ACT I.
[Kneirtje’s home, a poor living-room. At the left, two wall bedsteads and a door; to the right, against the wall, a chest of drawers with holy images, vases and photographs. A chimney fireplace nearer front. At the back wall, near right corner, a wicket leading to the cooking shed; at left against the wall a cupboard; a cage with dove; window with flower pots, left of center; in back wall right of center a door overlooking a narrow cobblestone roadway backed by a view of beach with sea in middle distance and horizon. Through the window to the left is seen the red tiled lower corner of roof of a cottage. Time, noon.]
Clementine.
[Sketch book on her knee.] Now, then! Cobus!
Cobus.
[Who poses, awakes with a start, smiles.] He-he-he! I wasn’t asleep—No, no—
Clem.
Head this way—still more—what ails you now? You were sitting so natural. Hand on the knee again.
Cobus.
Tja—when you sit still so long—you get stiff.
Clem.
[Impatiently.] Please! please! stop chewing.
Cob.
I haven’t any chew. Look.
Clem.
Then keep your mouth shut.
Daantje.
[Entering by the cooking shed.] Good day.
Clem.
Good day. Take a walk around the corner.
Daan.
No, Miss—time’s up. [Looking at sketch.] It don’t look like him yet.
Clem.
[Smiling.]
Daan.
[Shifting his spectacles.] You see—if I may take the liberty, Miss—his chin sets different—and his eyes don’t suit me—but his nose—that’s him—and—and—his necktie, that’s mighty natural—I’d swear to that anywhere.
Clem.
Indeed.
Daan.
And the bedstead with the curtains—that’s fine. Now, Miss, don’t you think you could use me?
Clem.
Perhaps. Hand higher—keep your mouth still.
Cob.
That’s easy said—but when y’r used to chewing and ain’t allowed to—then you can’t hold your lips still—what do you say, Daantje?
Daan.
I say time’s up. We eat at four and the matron is strict.
Clem.
That will be necessary with you old fellows.
Daan.
Peh! We’ve a lot to bring in, haven’t we? An Old Man’s Home is a jail—scoldings with your feed—as if y’r a beggar. Coffee this morning like the bottom of the rain barrel—and peas as hard as y’r corns.
Clem.
If I were in your place—keep your mouth still—I’d thank God my old age was provided for.
Cob.
Tja—tja—I don’t want to blaspheme, but—
Daan.
Thank God?—Not me—sailed from my tenth year—voyages—more than you could count—suffered shipwreck—starvation—lost two sons at sea—no—no. I say the matron is a beast—I’d like to slap her jaw.
Clem.
That will do! This is no dive.
Daan.
I know that, but it makes your gorge rise. I wasn’t allowed to go out last week because, begging your pardon, I missed and spat beside the sand box. Now I ask, would you spit beside a box on purpose? An old man’s home is a jail—and when they’ve shut you up, in one of them, decent, they’re rid of you. Wish the sharks had eaten me before I quit sailing.
Cob.
[Giggling.] He! he! he! Man, the sharks wouldn’t eat you—you were too tough for them.
Clem.
Keep your lips still!
Cob.
Tja, tja.
Daan.
Sharks not like me—They’ll swallow a corpse. Peh! I saw old Willem bitten in two till the blood spouted on high. And he was a thin man.
Clem.
Was old Willem eaten by a shark?
Daan.
By one? By six. Quick as he fell overboard they grabbed him. The water was red.
Clem.
Hey! How frightful. And yet—I’d rather like to see a thing like that.
Daan.
Like to see it! We had to.
Clem.
Did he scream?
Daan.
Did he scream!
Cob.
Tja, wouldn’t you if you felt the teeth in your flesh? He—hehe!
[Sound of a fiddle is heard outside. Cobus sways in his chair in time to the tune.]
Clem.
[Hastily closing the sketch book.] There then! [Rises.] Tomorrow you sit still—You hear!
Cob.
[Stretching himself.] All stiff! [Dances, snapping his fingers, his knees wabbling.] Ta de da da—da-da-da.
Daan.
[At the window.] Psst! Nobody home.
Jelle.
[Playing at window outside.] If you please.
Daan.
Nobody home.
Jelle.
I come regular once a week.
Daan.
They have gone to the harbor.
Clem.
[Throws a coin out of the window.] There! [Playing stops.]
Jelle.
Thank you. [Searches for the coin.]
Cob.
Behind that stone, stupid.
Daan.
No; more that way.
Clem.
I threw it out that way. Hey! what a donkey! Is he near-sighted?
Cob.
