ANNA:                 But Mamma I still don't understand. Did you say that Papa came home yesterday complaining that his chest was hurting him?

MAMMA:            That's right, Anna. He kept saying it was real tight around his heart. Then he started breathing hard. I boiled up some bay geranium, strong bark and croton bush real strong and gave him that to drink. The pain seemed to have eased up a bit and he dozed off to sleep.

ANNA:                 Did he sleep long?

MAMMA:            About an hour. When he woke, he was a different man. Benjie wasn't Benjie any more. All of those bigoted ways he had were gone. He turned like a little baby ... wouldn't even eat unless I fed him. Now he's gone.

ANNA:                 You might as well stop crying over spilt milk. Everybody has to die some time and you know what the people say, "Ain't the sickest who go the quickest."

MAMMA:           (Thoughtfully) You know, something just crossed my mind. (All looking at her) I don't have any way of knowing if Benjie got his soul straight with the Lord.

ANNA:                 How did he act when he was dying, Mamma?

MAMMA:            He just looked right up at one comer of the room and started staring and he wouldn't talk to anybody. Then his eyes just fell and he was gone just like that.

ANNA:                 Just like that?

MAMMA:            Just like that! He didn't even have time to pray.

ANNA:                 Well, I guess there's nothing we can do about that now . . . too late. (Thinks) Mamma, let's all put our heads together now. Papa has to be buried.

MAMMA:            Oh mercy on me! I was trying not to think about that part. I don't know where we can bury him. He's never been to any Church.

ANNA:                 Hey! What about that new graveyard we heard about? Old Track . . . Old Trail! That's an idea! We could get Papa a plot of land there.

MAMMA:            Does it cost money?

LOLA:                 It sure does. I hear that one little man-sized piece there costs three hundred dollars.

ANNA:                 Stop your lies!

LOLA:                 You stay right there!

MAMMA:            Well that's out of the question (The three women look at each other in despair, then Anna's eyes fall on the telephone in the corner)

ANNA:                 (Getting up and going to the telephone) Well, I guess we have something to be thankful for anyway.

LOLA:                 What are you talking about this time, now?

ANNA:                 This phone here. Papa's lucky that his boss-man gave him this. I think I'm going to call Mr. Cunningham, the undertaker, right now. I heard he's the cheapest one around here and his terms are good for poor people.

LOLA:                 How good?

ANNA:                 When all the other undertakers are charging $400, he's only charging $25.

MAMMA:            Twenty-five? Twenty-five what? Not dollars, because if that's so, something must be wrong or something missing.

ANNA:                 That's the point. Now don't let anybody hear this again but I heard that he uses the same coffin for everybody.

MAMMA:            Look, Anna, this is no time to make a joke. That doesn't even make sense. Now how do you think he could do a thing like that?

ANNA:                (Whispering) It's the bottom of the box, I heard.

MAMMA:            The bottom?

ANNA:                 Yes, the bottom drops out into the grave and the dead body tumbles out behind it. When nobody's looking in the night, they come back for the box.

MAMMA:            You're not telling me to do that with Benjie's body, eh?

ANNA:                 You don't have any choice, Mamma. Besides, Papa is already dead now.

LOLA:                  It's no use even arguing about that. We don't have $25 either.

ANNA:                 But we don't have to think about the money right now. I heard that Mr. Cunningham helps you to think about how to get the money to pay him with. (She dials) Two ... one ...  four ... four ... eight.

MAMMA:            Well, look what Benjie's come to, hey? (She sniffles)

ANNA:                 (Speaking into the telephone) Hello! Who's this?

Where's Mr. Cunningham?

May I talk to him, please? (Pauses)

Mr. Cunningham this is me, Anna ... Anna Johnson.

Papa is dead, Sir. (Sniffles)

Thanks, Sir.

He has to be buried and we thought of you.

Come here, Sir?

Oh, anytime. We'll be right home.

Yes, Sir.

Bye! (Hangs up the phone)

MAMMA:            He's coming here?

ANNA:                 In half an hour.

