AMAZON

CAST:           

Gloria, age late-thirties

Maria, her sister, mid-thirties

Paul, mid/early thirties

The play is set in the living-room of the house where Gloria lives with her mother, in rural Ireland.

A living-room with armchairs and a couch on which MARIA (plump and homely, mid-thirties) is sitting painting her toenails. When she finishes these, she starts on her fingernails, blowing on them from time to time and helping herself to lumps of Turkish delight from a plate on the couch. A TV stands with its back to the audience. There is a portable radio on the floor near the couch. Off stage, an elementary tune can be heard played haltingly on a piano.

GLORIA'S VOICE (off): F sharp, Emily. The key of G major, remember.

Piano resumes. The same mistake is made but rapidly corrected. A small bell jingles somewhere in the house. Maria ignores it and continues doing her nails. The piano piece ends on a wrong chord.

GLORIA'S VOICE: B D G, Emily. Remember how we practiced the arpeggio.

The bell rings again. Maria briefly raises her eyes to heaven or the upper floor, then resumes her nails.

GLORIA'S VOICE: We'll leave that piece for now but remember to keep working on it. Let's hear "The White-Tailed Rabbit". You played it so nicely last week.

Maria sighs. Very carefully because of her nails she turns the pages of a magazine next to her on the couch. The piece rings out, wrong notes and all. A door-bell rings.

GLORIA'S VOICE: That'll be Mammy now, Emily. You can stop playing.... [Music continues relentlessly] OK, you finish the piece while I open the door for Mammy. [The music stops abruptly. Maria switches on the radio with her big toe. Gloria's voice can just about be heard above the Country and Western song. The other voice is a mumble] Hello, there. Yes, she's making great strides, aren't you, Emily...  No, Mam's a bit poorly, I'm afraid, but what can you expect at her age... yes, very sad. Thanks... Well, goodbye now, Emily dear, and keep up the practice. Byee....

Sound of door slamming. GLORIA enters, slightly older than Maria, wan and drawn.

GLORIA: Oh my God. What a bloody awful way to make a living! [She slumps into an armchair] Eight little darlings in one afternoon, each one an accomplished murderer of melody.

MARIA: Emily's improving.

GLORIA: No, what makes you say that.

MARIA: She made sixteen mistakes the first time she played "Tribal Dance" and only twelve the next time round... You're winning.

GLORIA: You were actually keeping count!

MARIA: Nothing better to do. While I finished my nails. [Displays them]

GLORIA: Gorgeous.

MARIA: Drop Dead Red... That's what the shade's called. Trouble is... [She takes a sweet and looks at it] it's very difficult to eat Turkish Delight at the same time without getting bits of icing sugar stuck in the polish... [pops a sweet into her mouth] This nail's all gritty. I'll have to do it again... Want one, by the way. They have pistachio nuts in them.

GLORIA: Mm. Lovely.

Maria extends the dish without getting up.

GLORIA: You mean, after all I've been through I have to come and over and get it.

MARIA: [putting down the plate] Please yourself.

GLORIA: Lazy bitch.

A new song starts: "Jo-Lene"

MARIA: Oh, I love this one. [She sings along, affecting a Deep South accent] "Jo-lene, Jo-lene, Jo-lene, Jo-l-e-e=ene, I'm begging of you, please don't take my man..."

GLORIA: Please! My poor head!

Maria sings along

GLORIA: What did she want, by the way?

Maria sings

GLORIA: I heard the bell.

Maria sings

GLORIA: Nothing serious, I suppose, or you'd have called me.

Maria switches off the radio.

MARIA: Jesus, Gloria. Would you ever stop rabbitting on. I was trying to listen to that.

GLORIA: I only wanted to know if Mam was all right.

MARIA: Of course she isn't all right. She's dying, isn't she.

GLORIA: don't say that.

MARIA: The sooner the better. For her sake, as well as ours.

GLORIA: All the same, I wouldn't wish her gone.

MARIA: Come on, Gloria. This is no time for sentimentality. I mean, what sort of a life has she got, lying in bed all the time.

GLORIA: You seem to enjoy it.

MARIA: That's different. I've still got all my faculties... I do it from choice. That poor old soul's got no say in the matter.

GLORIA: What I think what she used to be like.

MARIA: God, yes. Wicked Witch of the West, how are you.

GLORIA: Maria!

MARIA: Flying round on her broomstick all the time.

GLORIA: [laughs despite herself] Oh, stop.

MARIA: She must hate this powerlessness, this total dependency. I'm sure she'd probably prefer to die. I certainly would.

GLORIA: She could go on and on and on, the doctor said. Slowly fading away but still hanging on.

MARIA: Cheer up. It may never happen. Here. [Throws a Turkish delight which lands on Gloria]

GLORIA: He asked me again this morning about putting her in hospital. Said I was looking peaky. That he didn't want two patients to look after.

MARIA: I suppose you said the usual. About how she always used to go on and on about how she knew we would want to put her away as soon as we could and making us promise not to.

GLORIA: I just told him we were able to cope.

MARIA: Not indefinitely.

GLORIA: For the time being... Anyway, what did she want?

MARIA: I didn't go up... I was busy... don't look at me like that, Gloria. I'd reached a critical point. Every nail on my body was sticky.

GLORIA: Ah, God, Maria. It could be urgent.

MARIA: She'd have kept on, then. Like she does at four in the morning when she thinks it's just about time for one of us to bring her in a nice cup of tea.

Gloria gets up, clearly exhausted.

MARIA: I'll go.

GLORIA: I'll got. I'm sure your nails are still sticky. [She exits]

Maria shrugs and puts on the radio again. It is the end of the song she likes, and she sings along

GLORIA'S VOICE: She's wet the bed, Maria. You'll have to help me change her.

MARIA: Shit! [In a temper she slams out, leaving the song continuing]

Lights fade down and up.