He’s got only half an eye—and with half an eye you don’t see much. [To Jelle.] Behind you!
Jelle.
I don’t see anything.
Daan.
[Barend appears at door.] Psst! Hey! Barend, you help him——
Clem.
There is a ten-cent piece out there.
Barend.
[Basket of driftwood on his back.] Give it to ’im in his paws then. [Enters.] [Throws down basket with a thud.] Here!
Cob.
Did you hear that impudent boy?
Clem.
Say there, big ape, were you speaking to me?
Bar.
[Shy and embarrassed.] No, Miss. I did not know you were there, I thought——
Cob.
What right had you to think—better be thinking of going to sea again to earn your Mother’s bread.
Bar.
That’s none of your business.
Cob.
Just hear his insolence to me—when he’s too bashful to open his mouth to others. [Taunting.] I’m not afraid—he-he-he!—No, I don’t get the belly ache when I must go to sea—he-he-he!
Daan.
Come along now. It’s struck four.
Clem.
Ten o’clock tomorrow, Cobus.
Daan.
He can’t do it, Miss, we must pull weeds in the court yard.
Cob.
Yes, we must scratch the stones.
Clem.
Tomorrow afternoon, then.
Cob.
Tja! I’ll be here, then. Good day, Miss. [To Barend.] Good day, pudding breeches.
Clem.
[Pinning on her hat.] He teases you, doesn’t he?
Bar.
[Laughing bashfully.] Yes, Miss.
Clem.
Been out searching the beach? [He nods embarrassed.] Found much?
Bar.
No, it was ebb last night—and—and—[Gets stuck.]
Clem.
Are you really afraid to go to sea, silly boy? [He nods, laughing.] They all go.
Bar.
[Dully.] Yes, they all go.
Clem.
A man must not be afraid——
Bar.
No, a man must not be afraid.
Clem.
Well, then?
Bar.
[Timidly.] I’d rather stay on shore.
Clem.
I won’t force you to go—How old are you?
Bar.
Rejected for the army last month.
Clem.
Rejected?
Bar.
For my—for my—I don’t know why, but I was rejected.
Clem.
[Laughing.] That’s lucky—A soldier that’s afraid!
Bar.
[Flaring up quickly.] I’m not afraid on land—let them come at me—I’ll soon stick a knife through their ribs!
Clem.
Fine!
Bar.
[Again lapsing into embarrassment.] Beg pardon, Miss. [The soft tooting of a steamboat whistle is heard.] That’s the Anna—there’s a corpse on board——
Clem.
Another one dead?
Bar.
The flag hung half-mast.
Clem.
Tu-tu-tu-tu—The second this week. First, the Agatha Maria——
Bar.
No, ’twas the Charlotte.
Clem.
Oh, yes! The Agatha was last week—Do they know who? [He shakes his head.] Haven’t you any curiosity?
Bar.
Ach—you get used to it—and none of our family are aboard. [Embarrassed silence.] Father can’t—Hendrick can’t—Josef can’t—you know about them—and—and—Geert—he’s still under arrest.
Clem.
Yes, he’s brought disgrace on all of you.
Bar.
Disgrace—disgrace——
Clem.
When is he free?
Bar.
I don’t know.
Clem.
You don’t know?
Bar.
They gave him six months—but they deduct the time before trial—we don’t know how long that was, so we can’t tell.
Kneirtje.
[Through the window.] Good day, Miss.
Clem.
Good day.
Kneir.
How did the chickens get out? Do look at that rooster! Get out, you salamander! Kischt! Jo! Jo!
Bar.
Let them alone. They’ll go of themselves.
Kneir.
[Entering the room.] That’s an endless devilment, Miss. [To Barend.] Come, you, stick out your paws. Must we have another row with Ari?
Bar.
Then we’ll have a row. [Goes off indifferently, chases away the chickens, outside.]
Kneir.
Then we’ll—such a lazy boy, I wish he’d never been born—Sponger!—Are you going so soon, Miss?
Clem.
I am curious to know what’s happened on the Anna.
Kneir.
Yes—I was on the way there—but it takes so long—and I’ve had my fill of waiting on the pier—if that pier could only talk. Have you finished my brother’s portrait?
Clem.
Tomorrow. I want to make a drawing of Barend also—just as he came in with the basket on his shoulders.
Kneir.
Barend? Well—All the same to me.
Clem.
He doesn’t seem to get much petting around here.
Kneir.
[Annoyed.] Pet him! I should say not! The sooner I get rid of him, the better! [Through the window.] Chase them away! Kischt! Kischt!