Curtain

Scene Two

TIME:    Later that morning

PLACE:  The Johnsons' living-room

 

The women await Mr. Cunningham. Mamma sits sadly and so does Anna but Lola paces the floor.

 

LOLA:                (Anxiously) Half an hour's not up yet?

ANNA:                 I don't think so but I can soon find out. (Goes to the phone and dials) One ... seven (Listens) It's ten-thirty now.

LOLA:                 But what time was it when you called him?

ANNA:                 How do you expect me to know? Did you see me ring the time then?

LOLA:                 Well, what are you ringing it for now?

ANNA:                 Didn't you ask for the time?

LOLA:                 I didn't ask for the time, Anna. I asked if half an hour was gone yet.

MAMMA:           (Interrupting) Now, girls, it doesn't pay to get yourselves upset now. That's not going to help any. When the time is up, Mr. Cunningham will come.

ANNA:                 It's not me who can't wait, it's Lola. She's prancing around here like it was she who called Mr. Cunningham.

LOLA:                 Who, me? (Sneeringly) Not me, child! Everybody knows that if there's any calling to be done in this house there's only one person smart enough to do it.

ANNA:                 Who said anything about being smarter than anybody else? - although I know I have more education than you, Lola. And I'm sure I have more common sense than you. Besides, I'm older than you and if you try to listen to how people answer the telephone, you could soon learn. Telephones are nothing to play with you know. They're business things.

LOLA:                 Yes, and I guess just because Papa's dead now they'll take the phone out.

ANNA:                 (Thoughtfully) I didn't think about that you know. That's probably true. (A slamming of a car door is heard outside. All look at one another. Mamma sits upright in her chair for a moment then relaxes again)

LOLA:                 That's Mr. Cunningham right now, I bet. I'm going to open the door. (Anna pulls her back by the shoulder) Now, just wait a minute! Who called Mr. Cunningham? Who's fixing up this business, you or me? (She pauses then goes to the door to open it) Morning Mr. Cunningham! Come right in! (A tall man with a briefcase enters. He has bent shoulders. Mamma hides her face in a cloth)

Mr. C.:                 Thank you very much, Miss Johnson.

ANNA:                 Mr. Cunningham, this is my mother and ...

LOLA:                 I am Lola. I am the youngest one Papa left behind. (Sniffs. Anna gives her a dirty look)

ANNA:                 Sit down, Sir, we want to talk to you about burying Papa.

Mr. C.:                 Oh, I'm so sorry, Ma'am, believe me. Where is the body now?

MAMMA:            In there (Pointing towards the bedroom and shedding a tear. He goes to the room, takes a look and comes back and sits meditatively for a bit. Anxiously) You will bury my husband, Sir?

Mr. C.:                 Does he belong to any Church?

LOLA:                  Never saw the Church door.

ANNA:                Lola!

Mr. C.:                 Well, never mind that. Does he belong to a Lodge?

MAMMA:           No, Sir.

Mr. C.:                 Um . . . hum. Has he been able to save very much in his bank account?

MAMMA:           He never had one.

ANNA:                Sir, you're trying to find out if . . . if we have the money to pay you, I guess.

Mr. C.:                 Oh, no, Ma'am. That's incidental. I am a professional; I take care of money matters after the funeral. I simply want to help you in your bereavement by trying to determine what kind of burial you can afford.

MAMMA:            I appreciate that.

Mr. C.:                 Now back to this ... er ... help I want to give you. Did Mr. Johnson have insurance?

MAMMA:           You mean an insurance policy? (Pause) You know, I've just remembered that! He does have a small policy. Now that could pay for the funeral.

Mr. C.:                 May I see it, please? (Mamma rises and goes out)

LOLA:                (Cutting in) Mr. Cunningham, how much do you charge for funerals?

Mr. C.:                 Um ... funerals are very expensive Miss, but I'll try to do my best for you. Let's discuss this afterwards. (Mamma returns and hands Mr. Cunningham some papers) Um ...  hum.  I see I'm going to have to be quite lenient with you, Mrs. Johnson.

