'M' is for Moon
Among Other Things

A Play for Radio

Characters

CONSTANCE
ALFRED

Silence—a man grunts and shakes his paper—a woman flips over the pages of a book and sighs.
NB  A married couple, ALFRED and CONSTANCE—middle class, childless, aged 45 and 42.

CONSTANCE:  	(Sighs—thinks:)  Macbeth . . .

	(Flip)

	Macedonia . . .

	(Flip)

	Machine-gun . . .

	(Flip)

	Magna Carta . . .

	(Flip)

	Measles . . .

	(Flip)

	Molluscs . . .  molluscs . . .

ALFRED:  	(Grunts—thinks:)  '. . .  the girl, wearing a red skirt and black sweater, asked the court that her name should not be continued in column five, continued in column five . . .' 

	(Shakes paper)

CONSTANCE:  	(Thinks:) . . .  Invertebrate animal . . .  discovered that marine varieties . . .

	(Slams book shut)  

	I think enough for tonight—I wish the print wasn't so small . . . Have you seen my pills anywhere?

ALFRED: 	Mmmm . . .  
	(Thinks:)  '  . . . "anything like it in my thirty years on the Bench", he added.  "While young louts like you are roaming the streets no girl is safe from . . . " ' 
	(Impatiently)  Oh . . .

	(Turns page)

CONSTANCE:  	(Thinks:)  February the fifth, March the fifth, April, May, June, July, August . . . six.

ALFRED:  	(Thinks:)  'A Smooth-as-Silk Beauty as Fast as they Come!'

CONSTANCE:  	(Thinks:)  The Friday before last must have been the twenty-seventh, that's right, because the Gilberts came to dinner and that was a Friday because of Mrs Gilbert not eating the meat, and the Encyclopaedia always comes on the twenty-seventh, and it was just when the M to N came when I phoned Alfred at the office about what to give the Gilberts, so it must have been Friday the twenty-seventh.  So last Sunday was the twenty-ninth, so today is twenty-nine plus seven makes thirty-six, so it must be the sixth, unless July has thirty-one, in which case it's the seventh, no, the fifth.  Thirty days hath April, June, is it?  Wait a minute, the Friday before last was the twenty-seventh . . .

ALFRED:  	(Thinks:)  'I found her to be a smooth-as-silk beauty with the classic lines of thrust of  . . . '

CONSTANCE:	Alfred, is it the fifth or the sixth?

ALFRED:	Mmm?  
	(Thinks:)  ' . . . surging to sixty mph in nine seconds . . . '

CONSTANCE:	Fifth?

ALFRED:	Fifth what?

CONSTANCE:	What's today?

ALFRED:	Sunday . . .  
	(Thinks:)  ' . . .  the handbrake a touch stiff and I'd like to see an extra ashtray for the passenger but otherwise . . . '  
	(Up)  Oh for goodness' sake—you know I hate people looking over my shoulder.

	(Turns page)

CONSTANCE:  	(Thinks:)  August the fifth, nineteen sixty-two.  
	(Up)  Alfred, in half an hour I'll be exactly forty-two-and-a-half years old.  That's a thought, isn't it?

ALFRED:	Mmmm . . . 
	(Thinks:)  'Little old grey-haired Mrs Winifred Garters wept last night as . . . '

CONSTANCE:	What time were you born, Alfred?

ALFRED:	What?

CONSTANCE:	I was born just as the clock struck half-past ten at night—what time were you born?

ALFRED:	I can't remember.

CONSTANCE:	Didn't anyone tell you?

ALFRED:	That's what I can't remember.

	(Hall clock chiming ten)

	Oh, what's that?—ten?  We haven't had the news today.  I think there's one now, isn't there?  Turn on the box—hang on, where's the Radio Times?—ah—is this this week's?

CONSTANCE:	Forty-two-and-a-half, and all I've got is a headache.

ALFRED:	Is this the new one?  'August five to twelve'—what's today?

CONSTANCE:	Sunday.

ALFRED:	No-no-no—what's—oh never mind—yes, this is it—News at five-past ten.

	(Turns on TV)

	‘Dial M for Murder'—oh, that might have been good.