Bar.
[Outside.] All that yelling makes the rooster afraid.
Kneir.
Afraid! He takes after you, then! Kischt!
Clem.
Hahaha! Hahaha! Say, he’s enjoying himself there on Ari’s roof.
Jo.
[Coming through the door at left. Brown apron—gold head pieces on the black band around her head.] Good day.
Kneir.
The chickens are out again! The rooster is sitting on Ari’s roof.
Jo.
[Laughing merrily.] Hahaha! He’s not going to lay eggs there!
Kneir.
[Crossly.] Hear her talk! She knows well enough we almost came to blows with Ari because the hens walked in his potato patch.
Jo.
I let them out myself, old cross patch—Truus dug their potatoes yesterday.
Kneir.
Why didn’t you say so then?
Jo.
What am I doing now? Oh, Miss—she would die if she couldn’t grumble; she even keeps it up in her sleep. Last night she swore out loud in her dreams. Hahaha! Never mind! scold all you like; you’re a good old mother just the same. [To Barend, who enters the room.] Ach, you poor thing! Is the rooster setting on the roof? And does he refuse to come down?
Bar.
You quit that now!
Jo.
I’ll wager if you pet the hens he will come down of himself from jealousy. Hahaha! He looks pale with fear.
Clem.
Now, now.
Jo.
Say, Aunt, you should make a baker of him. His little bare feet in the rye flour. Hahaha!
Bar.
You can all——[Goes angrily off at left.]
Jo.
[Calling after him.] The poor little fellow!
Clem.
Now, stop teasing him. Are you digging potatoes?
Jo.
Tja; since four o’clock this morning. Nothing—Aunt—all rotten.
Kneir.
We poor people are surely cursed—rain—rain—the crops had to rot—they couldn’t be saved—and so we go into the winter—the cruel winter—Ach,—Ach,—Ach!
Jo.
There! You’re worrying again. Come, Mother, laugh. Am I ever sad? Geert may return at any moment.
Kneir.
Geert—and what then?
Jo.
What then? Then—then—then, nothing! Cheer up! You don’t add to your potatoes by fretting and grumbling. I have to talk like this all day to keep up her spirits—See, I caught a rabbit!
Clem.
In a trap?
Jo.
As neat as you please. The rascal was living on our poverty—the trap went snap as I was digging. A fat one—forty cents at the least.
Clem.
That came easy—I must go now.
Bos.
[At door.] Hello! Are you going to stay all day—May I come in?
Kneir.
[Friendly manner.] Of course you may, Meneer; come in, Meneer.
Bos.
My paws are dirty, children.
Kneir.
That’s nothing. A little dry sand doesn’t matter—will you sit down?
Bos.
Glad to do so—Yes, Kneir, my girl, we’re getting older every day—Good day, little niece.
Jo.
Good day, Meneer. [Points, laughing, to her hands.] You see——
Bos.
Have you put on gloves for the dance?
Jo.
[Nods saucily.] The hornpipe and the Highland fling, hey?
Bos.
Hahaha! Saucy black eye. [To Clementine.] Come, let me have a look.
Clem.
[Petulantly.] No, you don’t understand it, anyway.
Bos.
Oh, thanks!—You educate a daughter. Have her take drawing lessons, but must not ask to see—come! Don’t be so childish!
Clem.
[With spoiled petulance.] No. When it is finished.
Bos.
Just one look.
Clem.
Hey, Pa, don’t bother me.
Bos.
Another scolding, ha ha ha!
[Barend enters.]
Bar.
[Bashfully.] Good day, Meneer.
Bos.
Well, Barend, you come as if you were called.
Bar.
[Surprised laugh.] I?
Bos.
We need you, my boy.
Bar.
Yes, Meneer.
Bos.
The deuce! How you have grown.
Bar.
Yes, Meneer.
Bos.
You’re quite a man, now—How long have you been out of a job?
Bar.
[Shyly.] Nine months.
Kneir.
That’s a lie—It’s more than a year.
Bar.
No, it isn’t.
Jo.
Well, just count up—November, December—
Bos.
That’ll do, children. No quarreling. Life is too short. Well, Barend, how would the forty-seven suit you?—Eh, what?——
Bar.
[Anxiously.] The forty-seven——
Bos.
The Good Hope——
Clem.
[Surprised.] Are you going to send out the Good Hope?——
Bos.
[Sharply.] You keep out of this! Keep out, I say!
Clem.
And this morning——
Bos.
[Angrily.] Clementine!
Clem.
But Pa——
Bos.
