Marble - Catherine

Marble by Marina Carr

Ben

They’re all asleep?

You say that every evening. Yeah, they were very good, no one shouting. How was dinner?

Ben

It was fine.

You had a salad, then arrabiata with artichokes, or maybe you went crazy and had arrabiata without artichokes.

Ben

I had steak.

Very adventurous.

Ben

It was good… I’m tired.

Who isn’t, my darling?

Ben

Show me your hair… take the towel off.

(flings off the towel) My hair!

Ben examines her hair, a close inspection of strands.

What?

Ben

Nothing.

He fingers her hair dreamily, lazily.

It smells lovely. It’s so dark.

It’s always been dark.

Ben

I dreamt last night it was blond.

I’ve never been blond. Would you like me blond?

Ben

I don’t think so.

And what was I doing in the dream?

Ben

You were making love.

To you?

Ben

Of course to me. Why would you ask a thing like that?

No reason.

Ben

Did you dream last night?

As a matter of fact I did.

Ben

About me?

No, about Art.

Ben

Art?

I dreamt I was making love to him. Isn’t that ridiculous? I don’t know when I last saw him and there he was beaming at me, so intense, on a white, white bed… Marble windows, was it? Or was it a marble door? Anyway marble, lots of marble.

Ben

What’s so important about marble?

I just remember it, the gleam off it. I shouldn’t have told you. I wish it was you I dreamt about.

She kisses him.

Ben

I wish it too.

How is Art?

Ben

You know old Art, easy company, Art is the same, he’s getting on.

We’re all getting on, none of us boys and girls any more and yet I still don’t feel ready to be a woman… What age is he now?

Ben

The same age he always was… a year younger than me.

I thought he was younger.

Ben

He’s aged. He drinks too much.

Well.

She drinks, finishes glass, pours.

Ben

Talks about dying a lot.

Only recently have I started noticing graveyards, hearses, churches, I always thought they were some kind of decoration that had nothing to do with me, but now they follow me everywhere.

Ben

Graveyards follow you?

You know what I mean, and dead butterflies seem to be stalking me, they appear at my feet, on the doorstep, in the bathroom, under my pillow.

Ben

Yes, I know what you mean.

I’ll be walking along or making the kids’ lunches and it creeps over me, you’re going to die soon, all of this will be taken from you. Impossible, but there it is.

Ben

Art should stop smoking cigars. He’s too old for that sort of indulgence.

And you?

Ben

I only smoke when I’m with him. If I get cancer it’ll be his fault.

Has he done something to you?

Ben

No, why?

You’re very grumpy about him.

Ben

Art is great. He’s great.

And how is Anne?

Ben

I think they’re going through a bit of a crisis.

Like us?

Ben

Us?

What sort of crisis?

Ben

He’s dreaming about other women.

What’s wrong with that?

Ben

He’s dreaming about you.

About me?

Ben

Last night he dreamt he was making love to you in a room full of marble.

Last night?

Ben

Yes. Last night. While you were dreaming about him, he was dreaming about you. What crisis are we going through?

That’s fantastic. I love it.

Ben

You love it?

Adds a bit of fizz to my life.

Ben

Is your life so boring?

I believe it is.

Ben

Do I give you such a terrible time?

I’ve no one to compare you with, have I?

Ben

I’d like to know what’s so fantastic about dreaming you were making love to Art?

We shared something in our sleep, Art and I.

Ben

Art and you?

Yes, that’s all. Darling, there is always regret for the life you didn’t lead.

Ben

Is there?

I think so, yes, the life not lived is what kills. I bet Art and Anne are very happy. They always struck me as a model couple.

Ben

‘A model couple’, what does that mean?

Well, all those dogs on the furniture, all those dirty children, Anne doesn’t give a damn, just cooks and drinks red wine. I bet she forgets to collect them from school and they all make their way home safe and sound. I’m too conscientious and you’re looking for a row and you lied to me.

Ben

When did I lie to you?

You didn’t dream about me last night.

Ben

Oh, that. No, that was Art. I borrowed his dream, that’s all.

Maybe you should dream about Anne, even it all out.

Ben

Anne is not my type.

So now you have a type?

Ben

I do. I certainly do.

And what is your type?

Ben

You are my type.

I’m what life threw at you.

Ben

That too.

Don’t forget it was I who asked you to marry me.

Ben

Did you?

You don’t remember?

Ben

No, I don’t. Come to think of it, I don’t seem to remember making any decisions at all… ever. Things just have the habit of happening to me.

So if I hadn’t asked you to marry me, we wouldn’t be married?

Ben

But you did ask me. Did I say yes?

I don’t remember – did you mean to say no?

Ben

I organised everything. I must’ve said yes or meant to. I even had to buy you a slip on the way to the church, that’s what I remember most about our wedding, buying you a slip in a shop because your dress was see-through.

You should tell Art I dreamt about him tomorrow. And tell him there was marble in the dream, lots of marble, that’s all I remember – and wild pleasure.

Ben

Wild pleasure?

It was a good dream.

Ben

Maybe the pair of you should run off together.

In a way we have, we seem to have managed an escape of sorts, a co-ordinated escape while staying put. What colour was my hair in the dream?

Ben

Blond. A star-seared, gold-shot blond.

Yes, in my dream I was blond too. Should I dye my hair before it’s too late?

Ben

Too late for what?

