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The Blood Knot
Athol Fugard
(First published 1963)
Scene Three
A few days later.
Morris is at the table counting their savings - banknotes and silver. The alarm-clock rings. He sweeps the money into a tin which he then carefully hides among the pots on the kitchen dresser. Next he resets the clock and prepares the footbath as in the first scene. Zachariah appears, silent and sullen, goes straight to the bed, where he sits.
MORRIS. You look tired tonight, old man [Zachariah looks at him askance.] Today too long? I watched you dragging your feet home along the edge of teh lake. I'd say, I said, that that was a wary body. Am I right, old fellow?
ZACHARIAH. What's this 'old fellow' thing you got hold of tonight?
MORRIS. Just a figure of speaking, Zach. The shape of round shoulders, a bent back, a tired face. The Englishman would say 'old boy'...but we don't like that 'boy' business, hey?
ZACHARIAH. Ja. They call a man a boy. You got a word for that, Morrie?
MORRIS. Long or short?
ZACHARIAH. Squashed, like it didn't fit the mouth.
MORRIS. I know the one you mean.
ZACHARIAH. Then say it.
MORRIS. Prejudice.
ZACHARIAH. Pre-ja-dis.
MORRIS. Injustice!
ZACHARIAH. That's all out of shape as well.
MORRIS. Inhumanity!
ZACHARIAH. No. That's when he makes me stand at the gate.
MORRIS. Am I right in thinking you were there again today?
ZACHARIAH. All day long.
MORRIS. You tried to go back to pots?
ZACHARIAH. I tried to go back to pots. My feet, I said, are killing me.
MORRIS. And then?
ZACHARIAH. Go to the gate or go to hell...boy!
MORRIS. He said boy as well?
ZACHARIAH. He did.
MORRIS. In one sentence?
ZACHARIAH. Prejudice and inhumanity in one sentence!
[He starts to work off one shoe with the other foot and then dips the bare foot into the basin of water. He will not get as far as taking off the other shoe.]
ZACHARIAH. When you feet are bad, you feel it.
MORRIS. Try resting your legs.
ZACHARIAH. It's not so much in the legs.
MORRIS. Find a chair, then. Support your back.
ZACHARIAH. Chair! [Scorn and contempt.] A chair over there! What you talking about? A chair at the gate! Wake up, man! Anyway, it's not so much in my back also. It's here [A hand over his heart.]
MORRIS. Ah, yes. That weariness.
ZACHARIAH. What is it?
MORRIS. The muscles of your heart.
ZACHARIAH. Ja. Ja! That sounds like it all right. The muscles of my heart are weary. That's it, man! Inside me, just here, I'm so tired, so damn tired to the bottom of my body of... what?
MORRIS. Beating. That's wheat a heart does to a man.
ZACHARIAH. [gratitude]. By God, Morrie, you're on to it tonight. I'm tired of beating, beating, every day another beating. [Pause.] What's all this beating for anyway?
MORRIS. Blood.
ZACHARIAH. It gets worse and worse, hey! [Pause.] I looked at the stuff once, on my hands. It was red, so read as...
MORRIS. Pain.
ZACHARIAH. Ja. [Little laugh.] But it wasn't mine. so it's my heart, is it? Getting tired. Tell me about it, Morrie. [Morrie says nothing, but holds up his hand and rhythmically clenches and unclenches his fist.] What's that?
MORRIS. Your heart.
ZACHARIAH. Eina! [Morris continues.] Give it a rest.
MORRIS. Doesn't rest.
ZACHARIAH. Not at all?
MORRIS. All the time.
ZACHARIAH. All the day?
MORRIS. And the night.
ZACHARIAH. Day and night?
MORRIS. In your bed.
ZACHARIAH. At the gate?
MORRIS. Until....[He breaks the rhythm. Keeps his fist clenched.] Do you know what that is?
ZACHARIAH. No.
MORRIS. A failure. Dead.
ZACHARIAH [upset.] No, man!
MORRIS. Put your hand on your chest. you can feel it.
ZACHARIAH. Oh no, oh no!
MORRIS. I just showed you.
ZACHARIAH. I don't want to see it.
MORRIS. Don't be scared, man [Zachariah shakes his head.] Then let me [Puts his hand over Zachariah's heart. Zachariah tenses.]
ZACHARIAH. Still beating?
MORRIS. Yes.
[Pause.]
ZACHARIAH. Still there?
ZACHARIAH. Yes. It's going: Dub-dub dub-dub dub-dub....[The strain is too much for Zachariah. He pushes Morris away.]
ZACHARIAH. That's enough.
MORRIS. Come on....
ZACHARIAH. I'm all right now. It's feeling fine. tiredness gone.
