Remembrance and Pantomime: A Play
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About this ebook
First produced by Joseph Papp's New York Shakespeare Festival in 1979, Remembrance is the story of an evasively eloquent retired teacher who cannot reconcile his anachronistic love of British culture with the evolution of his family and community in independent Trinidad. "A lyrical, audience-pleasing work" (Variety). Mr. Walcott is a poet, and his writing is of a quality we seldom hear in the theatre" (The New Yorker).
Pantomime is a fast-paced comedy set in Tobaco. In the hope of entertaining future guests, an English hotel owner proposes that he and his black handyman work up a satire on the Robinson Crusoe story. The play was produced by BBC Radio and London's Keskidee Theatre in 1979. "A brilliantly extended set of variations on the master-and-servant relationship" (The Times). "Gentle wit, immaculately placed irony" (New Statesman). "Dazzling theatrical virtuosity" (Financial Times).
Derek Walcott
Derek Walcott (1930-2017) was born in St. Lucia, the West Indies, in 1930. His Collected Poems: 1948-1984 was published in 1986, and his subsequent works include a book-length poem, Omeros (1990); a collection of verse, The Bounty (1997); and, in an edition illustrated with his own paintings, the long poem Tiepolo's Hound (2000). His numerous plays include The Haitian Trilogy (2001) and Walker and The Ghost Dance (2002). Walcott received the Queen's Medal for Poetry in 1988 and the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1992.
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Remembrance and Pantomime - Derek Walcott
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Remembrance
Pantomime
Note
By Derek Walcott
Copyright
Remembrance
For Alix Walcott
and
Ruth and Joe Moore
Characters
ALBERT PEREZ JORDAN, a retired schoolteacher, aged sixty-five
MABEL JORDAN, his wife, late fifties
FREDERICK JORDAN, their son, early thirties
MR. BARRLEY, an American tourist
ESTHER HOPE, an Englishwoman, late twenties
ANNA HERSCHEL, an American (same actress as for Esther Hope)
MR. PILGRIM, editor of The Belmont Bugle, early sixties
AN INTERVIEWER from The Belmont Bugle, early twenties; also A SCHOOLBOY and A WAITER
SET: The living room of the Jordans’ house in the old section of Belmont, Port of Spain, Trinidad, in the present.
Remembrance was commissioned by the Courtyard Players, St. Croix, and premiered at the Dorsch Centre, St. Croix, on April 22, 1977, directed by the author, with the following cast:
The play was produced by Joseph Papp, and opened at the New York Shakespeare Festival, New York, on April 24, 1979, directed by Charles Turner, with the following cast:
Act One
PROLOGUE
Pre-dawn. The drawing room of ALBERT PEREZ JORDAN’s house in Belmont. Dark wood, a fanlight of stained glass, ferns in a corner, a couch with a fading floral pattern, a fringed standing lamp, and a large antique desk at which JORDAN, in waistcoat, no jacket, slippers, is sitting stiffly, hands clasped in his lap. A grandfather clock strikes four. The INTERVIEWER is sitting in the half dark, some distance away, holding a cassette recorder. A small microphone is in front of JORDAN.
INTERVIEWER
Is Remembrance Day today, Mr. Jordan, seven years after the February revolution to which you lost a son, and tomorrow there will be marching in the streets of Port of Spain, and the marchers will stand with red flags for one commemorative minute outside this house …
JORDAN
Whose windows will be closed … Wait. You going to leave in the sound of the clock?
INTERVIEWER
The clock will strike again, Mr. Jordan. So we have all the time in the world. Ready?
JORDAN
Is like one of them launchings at Cape Canaveral. Boy, I sitting here feeling like a spaceman, except I taking a journey through time.
INTERVIEWER
I had it on that time. Lemme erase.
JORDAN
Not lemme erase,
boy! Let me erase. You write for Ezra Pilgrim’s paper and is so all you does talk? All you young Trinidadians does so handle machine without reading book.
INTERVIEWER
Mr. Pilgrim instructed me to show you the machine, when you have to use it by yourself. Press both here for Record. Backward. Forward. Your turn.
JORDAN
No. The only machine I ever trusted was my old Raleigh bicycle. It behaved erratically and suddenly died.
INTERVIEWER
Of what, Mr. Jordan?
JORDAN
Rabies. Some rabid pothound snapped at my trouser clip and bit the bike. It’s out there in the back yard, rusty as my Latin. I’m ready.
