THE ENCHANTED ISLAND
(A Fantasy in the manner of J. M. Barrie.)
I
The pink and white drawing-room of Emily Jane’s house—or rather of the house of Emily Jane’s father, Mister Balbus, is so caressingly harmonious to the eye, so surpassingly restful, so eminently a place of happy people, that one knows instinctively it will be visited by a tragedy. It is just a question of time, and this gentle atmosphere will find itself charged with the electricity of conflicting human emotions; dear women’s hearts will break and be laid aside in pot-pourri jars; strong sentimental men will walk their sweet, melancholy way; and we shall all go home the cleaner, mentally, for a refreshing bath of tears. Emily Jane is not yet in the drawing-room. The appropriate atmosphere has first to be created, so that we may catch our breath just a little as Miss Compton or Miss Celli trips on. Emily Jane is really a very ordinary kind of girl, plump, pleasant-looking, and neither very clever nor specially athletic. But to her mother she is still a tiny toddling mite in a knitted woollen coat with pink ribbons, and to Daddy, Mister Balbus, she is a resplendent goddess.
At last, after a preliminary conversation about stamp-collecting, or some other harmless hobby, between McVittie and Price, two old dullards introduced to fill in the few awkward minutes while the latecomers are clambering into their stalls, Mister Balbus comes into the room. There is nothing remarkable about Mister Balbus. In the eyes of his wife he is an irresistibly lovable plexus of male weaknesses; in the eyes of Emily Jane he is closely related to the Almighty. Actually he is nobody in particular, an architect of sorts; but we are to see him through their eyes, and so he appears in the play as a genial and gigantic mixture of a demigod and a buffoon. Mr. Aynesworth is appropriately selected to represent him.
“Good morning,” he says.
“Good morning,” reply McVittie and Price, delighted that any of the principal characters should condescend to speak to them.
“Where’s our little Emily Jane?” he asks, tenderly.
“Here, Daddy,” replies a sweet voice.
“Where, my lovely one?”
“In the chimney, Daddy”; and the dear child clambers down and rushes into his arms without even waiting to brush off the soot. McVittie and Price make clucking noises of approval and delight. This is typical of what goes on in the Balbus household every day. How can it be possible that anything except joy should be in store for them? But ah——
Mr. Balbus: Where is Mammy, my treasure?
Emily Jane: Waiting for Daddy darling, in his study.
Mr. Balbus: Will my little heart ask her to come?
Emily Jane trips away so happily and obediently. “Well, Price,” says Mr. Balbus, “I must go and see how they’re getting on with the wall.”
Price: Haven’t you finished it yet?
Mr. Balbus: I don’t think I ever shall. Balbus was building a wall in the time of the Roman Empire; and I suppose he’ll go on for the rest of time.
McVittie: Which wall is it this time, Balbus?
Mr. Balbus: The Great Wall of China. They’ve retained me to go and inspect it. I leave to-morrow.
Mrs. Balbus hurries in and embraces her husband shamelessly. Emily Jane follows and embraces them both. McVittie and Price, not to be outdone, embrace each other in the corner.
“You’re going to China, my husband?” asks Mrs. Balbus, tenderly.
“Yes, wife.”
“I’ll go with you.”
Emily Jane: And I, Daddy.
McVittie & Price: We will come too, old friend.
Mr. Balbus beams at them through his tears. The audience beam at each other through theirs.
II
They have been wrecked.
They are all on a deserted island which, from the stunted shrubs and bleak outlook, is probably in the neighbourhood of Tristan da Cunha. McVittie and Price are pretending to be tremendously brave and contented over a meal of roasted berries.
“These are really delicious,” says McVittie.
“Capital,” says Price. “Have some more.”
“No thanks. My doctor, you know. He won’t let me enjoy myself.”
“A glass of this delicious rock-water, then. Most stimulating.”
“No, my dear fellow. I’ve done magnificently. Not another sup.”
But it is really only pretend. The brave fellows are concealing their anxiety for fear of alarming Emily Jane and her mother who are resting in the bivouac near by. Actually they are full of apprehension.
“Price,” says McVittie at last, leaning forward mysteriously.
“McVittie?” He leans forward too; their long noses almost touch.
“I’m uneasy.” A hoarse whisper.
“So am I. Very.” A squeak of terror.
“I’ve found out the name of this island, Price.”
“Indeed?”
McVittie sinks his voice even deeper.
“It’s called—Umborroweeboo.”
“Gracious. What ever does that mean?”
“It means....” His voice becomes blood-curdling in its intensity. “It means The-Island-that-wants-to-be-let-alone. It’s a sinister spot, Price. They say....”
Darkness begins to close in rapidly. Price shivers.
“What do they say?”
“They say it can vanish beneath the sea and reappear in another place, after remaining submerged for years.”
“Good heavens.” Price is very uneasy. Emily Jane appears from the bivouac and prostrates herself on the ground.
“I love you, dear little island,” she murmurs, kissing the shore. “I would like to be married to a beautiful island like you.”
“I shall come to claim that promise one day,” says a deep, rich voice from nowhere.
Emily Jane: Did anyone speak?
McVittie: No one. I heard nothing.
Price: I thought—why, what’s that?
Mr. Balbus (emerging from a hollow tree): What’s what?
Price: That. There. Look.
The others: Where?
Price: There. Look. Now it’s there. Quick. It’s moved again. (A strain of unearthly music.)
