Potpourri: Mixed Bag of Life

By Maurice Siegel

What is a word? I mean to that brain of ours, a sound distinctly different from tree branches in motion or those of leaves hanging down uncertain what to do next. We get simple instructions from tree noises except for getting out of the way should one of them collapse. Not much information was gathered after a life of staring up at trees in awe, not even a smile. The reason is obvious. We have to be told what a word is when struck on the ears for the first time, generally intended to identify some object that can bring danger or caring or usefulness. After that identification, its clear sailing. The word grows like the tree does, with additional information tacked on to get you to laugh or cry or shrug or wonder or turn away unconcerned. Unless the word is attached to other words, words lurking about that can be hooked up with ease.

Something new will happen. The mind can become busy directing the body to cause something to come about. Something to come about comes in two sizes. The one size we know the best is an action to change what is around our body, directed by needs and wants. It is the second one coming about that has no outward change of body direction but does something special to the mind as to be carried around by that mind for a lifetime, if not longer. It is an amazing sense of ones feelings without motion to the body, rising out of words clustered together in certain ways that words can come together. This miracle of the human animal creates the feelings of a satisfaction never to be known to any other of the animals also fighting for survival. This sensation strikes deeply within oneself and is called by names we all recognize. There is poetry, prose, and plays to mention the few that bring me to a sense of emotion that otherwise would lie forever dormant in the rush through lifes practical requiring needs to keep oneself available for more gathering up of practical needs. My break with that cycle, as life permitted, is what is expressed, as best as I could, in this book as I wandered in and out of one act, plays, poems, and essays, all discoveries I had a chance to taste while the tasting was good.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543429268

Maurice Siegel

After living long enough to suspect everything and enjoy the experiences of people rushing off into every possible direction and also being cynical enough to wonder what’s going on around me, I’m not likely ever to get my sought after answers to the biggest of the thoughts I wonder about. Me and most of humankind, and maybe some animal here or there not as yet understood by us, remain endlessly curious. What remains true, I’m not able to crack open the big answer into any of the unknown we are all staring at. My only destiny, along with centuries of others like me, is to make every attempt to handle the job of being one more of the strange species that have to be perplexed and by writing about it. —Maurice Siegel

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Copyright © 2017 by Maurice Siegel.

ISBN:      Softcover   978-1-5434-2927-5

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Rev. date: 06/20/2017

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Contents

BOOKS PUBLISHED BY MAURICE SIEGEL

VIEWS FROM A LIFE

Essays In variant Forms Between Life’s Arrival

And Deaths Departure

HOPES AND DREAMS TO INFINITY

Quests In The Search Of Love

Twelve One Act Plays

THE WORLD IS VERY ROUND

Six Full Length Plays

THERE IS NO SAFE PLACE NOR EVER CAN BE.

I WONDER WHY.

Seventy Three Poems Of Seventy Three Views

Of One World

Introduction

Nature proclaimed there is to be another new species. That’s us, so far. Nature had been quick about also proclaiming for this new species, as was done with all other animals, the opportunity to put together a multitude of pictures inside the brain and, of course, sounds. Instead of just sounds that the other animals use, the new creature down from the trees could extend the sounds into words. Eventually, a few million years later or so, not having developed the bigger or better protective body parts as other wild beasts, massive jaws, lightening speeds, great muscles, the human being instead received the brain power to hold words before them to form them into stories, poems, plays and newspaper headlines.

How sentences continued to blossom forth seems likely as most due to a race for sexual success. At least in my lifetime where hands and arms are pointing all over and yanking at other homo sapiens to understand what the sentences were after. The power of words grew into their own. This is where it is now with kids at play, doing their share of cursing.

For myself, words have additionally a considerable use for remembering of the likeness for a memory and also whom to trust. Since words could allow humans to talk to one another as well as to themselves, the talking to themselves led to answers coming back only to themselves. It could lead to entire discussions with no one there. So developed the art of words to be called theatrical plays along with the other forms of words most of that kind used in politics. And, when no one listening, became essays.

Because the arts are self owned, we each have an expression through an art form. I have attempted with my own expression, to use the written word.

Good or badly done, we can each enter the search for a creative statement coming from ourselves that never quite existed before.

We each do live in separate worlds from one another and perceive the attempts to unify the world in our different ways. Since people have different faces, so they have different natural means of expression. This book contains my works of poetry, short story, one act plays, essays, each as they came at me when letting them out from being locked inside my brain, a sensation we all have that need not come out into the light as an undertaking of freeing up the ego. Again, for good or bad, I found mine needing to be on paper and gotten rid of from that collection inside my head.

