Contemporary One-Act Plays Part 73

MRS. JONES THE WASH. [_Wearily._] Yiss, any time.

TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Aye, all the time.

MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE.. Yiss, yiss, it rains ever an' forever!

NELI. [_Forgetting the relish search._] Well, indeed, 'tis true it can rain in Bala at any time an' at all times.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Paying no attention to Neli._] Ye believe that Tomen-y-Bala is Ararat?

HUGH. [_Clutching his book more tightly and speaking in a whisper._]

Yiss.

MRS. JONES THE WASH. Aye, 'tis true.

MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE.. Yiss, the Hill of Bala is Ararat.

TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Yiss, I have driven the sheep over it whatever more than a hundred times.

NELI. [_Both hands on counter, leaning forward, listening to_ DEACON'S _words_.] Aye, Charles-y-Bala said so.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Still ignoring_ NELI _and lowering his coat-tails carefully_.] Ye believe, good people, that the Druids called Noah "Tegid," an' that those who were saved were cast up on Tomen-y-Bala?

HUGH. Amen, I do!

MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. [_Nodding her old head._] Aye, 'tis true.

MRS. JONES THE WASH. Yiss, yiss.

TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Amen, 'tis so.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Moving a few steps away from the fire, standing sidewise, and lifting hand to head, checking it in midair._] An' ye know that Bala has been a lake, an' Bala will become a lake?

HUGH. Amen, I do!

NELI. [_a.s.senting for the first time._] Yiss, 'tis true--that is.

MRS. JONES THE WASH. Dear anwyl, yiss!

DEACON ROBERTS. [_With warning gesture toward window._] h.e.l.l is out there--movin' beneath Bala Lake to meet all at their comin'. [_Raises his voice suddenly._] Red-hot Baal stones will fall upon your heads--Baal stones. Howl ye! [_Shouting loudly._] Meltin' stones smellin' of the bullocks. Howl, ye sinners! [_Clasping his hands together desperately._] Scorchin' hot--Oo--o--o--Howl ye!--howl ye!

[_The_ DEACON'S _hat sways, and he jams it down more tightly on his head. Unclasping his hands and as if stirring up the contents of a pudding-dish._] 'Round an' round like this! Howl, ye sinners, howl!

[_All moan and sway to and fro except_ NELI.

NELI. [_Sceptically._] What is there to fear?

MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. [_Groaning._] Nay, but what is there not to fear?

MRS. JONES THE WASH. Aye, outermost darkness. Och! Och!

TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Have mercy!

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Shouting again._] Get ready! Lift up your eyes!

[_Welsh beaver almost falls off and is set straight in a twinkling._]

Beg for mercy before the stones of darkness burn thee, an' there is no water to cool thy tongue, an' a great gulf is fixed between thee an'

those who might help thee!

NELI. [_Spellbound by the_ DEACON'S _eloquence and now oblivious to hat, etc._] Yiss, yiss, 'tis true, 'tis very true!

[_She steps down from chair and places hands on counter._

DEACON ROBERTS. [_His face convulsed, shouting directly at her._]

Sister, hast thou two eyes to be cast into h.e.l.l fire?

NELI. [_Terrified and swept along by his eloquence._] Two eyes to be burned?

[_All lower their heads, groaning and rocking to and fro._

DEACON ROBERTS. [_The b.u.t.ter trickling down his face, yelling with sudden violence._] h.e.l.l is here an' now. Here in Bala, here in Y Gegin, here with us! Howl ye! Howl, ye sinners!

[_All moan together._

HUGH. [_Whispering._] Uch, here!

MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. Yiss, here!

MRS. JONES THE WASH. Yiss.

TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. [_Terrified._] Aye. Amen! Yiss!

NELI. [_Whispering._] Here in Y Gegin!

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Clapping his hands to his face._] Stones of Baal, stones of darkness, slimy with ooze, red-hot ooze, thick vapors! Howl ye, howl, ye sinners! [_All moan and groan. Takes a glance at clock, pa.s.ses hand over face and runs on madly, neck rigid, eyes staring, fat red cheeks turning to purple._] Midday, not midnight, is the hour of h.e.l.l; its sun never sets! But who knows when comes that hour of h.e.l.l?

NELI. [_Taking hands from counter and crossing them as she whispers._]

Who knows?

ALL. [_Groaning._] Who knows?

HUGH. [_Voice quavering and lifting his Welsh essays._] Who knows?

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Big yellow drops pouring down his face, his voice full of anguish._] I will tell ye when is the hour of h.e.l.l. [_He points to the clock._] Is one the hour of h.e.l.l? Nay. Two? Nay. Three? No, not three. Four? Four might be the hour of h.e.l.l, but 'tis not. Five? Nor five, indeed. Six? Nay. Seven? Is seven the hour, the awful hour? Nay, not yet. Eight? Is eight the hour--an hour bright as this bright hour?

Nay, eight is not. [_The_ DEACON _shouts in a mighty voice and points with a red finger at the clock_.] 'Tis comin'! 'Tis comin', I say! Howl ye, howl! Only one minute more! Sinners, sinners, lift up your eyes! Cry for mercy! [_All groan._] Cry for mercy! When the clock strikes twelve, 'twill be the hour of h.e.l.l! Fix your eyes upon the clock! Watch! Count!

Listen! 'Tis strikin'. The stroke! The hour is here!

[_All dropped on their knees and turned toward the clock, their backs to the street door, are awaiting the awful stroke. The book has fallen from_ HUGH'S _hands_. NELI'S _hands are clenched_. MRS.

JENKINS THE MIDWIFE _is nodding her old head_. MRS. JONES THE WASH _on her knees, her face upturned to the clock, is rubbing up and down her thighs, as if at the business of was.h.i.+ng_. TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP _is prostrate and making a strange buzzing sound between his lips. The wheels of the clever old timepiece whir and turn. Then in the silent noonday the harsh striking begins: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve._

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Yelling suddenly in a loud and terrible voice._] h.e.l.l let loose! Howl ye! Howl, ye sinners! [_All cover their eyes. All groan or moan. The clock ticks, the flame in the grate flutters_, NELI'S _bosom rises and falls heavily_.] Lest worse happen to ye, sin no more!