CONSTANCE:	It's an awful thing, you know.  When you start worrying about the halves.  I mean there's no purpose to make sense of it, is there?  Every time it's half-past ten, it's another day older, and all I've done with it is to get up and stay up.  Where's it all going?

	(Bring in finish of ‘Dial M for Murder'—hold it and fade it low)

	(Thinks:)   They used to call me Millie . . . my middle name was my favourite till I was—how old was I?  17?  Happy Birthday Millie, it used to be . . .  Then I went over to Constance, it sounded more grown-up.  Seventeen from forty-two.  Twenty-five.  A quarter of a century, constant Constance . . .  
	(Up)  If I had a choice, perhaps I'd choose what I'm doing now.  I don't care about that.  But I want the choice.  I don't want the moon, Alfred, all I want is the possibility of an alternative, so that I know I'm doing this because I want to instead of because there's nothing else.

ALFRED:	Sshssh—hang on, Constance, let me hear the News.  

	(Bring in opening of tape (if there is one) of the 10.05 pm News—5 August 1962)

NEWS: 		The News . . . Marilyn Monroe, the actress, was found dead in her Los Angeles home today..

	(Fade out)

ALFRED:	(Fading in with ‘oh's' used as a sort of dirge—thinks:) Oh . . . oh . . . oh . . .  oh . . . oh . . . poor Marilyn . . . poor poor thing . . .  What have they done? . . . God, poor little thing. . .  She must have been so unhappy.  Oh Marilyn.

CONSTANCE:	She seemed so full of life, didn't she?

ALFRED:	(Thinks:)  Abandoned . . . no love. . . like a child.

CONSTANCE:	Poor thing, it's awful.

ALFRED:	(Thinks:)  Marilyn . . . you shouldn't have trusted them, they're all rotten.

CONSTANCE:	Do you suppose she meant it?  Oh, wasn't she lovely, I mean a lovely person, she made you feel it.  Doesn't it go to show?

ALFRED:	Oh, do shut up.

CONSTANCE:	Alfred!

ALFRED:	Oh, I'm sorry.  I'm just tired . . . and upset.

CONSTANCE:	It's all right, Alfred.

ALFRED:	Of course she meant it.  By God, you've only got to use your imagination.  It's such a cold shallow world she was living in.  No warmth or understanding—no one understood her, she was friendless.

CONSTANCE:	Do you think so?

ALFRED:	Of course.  Hangers-on.  People didn't appreciate her.  Just using her.  A girl like that.  It's a crime .

CONSTANCE:	Fate.

ALFRED:	Fate!  Don't be absurd!

CONSTANCE:	Please don't shout, Alfred.

ALFRED:	(Wearily)  Oh damn them, dammit . . .  Oh, let's go to bed.  I'm tired.

CONSTANCE:	Yes.  I'm worn out—hope I'll be able to sleep. 

ALFRED: 	I can never stay awake, and you can never get to sleep—what's the matter with you?

CONSTANCE:	I don't know—can't sleep with this headache.

ALFRED:	You know, you read too much, you're always complaining of eye strain and headaches, well it's no wonder.

CONSTANCE:	The print's too small, really.  

	(Flip flip flip of pages)

ALFRED:	The Universal Treasury of People, Places and Things:  Illustrated.  M to N . . .  A lot of useless knowledge. 

CONSTANCE: 	I've got as far as Molluscs, but I'm skipping madly. 

ALFRED: 	You forget it all anyway.

CONSTANCE:	No I don't, not all of it.

ALFRED:	Well, you forgot about Catholics, didn't you?  There must have been something about them under C.

CONSTANCE:	(Unhappy, offensive—defensive, a little desperate)  Oh Alfred, please—not now again.

ALFRED:	Catholics!  Catholics-don't-eat-meat-on-Fridays.  Or under M-Meat, what-Catholics-don't eat-on-a-Friday.  Or F-Friday, the-day-Catholics-don't-eat-meat-on.  Oh my God, you could probably have found it under G-Mrs Gilbert, wife to Alfred's boss Mr Gilbert and a staunch Catholic who does not eat meat on a Friday!  

	(Pause.)  

	D is for Débâcle—that which occurs when Mrs Gilbert is offered meat by her husband's chief accountant's wife on a Friday!