But all individual works of art are connected by a universal thread of wanting to be made known. The point is, my finding old friends also having made an attempt to use written words as expression for their arrival of thoughts and dropping into a drawer, I have put the works of three friends at the end of this book as an additional section marked ‘Addendum’ and so marked with their names. These works have escaped the darkness within their minds and outside as well. It is now into the light of paper. One is from a very dear friend, Albert Shansky, who transcends many fields of understanding. His work in this book shows clearly his erudite knowledge by his essay Existentialism In Music to be found in the Addendum along with deep feeling poetry of Dominique La Frappe and a sensitive short story by Judy Adelson, hers coming from years of working the earth to bloom in beauty. .

Albert Shansky has also joined me in the writing of two one act plays presented in this book within my general work and so noted as our collaboration for The Woman On The Beach and The Left Typewriter.

A few more words about words. Everyone desires to see through that overhanging haze of what is reality while we have a very small and partial view. Observing down to billionths of an inch in size with special instruments as well as seeing out to the largest distances into our galaxy and universe beyond, we are searching desperately for footprints in a search for the real, but still reality stays shrouded. How curiously interesting it is to know and yet still not know what is going on for all of us and so I am impelled to write about the little insights coming my way, allowed me that by way of essays. It puts the unknowns to be just a step further ahead of me and ready to be revealed.

On I go with my three friends, our minds searching for a break in the murky look that refuses to become crystal clear as we are busy with each day collecting facts and observations, never sure what is to be thrown away. But it is also true for myself and my free wheeling emotions that it is a birthright to express what I have come to know, for good or badly done. In several of the essays in this book I have touched upon the mind and body preparing each other to understand what could be happening to deal. We each own the examination of the unpredictable nature of life.

I am proposing, in the essays that our basic logic, the underpinning to the mind, examining the world through eyes, ears and other organs of the body trying to establish specifics, there is a competition and struggle between logical thought and emotions of the brain that does get entangled as if they are of different brains requiring adjudication. Such seems to happen and done by a third separate part to the brain, the part much like an ombudsman owning the job to oversee the bruising interactions for response in the communities of people.

It is interesting that when I find myself in dueling with word-ideas to change a future, such outpouring turns into the characters in a play. Those characters, hoping to preserve their secrets, come upon a world they are trying to unsuccessfully avoid or hide away from and the unexpected takes place. Please bear with me in these attempted one act plays as I push myself into other people’s minds looking around for what they assume is going on.

We all do own it, an attempting at something artistic that did not exist before and placed before the presence of others to be enjoyed and judged. There must be an intention of our humanness to make personal expression an added aspect to the direction of survival. Al least I hope so.

The expressing of my thoughts in this book are in the order they came to mind over the past three years and have, therefore, not been listed by category. I hope this is not of an inconvenience to the reader. As well, I apologize for any grammatical errors and misspelling that always creep in among my other writing faults.

So Be It

The first part

Wild is nature on its own to whirl and twist.

From the arriving of life hoping nothing missed.

Simple to large, kind turned ferocious blind

Searching for that just one of its own kind.

Then genesis; have human made their owner.

To sadden each soul to wander as the loner.

Win, lose, gain, end, gods seek more given.

Enough for each god to wanting the striven

To be a human out of all the noisy clutter.

By wanting gods, their first sounds to mutter,

The gods, same and far apart East from West.

Choice to those that promise humans the best.

Delighting the gods to come ready and eager.

Hungered for devotion by life turning meager.

Gods steal bits from each life to worship lore.

Every god wants triumph while asking more.

Within ancient minds, never know the why.

Each gave up a soul by death; a hope to fly.

The second part

A group of enslaved folk held by fear to say,

Make the leap into chance by plan to run away.

Start to wander deserts forty years, ill advised.

Even Moses finding no hope of worse devised.

Until the mountain and a spell became broken.

It’s really one god, this desperate new token!

Ezekiel, Isaiah, Job grasp and hold a one truth.

That to seek more is harm; best to keep no proof.

Their friend, one god, a guide of hope to show.

Beware of that god’s anger, they surely know.

But noise of endless excess had been heard.

Shocking one god beyond the ever absurd.

The weakness of many not caring what to do. .

This god did have to punish as proof of virtue.

And so the story deepens; Noah floats away.