[Angrily stamping his foot.] Will you please go on?
Clem.
[Shrugging her shoulders.] Hey! How contemptible, to get mad—how small—Bonjour! [Exits.]
Kneir.
Good day, Miss.
Bos.
[Smiling.] A cat, eh! Just like her Mama, I have to raise the devil now and then,—hahaha!—or my wife and daughter would run the business—and I would be in the kitchen peeling the potatoes, hahaha! Not but what I’ve done it in my youth.
Kneir.
And don’t I remember——
Bos.
[Smacking his lips.] Potatoes and fresh herring! but what’s past is gone. With a fleet of eight luggers your mind is on other things—[Smiling.] Even if I do like the sight of saucy black eyes—Don’t mind me, I’m not dangerous—there was a time.——Hahaha!
Kneir.
Go on, Meneer. Don’t mind us.
Bos.
Well, our little friend here, what does he say?
Kneir.
Open your mouth, speak!
Bar.
I would rather——
Kneir.
[Angrily.] Rather—rather!
Jo.
Hey! What a stupid!——
Bos.
Children! No quarreling. Boy, you must decide for yourself. Last year at the herring catch the Good Hope made the sum of fourteen hundred guilders in four trips. She is fully equipped, Hengst is skipper—all the sailors but one—and the boys—Hengst spoke of you for oldest boy.
Bar.
[Nervously.] No, no, Meneer——
Kneir.
Ah, the obstinate beast! All my beating won’t drive him aboard.
Jo.
If I were a man——
Bos.
Yes, but you’re not; you’re a pretty girl—ha, ha, ha! We can’t use such sailors. Well, Daddy! And why don’t you want to go? Afraid of seasickness? You’ve already made one trip as middle boy——
Kneir.
And as play boy.
Jo.
He’d rather loaf and beg. Ah! what a big baby.
Bos.
You are foolish, boy. I sailed with your grandfather. Yes, I, too, would rather have sat by Mother’s pap-pot than held eels with my ice cold hands; rather bitten into a slice of bread and butter than bitten off the heads of the bait. And your father——
Bar.
[Hoarsely.] My father was drowned—and brother Hendrick—and Josef—no, I won’t go!
Bos.
[Rising.] Well—if he feels that way—better not force him, Mother Kneirtje; I understand how he feels, my father didn’t die in his bed, either—but if you begin to reason that way the whole fishery goes up the spout.
Kneir.
[Angrily.] It’s enough to——
Bos.
Softly—softly—You don’t catch tipsy herrings with force——
Jo.
[Laughing.] Tipsy herring, I would like to see that!
Bos.
[Laughing.] She doesn’t believe it, Kneir! We know better! Eh, what!
Kneir.
Ach—it’s no joking matter, Meneer, that miserable bad boy talks as if—as if—I had forgotten my husband—and my good Josef—and—and—but I have not. [Ends in low sobbing.]
Jo.
Come, foolish woman! please, Aunty dear!—Good-for-nothing Torment!
Bos.
Don’t cry, Kneir! Tears will not restore the dead to life——
Kneir.
No, Meneer—I know that, Meneer. Next month it will be twelve years since the Clementine went down.
Bos.
Yes, it was the Clementine.
Kneir.
November—’88—He was a monkey of seven then, and yet he pretends to feel more than I do about it.
Bar.
[Nervously.] I didn’t say that. I don’t remember my father, nor my brothers—but—but——
Bos.
Well, then?
Bar.
I want another trade—I don’t want to go to sea—no—no——
Kneir.
Another trade—What else can you do? Can’t even read or write——
Bar.
Is that my fault?
Kneir.
No—it is mine, of course! Three years I had an allowance—the first year three—the second two twenty-five—and the third one dollar—the other nine I had to root around for myself.
Bos.
Have you forgotten me entirely?
Kneir.
I shall always be grateful to you, Meneer. If you and the priest hadn’t given me work and a warm bite now and then to take home—then—then—and that booby even reproaches me!——
Bar.
I don’t reproach—I—I——
Jo.
Out with it! The gentleman is looking for a place to live off his income.
Bar.
Shut up!—I will do anything—dig sand—plant broom—salting down—I’ll be a mason, or a carpenter—or errand boy——
Jo.
Or a burgomaster! Or a policeman! Hahaha! And walk about dark nights to catch thieves—Oh!—Oh!—what a brave man!
Bos.
Little vixen!
Bar.
You make me tired!—Did I complain when the salt ate the flesh off my paws so I couldn’t sleep nights with the pain?
