Riders to the Sea

Cottage kitchen, with nets, oilskins, spinning-wheel, some new boards standing by the wall, etc. Cathleen, a girl of about twenty, finishes kneading cake, and puts it down in the pot-oven by the fire; then wipes her hands, and begins to spin at the wheel. Nora, a young girl, puts her head in at the door.

Nora (in a low voice). Where is she?

Cathleen. She’s lying down, God help her, and maybe sleeping, if she’s able.

Nora comes in softly, and takes a bundle from under her shawl.

Cathleen (spinning the wheel rapidly). What is it you have?

Nora. The young priest is after bringing them. It’s a shirt and a plain stocking were got off a drowned man in Donegal.

Cathleen stops her wheel with a sudden movement, and leans out to listen.

Nora. We’re to find out if it’s Michael’s they are, some time herself will be down looking by the sea.

Cathleen. How would they be Michael’s, Nora? How would he go the length of that way to the far north?

Nora. The young priest says he’s known the like of it. “If it’s Michael’s they are,” says he, “you can tell herself he’s got a clean burial, by the grace of God; and if they’re not his, let no one say a word about them, for she’ll be getting her death,” says he, “with crying and lamenting.”

The door which Nora half closed is blown open by a gust of wind.

Cathleen (looking out anxiously). Did you ask him would he stop Bartley going this day with the horses to the Galway fair?

Nora. “I won’t stop him,” says he; “but let you not be afraid. Herself does be saying prayers half through the night, and the Almighty God won’t leave her destitute,” says he, “with no son living.”

Cathleen. Is the sea bad by the white rocks, Nora?

Nora. Middling bad, God help us. There’s a great roaring in the west, and it’s worse it’ll be getting when the tide’s turned to the wind. (She goes over to the table with the bundle.) Shall I open it now?

Cathleen. Maybe she’d wake up on us, and come in before we’d done (coming to the table). It’s a long time we’ll be, and the two of us crying.

Nora (goes to the inner door and listens). She’s moving about on the bed. She’ll be coming in a minute.

Cathleen. Give me the ladder, and I’ll put them up in the turf-loft, the way she won’t know of them at all, and maybe when the tide turns she’ll be going down to see would he be floating from the east.

They put the ladder against the gable of the chimney; Cathleen goes up a few steps and hides the bundle in the turf-loft. Maurya comes from the inner room.

Maurya (looking up at Cathleen and speaking querulously). Isn’t it turf enough you have for this day and evening?

Cathleen. There’s a cake baking at the fire for a short space (throwing down the turf), and Bartley will want it when the tide turns if he goes to Connemara.

Nora picks up the turf and puts it round the pot-oven.