Everybody: Hark. What’s that? (Mrs. Balbus crawls out of the bivouac on her hands and knees.)
Mrs. Balbus (fondly): John, you’ve left off your comforter.... Why are you all in a ring? You’ll have the fairies out if you stand in a ring.
McVittie (uneasily): In a ring? I didn’t notice. I think——(He turns to move away but finds himself rooted to the ground.) Well, this is most extraordinary.
Emily Jane: What is extraordinary, dear Mr. McVittie?
McVittie: I can’t move hand or foot.
Mr. Balbus: Good Lord. Nor can I.
Price: Nor I.
Emily Jane: I can a little. It’s getting very difficult. Now I can’t either. (The strain of music is heard again.)
Mrs. Balbus: Ugh! The horrid thing’s got hold of me now. I can’t move either. John, make them stop it at once.
Mr. Balbus (feebly): How can I, my dear? I’m quite powerless.
Emily Jane (illusion suddenly stripped from her eyes—for that is what happens under the spell of this magic island): Oh, Daddy, I thought there was nothing you couldn’t do. And now, now—you’re just like anybody else.
Mrs. Balbus (critically): You certainly look strange, John; not at all your usual self.
Mr. Balbus (for the first time seeing his wife and daughter as they really are): Please be quiet both of you and don’t talk about things you don’t understand. McVittie, what are we to do?
McVittie (philosophically): Wait for the island to disappear, I suppose. (The strain of music sounds once more.)
Price (excitedly): There it is moving about again. The thing I saw before.
Emily Jane: It’s like a tiny, tiny man.
Mr. Balbus: I don’t fancy this at all.
Price: It’s coming nearer. (An elvish figure appears dancing towards them. It is puffing a stupendous pipe.)
Mr. Balbus (trying to be severe and failing signally): Who are you, please?
The Figure (dancing more than ever): Macconachie.
Emily Jane: What do you mean by trespassing on our island?
Macconachie: I live here. It’s my home. You are the trespassers. But you’re very welcome. (With goblin glee.) I’ve been waiting for you, for a long time.
Mr. Balbus: Waiting for us. Nonsense. You don’t know who we are, even.
Macconachie: Oh yes I do. I’ve been watching you for a long time. Especially Emily Jane. I want Emily Jane.
Mrs. Balbus: Want Emily Jane? The idea of such a thing! Go away, Sir, at once.
Macconachie: You think you’re her mother, I suppose? (Addressing Balbus) And you believe yourself to be her father?
Mr. Balbus (with dignity): I certainly do.
Macconachie: But you’re not, you’re not. She’s mine.
Mrs. Balbus (indignantly): Sir! John, don’t listen to a word he says.
Macconachie: You’re all mine. I want you all.
McVittie (hoarsely): Want us all? What for, may I ask?
Macconachie: To draw tears from simple hearts. You’ll see.
But they don’t understand at all, and look blankly at one another, as he flits about like a will o’ the wisp still puffing at his gigantic pipe.
III
The drawing-room again. They are all, except Emily Jane, sitting there in disconsolate melancholy.
Mr. Balbus (with a deep sigh): It’s for the best of course.... But I miss her sadly.
McVittie & Price: It’s terrible, terrible. (They sigh).
Mrs. Balbus: I always felt there was something unearthly about the child. (She sighs very deeply.)
There is a long pause. They are thinking of their terrible experience when Macconachie flitted over their heads like a sprite, and the solid island sank beneath their feet, and they were left clinging to a raft.
“When the island began to submerge”—begins Mr. Balbus, and then he checks himself with a sob.
McVittie (for the hundredth time): I could have sworn I had her in my arms on the raft. (His voice breaks.)
Price: You didn’t hear the Voice—
Mrs. Balbus: Voice—what voice?
Price: Something about claiming a promise. And she gave a little cry of wonder. I heard it. (He walks gloomily over to the window.)
Mr. Balbus (suddenly enlightened): That’s what Macconachie meant, when he said “to draw tears from simple hearts.” I begin to understand....
Price (at the window): How very curious.
Mrs. Balbus: My curtains? They are certainly not.
Price (in choking tones): Look at the lake—it’s drying up, or something.
They all rush to the window. An amazing thing is in progress. The bottom of the lake seems to be rising. Stunted shrubs are pushing themselves above the water.
“My gracious powers, it’s the island,” cries Mr. Balbus.
Price (quoting McVittie’s long-forgotten remark): They say it can vanish beneath the sea, and reappear in another place after remaining submerged for years.
McVittie: There’s somebody moving on it. Look. Among the trees.
Mr. Balbus: It’s Macconachie. (He hails the island. Macconachie comes ashore, and flits up to the house.)
Mr. Balbus (in a trembling voice): Where is she, Sir? Tell us where she is?
Macconachie: Emily Jane? She’s touring in America. Making a fortune.
Mr. Balbus: But will she come back, Sir?
Macconachie: If you need her sufficiently, and wish for her often enough, and believe with strength, she will assuredly come back.
Mr. Balbus: But why should she have been taken from us, Sir? We loved her, cared for her. She was happy with us.
“To carry my message to the hearts of men,” replies Macconachie, with a wistful smile. “I may need any of you in the future and then——” He pauses. “But till then farewell.” And he flits through the window; and the island submerges again. But the others sit in rapt silence, for they have seen beyond the veil.