Kneir.
Wants to be a carpenter—the boy is insane—A mason—see the accidents that happen to masons. Each trade has something.
Bos.
Yes, Barendje—There are risks in all trades—my boy. Just think of the miners, the machinists, the stokers—the—the—How often do not I, even now, climb the man rope, or row out to a lugger? Fancies, my boy! You must not give way to them.
Kneir.
And we have no choice. God alone knows what the winter will be. All the potatoes rotted late this fall, Meneer.
Bos.
Yes, all over the district. Well, boy?
Bar.
No, Meneer.
Kneir.
[Angrily.] Get out of my house, then—sponger!
Bar.
[Faintly.] Yes, Mother.
Kneir.
March! Or I’ll——[Threatening.]
Bos.
Come, come. [A pause during which Barend walks timidly away.]
Jo.
If I had a son like that——
Bos.
Better get a lover first——
Jo.
[Brightly.] I’ve already got one!—If I had a son like that I’d bang him right and left! Bah! A man that’s afraid! [Lightly.] A sailor never knows that sooner or later—He never thinks of that—If Geert were that way—there, I know—Aunt, imagine—Geert——
Bos.
Geert?——
Jo.
He’d face the devil—eh, Aunt? Now, I’m going to finish the potatoes. Good bye, Meneer.
Bos.
Say, black eyes—do you laugh all the time?
Jo.
[With burst of laughter.] No, I’m going to cry. [Calls back from the opened door.] Aunt—speak of Geert. [Goes off.]
Bos.
Geert?—Is that your son, who——
Kneir.
Yes, Meneer.
Bos.
Six months?
Kneir.
Yes, Meneer.
Bos.
Insubordination?
Kneir.
Yes, Meneer—Couldn’t keep his hands at home.
Bos.
The stupid blockhead!
Kneir.
I think they must have teased him——
Bos.
That’s nonsense! They don’t tease the marines. A fine state of affairs. Discipline would be thrown overboard to the sharks if sailors could deal out blows every time things didn’t go to suit them.
Kneir.
That’s so, Meneer, but——
Bos.
And is she—smitten with that good-for-nothing?
Kneir.
She’s crazy about him, and well she may be. He’s a handsome lad, takes after his father—and strong—there is his photograph—he still wore the uniform then—first class—now he is——
Bos.
Degraded?——
Kneir.
No, discharged—when he gets out. He’s been to India twice—it is hard—if he comes next week—or in two weeks—or tomorrow, I don’t know when—I’ll have him to feed, too—although—I must say it of him, he won’t let the grass grow under his feet—A giant like him can always find a skipper.
Bos.
A sweet beast—I tell you right now, Kneir, I’d rather not take him—dissatisfied scoundrels are plenty enough these days—All that come from the Navy, I’m damned if it isn’t so—are unruly and I have no use for that kind—Am I not right?
Kneir.
Certainly, Meneer, but my boy——
Bos.
There was Jacob—crooked Jacob, the skipper had to discharge him. He was, God save him, dissatisfied with everything—claimed that I cheated at the count—yes—yes—insane. Now he’s trying it at Maassluis. We don’t stand for any nonsense.
Kneir.
May I send him to the skipper then—or direct to the water bailiff’s office?
Bos.
Yes, but you tell him——
Kneir.
Yes, Meneer.
Bos.
If he comes in time, he can go out on the Good Hope. She’s just off the docks. They are bringing the provisions and casks aboard now. She’ll come back with a full cargo—You know that.
Kneir.
[Glad.] Yes, Meneer.
Bos.
Well—Good bye! [Murmur of voices outside.] What’s that?
Kneir.
People returning from the harbor. There’s a corpse aboard the Anna.
Bos.
Pieterse’s steam trawler—The deuce! Who is it?
Kneir.
I don’t know. I’m going to find out.
[Both go off—the stage remains empty—a vague murmur of voices outside. Fishermen, in conversation, pass the window. Sound of a tolling church bell. Geert sneaks inside through the door at left. Throws down a bundle tied in a red handkerchief. Looks cautiously into the bedsteads, the cooking shed, peers through the window, then muttering he plumps down in a chair by the table, rests his head on his hand, rises again; savagely takes a loaf of bread from the back cupboard, cuts off a hunk. Walks back to chair, chewing, lets the bread fall; wrathfully stares before him. The bell ceases to toll.]
Bar.
[From the cooking shed.] Who’s there?—Geert!—[Entering.]
Geert.
[Curtly.] Yes—it’s me—Well, why don’t you give me a paw.
Bar.