Joshua holds a Torah to have that final say.

A god eyes Job to let others steal and smile.

That one god awaits to prejudice his trial.

Ezekiel with self pain brings on the word.

To make all the others of the loins to gird.

Of poor Isaiah, the prophet of them all.

Tells to wait centuries to come to Paul.

The only one to predict wisdom of Christ

In Israel and Greece peddled it twice.

Of John and Peter and others made it so.

Thus one god changed to another flow.

Of that new god, an angel hiding as devil

Brings to everyone a damning by revel.

Such god has high demand and heavy toll.

While the devil tests and grabs for the soul.

The third Part

We torment each for what is never won.

Tear at minds to a death for all not done.

Driven by pain unasked but there to have.

At edge of disaster with no known salve.

Such are stories made, wishing of a reason.

Every moment to dream the better season.

Of a heaven is yours, that wondrous stay.

Vast space free to search forever any way.

From this Earth, heaven has nothing to lack.

Among tired stars is what had been held back.

The Fourth Part

A best of all gods to jump up and prance.

Enters Allah to Mohammed’s high dance.

A prophet so wise as to know the dream

For men seeking death an exquisite seem,

Virgins the many as their gift be worth

Remake from fallen to a celestial birth.

Oh, how high all those dreams of men.

Of tolerant women waiting for when.

So it is of the nature having a must.

To keep life moving by love or lust.

Either will render the what is to be.

Believing happens best for you and me.

I Am

I am never me.

I was who I had to be.

At wonder eight

It’s all for my fate.

Fearless I went

By life I was sent.

Best ever story

I was made for glory.

Winning sublime.

That weakness not mine.

It’s finally when

I’m older than ten.

Being the best

I know how to jest.

Aging still.

Fight harder for nil.

My escape route?

I’m grinding it out.

At twelve so clear.

To everyone I’m dear.

Needing each hour.

Look sweet, feel sour.

Be twenty, ah.

An age for the blah.

Life’s new morph.

Keeping death far off.

At twenty eight

World holds my weight.

I see the basic.

Reform the world mosaic.

Thirty five not bold

First sign of horrid old.

Finally there.

A father’s calming care.

I am to seem.

I am at the goal I dream

I am so worth

That long road from birth.

The climb past forty.

Grandest hunger for bawdy.

Fifty brings no ease.

Not quickly does it please.

Sixties turn spite.

Carried off my last fight.

Hold to dreams

While a world still beams.

The others like you

Have found nothing new.

Bored. Tired sigh.

God waits. So do I.

And seventies to hoard.

Nature’s pain is a fraud.

A soul embolden.

Not let life to be stolen.

Saw it as pasty.

So smile to being eighty.

A birthday song

Of numbers pushed along.

The was, it’s gone.

The yet, but one more con.

Never grasped time.

Hope for a last climb.

Much in the moment.

Nothing left when it went.

Dirge For A Self

Is there deeper love than of oneself?

For others I’m another invisible elf.

Not ever high above that sea of life.

I’m ever thrown into mounting strife.

The dreams stare at my soul bereft.

The wonders, the few carelessly left,

To be touched by that flicker of eyes.

Listen for my slowly hungered sighs.

Find me lying in your path of thought.

Empty approval desperately sought.

O hear the calls of the whom I am.

One more shout and one more damn.

Showing me their better to view.

Still hope seen by that very few.

Crossing life’s most perilous streets,

I brought a share winning daring feats.

No one cared of my truth to liars.

I still have all deepest desires.

Why had none been where I stood?

Time is now for a box of wood?

Arise. Look To The Skies

Prettiest of all the things, clouds.

Waiting to move like silent crowds.

Placed in the sky as broken shrouds.

Each white fluff owns a will to be.

As if being told it’s time to flee.

That one hangs tired, unlike me.

Clouds carry a marvel in silence.

To behold with gracious reliance

Stars and sun, willing compliance.

Having billowed to every shape.

From turtle on to ominous ape.

Never failing to have all gape.

Look up to find that ever wonder.

Below the blue seems a blunder.

Until torn away as wind’s plunder.

Fill the sky as of captured booty.

Whiteness is undressed beauty.

A love gift of nature’s quiet duty.

Strolling on its only one journey.

Up there, a cloud we wait to see.

Don’t let it end but always to be.

No Escape From Needing Love

I have seen in me a want to rush by.

Years of life leaves one long sigh.

Shouldn’t hasten from the who I am.