LOLA:                 What do you mean? What does the insurance say?

ANNA:                Will you keep out of this, Lola?

Mr. C.:                 (To Lola) Miss, I know you're upset over your father's death, but you musn't excite yourself more. Let your mother handle it. She's quite capable (He grins with Mamma then continues reading from the paper) ... Moon­Life Insurance Company ... Your husband is insured, Ma'am, but ...

MAMMA:           For how much, Sir?

Mr. C.:                 Now that's the problem. (He shakes his head from side to side) He's insured for $300, but ... Oh,  dear me!  I so wish to help you. (He takes a pen from his pocket and pretends to be following the lines with difficulty as he reads, but actually scribbles on the paper as he talks)

MAMMA:           What is it, Mr. Cunningham?

Mr. C.:                 When last did you look at these papers?

MAMMA:           (Shaking her head) Not since Benjie put them away in his box.

Mr. C.:                (To Anna) And you?

ANNA:                I never even saw them. And you, Miss?

LOLA:                   Me neither.

Mr. C.:                 Did Mr. Johnson owe anybody any large sum of money?

MAMMA:             Not as I know.

LOLA:                    He used to drink plenty though.

Mr. C.:                 Now that could be it. Er ... I know this is embarrassing but . . . did he frequent a particular bar?

LOLA:                     He used to be down at Mr. Bowe all the time.

Mr. C.:                   I thought so. (Scribbles on the paper again)

ANNA:                     Why did you say that?

Mr. C.:                    Mr. Johnson has something written in here saying that his debt to Mr. Bowe should be paid.

ANNA:                      Now that's garbage! His debt to Mr. Bowe could wait. His funeral is more important.

Mr. C.:                     I'm sorry, Miss but once this goes to the insurance company for payment they will pay the debt as requested.

LOLA:                        I don't believe that!

Mr. C.:                     Do you think I am a liar?

ANNA:                       Lola, I told you keep out of this!

Mr. C.:                      Maybe you should let her (Pointing at Lola) take the papers to the insurance company. It'll be too embarrassing for you, Mrs. Johnson, when they ask who Mr. Bowe is.

LOLA:                         Yes, give it to me and let me take it.

MAMMA:                    Lola! Please, Mr. Cunningham, don't mind her. Will you take the papers for me?

Mr. C.:                       Only because I want to help you, Mrs. Johnson. ANNA:                Could we get back to the funeral, please? Just supposing Papa does owe Mr. Bowe some of that money, how much will you charge us from what is left?

Mr. C.:                       Now that depends. Believe me, ladies, I will try to do my best for you. Let me get some information from you for the funeral arrangements. First of all, when do you want the funeral?

ANNA:                         Tomorrow I guess, Mamma?

MAMMA:                     No, it can't be tomorrow because I don't have any black dress yet.

Mr. C.:                        But if you leave it another day, Ma'am, you will have to have him embalmed and this will cost about $100 ...

MAMMA:                      Bury him tomorrow then. (Thinks) I guess I'll have to borrow a black dress from Cousin Hartie.

LOLA:                          (Somewhat gleefully) I think I'm straight because my friend Gloria has a good, black, lacy dress that she bought for the Church banquet. That just fits me. (All look at her)

Mr. C.:                Now then ... time and place.

MAMMA:           I guess I'll have to ask Father Anderson, because that's the only Church I've ever attended. It's St. Michael's Church and I suppose Father can bury him at four o'clock.

Mr. C.:                 Good! Now, in order for me to clear up this insurance deal for you, you will have to give me written authorization to do so.

LOLA:                  Do we have any of them here, Mamma?

MAMMA:            What is that, Mr. Cunningham?

Mr. C.:                  What I mean is that you must write to the insurance company telling them that you would like me to do this business for you.

MAMMA:            I'm not too good at writing, you know.

