Extreme Unction
Mary Aldis
A Dying ProstituteA Society LadyA Salvation Army LassieA DoctorA Nurse
A Dying ProstituteA Society LadyA Salvation Army LassieA DoctorA Nurse
The screened space around a high narrow bed in a Hospital ward. Record-card hanging above. The Screens have antiseptic white sheets over them.
When the curtain rises the nurse is straightening and tucking in with uncomfortable tightness the white counterpane of the bed. On the bed, with eyes closed, lies what is left of a girl of 18 or 20. The nurse takes the thermometer from the girl’s mouth, looks at it, shakes her head and makes a record note on the chart. She gives the girl water to drink and leaves her with a final pull to straighten the bed clothes. The girl tosses restlessly—moans a little and impatiently kicks at and pulls the bed clothes out at the foot, exclaiming “God, I wish they’d lemme ’lone!”
(The Lady enters)
The Lady.Hattie dear, were you sleeping? No? See, I’ve brought you some roses. Aren’t they fresh and sweet? Shall I put them in water?
The Girl.I don’ want ’em!
The Lady.All right dear. We’ll just put them aside. I know sometimes the perfume is too strong if one isn’t quite oneself. Shall I read to you?
The Girl.If you want to.
The Lady.What shall I read?
The Girl.I don’ care.
The Lady.A story perhaps?
The Girl.All right—Fire it off.
The Lady.And then afterward, Hattie dear, perhaps if you’d let me, the twenty-third psalm. It’s so gentle and quiet! You might go to sleep—and when you awakened you’d hear those comforting words.
The Girl.Is that the one about the valley? God, but I’m sick of it! Gives me the jimmies. Got a story?
(The Ladyputs the flowers back in their box—takes off her wrap and settles herself to read aloud from a magazine):
Marianna Lane swung back and forth, back and forth, in the hammock, tapping her small, brown toe on the porch as she swung. It was a charming porch, framed in clematis and woodbine, but Marianna had no eye for its good points. She was lying with two slim arms clasped behind her head, staring vacantly up at the ceiling and composing a poem. On the wicker table beside her stood a glass of malted milk and a teaspoon. They were not the subject of the poem, but they were nevertheless responsible for it. In the first place, Marianna wouldnotdrink her twelve-o’clock malted milk, and as she was forbidden to go off the porch until she had done so, there seemed to be nothing better to do than to cultivate the muse in the hammock. After patiently sipping malted milk for eight years, Marianna had suddenly rebelled. In the second place, her cousin Frank, who lived in the next house, had been inspired by this beverage to make up an insulting ditty.“Grocerman, bring a canBaby-food for Mary Ann!”
Marianna Lane swung back and forth, back and forth, in the hammock, tapping her small, brown toe on the porch as she swung. It was a charming porch, framed in clematis and woodbine, but Marianna had no eye for its good points. She was lying with two slim arms clasped behind her head, staring vacantly up at the ceiling and composing a poem. On the wicker table beside her stood a glass of malted milk and a teaspoon. They were not the subject of the poem, but they were nevertheless responsible for it. In the first place, Marianna wouldnotdrink her twelve-o’clock malted milk, and as she was forbidden to go off the porch until she had done so, there seemed to be nothing better to do than to cultivate the muse in the hammock. After patiently sipping malted milk for eight years, Marianna had suddenly rebelled. In the second place, her cousin Frank, who lived in the next house, had been inspired by this beverage to make up an insulting ditty.
“Grocerman, bring a canBaby-food for Mary Ann!”
“Grocerman, bring a canBaby-food for Mary Ann!”
“Grocerman, bring a canBaby-food for Mary Ann!”
“Grocerman, bring a can
Baby-food for Mary Ann!”
The girl listens for a moment with a faint show of interest, then goes back to her restless tossing.
The Girl(interrupting). Say,—d’ye know I’m done for?
The Lady.Oh no! You’re getting better every day.
The Girl.Oh quit it—I’m goin’! I tell ye. I’ve got a head piece on me, haven’t I? I can tell—they’ve stopped doin’ all them things to me. The doctor just sets down there where you are and looks at me—and say—he’s got gump that doctor. He’s the only one knows I know.