[Shaking hands.] Have you—have you seen Mother yet?
Geert.
[Curtly.] No, where is she——
Bar.
Mother, she—she——
Geert.
What are you staring at?
Bar.
You—you—Have you been sick?
Geert.
Sick? I’m never sick.
Bar.
You look so—so pale——
Geert.
Give me the looking-glass. I’ll be damned. What a mug! [Throws the mirror roughly down.]
Bar.
[Anxiously.] Was it bad in prison?
Geert.
No, fine!—What a question—They feed you on beefsteaks! Is there any gin in the house?
Bar.
No.
Geert.
Go and get some then—if I don’t have a swallow, I’ll keel over.
Bar.
[Embarrassed.] I haven’t any money.
Geert.
I have. [Peers in his pocket, throws a handful of coins on the table.] Earned that in prison—There!——
Bar.
At the “Red” around the corner?
Geert.
I don’t care a damn—so you hurry. [Calling after him.] Is—is Mother well? [A pause.]—and Jo?
Bar.
[At door.] She is digging potatoes.
Geert.
Are they mad at me?
Bar.
Why?
Geert.
Because I—[Savagely.] Don’t stare so, stupid——
Bar.
[Embarrassed.] I can’t get used to your face—it’s so queer.
Geert.
Queer face, eh! I must grow a beard at once!—Say, did they make a devil of a row? [Gruffly.] Well?——
Bar.
I don’t know.
Geert.
Go to the devil! You don’t know anything.
[A pause, Barend slips out. Jo enters, a dead rabbit in her hand.]
Jo.
Jesus! [Lets the rabbit fall.]—Geert! [Rushes to him, throws her arms about his neck, sobbing hysterically.]
Geert.
[In a muffled voice.] Stop it! Stop your damned bawling—stop!
Jo.
[Continuing to sob.] I am so happy—so happy, dear Geert——
Geert.
[Irritated.] Now! Now!
Jo.
I can’t help it. [Sobs harder.]
Geert.
[Pulling her arms from his neck.]—Now then! My head can’t stand such a lot of noise——
Jo.
[Startled.] A lot of noise?
Geert.
[Grumbling.] You don’t understand it of course—six months solitary—in a dirty, stinking cell. [Puts his hand before his eyes as if blinded by the light.] Drop the curtain a bit—This sunshine drives me mad!
Jo.
My God—Geert——
Geert.
Please!—that’s better.
Jo.
Your beard——
Geert.
They didn’t like my beard—The government took that—become ugly, haven’t I?—Look as if I’d lost my wits? Eh?
Jo.
[With hesitating laugh.] You? No—What makes you think that? You don’t show it at all. [Sobs again softly.]
Geert.
Well, damn it! Is that all you have to say. [She laughs hysterically. He points to his temples.] Become grey, eh?
Jo.
No, Geert.
Geert.
You lie. [Kicking away the mirror.] I saw it myself. The beggars; to shut up a sailor in a cage where you can’t walk, where you can’t speak, where you—[Strikes wildly upon the table with his fist.]
Bar.
Here is the gin.
Jo.
The gin?
Bar.
For Geert.
Geert.
Don’t you meddle with this—Where is a glass?—Never mind—[Swallows eagerly.]—That’s a bracer! What time is it?
Bar.
Half past four.
Jo.
Did you take bread? Were you hungry?
Geert.
Yes, no—no, yes. I don’t know. [Puts the bottle again to his lips.]
Jo.
Please, Geert—no more—you can’t stand it.
Geert.
No more? [Swallows.] Ripping!—Hahaha! That’s the best way to tan your stomach. [Swallows.] Ripping! Don’t look so unhappy, girl—I won’t get drunk! Bah! It stinks! Not accustomed to it—Are there any provisions on board?
Jo.
Look—a fat one, eh? Trapped him myself. [Picks up the rabbit.] Not dead an hour.
Geert.
That will do for tomorrow—Here, you, go and lay in a supply—some ham and some meat——
Bar.
Meat, Geert?
Jo.
No—that’s extravagance—If you want to buy meat, keep your money till Sunday.
Geert.
Sunday—Sunday—If you hadn’t eaten anything for six months but rye bread, rats, horse beans—I’m too weak to set one foot before the other. Stop your talk—Hurry up! and—and a piece of cheese—I feel like eating myself into a colic. Hahaha! Shall I take another wee drop?
[Barend goes off.]
Jo.
No.
Geert.
Good, not another drop. Is there any tobacco?
Jo.
God!—I’m glad to see you cheerful again. Yes, there’s some tobacco left—in the jar.