Till forced to leave the world I damn.

Forever blaming at what is ahead.

Searching for love still inside my head.

Anger delivered upon objects I see.

Hoping, praying for that one decree.

Wanting for touching at her regions.

Kept from her my hungered legions.

How I miss her longest stare at me

From my dreams of her hope to be.

Her reach can touch my urging mind.

Melt nature’s delight to be unkind.

Arrest my frenzy bring her to heel.

She is chosen no harm ever to feel.

That endless emptied joy, a quest.

Impassion mind to have the best.

Haunted terror from besieged past.

Played out, hiding hell’s cast.

Had given love held in a sieve.

From fearing ready and able to give.

That place giving love as my start,

Fell upon a silent punctured heart.

Needing and ready to give all.

A fear was preparing my fall.

It began when I lost my first love.

She rose her way far higher above.

I prayed for harm she kept in full.

Then hastened a new love pull.

A love sought never yield or relent.

Not like mine that was and went.

It is, I accept for nothing be certain.

That first love remained my curtain.

Many came the loving hastened to be.

Entered two lives with bow and flee.

Now to think back on wearied brow,

How much was lost to where and how.

Children Of Darkness

(A second version listed as ‘Forever Children Of Darkness’)

Ian McFarland

Jock

Catherine

A windy, chilly night. A small town along the coast of Nova Scotia.

Two men are just leaving McGovern’s Tavern. One man, Ian, is a

little smaller than normal height. He is in his early thirties. The other

man, Jock, is tall and broad shouldered, a few years older. They have

a partial Scottish lilt. They are wearing miners clothing, heavy boots

and dirt smeared on parts of their faces and hands. Jock turns to yell

back at the open door of the tavern. Jock is somewhat tipsy.

Jock

Good night, McGovern, you old –something or other or other – like son of a bitch, for instance!

Ian

Be quiet, Jock.

Jock laughs loudly. He sings to the houses around him.

Jock

Let me roam the black hills God forgot.

Where the coal never shines like on top.

Below! Below! Where all is forgot.

Below is my home. Below is my lot.

Let me roam the —

And why aren’t you singing with me, my boy? It’s a good night. Good as any comes our way.

Jock puts his arm around Ian’s shoulder.

What am I seeing in your face, Ian, my old friend? Time for you to be getting a smile on your face, like you always do about now. Where is it?

Ian

(Turns away) I’m thinking you had more’n me in there.

Jock

Considering I’m twice your height and you’re lost standin there behind me. Don’t you’d be supposing I should be getting much more?

Ian

It was even money we used. Half and half.

Jock

There’s a truth for you. And that’s the reason it’s a great team we always make. The finest two bachelors in Ingenish, and surely the only ones left here worth talking about. Not to be counting those skinny lads just comin of age. For men, there’s only us. Lonely widows and them whose men left them, all depending on you and me. God must be a good fellow having so many of those women about.

Ian’s face darkens.

I’m sorry for saying that about God. (Bows to Ian) Is that all right with you? (Grabs Ian) Look at those lights in the windows. One in five will be a woman sitting there and hoping someone comes to cheer her up and me with only two hands. I could give a loud yell from the pleasure of it all. Yeah!! And it’s just the beginning of Friday night. What a good Saturday we’ll have and Sunday before it’s back to the wet hole.

Ian

And what are you thinking to be so different for tomorrow?

Jock

Different? Nothing to be different. To begin with, you and me go to our room for a few nips with old Chester to hear his stories and jokes and lies. Then it’s right back to McGoverns for the women comin to warm their hearts and we deciding who’s to warm our feet till morning comes. And why are you looking sad as a funeral usher? It’s too many moods beginnin to creep inside you. You’re reminding me of Frankie Garren. Poor lad. He was once a good friend of mine but very sad he got to lookin, and like that (snaps his fingers) he’d be ready to cry. One day he caught himself a fever. There I was at McGoverns, not know’n one of those empty headed girls came with food to help Frankie Garren in his room. No different than what I could’ve done for him in his weakness. So now Frankie Garren is married and with four nasty kids. Quick as a wink it all happened. One mistake he made and now he hates me. You’re not listening. Look at me and not up at them cold stars or I’ll come down with one blow on your skull.

Jock grabs Ian’s face to examine him. Ian pulls away.

Ian

Stop it! It’s my stomach.

Jock

If it’s your stomach, you should be bending over instead of looking up. Is it religion you’re seein in those stars or is it some wretch of a girl you haven’t told me about? You really are ailing.

