Bradbury, Ray - SSC 10 (6 page)

Mike
Ah, there you are, sir!

The Young Man
Mike.
(To the audience)
I climb in. I give the door its slam.

He slams the door.
And
then
. . .

The car gives a great
spasming
jerk,
the young man
grabs his
hat,
grabs the dashboard, grabs
mike's
knee.

Mike!

With a thunderous roar, the car is off, vibrating. The sound is
furious.
The black background
behind the car rushes and flurries with lights and shadows; the car spins and
turns.

Mike!

Mike
(smiles benevolently)
Yes, sir.

The Young Man
Mike!

Mike
Yes,
sir!

The Young Man
(staring)
Sixty miles an hour, Mike.

Mike
Seventy!

The Young Man
Now it's seventy-five!

Mike
Is it!

The Young
Man
 
Eighty

Mike (looks
)
 
So
it is.

The Young
Man
 
Eighty
-five! Can that be right?

Mike
 
It
is, it is.

The car turns in a great thunder of shadowy light, in huge river-
ings
of hill and meadow thrown on the backdrop.

the young man
leaps
out and watches the car with
mike
bent
over
the wheel gripping it hard, his smile a leer.

It
is, it was, indeed! There went Mike and me with him! Ninety full miles an hour!
From the blazing mouth of the cannon we
bounced, skidded, cast ourselves in full stoning ricochet down
the paths, over the bogs, through the trees! I
felt all
Ireland
's
grass put down its ears when
we, with a yell, jumped over a rise!

Mike
Ninety-five!
Do you see that! Ninety-five!

The car whirls, rushes.

The Young Man
Mike,
I thought—Mike!

mike
puffs his
cigarette feverishly. Pink light comes and goes
on his creased face.

Mike
was changed as if the Adversary himself had squeezed
and molded and fired him with a dark hand. There he
was,
whirling the wheel roundabout,
over-around, here we frenzied
under
trestles, there knocked crossroad signs spinning like
weathercocks! I studied Mike's fine face. A fine
face no longer!

He moves close. The motor sounds die away so we can hear
better, study better. The car still rocks and
turns slightly this way
and that
while
the
young man
philosophizes, standing
beside
it, perhaps pointing in at
mike's
face with a flashlight.

The
wisdom drained from it.
The eyes, neither gentle nor philosophical.
The mouth neither tolerant nor at peace. It was a face-
washed raw, a scalded peeled potato.

Thunder up for a moment.
Flashing lights,
mike
leans avidly
forward. The thunder fades,
the young man
is
back in the car
now.

Mike
(loud,
raucous)
Well, how you been since, sir!

The Young Man
Mike,
your voice! It's changed!

Mike
Changed?!

The Young Man
(to
the audience)

A
clarion, a trumpet, all iron and brassy tin!
Gone the warm
fire.
Gone the gentle grass.
(To
mike
now)
Mike, has a dire
thing come into your life, a sickness, a sorrow, a
sore affliction?

Mike
(amazed,
loud)
Now
why would you think that?

The Young Man
(touches
the car)
And, Mike, is this the
same car you drove last night?

Mike
None
other!

The Young Man
(to
the audience)

But
it was changed, too. This car, this crusty old beggar that
had been content to stroll along, careful of its
breath and bones, now thundered toward Hell as if to warm itself at some
special
blaze there.

the young man
scans
mike
now, carefully.
Hold on, I got it!
Mike! It's the first night of Lent!

Mike
It is, sir.

The Young Man

Well,
then, remembering your Lenten promise, why's that cig
arette in your mouth?

mike
casts
his eyes down on the smoke jiggling on his lip and
shrugs.

Mike
Ah—I give up the
ither
.

There is a long moment during which
the young man
stares.

The Young Man
The
other?

Mike
(nodding
wisely)
The
ither
.

THE
young
MAN
pulls as far back in his seat as possible to
look
at
mike.
Suddenly he reaches forward and twists the key in the ignition. With a
great squealing,
mike
brings the car to a
halt,
surprised but not angry.

Why,
will you tell me, did you do that?
In
silence, the two sit there.