Geert.
That’s good. Fine! Is that my old pipe?
Jo.
I saved it for you.
Geert.
Who did you flirt with, while I sat——
Jo.
[Merrily.] With Uncle Cobus!
Geert.
You women are all trash. [Fills his pipe; smokes.] Haven’t had the taste in my mouth for half a year. This isn’t tobacco; [Exhales.] tastes like hay—Bah! The gin stinks and the pipe stinks.
Jo.
Eat something first——
Geert.
[Laying down the pipe.] Say, do you still sleep with Mother?
Jo.
Yes, next to the pig stye.
Geert.
[Laughing.] And must I sleep under the roof again?
Jo.
You’ll sleep nice and warm up there, dear.
Kneir.
[Outside.] Why is the window curtain down?
Jo.
[Finger on her lips.] Sst! [Goes and stands before Geert.]
Kneir.
[Inside.] What’s going on here? Why is the looking-glass on the floor? Who sits——
Geert.
[Rising.] Well, little old one!
Kneir.
God almighty!
Geert.
No—it’s me—Geert——
Kneir.
[Dropping into a chair.] Oh!—Oh!—My heart beats so!
Geert.
Hahaha! That’s damned good! [Tries to embrace her.]
Kneir.
No—no—not yet—later.
Geert.
Not yet?—Why later?
Kneir.
[Reproachfully.] You—what have you done to make me happy!
Jo.
[Coaxingly.] Never mind that now——
Geert.
I’ve got enough in my head now. If you intend to reproach me?—I shall——
Kneir.
You shall——
Geert.
Pack my bundle!——
Kneir.
And this is his home-coming!
Geert.
Do you expect me to sit on the sinner’s bench? No, thank you.
Kneir.
[Anxious; almost crying.] The whole village talked about you—I couldn’t go on an errand but——
Geert.
[Curtly.] Let them that talk say it to my face. I’m no thief or burglar.
Kneir.
No, but you raised your hand against your superior.
Geert.
[Fiercely.] I should have twisted my fingers in his throat.
Kneir.
Boy—boy; you make us all unhappy.
[Begins to sob.]
Geert.
[Stamping.] Treated like a beast, then I get the devil besides. [Grabs his bundle.] I’m in no mood to stand it. [At the door, hesitates, throws down his bundle.] Now! [Lower voice.] Don’t cry, Mother—I would rather—Damn it!
Jo.
Please—Auntie dear——
Kneir.
Your father lies somewhere in the sea. Never would he have looked at you again—And he also had a great deal to put up with.
Geert.
I’m glad I’m different—not so submissive—It’s a great honor to let them walk over you! I have no fish blood in me—Now then, is it to go on raining?
Kneir.
[Embracing him.] If you would only repent.
Geert.
[Flaring up.] I’d knock the teeth out of his jaw tomorrow.
Kneir.
How did it happen?
Jo.
Hey! Yes—tell us all about it. Come, now, sit down peaceably.
Geert.
I’ve sat long enough, hahaha!—Let me walk to get the hang of it. [Lighting his pipe again.] Bah!
Jo.
Stop smoking then, donkey!
Geert.
Now I’ll—But for you it would never have happened——
Jo.
[Laughing.] But for me?—that’s a good one!
Geert.
I warned you against him.
Jo.
Against who—What are you talking about?
Geert.
That cad—Don’t you remember dancing with him at the tavern van de Rooie?
Jo.
I?—Danced?——
Geert.
The night before we sailed.
Jo.
With that cross-eyed quartermaster?—I don’t understand a word of it—was it with him?—And you yourself wanted me to——
Geert.
You can’t refuse a superior—On board ship he had stories. I overheard him tell the skipper that he——
Jo.
[Angrily.] What?
Geert.
That he—never mind what—He spoke of you as if you were any sailor’s girl.
Jo.
I!—The low down——
Geert.
When he came into the hold after the dog watch, I hammered him on the jaw with a marlin spike. Five minutes later I sat in irons. Kept in them six days—[Sarcastically.] the provost was full; then two weeks provost; six months solitary; and suspended from the navy for ten years; that, damn me, is the most—I’d chop off my two hands to get back in; to be nigger-driven again; cursed as a beggar again; ruled as a slave again——
Kneir.
Geert—Geert—Don’t speak such words. In the Bible it stands written——
Geert.
[Grimly.] Stands written—If there was only something written for us——
Kneir.
Shame on you——
Jo.
Well, wasn’t he in the right?
Kneir.