The Lady.You mustn’t talk like that. I’m sure you’re going to get well (girl makes an angry snort). Now try and lie quiet. You mustn’t get excited, you know, it isn’t good for sick people. I’ll go on with the story. You’ll see. Now listen, will you, dear? It’s quite interesting. (Reads.)
“Grocerman, bring a canBaby-food for Mary Ann!”he sang loudly over the hedge whenever hecaught sight of Marianna’s middy blouse and yellow pigtails. That was yesterday. To-day the malted milk was standing untouched upon the wicker table, and Marianna in the hammock was trying to think up an offensive rhyme for Frank. When she found it, she intended to go around on the other side of the house and shout it as loud as ever she could in the direction of her uncle’s garden. This, it is true, was a tame revenge. What Marianna really wanted to do was to go over and pinch her cousin Frank; but that, unhappily, was out of the question, as Frank had a cold, and she was strictly forbidden to go near anybody with a cold.[3]
“Grocerman, bring a canBaby-food for Mary Ann!”
“Grocerman, bring a canBaby-food for Mary Ann!”
“Grocerman, bring a canBaby-food for Mary Ann!”
“Grocerman, bring a can
Baby-food for Mary Ann!”
he sang loudly over the hedge whenever hecaught sight of Marianna’s middy blouse and yellow pigtails. That was yesterday. To-day the malted milk was standing untouched upon the wicker table, and Marianna in the hammock was trying to think up an offensive rhyme for Frank. When she found it, she intended to go around on the other side of the house and shout it as loud as ever she could in the direction of her uncle’s garden. This, it is true, was a tame revenge. What Marianna really wanted to do was to go over and pinch her cousin Frank; but that, unhappily, was out of the question, as Frank had a cold, and she was strictly forbidden to go near anybody with a cold.[3]
The Girl(interrupting). Lady, where d’ you think you’re goin’ to when you kick it? Tell me!
The Lady.Why—I don’t know—To Heaven, I hope—but you mustn’t—
The Girl.What makes you think you’re goin’ to Heaven?
The Lady.Well—I think so because—well—because I’ve always tried to do right—no, no—I didn’t mean that exactly. Of course I’ve done millions of wrong things—but I mean—Oh Hattie dear, Heaven is such a vague term! All we know is that it is a beautiful place where we’ll be happy, and that we’re going there.
The Girl.How do you know we’re goin’?
The Lady.I don’t know, I believe.
The Girl.But how do you know the wrong things you done won’t keep you out?
The Lady.Now I’m afraid you’re exciting yourself—
The Girl.Oh Lord, cut that out! I’m excited all right, all right! Guess you’d be if you had the thoughts I got goin’ ’round in your head all the time—but there’s no sense talking them out. Nobody can’t do nothin’ for me now!
The Lady.Oh you mustn’t say that!
The Girl.Well, can ye?
The Lady.I’ll try if you will tell me what is troubling you.
The Girl.Oh Gawd! She wants to know what’s troubling me, she does!
The Lady.Can’t you tell me? Perhaps I could help you.
The Girl.You said you done wrong things.—What was they?
The Lady.I—I don’t know exactly.
The Girl.You don’tknow?
The Lady.Why I suppose I could think of lots of things but—
The Girl.She could “think of lots o’ things”! Has to stop to remember—O gee—guess she’ll get in.
The Lady.Ohpleasedon’t laugh like that! Listen—Whatever you have done, no matter how dreadful, if you are sorry it will be all right—Don’t be afraid.
The Girl.Is that true?
The Lady.Yes.
The Girl.I don’t believe it.
The Lady.It is true nevertheless.
The Girl.Well, if you aint sorry?
The Lady.But surely you are—You must be!
The Girl.No I aint. It was better dead.
The Lady.What do you mean?
The Girl.I tell ye, it was better to be dead. Say, Lady—in them wrong things youdone youcan’t rememberdid ye—did ye ever kill a kid that hadn’t hardly breathed—Say, did ye—did ye?
The Lady.Oh, oh—What shall I do? Hattie! Hattie! Try and stop crying. I’m so grieved for you. Tell me what you wish—only don’t cry so!
The Girl.I aint sorry.
The Lady.No, no, never mind that. Tell me if you want to, tell me—about it.