Mr. C.:                 All right, I'll make it easy for you. I'll write the note and you can sign it. (He takes a small pad from his briefcase and writes rapidly, mumbling as he writes) My husband Benjamin Johnson is dead. Please allow the bearer, Joseph Cunningham, to finalize the business on the enclosed insurance. Please sign here Mrs. Johnson. (He hands her the pad. She scribbles her name and then looks somewhat pleased) Now, all you need is a death certificate.

MAMMA:            Where do you get them from?

Mr. C.:                  Your doctor can write one up for you.

MAMMA:             But. . .

ANNA:                 Don't worry about that, Mr. Cunningham, we'll get one first thing in the morning.

Mr. C.:                  Then I’ll pick it up here about ten o'clock in the morning ... all right?

ANNA:                  Yes, Sir.

Mr. C.:                   (Rising) Well, goodbye now.

MAMMA:              Wait, Mr. Cunningham, just before you go, could you give us some idea of what you charge ordinarily for a funeral?

Mr. C.:                   All right, Mrs. Johnson, since you insist. A funeral for a man like Mr. Johnson is usually about $150.

ANNA:                  Hundred and fifty ...

Mr. C.:                   Oh, now don't get upset so quickly. You know I wouldn't do that to you people. I told you I wanted to help you. Why do you think I've asked so many questions? I know you have it difficult so I won' t charge you more than $100.

LOLA:                    Hundred?

Mr. C.:                   Why, yes, is something wrong?

LOLA:                    Something has to be wrong. She said you usually bury people for $25 and that the bottom ...

ANNA:                   (Hastily) Lola! Did you hear me say that? I said I heard he charges $25.

LOLA:                    But you said the bottom drops out!

Mr. C.:                    Well! If I hadn't heard this myself, I wouldn't have believed it! (Turning slowly and deliberately to Mrs. Johnson) All right, Ma'am, I've wasted a lot of time and I can't afford to waste more. If you wish me to bury your husband, first of all you'll have to say whether you accept my price.

MAMMA:               Oh, yes I do.

Mr. C.:                    Then you'll have to assure me that I'm doing business with you and not your daughter here. (Pointing to Lola)

MAMMA:               Oh, yes, it's me, not her.

Mr. C.:                     All right, I must go and fetch help to remove the body. (He goes)

Curtain

 

 Scene Three

 

 TIME:  About ten o'clock in the morning of the day of the funeral

PLACE:  The Johnsons' living-room

 

Anna is sitting hemming an old black dress because it is too long for the new hemlines. Lola is shining her black shoes.

 

LOLA:                 This is a job here! So long since these shoes saw polish. Anyway, they'd better be shining for this afternoon.

ANNA:                You can clean mine for me too when you're finished.

LOLA:                 Which ones?

ANNA:                How many do I have?

LOLA:                  You don't mean those broken-down heel shoes you go to work in, hey?

ANNA:                Yes, same as your broken-down heel ones you go to work in.

LOLA:                  All right! All right! (Looks at Anna) Haven't you finished hemming that dress yet?

ANNA:                This is wide, you know ... and I'm not pretending to be an expert. (Sucks her teeth) That's the worst of these modern styles - always changing. Why people want to expose their knobby knees, I don't know.

LOLA:                 Ha! ... ha! ... ha! (Grins) Child, mine fits well. I don't have to do a single thing to it. Gloria and I are the same size.

ANNA:                 Who? Girl, Gloria is smaller than you.

LOLA:                 That's what you think. You just watch here. (She drops her polishing cloth and goes out to fit the dress. Mamma comes in now, pulling and fitting a dress that is too big and far too long)

MAMMA:            Anna, how do you think this looks? Cousin Hartie is a little bigger than I am it seems.

ANNA:                 According to that hem, a little older than you, too.

MAMMA:            Do you think I have to do something with this? (She tucks in sides and lifts them)

ANNA:                 You are sure right! (Puts down work and goes over to her) You need to sew the sides in here (Demonstrates) and then hem this up. It's a good dress, though.

MAMMA:            Do you think you could do this, Anna?