If he had gone politely to the Commander——
Geert.
Hahaha! You should have been a sailor, Mother—Hahaha! Politely? They were too glad of the chance to clip and shear me. While I was in the provost they found newspapers in my bag I was not allowed to read—and pamphlets I was not allowed to read—that shut the door—otherwise they would have given me only third class——
Kneir.
Newspapers you were not allowed to read? Then why did you read them?
Geert.
Why—simple soul—Ach!—when I look at your submissive face I see no way to tell why—Why do men desert?—Why, ten days before this happened to me, did Peter the stoker cut off his two fingers?—Just for a joke? No, on purpose! I can’t blame you people—you knew no better—and I admired the uniform—But now that I’ve got some brains I would like to warn every boy that binds himself for fourteen years to murder.
Kneir.
To murder? Boy, don’t say such dreadful things—you are excited——
Geert.
Excited? No—not at all—worn out, in fact—in Atjeh I fought with the rest—stuck my bayonet into the body of a poor devil till the blood spurted into my eyes—For that they gave me the Atjeh medal. I have it still in my bundle. Hand it here. [Jo picks up the bundle; Barend looks on.] Where is the thing? [Jerks the medal from his jacket, throws it out of the window.] Away! you have dangled on my breast long enough!
Kneir.
Geert! Geert! Who has made you like this! I no longer know you——
Geert.
Who—who took an innocent boy, that couldn’t count ten, and kidnaped him for fourteen years? Who drilled and trained him for a dog’s life? Who put him in irons when he defended his girl? Irons—you should have seen me walking in them, groaning like an animal. Near me walked another animal with irons on his leg, because of an insolent word to an officer of the watch. Six days with the damned irons on your claws and no power to break them. Six days lower than a beast.
Jo.
Don’t talk about it any more, you are still so tired——
Geert.
[Wrapped in the grimness of his story.] Then the provost, that stinking, dark cage; your pig stye is a palace to it. A cage with no windows—no air—a cage where you can’t stand or lie down. A cage where your bread and water is flung to you with a “there, dog, eat!” There was a big storm in those days,—two sloops were battered to pieces;—when you expected to go to the bottom any moment. Never again to see anyone belongin’ to me—neither you—nor you—nor you. To go down in that dark, stinking hole with no one to talk to—no comrade’s hand!—No, no, let me talk—it lightens my chest! Another drop. [Drinks quickly.] From the provost to the court martial. A fellow has lots to bring in there. Your mouth shut. Sit up; mouth shut some more. Gold epaulettes sitting in judgment on the trash God has kicked into the world to serve, to salute, to——
Kneir.
Boy—boy——
Geert.
Six months—six months in a cell for reformation. To be reformed by eating food you could not swallow;—rye bread, barley, pea soup, rats! Three months I pasted paper bags, and when I saw the chance I ate the sour paste from hunger. Three months I sorted peas; you’ll not believe it, but may I never look on the sea again if I lie. At night, over my gas light, I would cook the peas I could nip in my slop pail. When the handle became too hot to hold any longer, I ate them half boiled—to fill my stomach. That’s to reform you—reform you—for losing your temper and licking a blackguard that called your girl a vile name, and reading newspapers you were not allowed to read.
Kneir.
[Anxiously.] That was unjust.
Geert.
Unjust! How dare you say it! Fresh from the sea—in a cell—no wind and no water, and no air—one small high window with grating like a partridge cage. The foul smell and the nights—the damned nights, when you couldn’t sleep. When you sprang up and walked, like an insane man, back and forth—back and forth—four measured paces. The nights when you sat and prayed not to go insane—and cursed everything, everything, everything! [Drops his head upon his hands.]
Jo.
[After a long pause goes to him and throws her arms about his neck. Kneirtje weeps, Barend stands dazed.] Geert!
Geert.
Now! Don’t let us—[Forcibly controlling his tears.] A light! [Smokes.] Now, Mother! [Goes to the window—says to Barend.] Lay out the good things—[Draws up the curtain.] I’ll be damned! if the rooster isn’t sitting on the roof again, ha, ha, ha! will you believe it? I would like to sail at once—two days on the Sea! the Sea! the Sea!—and I’m my old self again. What?—Why is Truus crying as she walks by? Truus! [Calling.]
Kneir.
Ssst!—Don’t call after her. The Anna has just come in without her husband. [A few sad-looking, low-speaking women walk past the window.] Poor thing! Six children——
Geert.
Is Ari—[She nods.] That’s damned sad! [Drops the window curtain, stands in somber thought.]
CURTAIN.