The Girl.An’ I aint sorry for what cum first—him—it was all I ever had; that time, that little weeny time!
The Lady.Wait a moment—wouldn’t you rather have a clergyman?
The Girl.No!There’s one comes ’round here. I don’ want to tell him nothin’.
The Lady.Very well—go on.
The Girl.It was so little, and it squawked! It squawked awful!
The Lady.Oh—don’t!
The Girl.You don’t want me to tell ye?
The Lady.Yes, yes.
The Girl.Oh what’s the use? What’s the use? You can’t do nothin’. Nobody kin. I aint sorry! The kid’s better dead, lots better. It’s what cum after—I’m so dirty! I’m so dirty! I’ll never get clean! Oh, what’s gona happen when I die? What’s gona happen? An’ I gotta die soon!
The Lady.You mustn’t feel so, you mustn’t! God is kind and good and merciful. He will forgive you—Ask Him to!
The Girl.I did ask Him to—lots o’ times. It don’ do no good. I aint sorry! Everybody says you gotta feel sorry, an’ I aint. A girl kid’s better dead, I tell ye! That’s why I done it. I loved it, ’fore it came, ’cause it was hisn. After I done it nothin’ mattered—nothin’! So I—And I gotta die soon—what’s gona happen?
(During the preceding the sound of a tambourine and singing has been heard outside. As the girl cries out the last words, the Lady, finding no answer, goes to the window. She has a sudden thought.)
The Lady.I’ll be back in a moment! (She goes out.)
(Nothing is heard but the girl’s sobs for a moment. Then the Lady ushers in a Salvation Army Lassie—her tambourine held tightly, but jingling a little. She stands embarrassed by the foot of the bed. The Girl stares at her.)
The Girl.I know them kind too.
The Lassie.Can’t I do something for you?
The Girl.No—not now—You’re a good sort enough—but—I aint sorry—I tell ye—I aint, I aint!
The Lassie(to Lady). What d’ye want me for? What’ll I do?
The Lady.Couldn’t you sing something brave and cheerful? You were singing so nicely out there.
The Lassie(to Girl). Shall I?
The Girl.No—they won’t let ye. It ’ud make a noise.
The Lady.Sing it low.
The Lassie.(In a sing-song voice—swaying, half chanting, half speaking:) “Shall we gather at the river—the beautiful, the beautiful river, etc.”
The Girl(after trying to listen for a stanza or two). Oh cut it out! I don’ want ye to sing to me—I want ye to tell me what’s gona happen. Oh, don’ nobody know? I’m so afraid—so ’fraid! (As her voice rises the nurse, who has, unobserved, looked in during the singing, enters with the doctor. He bows slightly to the Lady and the Lassie, then goes quickly to the girl, putting his hand on her forehead.)
The Doctor.Why child—what troubles you?
The Girl(clinging to his hand). Doctor! Everybody says I got to be sorry to get in. I aint sorry, an’ I’m ’fraid, I’m ’fraid.
The Doctor.To get in where?
The Girl.Heaven, where you’ll be happy.
The Doctor.That is very interesting, how do you suppose they found that out? How do they know, I mean?
The Lady.Doctor, I didn’t tell her that.
The Doctor.Didn’t you? She seems strangely excited. (He seats himself by the bed.) Come child, let’s talk about it. (He motions—to the nurse that she is not needed. She goes out. The Salvation Army Lassie, makes an awkward little bow and gets herself out. The Lady stands at the foot of the bed listening for a few moments, then slips quietly out.)
The Doctor.Now, tell me what is on your mind, but try and stop crying and speak plainly, for I want to understand what you say.
The Girl.I’m gona die, aint I?
The Doctor.Yes.
The Girl.When?
The Doctor.I don’t know.
The Girl.Soon?
The Doctor.Yes.
The Girl.How soon? Tomorrow?
The Doctor.No, not tomorrow. Perhaps in a month, perhaps longer.
The Girl.Will I get sorry ’fore I go?
The Doctor.How can I tell? But what does it matter? Why do you want to be sorry especially? What good would it do? It is all passed, isn’t it? Nothing can change that.
The Girl.But I gotta be—to get in.
The Doctor.You seem very sure on that point.
