Moon on a Rainbow Shawl

MAVIS. What happening?—Yer givin’ little Miss Precious Mind private lessons? She is ‘bright girl’ I hear her mother say—so I expect she’ll learn quick.

EPF. Cut that, Mavis.

MAVIS. Yer want to come over and make it a party?

EPF. I said cut that!

Mavis gives a short low laugh as she goes back to her room [… She] says something and there is more laughter. Music from the victrola floats across the yard. Mavis’s light snaps off, and there is a scratch as the needle is pulled from the record—then suddenly everything is quiet.

ESTHER. I hate this yard, Ephraim…I wish Daddy was working steady—then we could find a decent place to live. Ephraim—You could help it—You don’t have to live here!

EPF. I’m a man, Esther. It don’t matter for me.

EPF. I may never know!…Trouble with Charlie—he was a dreamer. And ole as he is he ent loss that dream yet. But I’m young and I’m wide awake. And it ent my intention to remain here and grow a big white moustache like Ole Sam, how used to drive tramcar—and when the trolleys came they pension him off with a pittance. This Trinidad has nothin’ fer me! Nothin’ I want!

SOPHIA. What about Rosa?

EPF. Rosa?

SOPHIA. Why all yer young men so?

EPF. So?

SOPHIA. Look—let me mind mey own business, yer hear. Allyer young. Allyer could sort out allyer own salvation. I say this fer ye yer though. You is a man with ambition!

EPF. I have my plan!

He picks up the Union Jack. There is a pause as she looks at him. Then she remarks flatly.

SOPHIA. I hope it pointing in the right direction!

ROSA. Yer is a good-lookin’ man—you know?

EPF. Good-looking. Like who?

ROSA. Robert Taylor.

EPF. GO ’way!

ROSA. James Stewart.

EPF. He good-looking?—Try again.

ROSA. William Holden…

EPF. That’s right—He an’ me is twins.

ROSA. But look you!—Yer too fast with yer ugly self.

EPF. Jest now yer say I was handsome.

ROSA. That was jest now.

EPF. God!—Why all allyer woman so?

ROSA. Is we right.

EPF. Right?

ROSA. To tantalise.

EPF. Eh-heh?

They laugh.

CHARLIE. In them days, boy—the Savannah Club crowd was running most everything. […] In them times so when we wet Barbados or Jamaica to play cricket they used to treat us like hogs, boy. When we went on tours they put we in any ole kind of boarding house. The best hotels was fer them and the half-scald members of the team—So in ’twenty-seven when we was on tour in Jamaica I cause a stink boy. I had had enough of them dirty little boarding-house rooms. I said either they treat me decent or they send me back. The stink I made got into the newspapers. They didn’t send me back. But that was the last inter-colony series I ever play. They broke me, boy.

EPF. (quietly) Fer that?

CHARLIE. I should of known mey place. […] in them days, boy—the English country clubs was outbidding each other fer bowlers like me.

OLD MACK. You know one thing I’m certain of, Charlie? That boy Stephen—who runs the café for me—he knows something. But I know—he’d never tell. Charlie—yer take a boy off the street. Yer treat him as if he was your own. Yer trust him. Yer put him in charge of a café. Yer think he grateful. That boy hates me, Charlie. Hates me so he’d even rob me. Is hard.

BOY. Hello, Mrs Adams

SOPHIA. Afternoon, Mr Murray.

BOY. Esther gave it to me. I hope you don’t mind. I—sort of—wanted to use it this afternoon.

SOPHIA. Mr Adams said they were finished. All but one.

BOY. I’ll call back tomorrow, Mrs Adams. But—I’d like him to know that I was talking to the principal a couple of days ago. Next season they are going to engage a coach for junior school. I took the liberty of mentioning Mr Adams’ name. The job is his—if he wants it.

ESTHER. Oooh, Ma!

SOPHIA. Thank you, Mr Murray. I’ll tell Mr Adams.

BOY. He’ll have to go through the formality of making an application, of course—but it’s more or less settled…You just tell him about the job. That’s what’s important—I’ll explain the rest when I see him. So long, Mrs. Adams, Esther.

EPF. (exploding) Mrs Adams! I aske yer something! You know fer certain sureyou want a whole lot more fer Esther—than you ever had a chance to get! My ole man was nothing’!…He used to drive a transport mule-cart! Everybody stinkin’ dustbin!—Hawk!—Spit!—Crap! Is so funny—yer find I want something better for meyself!

SOPHIA. Yer have it, Ephraim!

EPF. Have it?

SOPHIA. Soon they would have made yer inspector!

EPF. Today I told them they could shove that, Mrs Adams!

SOPHIA. You’re a fool! God—you’re a fool! Yer have a future here! An’ yer shoving it aside!—Fer what? To go off where? What’s wrong with allyer? Ephraim—I born and grow up in this Trinidad. I see it change. I see things open up—making room fer young people. Young people like you.