Belle Moral: A Natural History Read Free Page B

ancestors.
    P EARL . And what did you discover swinging from the family tree? A backward lot of Highland crofters with an unwholesome fondness for things
Fr-r-rench;
blood-thirsty and Catholic to boot.
    V ICTOR [grand]. A martyred race: soaked in glory, culture –
    P EARL . And whiskey.
    V ICTOR . The Highland warrior was the ideal man: fearless, faithful; and failed.
    F LORA . If only your mother could see you got up so braw in her family tartan.
    P EARL . He looks well in a skirt.
    V ICTOR . It is a kilt, Madam.
    P EARL . You can romanticize failure all you like, Victor, but the fact is, we bear the mundane burden of success, with all its rights and responsibilities. If you’re genuinely interested in your heritage, why not learn Gaelic? I’ll tell you why not; because that would take work. The truth is, all the Highlanders with any get-up-and-go, got up and left years ago. They now run banks and shuffle documents. A waist-coated legion armed with briefcase and pince-nez.
    V ICTOR
Poch ma hohn
[pron. pog ma hoyn] [trans: “kiss my arse.”]
    F LORA
gasps
.
    Begging your pardon, Auntie. See, Pearl? I’ve been learning Gaelic.
    F LORA .
Ainaibh ri cheile
. [pron. Eh-nev ree kaylee]
    V ICTOR . What does that mean?
    P EARL . “I’ve been learning Gaelic.”
    V ICTOR . Shutup.
[Nearly overlapping:]
    P EARL . Shutup.
    V ICTOR . Pearl –   P EARL . Pearl –
    V ICTOR . Act your age –  P EARL . Act your age –
    V ICTOR . Auntie –!    P EARL . Auntie –!
    F LORA
[suprising fury]
. Eneuch!
    P EARL
and
V ICTOR
stop, startled
. F LORA
is in deadly earnest
.
    You’ve naebody but ilk ither noo. There’s nane left but you twa. You maun look after one another.
[A beat. Cheerful once more:]
Victor, you must be faimished after your journey, and look at ya, ya wee skinnama-link, I’ll go fix a plate –
    P EARL . Auntie, don’t bring the winkles in here, they’re revolting.
    F LORA . Winkles?
    P EARL . Ay, winkles. You said Young Farleigh –
    F LORA
[remembering her lie]
. Och ay, winkles! They were nane of ’em any good. Shells were empty.
    P EARL . All of them?
    F LORA . Pixies. Belike gobbled ’em up.
    P EARL . “Pixies”? Why not fairies?
    F LORA . Fairies dinna eat winkles.
    P EARL . Auntie, you find evolution far-fetched, yet you’ve no difficulty with your taxonomy of fairies, pixies and werewolves.
    F LORA . There’s no such thing as a werewolf.
    V ICTOR . No matter, Auntie, I’ve gone vegetarian.
    P EARL
[muttering so Auntie won’t hear]
. Got to be difficult, haven’t you.
    F LORA . Ma poor lad, shall I send for Dr Reid?
    V ICTOR . I’m fine, Auntie. I saw a play in London by an anti-vivisectionist; he annoyed so many people with his socialists, sensualists and suffragists that I wound up converted in spite of the fact he’s an Irishman. So I’m no longer eating animals.
    F LORA . I’ll fetch a bit of cold mutton, then, shall I?
    V ICTOR . Any of your shortbread about?
    F LORA . Fresh this morning! Now behave yourself, your sister’s working.
    F LORA
exits
. V ICTOR
takes a silver flask from his sporran and offers it to
P EARL .
She merely stares at him
.
    V ICTOR
[toasting her]
. “Scots wha’ hae.”
[drinks]
    P EARL . Don’t let Auntie see that, it would kill her.
    V ICTOR . What’s ailing her?
    P EARL . She’s cranky.
    V ICTOR . She’s grieving, her brother died.
    P EARL . Why ask, if you know? Auntie and I have been slaving here in a legal limbo with one foot in the poor house, waiting for you so Father’s estate can be settled. Belle Moral doesn’t run itself, you know. She’s getting on.
    V ICTOR . Nay, she’s spry; and she’s got the full abacus upstairs, I can hear the beads rattling back and forth.
    P EARL . Time does not stand still in your absence, Victor. You may manage to avoid growing up, but others do not. People age, fathers die.
    A beat. He drinks
.
    V ICTOR . What are you working on these days?
    P EARL . I’m searching the coast for fossil evidence of