(INTERVIEWER turns off the machine, as JORDAN exasperatedly paces)
I would have written all this down, but that stubborn red ass, your editor, wouldn’t hear. What about your eyes? he said. Before your memory goes, too, I’ll send a boy over with a tape recorder, and if you can’t write you could talk it out. Talk out what? I said. And he said, The story of your life, and I said, My life is nothing, Ezra, I have been a damn fool, and he said, Nobody’s life is nothing, especially yours, and besides, I said, I cannot write prose, Ezra, I am a poet, and he said, Everybody’s eyes does dim a little as they get old, but as your eyes grow dim so your memories brighten, and if you can’t write prose, at least you could talk it, and I told him, You got that from Molière, because I was a schoolmaster, you know. They called me One Jacket Jordan.
(Long pause)
I was a schoolmaster. I was for a while Acting Principal of Belmont Intermediate. They never appointed me. A schoolmaster.
(Pause)
Who taught the wrong things.
(He crosses to coat rack and puts on schoolmaster’s jacket. He has become a younger man. He crosses to desk, sits down, opens a book, and recites)
"Full many a gem of purest ray serene,
The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear:
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast
The little tyrant of his fields withstood;
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest,
Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country’s blood.
(A cough. He pauses)
Th’ applause of listening senates to command…"
(Hands clapping)
We’ll have none of that, please. To talk in all you dialeck, I ent in the mood for no heckling this Monday morning, so whoever feel he was a listening senator applauding now, mind I ent use this ruler on his same hand for it to really smart, which is a pun in case all you didn’t know. So. The page is page 43, the author is Thomas Gray. My mother, who was also a teacher, used to recite this same passage to me when I was your age, and the poem is an elegy.
(Voices off: Schoolboys, faint, then louder)
VOICES OFF
L-E-G! Leg.
B-E-G! Beg.
JORDAN
You hear those voices? You hear those voices, boy? They grew into a rabble and they fooled my son.
(In the past, confidently)
And Thomas Gray is saying …
VOICES OFF
Gray is ofay, black is beautiful,
Gray is shit,
(Chanting)
Jordan is a honky
Jordan is a honky
Jordan is a honky-donkey white nigger man!
(JORDAN whirls and seizes a ruler from the desk)
JORDAN
Put out your hand, boy!
I say put out your hand!
Good! Good. Now turn it round!
Boy, I said to turn it round!
What color is the palm, eh? Pink.
What color is the back, eh? Black!
Well, you go learn, little nigger,
that, just like your hand,
what is called poetry, and art,
color don’t matter! Color don’t matter!
(His own palm is extended. He begins to beat it)
So learn! Learn! Learn! Learn!
(Pause. JORDAN stands there with extended palm. Then he rubs his forehead, smiles)
INTERVIEWER
Your two best-known stories, the ones that get into anthologies the most, are, of course: Barrley and the Roof,
a satire on independence, and My War Effort,
a romance. How closely did you draw on your own experience; can we say that the work of Albert Perez Jordan was his life?
JORDAN
You could say it, if you prepared for libel. It is fiction. I always added a little truth to my stories. Pepper sauce on the meat.
(Reads. Projection: print)
INTERVIEWER
(Hands JORDAN a small locally printed volume and announces into the mike)
Here then, in A. P. Jordan’s inimitable manner, is his last story … Barrley on the Roof
… published in The Beacon, May 1971.
JORDAN
"Barrley and the Roof," boy!
(The INTERVIEWER withdraws. JORDAN in a spotlight, the printed or manuscript page, in fastidious hand, behind him. Reads)
Epigraph from William Blake:
A Man’s worst enemies are those of his own House and Family.
(PILGRIM staggers in)
PILGRIM
Correct!
(JORDAN crosses to coat rack, changes jackets, and puts on sash and hat. PILGRIM begins to sing a calypso tune)
Run your run, Adolf Hitler, run your run. Run your run, Adolf Hitler, run your run.
(As PILGRIM sings, JORDAN crosses to him, and together they stagger)
JORDAN
(Reads)
Whenever Wilberforce P. Padmore, part-time poet, returned home with his bosom friend, Roddy Broadwater, from lodge meetings of the Oddfellows Society, in black suits, sashes, and homburgs, whose angle suggested two irresponsible morticians, they were inevitably, indubitably, inebriated.
PILGRIM
Good night, A.P.
(He