The Girl.But everybody says I gotta be.
The Doctor.What is the use saying it or thinking it when nobody knows?
The Girl.What you sayin’?
The Doctor.You and I can believe differently if we want to. But why in the world should you be asking me all these hard questions? I’ve never been to Heaven have I? I don’t know whether you have to be sorry to get in or not. How do you supposetheyfound all that out?
The Girl.But aint I gotta be punished somewhere till I git sorry?
The Doctor.Do you remember the other night when the pain was so bad?
The Girl.Yep.
The Doctor.And I told you you would have to bear it, that I could do nothing for you, and that you must be quiet not to disturb the others?
The Girl.Oh, don’t I remember!
The Doctor.I guess that’s about enough punishment for one little girl. You’ve been pretty unhappy lately, haven’t you, with the pain and the terrible thoughts? I think it’s about time something else turned up for you that would be nicer, don’t you?
The Girl.Turned up?
The Doctor.Yes, something that would make up for all this. Do you know, child, as I’ve gone through these wards day after day ’tending to all you sick folks, I’ve about come to the conclusion that there must be—something nicer—
The Girl.Tell me more about it.
The Doctor.Well now—there’s another queer question. Didn’t I tell you I don’t know anything to tell? I’ve never been there. I should thinkyouwould have found out alittlesomething since you’re planning to go so soon. But no, I don’t suppose you know much more than the rest of us. And when you get there you will probably forget all about me and how much I’d like to know what’s happening to my little patient. No use I suppose asking you to tie a red string on your finger and say “that’s to send Dr. Carroll a little message.” Is there any way, do you think you could remember?
The Girl.You’re kiddin’ me!
The Doctor.Indeed I am not. I long to know with all my heart, and I suppose it will be years and years before I do. Why just think, you, you are going to have a great adventure—You are going on a journey to a far country where you’ll find out lots of things, and here am I, jogging along up and down, to and fro, between my office and this hospital and wondering and wondering and wondering! What a lucky little girl you are!
The Girl.And I don’t have to be sorry—to get in?
The Doctor.Didn’t I tell you you were going soon anyway? You can be sorry if you want to—but I think it is more interesting to dream about the strange things there will be to discover, at the end of the journey.
The Girl.Will there be gates of gold that open wide, and angels standin’ by with shinin’ wings?
The Doctor.Wouldn’t you like to know? And so would I. You mustn’t forget to send that message, will you? Do be careful to be accurate and try to speak distinctly. You know that a great many wise men have promised to send messages back, yet all that seems to come are foolish words. If you will look at everything carefully and find a way of telling me, I’ll write it down for all the world to ponder. Oh—then we should reallyknowsomething—not just be groping—groping—groping in the dark. If you onlycould, if you only could! I wonder— (In his turn he gazes at her intently, then rises abruptly.) Well, child, I must go on. Shall I teach you a few questions before you go, so you’ll be sure and find out for me the most important things?
The Girl.Oh Doctor!
The Doctor.You’d like to do something for me, wouldn’t you child?
(The girl reaches out for his hand and kisses it humbly, then gazes at him.)
The Doctor.Well, that would be the most wonderful thing in the world, only you must be very very careful and you must do a lot of thinking before you go, about what I’ve said. It is important to understand. Don’t waste any time thinking about what is passed, will you?
The Girl.No, Doctor.
The Doctor.We must talk it all over. There aren’t many people I could trust to remember exactly all the things I want to know. But you can if you try hard. (He touches the bell, the nurse appears.) Now, Miss Bryant, Miss Hattie and I have several important things to discuss and there isn’t much time left, so if she wants me at any time call me and I’ll come. And I think while she has so much thinking on hand about what I’m asking her to do for me, she had better not see other visitors. You don’t mind, do you?
The Girl.No no! I don’ want ’em! Doctor, when will it come? Doctor, will I know soon?
The Doctor.Soon I think—Very soon. (He takes her hand a second, then goes out, motioning the nurse to precede him.)
The Girl(raptly). Soon! He said it would be very soon—and I’m so tired! I’d like something nicer.
(She settles herself with a little sigh, and falls asleep.)
CURTAIN.
[3]FromThe Century, March, 1914.