Before I go completely grey?

Ben

I like your hair dark.

Then dark it stays… but just for a week, a month, imagine a decade of blond licence before I’m filed for the tomb. It might be interesting to do something interesting with myself for a change.

Ben

I want your hair dark.

It’s that important to you?

Ben

Yes, it is. You must remain dark.

And if I don’t?

Ben

Well, that’s as good as betrayal.

Is it?

Ben

Yes, it is… What play are we going to see on Friday?

Why?

Ben

No reason.

You’ve never asked before.

Ben

I trust your judgement.

And now you don’t?

Ben

Art was asking me.

I forget the name of it, about the auld one dying.

Ben

Auld ones dying don’t interest me. Women who’ve stopped ovulating should die offstage. Who cares?

You don’t have to come.

Ben

Of course I’ll come. I’ll probably love it.

Someday I’ll be old if I’m lucky.

Ben

(examining her hair) You need to do your roots again.

Why can’t you bear me getting old?

Ben

Women aren’t allowed to get old. I mean, of course you’re allowed, but it’s not mannerly. It’s somehow not appropriate. Old women interfere with my sense of myself.

And what about old men?

Ben

Ah, men don’t matter. Can’t stand them. It’s never about men.

You’re wrong as usual. It’s all about men, always has been, we’re not even allowed to grow old without your disdain.

Ben

Just don’t turn into one of those gangs of hags who go to flower shows.

Those gangs of hags look happy. They’ve buried their men. I could do worse than end up going to flower shows.

Ben

Well, at least wait till you’ve trampled my grave.

We’re talking rubbish now. It’s late. I’m going to bed.

She kisses him.

See you in a while.

Ben

Don’t dream about Art tonight.

But darling, not even you can control that.

And exit Catherine.

Enter Catherine in nightdress with a glass of wine and a child’s story book. A child cries offstage.

Go to sleep now… Good boy… I’ll be up in a minute. (Under her breath.) Oh Christ, give me a break!

Enter Ben.

Ben

What’s wrong with him?

He just won’t settle. I’ve read him three stories.

Ben

I’ll go up.

Give him a minute, he might drop off.

Ben

Does he cry every night?

Most nights, yes.

Ben

It’s pitiful.

After seventeen years of crying children, you get pretty immune.

Ben

Why is he crying?

Because he wants a chocolate bar and I wouldn’t give him one, then he wanted me to cut my hair off and leave it on the pillow, which I cruelly refused to do, and then he wanted to paint his nails pink. But he’s really crying because he can’t make sense of this world and neither can his mother.

Ben goes to her, kisses her.

Did Art dream about me?

Ben

On a tropical beach, no less.

What a cliché. I suppose we were happy.

Ben

Ecstatic.

Is Art good-looking?

Ben

I don’t know.

Don’t you have eyes?

Ben

Not for men, no, I certainly don’t.

Describe him.

Ben

Art?

Yeah.

Ben

He’s an in-between man, I suppose. Not too bad despite his cigars and his brandy. Eyes wide-spaced, dark I think. Teeth are good, tans easily, veiny legs which he says he inherited from his mother, but his mouth is unfinished.

What do you mean?

Ben

Foetal or something, like he’s never been weaned.

And your mouth?

Ben

I never got the breast. That’s what’s wrong with me. Rejection from day one. Were you thinking about him today?

Yeah… can’t stop.

Ben

It’s really not on.

Why isn’t it on?

Ben

Well, there’s me in the background.

I think about you too.

Ben

A lot?

Enough.

Ben

And what do you think about when you think about me?

What is this? The Inquisition?

Ben

You’re the one dreaming about people you shouldn’t be.

There is no vocabulary for this.

Ben

Do you want me to die?

You’re not exactly burning with life. Widows have a great time, it has to be said.

Ben

They do.

All that freedom, no big man stomping round the kitchen rattling the knife drawer… Yeah, I’d like to be a girl again, without the stupidity, yes, I long to be alone, all this clutter is too much for me.

Ben

Have you dyed your hair?

I set out the dye. I put on the gloves and then I said, what’s the point? I suppose what I’m no longer capable of is deep feeling – you know, when your breath stops – except when I dream about Art. It’s fantastic. Don’t be jealous, Ben. I can’t wait to go to sleep tonight and dream about him.

Ben

I wish you’d dream about me

But I’m not. I’m dreaming about Art and he’s dreaming about me. Just who is it hurting?

Ben

Me.

It’s not. You can’t control my mind. I can’t control it. You can’t tell me to switch off a dream just because it’s not about you.

Ben

I don’t have to like it.

I think you should if it makes me happy.

Ben

I’m the one should make you happy.

Don’t be ridiculous.

Ben

So I’m just here taking up space?

Well, yes, but that’s normal.

Ben

What? Hovering with my hands in my pockets? Waiting for you to start the conversation? Sort out the day for me.

Is that what you do? I suppose that’s the way we go on. I hope Art dreams about me tonight. Johnny got ninety-five in his reading. He told me to tell you, not to forget. Ring Art and tell him to dream about me tonight.

Ben

You’re mad. I never realised it before.

Well, I can’t ring him.

Ben

Why not? You’ve such a fantastic time together.

Anne might think I have designs on him.

Ben

And don’t you?

Only in bed, only in sleep.

Ben

I have a premonition of an impending catastrophe.

A what?