Jock doesn’t notice a girl walking towards them hastily. She is somewhat

attractive, in her middle twenties. Ian sees her approaching.

Ian

You’re the older of us. Tell me the truth about what you know.

Jock

Why, man, nothing’s as good as what’s been keeping us goin the way we do week after week. Is there.

Jock sees Ian’s eyes looking at something behind him. Jock

turns. He stands in front of the girl in a cocky manner.

Catherine

(To Jock.) Excuse me. This is for people to go by.

Ian

Jock, you’re in the way. I’m sorry, Catherine.

Jock

(Catching Ian’s interest in Catherine.) A good friend you are, Ian, to be tellin me I’m in the way. Evening to you, Catherine, darling.

She starts to walk on.

Ian

Are you in a hurry?

Catherine

And why would you ask that?

Jock

(Mimicking) And why would you ask that?

Ian

(Awkward) It came to mind.

Jock

Bright for his age.

Catherine

(To Jock.) I don’t see that you have to be insulting when a friend of mine wishes to show an interest in my affairs. (Turns to Ian.) It’s not your business why I should be in a hurry. A girl has many reasons to be in a hurry.

Jock

Holy Jesus, but she’s still a testy one. And at her age! In two, three years she’ll be talking different to good old Jock if she hasn’t caught some poor fool of all fools to protect her from the loneliness of being with herself when her body is telling her something else, my boy..

Jock winks to Ian. Catherine turns, walks away.

Jock

Ian

Catherine!

Catherine

(Stops.) What is it, now, Ian?

Ian

(Looks at his feet.)….Are you still in a hurry?

Jock

((Mimicking.) Are you still in a hurry? Now what sort of a question is that when she can’t wait to rush off and out of your….(Realizing what is happening) The devil take me for a fool myself! (Angered) It’s not religion made you look that way.

Jock grabs Ian’s arm.

Did you hear me about Frankie Garren?!

Ian

Let go my arm, Jock. I’ve something to say to her.

Jock

What could that be?

Ian

Something that needs to be said. Now, let go!

Jock

And what needs to be said?

Ian

(Pulls his arm free.) I don’t know. I don’t know all the things that need explaining and neither do you.

Catherine

Hurry it up, Ian, If you want to talk to me.

Ian

(To Jock.) You’re standing in my way.

Jock

You don’t know shit about love. That’s why you need me to protect you from what it does to a man’s soul. (Ian tries to push around Jock. Jock pushes him back) I know where I’m standin, Ian! I’m beginning to feel sorry for you. You deceived your good and true friend.

Ian makes no reply. Jock’s mood changes to a false happy-go-lucky

tone. He steps aside.

You’re needin a hard lesson from a bigger guy than me. I’ll be enjoyin a fine taste in my mouth. I’m going right back to old McGoverns till you’re done with this. Make it quick, Ian, cause there’s both our money in my pocket and a lot of Friday night waitin for us..

He exits singing Let me roam the black hills God forgot. Catherine

pulls her shawl closer for warmth and to accent her breasts.

Catherine

You pick very odd companions for yourself, Ian.

Ian

(Too harsh a tone.) Jock is my closest friend!

Catherine

That he is. Good evening.

Ian

Why can’t I say something without…without the whole world flying off.

Catherine

The whole world’s got things to be doin. I’m waitin.

Ian

You don’t see how I feel.

Catherine

And how would you know that?

Ian

The wind is mean tonight.

Catherine

The way is clear enough and I’m not expectin to be blown away. (Uncomfortable pause) You know me long enough Ian. What do you think of me. Am I pretty enough to you? (He nods) Your face has some pock marks right over there. Your mother should have stopped you from peeling the sores when you were sick with somethin.

The distant sound of a train whistle. Catherine listens to the sound

as it fades away.

Trains make me want to be where I’m not. I’m not one to let that pass me by. Tell me the truth, Ian. Do you ever get to think of doing something nobody else thinks of doing around here?

Ian

I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Catherine

When you wake up late at night; when you’re not able to sleep and you don’t know why, what do you think about first off?

Ian

Me? If you want to know that then I’ll try to remember the next time it happens and be sure to tell you.

Catherine

(Annoyed.) What I’m sayin to you, Ian Farlind, do you think about other places? Everything’s bigger away from Inginish. People do things even those who are not found to be special.

Ian

I would like to come to see you.

