by Phoebe Roberts
~~~
COLONEL REGINALD HAWKING, of the Indian Rebellion, late thirties
HENRY CHAPMAN, his batman and valet, early thirties
~~~
(CHAPMAN sits in the dressing room, brushing a top hat. He stands when his master THE COLONEL enters.)
THE COLONEL:
Evening, Chapman.
CHAPMAN:
Good evening, sir.
THE COLONEL:
I think I’ll turn in now.
CHAPMAN:
Very good, sir.
(He takes THE COLONEL’s tailcoat and helps him undress.)
CHAPMAN:
If I might ask… any better today, sir?
THE COLONEL:
Much the same, really.
CHAPMAN:
I’m sorry to hear it.
THE COLONEL:
I expect it shall be for some time now.
CHAPMAN:
I see. A shame.
(CHAPMAN makes a face as he assists THE COLONEL.)
THE COLONEL:
I know that look.
CHAPMAN:
What look, sir?
THE COLONEL:
Come off it, now. I know you don’t approve.
CHAPMAN:
Sir! I would never presume—
THE COLONEL:
Of course, of course.
CHAPMAN:
Far be it from me to judge the lady of the house—
THE COLONEL:
Spare me, old boy. Just that I’ll thank you to keep it to yourself.
CHAPMAN:
Of course, sir.
THE COLONEL:
Well. I’ve had enough of all this. Tell me something new, Chapman.
CHAPMAN:
Something new, sir? Well. There’s been some new notices from the foreign office that shall require your attention.
THE COLONEL:
Ah, yes. I hope you fancy a little travel in the near time. There’s a post or two abroad they’d like to see inspected.
CHAPMAN:
Go out on assignment now? Are you certain that’s wise?
THE COLONEL:
Duty calls. The empire can’t wait on our ease.
CHAPMAN:
Indeed, sir. I’ll see to the preparations.
THE COLONEL:
Very good. Anything else?
CHAPMAN:
Just another letter from your brother.
THE COLONEL:
Another? I suppose he won’t be put off, then.
CHAPMAN:
May I ask what he wants?
THE COLONEL:
A visit, it seems. A long one.
CHAPMAN:
Hmm. It would be quite understandable if you weren’t keen on having company.
THE COLONEL:
I think he means to take my mind off things.
CHAPMAN:
Well. That’s kind of him.
THE COLONEL:
Ambrose always looks out for his little brother.
CHAPMAN:
Perhaps you might find him a comfort.
THE COLONEL:
Perhaps. She won’t, though. He’s never cared for her either.
CHAPMAN:
I’m sorry, sir.
THE COLONEL:
He can think whatever he likes. I only hope he doesn’t teach it to the boys.
CHAPMAN:
Will they be joining him?
THE COLONEL:
I expect so.
CHAPMAN:
You don’t seem pleased.
THE COLONEL:
Don’t I?
CHAPMAN:
I thought you were quite fond of them.
THE COLONEL:
I am. They’re fine boys. Ambrose is very lucky. But— I fear they may wear on Mrs. Hawking.
CHAPMAN:
I see.
THE COLONEL:
That’s the last thing she needs right now.
(Pause.)
CHAPMAN:
It must be difficult.
THE COLONEL:
What must be difficult?
CHAPMAN:
When the family doesn’t get on.
THE COLONEL:
That’s putting it mildly.
CHAPMAN:
Well… it isn’t as if we choose our brothers’ wives.
THE COLONEL:
No more than we choose our brothers. Like it or not, Ambrose is stuck with the lot of us.
CHAPMAN:
I suppose not every man would choose a woman so… ah…
THE COLONEL:
Yes, Chapman?
CHAPMAN:
Fierce, perhaps?
THE COLONEL:
I’m a soldier, old boy, I’m drawn to it.
CHAPMAN:
I’m sure, sir. But fierce is a two-edged sword.
THE COLONEL:
Precisely. You lot only see the cuts. You miss how bright the blade is. She really is a remarkable woman, you know.
CHAPMAN:
Of course, sir.
THE COLONEL:
No, Chapman, don’t nod me off like that. I know what she seems like to you, but you’ve not seen the other side of it. It means more than just that she’s difficult for going so much her own way.
CHAPMAN:
How so?