ANNA:                 I could try. (Lola breaks into the room in a dress far too tight and ridiculously short - a party dress)

LOLA:                  Gee, look at me, Anna, Mamma. Looks good, hey? I've never had such a dressy dress before.

MAMMA:           (Looks with mouth open) But Lola ...

LOLA:                  Yes, Mamma!

MAMMA:            You're supposed to be going to a funeral, you know.

LOLA:                  I know, Mamma.

ANNA:                 And that kind of dress is not for a funeral, either.

LOLA:                   What's wrong with it? You know how much Gloria paid for this?

ANNA:                  I don't care how much she paid for it, it's too tight, it's too short, and besides that you look like a ghost in it.

LOLA:                   (Peeved) The only thing that might be wrong with this is that the shoulder might be a little low and I've already decided to wear a short jacket with it.

ANNA:                 That's your business ... just don’t make too much noise hollering at the funeral and making people look at you. (A knock is heard at the door. Mamma and Lola disappear and Anna answers the door) Good morning, Father. Come in, Sir. (Father Anderson enters)

Fr. A.:                   Thank you. I just dropped by to see if everything is straight for the funeral this afternoon. Where's Mrs. Johnson?

ANNA:                 She's here. Let me call her. Mamma! Mamma!

MAMMA:            (Offstage) Yes, Anna!

ANNA:                 Father Anderson is out here.

MAMMA:            I’m coming now. (She appears in former dress)

Fr. A.:                   (Standing) How are you, Ma'am?

MAMMA:            I guess I'm as good as I can expect to be right now.

Fr. A.:                  That's good. Try to hold up.

MAMMA:           Yes, Father. I'm going to try.

Fr. A.:                  Say, Mrs. Johnson, did you say Mr. Cunningham is burying your husband?

MAMMA:           That's right, Father. He said he's going to lay out the body in the church about one o'clock.

Fr. A.:                  And will there be any Lodges in attendance?

MAMMA:           No, Sir. Benjie didn't belong to any Burial Lodges.

Fr. A.:                  And ... er ... are you experiencing any difficulty meeting the funeral expenses?

MAMMA:           Not now, Father. Mr. Cunningham was good. He's taking Benjie's policy to the insurance company in the morning.

Fr. A.:                  Why is he taking it?

MAMMA:            He was good enough to save me that work.

Fr. A.:                   But you will have to sign for him to get that money you know.

MAMMA:            Oh yes, I've already signed where Mr. Cunningham told me to sign. He promised to straighten this out for me this morning. There's only one thing . . .

Fr. A.:                  What is it?

MAMMA:            I hope we can have a little bit of money left for us to live on.

Fr. A.:                  How much was it?

MAMMA:            It was $300, but Benjie ... um ... (Embarrassed)

ANNA:                 He owed Mr. Bowe a large sum of money and he wrote on the policy that he wished Mr. Bowe's money to be taken out of the policy because he couldn't pay it back.

Fr. A.:                   You mean Mr. Bowe who owns the bar just down the street?

ANNA:                 That's right, Sir.

Fr. A.:                   I see. And what insurance company did you say it is?

MAMMA:            Moon-Life Insurance Company, on Delanor Street.

Fr. A.:                   Um ... hum. (Pauses) Well, I guess I must move on now. I shall see you a bit later. Goodbye.

ALL:                      Bye, Father. (They settle in chairs and resume work. Lola comes back to finish her shoes)

Curtain

 

Scene Four

 

TIME:     Later that morning

PLACE:  At the Moon-Life Insurance office

 

Mr. Cunningham stands at the counter while the clerk studies Benjamin's insurance. His brows flick up and down a few times.

 

CLERK:               Are you a relative of the deceased?

Mr. C.:                 I'm the undertaker ... met a family who did not know much about how to go about their business, you see, and they insisted that I bring this in, so I thought I'd give them a hand, poor girls! (Glances round)

CLERK:               And ... is this the wife's signature on this note?

Mr. C.:                Yes, well I guess you'd have to excuse her some . . . can't write too well, you know.

CLERK:               And what is this writing in ink here? I can't make it out.