Catherine

You didn’t understand a single word.

Ian

Sure I did.

Catherine

The mines have taken away the best part of you, you workin in that dark shadow of a world.

Ian

You were talking about other places, the ones we all read about and watch on the television.

The mines are wet to the touch but I got no problem with that.

Catherine

You should. You don’t think about it? (He shakes his head) I thank you for trying, Ian. I want to see many places. I’ll see them. Not right now. One of these days….What did you say?

Ian

I would like to come to see you. I’m good with my hands. I can build anything you want to be built.

Catherine

For what purpose do you want me knowing it? To see me?

Ian

(Looks down at his feet.) I don’t know….I got things in my head that go poppin in and disappearin somewhere for awhile.

Catherine

For how long before they’re back again do I wait?

Ian

Could be days or weeks. Oh. You’re enjoyin to make fun with me. Jock is doing it, too.

Catherine

Does it bother you?

Ian

It does. Very much.

Catherine

What do you say to him?

Ian

Nothing. He gets to feeling hurt so I forget it. It’s not been easy after his wife up and left him without a by your leave, I’m goin.

Catherine

I heard that.

Ian

We drank hard for two days to help him get back on his feet.

Catherine begins to walk off, leaving Ian watching her.

Catherine! I just remembered! (She stops) It came back. It was about marryin maybe.

Catherine

Marrying maybe? And why should I be doing a thing like that, to be seeing you for marrying maybe? It’s these places I want to go to, you don’t ever think about them.

Ian

No, Catherine. I don’t. Not the way you do.

Catherine

Is it because you don’t like talking about it or you don’t think about it?

Ian

I don’t know which. You should let me come to see you.

Catherine

(Begins to walk away) All of a sudden, there are other things on my mind.

Ian

You’re angry.

Catherine

A girl has a right to be! Everyone thinks they know what’s best for me! Because I’ll be thirty soon, my father tells everyone how good he’s been to me. But he’s not good. We fight. Shouting and threatening. Don’t you want to do one thing different? It’s as if there are forces surrounding me.

Ian

Do you now?

Catherine

I can almost see those forces. I want to go to Halifax. I have no money right now helping my mother. She’s very sick. I’ve said too much.

Ian

I can hear the forces inside the Earth moaning and groaning when we take out the coal.

Catherine

The forces that I’m telling you about are conspiring, not letting us know what they’re doing next to us.

Ian

The ones inside the Earth, if they want, they can bring the walls to collapse on me and Jock.

Catherine

Aren’t you afraid?

Ian

Me, no. Jock looks around when a moan rolls towards us. I tell Jock it’s all right.

Catherine

My forces terrify me. They’ve gotten themselves in here. (She touches her heart) Couldn’t they leave me alone? With all they’ve got to choose from.

Ian

The forces don’t seem to care about us. We have to care about each other. No other way that I can see.

Catherine

Why should I agree with that? I don’t have to. You given it a thought, Ian? (Ian nods) Then why do you want to be marrying me maybe?

Ian

You’re confusing me. I know what I was thinking.

Catherine

So it will be all your life here?

Ian

I’ve seen the towns around. Only looks to be better there.

Catherine

(Begins to cry) If only I knew for sure.

Ian

I have never seen you cry, Catherine.

Catherine

(Wipes her eyes.) You never will, again. Why would you marry me? Answer it this time.

Ian

(Looks down, kicks at a pebble.) I’m thinking about love. The mine turns cold when you’re at the bottom. Darkness I don’t mind. The earth never seems to be caring I’m there.

Catherine

And if I say no right now?

Ian

I can’t help the feelings inside me.

Catherine

(Loud) There is never a choice to anything, is there?! Will you be going to McGoverns each Saturday night after you be married?!

Ian

I would much like to.

Catherine

And stay a miner?

Ian

A foreman one day.

Catherine

Nothing more? (He shrugs) And do you know me?

Ian

I do.

Catherine

I’m not a piece of dirty coal you crack open with one pull from the wall.

Ian

They have a machine to do that.

Catherine

You’re not the worst in Inginish. You’re better than most. That much I can see with my eyes The rest lies away somewhere. It’s my heart. Ian to make such a decision.

Ian

What does it say?

Catherine

I think I lost it somewhere. Will you help me find it?

Ian

I would.

Catherine

Is there not one other place to see it for yourself?

Ian

I’ll have to think about it. For your sake.

Catherine

I’m chilled by the night air standing here with you. I had to be at my