MORRIS. Okay [Starts helping Zachariah take off his coat.] Funny, you know. I never thought about that before. That old heart of yours, beating away all the time, all the years when I was away. It's a sad thought. [At this point Morris finds an envelope in the inside pocket of Zachariah's coat. He examines it secretly. Zachariah broods on, one foot in the basin.] did you stop by the Post Office on your way back?
ZACHARIAH. Ja.
MORRIS. Nothing again? [Pause.] Looks like she's not replying.
ZACHARIAH. Who?
MORRIS. Ethel.
ZACHARIAH. Ja. there was a letter.
MORRIS. I know there was. [Holding up the envelope.] I just found it.
ZACHARIAH. Good.
MORRIS. Good? What do you mean good?
ZACHARIAH. You know...good, like Okay.
MORRIS [excited and annoyed]. What's the matter with you?
ZACHARIAH. What's the matter with me?
MORRIS. Don't you realize? This is your pen-pal. This is your reply from Ethel!
ZACHARIAH. In Oudtshoorn.
MORRIS. But Zach! You must get excited, man! Don't you want to know what she said?
ZACHARIAH. Sure.
MORRIS. Shall we open it then?
ZACHARIAH. Why not?
[Morris tears open the letter.]
MORRIS. By God, she did it! She sent you a picture of herself.
ZACHARIAH [first flicker of interest]. She did?
MORRIS. So this is Ethel!
ZACHARIAH. Morrie...?
MORRIS. Eighteen years...and fully...developed.
ZACHARIAH. Let me see, man! [He grabs the photograph. The certainty and excitement fade from Morris's face. He is obviously perplexed at something.] Hey! Not bad. Now that's what I call a goosie. Good for old Oudtshoorn, I say. You don't get them like this over here. That I can tell you. Not with a watch! Old Hetty couldn't even tell the time. But she's got one. You see that, Morrie. Good for old Ethel, all right. Pretty smart , too. No doek. Nice hair. Just look at those locks. And how's that for a wall she's standing against? Ever seen a wall like that, as big as that, in Korsten? I mean it's made of bricks, isn't it?
MORRIS. [snatching the photograph out of achariah's hands and taking it ot the window where he has a good look]. Give it to me!
ZACHARIAH. Hey! What's the matter with you? It's my pen-pal, isn't it? It is!
MORRIS. Keep quiet, Zach!
ZACHARIAH. What's this 'keep quiet'? It's my room, isn't it? It is!
MORRIS. Where's the letter?
ZACHARIAH. You had it.
MORRIS. Where did I put it?
[He throws the photograph down on the bed and finds the letter, which he reads feverishly. Zachariah picks up the photograph and continues his study.]
ZACHARIAH. You're acting like you never seen a woman in you life. Why don't you get you a pen-pal? Maybe one's not enough.
MORRIS [having finished the letter, his agitation is now even more pronounced]. That newspaper, Zach. Where is the newspaper?
ZACHARIAH. I don't know.
MORRIS [anguish]. Think, man!
ZACHARIAH. You had it. [Morris is scratching around frantically.] What's the matter with you tonight? Maybe you threw it away.
MORRIS. No. I was keeping it in case....[Finds it.] Thank God! Oh please, God, now make it that I am wrong!
ZACHARIAH. What the hell are you talking about?
[Morris takes a look at the newspaper, pages through it, and then drops it. he stands quite still, unnaturally clam after teh frenzy of the previous few seconds.]
MORRIS. You know what you done, don't you?
ZACHARIAH. Me?
MORRIS. Who was it then? Me?
ZACHARIAH. But what?
MORRIS. Who wanted woman?
ZACHARIAH. Me.
MORRIS. Right. Who bought the paper?
ZACHARIAH. Me.
MORRIS. Right. Who's been carrying on about Minnie, and Connie, and good times? No me.
ZACHARIAH. Morrie! What are you talking about?
MORRIS. That photograph.
ZACHARIAH. I've seen it.
MORRIS. Well, have another look.
ZACHARIAH [he does]. It's Ethel.
MORRIS. Miss Ethel Lange to you!
ZACHARIAH. Okay, I looked. Now what?
MORRIS. Can't you see, man? Ethel Lange is a white woman!
[Pause.They look at each other in silence.]
ZACHARIAH [slowly]. You mean that this Ethel...here....
MORRIS. Is a white woman!
ZACHARIAH. How do you know?
MORRIS. Use your eyes. Anyway, that paper you bought, it's white There's now news about our sort.
ZACHARIAH [studying the photo]. You're right, Morrie. [Delighted.] You're damn well right. And she's written to me, to a hotnot, a swartgat. This white woman thinks I'm a white man. That I like!