THE COLONEL:
She’s utterly fearless. Their judgment can’t touch her, and no man, woman, king, brute, or god can bow her. Have you ever known a woman like that? I hadn’t, not before her.
(He pauses, remembering.)
THE COLONEL:
The first time I ever saw her– I was only a callow youth, a green junior officer stationed abroad in the colonies. I was making a report to the lieutenant governor in New Guinea, and when I was on my way to his bungalow, I saw, of all things, a girl climbing up a tree. The lieutenant’s daughter, though I didn’t know it yet. I watched her a moment, then all of a sudden she dropped down. I thought she was falling, so I rushed over to catch her. But she landed like a cat, whirled out of my arms, and her fist shot out faster than I could blink. Like a striking cobra, she blacked my eye.
CHAPMAN:
She never!
THE COLONEL:
Quicker than I could blink. Damn near knocked me bum over teakettle.
CHAPMAN:
My word! Surely the lieutenant had something to say about that.
THE COLONEL:
I never told him.
CHAPMAN:
But your black eye!
THE COLONEL:
Said I’d had it boxing with the lads. He never knew the difference. I tell you, Chapman, I thought I’d frightened her that day, but no. She was just that fierce.
CHAPMAN:
Good heavens.
THE COLONEL:
That’s the least of what I saw her do. Are you surprised?
CHAPMAN:
Ah, I’d say not. Considering how she’s given to talk…
THE COLONEL:
That’s a bit rich, considering she’s had hardly a word for any of us in weeks.
(Pause.)
THE COLONEL:
I suppose I can’t speak for the rest of the house. But, heaven help me, I find I miss the rows. When she snapped back. Even raged. At least then she seemed like herself.
CHAPMAN:
I’m afraid I don’t understand, sir.
THE COLONEL:
No. You don’t. No more than Ambrose does, nor anyone else.
CHAPMAN:
Except you, it seems.
THE COLONEL:
Someday, perhaps.
CHAPMAN:
Sir?
THE COLONEL:
It would take a lifetime to understand her. I knew I had to marry her to give myself the time.
CHAPMAN:
In that case, you’ll have to forgive the rest of us if we haven’t done it yet either.
THE COLONEL:
Suppose I shall. If you all can forgive her.
CHAPMAN:
A fair point, sir.
(Pause.)
CHAPMAN:
Is that how you manage? You forgive her?
THE COLONEL:
Forgive her for what?
CHAPMAN:
For this.
(Pause.)
THE COLONEL:
You’ll not judge her for it, Chapman.
CHAPMAN:
It’s not that, sir. Not precisely.
THE COLONEL:
After what happened, she can do whatever she damn well likes.
CHAPMAN:
It’s only… what about you, sir?
THE COLONEL:
What about me?
CHAPMAN:
He was to be your son, too.
(THE COLONEL tenses and turns away. CHAPMAN is chagrined.)
CHAPMAN:
Forgive me, sir. I shouldn’t speak of it.
(Pause.)
THE COLONEL:
I don’t know why it should hit me so hard. These things happen all the time. To some people, over and over again. Nothing to be done.
CHAPMAN:
You’d already given him a name.
THE COLONEL:
Gabriel– if only I hadn’t.
CHAPMAN:
Children have names.
THE COLONEL:
That name was all there ever was of him.
CHAPMAN:
It’s normal to mourn a loss.
THE COLONEL:
Strange, though, to call it that. We never really had him to lose, did we?
CHAPMAN:
Still. It feels a loss, to you.
THE COLONEL:
And there it is, Chapman!
(Pause.)
THE COLONEL:
If it’s like a loss to me… what must it be to her? She would have been his mother, for God’s sake. If I feel like… like this… what must it be like for her?
(Pause.)
THE COLONEL:
Tell me, Chapman, how can I ask anything of her now?
(He pulls on his robe.)
THE COLONEL:
Well. We have travel plans to make. Tomorrow we’ll see to things.
CHAPMAN:
Very well. The change of scene may do some good. Perhaps even for Mrs. Hawking.
THE COLONEL:
As a matter of fact, you and I shall be on our own for this voyage. And perhaps a few more to come. That, I think, will do her good.
(Pause.)
THE COLONEL:
That’ll be all now, old boy.
(CHAPMAN bows and exits, leaving THE COLONEL there alone.)