Mr. C.:                 Oh, that's just a note Mrs. Johnson was scribbling to remind me to pay off some money her husband owes to one Mr. Bowe. (Uneasily)

CLERK:                I see. Well, everything seems quite in order here. You have the death certificate as well so ... the cheque. I shall have one made up as soon as it has gone to Head Office and back. You can come back and collect it in about two weeks.

Mr. C.:                 The cheque! . . . Did you say the cheque?

CLERK:               Yes, Mr. Cunningham. We are going to make up a cheque for Mrs. Johnson. Is anything wrong? (A figure enters beside Mr. Cunningham unseen by him)

Mr. C.:                 Well, you see, she is a woman who doesn't go out very much and she wants me to get this money for her. Is there any hope of getting it in cash?

CLERK:               I'm sorry, Sir, that is not permissible. We must pay by cheque and to Mrs. Johnson. If anything should happen Mrs. Johnson could sue us for her money saying she did not get it and there would be no record of it either.

Fr. A.:                  Excuse me, Sir, but I'm in a bit of a rush. I won't be long. (Turns to the clerk) I have a parishioner who I'm burying this afternoon and I heard he had insurance with your company. His name is Benjamin Johnson. Do you know whether anyone is looking after this man's welfare?

CLERK:               Oh yes, Father, this man here, Mr. Cunningham, has been kind enough to do it. But I was just explaining that, much as I would like to help Mrs. Johnson, I can't make out her cheque in his name.

Fr. A.:                  Does Mrs. Johnson wish this?

Mr. C.:                 If she didn't, Father, I would not be here.

Fr. A.:                  Did she say why?

Mr. C.:                 The woman needs help, Father, and I'm trying to help her. She has never done anything like this before.

Fr. A.:                  I see. Well, Mr. Cunningham, that was very kind of you to do this for Mrs. Johnson ...

Mr. C.:                 Many people don't recognize this, though. Neither do they realise how busy a man I am.

Fr. A.:                  I understand ... your work is quite exacting of your time ... I have, perhaps, a little more time than you so let me help both of you. How much does Mrs. Johnson owe you for the burial of her husband?

Mr. C.:                 One hundred dollars, why?

Fr. A.:                  You see, the insurance company here can save you all so much work with Mrs. Johnson's authorization. Right, Sir? (To the clerk)

CLERK:                We always try, Sir.

Fr. A.:                  All you have to do is submit your bill to the insurance company and Mrs. Johnson can have them pay you directly.

Mr. C.:                 Oh, come on Father. Why go to all this trouble?

CLERK:                No trouble at all. We can easily send a man over to make the necessary business transactions with Mrs. Johnson.

Mr. C.:                 But she wants me to pay another bill for her.

Fr. A.:                  Perhaps we may even be able to help her if you would tell us the details about the bill.

CLERK:                Yes, please do!

Mr. C.:                 Well, er ... it would be a bit embarrassing for Mrs. Johnson. That's why she asked me to do it for her.

Fr. A.:                  Do you mean Benjamin's debt to Mr. Bowe for some liquor or other?

Mr. C.:                 Well, yes . . . how did you know?

Fr. A.:                  Mrs. Johnson told me so I stopped by Mr. Bowe on my way here. (Pauses)

Mr. C.:                 You did ...

Fr. A.:                   I did.

Mr. C.:                  I suppose he's sore about that big bill, hey?

Fr. A.:                   Oh, not at all. As a matter of fact he thinks there must be some error. He said that Benjamin drank there quite often but when he had no more money he usually resorted to begging.

Mr. C.:                  But that can't be true! (Corrects himself quickly) I mean, I don't understand ...

Fr. A.:                   But why? Aren't you happy for Mrs. Johnson? She really needs it and I know that as a friend who wants to help her you'll be the last to let her down.

Mr. C.:                  (Forcing a smile) Of course, Father ... but you must remember ... my job is to let down the dead ... ha! ha! ha!

Curtain

From Dr. Susan J. Wallace's book of prose, poems, and skits, Back Home.