The Young Man
Mike, for two hundred nights we have
ridden together.

Mike
True.

The Young Man

And
each night as I came from my employer's house I drank, at the door, a fiery
douse of Scotch or bourbon "against the chill."

Mike
A
reasonable precaution.

The Young Man

Then
I walked out to this cab where sat a man, yourself, who,
during all the long winter evening's wait for me to
phone for
your services, had
lived
in
Heeber
Finn's pub.

Mike
You might say, it's me office!

The Young Man
(slaps
his own brow)
Fool!

Mike
Who is?

The Young Man
lam
!

Mike
And
why?

The Young Man

Because,
Mike, because there in
Heeber
Finn's while you
waited,
you took onto yourself—a
mellowness. And that mellowness dis
tilled
itself down in a slow rain that damped your smoldering
nerves. It colored your cheeks, warmed your eyes
soft, lowered
your voice to a husking
mist, and spread in your chest to slow
your
heart to a gentle jog-trot.

Mike
Ah, I wish
the Guinness family could hear you!

The Young Man

It
loosened your hands on the wheel and sat you with grace and ease as you gentled
us through fogs and mists that kept us and
Dublin
apart. And all the while, Mike, the liquor /
drank
stopped me from ever detecting
the scent of any spirits on
your
breath.

Mike
What are
you leading up to, sir?

The Young Man

This,
Mike! Tonight, the first night of Lent, for the first time in
all the nights I've driven with you, you are
sober!

He lets this sink in.
mike
lets it
sink in, too, aghast.

Mike
By God
now, that's true.

The Young Man

And
all those other two hundred nights you weren't driving slow and careful and
easy just for my safety—

Mike
Well
     

The Young Man

—but because of the gentle warm
spirits sloping now on this side,
now on that
side of you, as we took the long scything curves.

Mike
(as if
revealing something)
If you
must
know, yes; I
was
drunk
all of them nights.

They both sit and look at each other for a long moment.

The Young Man
And now you've given up liquor for
Lent?

Mike
(nods
righteously)
You've
noticed the improvement?

There is a moment of critical
silence.

The
Young
Man
Drive
on,
Mike.

mike
starts the car with a roar. They thunder on, rocking silently,
the young man
studying the older.

Mike
And here
we are!
Dublin
's
Fair
City
!

He stops the car.
the young man
gets
thoughtfully out. He looks
around at
the imaginary city. He speaks to the audience.

The Young Man

Dublin
's fair city.
Oh, who
really
knows the Irish, say I, and
which half of them is which? Mike?
{Turns to
look at the man)
Which Mike is the real Mike? Which is the Mike that
everyone
knows?
(Gasps, shakes his head
as at a foul vision)
I will not
think
on it. There is only one Mike for me. That one that Ire
land shaped herself with her weathers and waters,
her
seedings
and
harvestings, her
brans
and mashes, her brews,
bottlings
, and
swiggings
. If you ask what makes the Irish what they are, I'd
point on down the road
(Points)
and tell
where you turn to find
Heeber
Finn's.
(Turns)
Mike?

Mike
Sir?

The Young Man
Wait
here a second!

the young man
runs
offstage. He
comes
running back out a
moment later, something hidden under his coat.

Will
you do me a favor, Mike?

Mike
Name it!

the young man
winces
at the loudness of that voice.

The Young Man
Here.

Mike
What's
that, sir?

mike
blinks at
the bottle
the young man
has brought
from
hiding.

The Young Man
A bottle of whisky.

Mike
I rarely
see a whole bottle of it. That's why I didn't recognize—

The Young Man

Mike,
this is the first night of Lent, right? Now
...
on the
second night of Lent—

Mike
Tomorrow night?

The Young Man

On
the second night of Lent, when you come to pick me up, in
Kilcock
, will you
drink
this, Mike?

Mike
Do you
know what you're doing?

The Young Man
Tempting
you, Mike.

Mike
{sore
torn between)
You
are indeed.

The Young Man
Take
it, Mike.

Mike
Ah, God,
it's Lent.

The Young Man
Only
the first night.

Mike
You said
that before, but with repetition it makes sense.