from the boiling sea.

PEARL. Saved by a nihilist. You ought to be ashamed.

DR REID. My dear Pearl, this is no way to treat a would-be suicide.

PEARL. Suicide, my eye. He ran down to the shore in high naked dudgeon for a little fleshly mortification, where he met Rhouridh MacGregor out walking with his mother and his cousin, Jinnie. Victor leapt into the drink to hide from the ladies.

FLORA. Oh Victor.

DR REID. Is this true, sir?

VICTOR. Pearl, those are only the facts, and you know it!

DR REID. You’ve trifled with a man of science, Mr MacIsaac.

VICTOR [indignant] . The squalid circumstances of my brush with death merely confirm my despair at the human condition. Not for me a dignified death by drowning. Not for me to inspire the poet’s lament, thus to snatch some meaning from the maw of death, no; I am the comic hero of a tragic farce. Plaything of a demented God who hasn’t the decency to exist.

PEARL. Cheer up, Vickie; you’ve only your own carelessness to blame, not some cosmic vendetta.

DR REID. [picking up his bag] . I’ll take my leave now. My genuinely ill patients will be waiting.

VICTOR [spritely] . Still skookin’ about the loony hoos, are you, Doctor?

PEARL. Victor.

VICTOR [imitating her] . “Edinburgh has a leading lunatic asylum.”

DR REID. If you refer to the Royal Edinburgh Hospital, yes I am on staff as specialist in organic diseases of the mind.

VICTOR. What’s that involve, then, amputatin’ heads, are you? Is it true, Doctor, that a dog will lick the hand of the man who is vivisecting him?

DR REID. Good day.

FLORA is about to escort DR REID from the room .

PEARL. Doctor, I’ve been puzzling over the ear you lent me.

A beat . DR REID and FLORA hesitate .

Its length is out of proportion with its width at the base where it would attach to the skull. From this, I calculate a cranial circumferance commensurate with that of a microcephalous cretin. Does this strike you as reasonable?

DR REID [momentarily at a loss] .

FLORA [to the rescue] . Dr Reid, you shouldna’ go plyin’ the lass with freaks of nature. It’s no healthy for a young woman of child-bearing age.

PEARL. Really, Flora!

DR REID [reassuring bedside manner] . Now Flora, Pearl is gifted with the chief prerequisite of a scientific mind: curiosity. And what could be healthier, hm? Be sure to call me if you need anything –

PEARL. Doctor, I’m keen to compare this specimen with others of its kind –

DR REID [too quickly] . There are no others.

PEARL. Where did you obtain this one?

DR REID…. From a friend.

PEARL. But where did the specimen originate?

DR REID. In a remote village. High in the caucasus.

PEARL. I shall arrange an expedition; Father’s bound to have left me an annuity –

DR REID. I know neither the name of the village, nor if it still –

PEARL. We’ll ask your friend –

DR REID. He’s dead.

PEARL. But he must have –

DR REID. Pearl, the ear is a mere curiosity. An accident of birth. It ought to excite more pity than wonderment.

PEARL. Accidents are the very stuff of evolution. Darwin’s work is far from done, Doctor, please. Help me.

DR REID. I’m afraid it’s not in my line, Pearl. [Al most to himself.] Not anymore.

PEARL. Why hide your light under a bushel? Come with me to the Caucasus.

He gazes at her, but a dog barks, off, startling him and FLORA.

You don’t deserve a present, Victor, but you’re my darling wee brother and I’ve got you one in spite of everything.

YOUNG FARLEIGH staggers on, hauling a long leash which thrashes about in his grasp. The barking is louder now .

YOUNG FARLEIGH. Shall I bring him in, Miss?

PEARL [unable to conceal her delight] . I’ve got you a puppy, Victor.

VICTOR. A puppy! Oh Pearl, that’s wonderful!

YOUNG FARLEIGH. Coal black, he is, with a head so flat, you could balance a teacup.

VICTOR. Here boy! Here — [suddenly struggling for breath] .

VICTOR can’t breathe . DR REID goes for his medical bag .

DR REID. Take it away! Flora —!

FLORA [rushing to assist YOUNG FARLEIGH]. Out, out with it at once!

The leash snaps out of YOUNG FARLEIGH’S hand and whips off. He and FLORA hurry after it . DR REID injects VICTOR with a hypodermic needle . VICTOR goes limp.