CONSTANCE:	(Crying)  Well, I wouldn't have forgotten if you hadn't been so awful on the phone—I phoned you to ask you what to get for dinner and you wouldn't give me a chance—Alfred—you were—you behaved. . .

ALFRED:	Oh, don't cry—I couldn't talk to you then . . .  You had to call up just as Mr Gilbert, Anglican, was hovering round my neck with my monthly report . . .  Oh, what does it matter anyway.

	(Pages turned)

	M is for Money . . .  Universal Treasury all right . . .  Two guineas a volume, a guinea per letter of the alphabet.  How can you get a guinea's worth out of X?  Or Z?

CONSTANCE:	It was a lovely birthday present.

ALFRED:	Well, I'm sorry I haven't got as much money as your rich brother Stanley.

CONSTANCE:	Oh, you know I didn't mean that.  But it's lovely to know that every month there's another volume coming.  That's the seventh, counting the A to B I got on the actual day.  It's O to P this month.  Oranges and Orang-utans.  I don't know—it's just that the time isn't all a waste, somehow, do you know what I mean?

ALFRED:	What's the capital of Mongolia?

CONSTANCE:	The point isn't to know the capital of Mongolia, Alfred—the point is 
	to . . .  Alfred, at half-past ten I'll be forty-two-and-a-half years old and it's all slipping by.

ALFRED:	Well, I'm blessed—do you know they haven't even got her in here.

CONSTANCE:	Who?

ALFRED:	'Monroe Doctrine . . . Monroe, James, President of the United States  . . .'  Universal ruddy Treasury.

CONSTANCE:	Well, they can't have everything.  I remember my first ABC book—everything was so simple then.  I thought that each letter only stood for the one word they gave, you know?  A is for Apple, B is for Baby, C is for Cat . . .  M was for Moon.  It was ages before I knew that M was for anything else . . . like Millie . . .  She was 36, he said, didn't he?

ALFRED:	Did he?  Poor dear . . .  What I meant was that it needn't have happened.  That's why you can't call it fate.

CONSTANCE:	It's all right, I wasn't thinking.

ALFRED:	It was just that she had no one to recognize her needs, you see.  No one to turn to, I mean.  No wonder the poor girl got desperate.  Those actors—people like that—they've got no humanity, no understanding—self, self, it's such a selfish society.  A girl like that, dying with a telephone in her hand— who did she have to call who would have done her any good?  No one.  Perhaps that's fate.

CONSTANCE:	Yes, I suppose so.

ALFRED:	Well, let's go up.  I'll lock up—you have the bathroom first.

CONSTANCE:	I wonder who she was trying to phone, though. 

	(Fade out—sound of CONSTANCE getting into bed—or near offer)  

	Oooooh, bed.  I feel quite worn out. 

ALFRED: 	You got up too early again.

CONSTANCE:	I couldn't drop off once I woke up.  It's getting very tiresome.

ALFRED:	Don't those pills work?

CONSTANCE:	I suppose they must help.  I think I'll take an extra one tonight.

ALFRED:	Yes, I should.

CONSTANCE:	Oh—Alfred—I forgot my glass of water.  Do you mind, while you're still up.

ALFRED:	Oh, gosh, where is it?

CONSTANCE:	On the wash-stand.  

	(Thinks:)  Oh God, if I'd been in her place I would have eaten the bloody meat and gone to confession . . .  Bitch. . .  I shouldn't have phoned Alfred at the office, though.

ALFRED:	Here you are.  Got the pills?

(Clock chiming half past ten—ALFRED getting into bed)

CONSTANCE:	(Thinks:)  Half-past ten, August the fifth, nineteen sixty-two.  Well—Cheers!  

	(Gulps pill and drink)  

	Happy anniversary, Millie.
	
	(Puts glass down)

ALFRED:	Should I turn the light off?

CONSTANCE:	Yes.

	(Click)

	(Thinks:)  Maple tree . . . Mozambique . . . Mandragora . . . Marzipan . . . Mother . . . 
	Moon . . . Melon . . . Menopause . . . Mongolia . . .

ALFRED:	(Thinks:)  Marilyn . . .  don't worry, I'm glad you phoned . . .  Don't be unhappy, love, tell me all about it and I'm sure I'll think of something . . .  Do you feel better already?—Well, it's nice to have someone you know you can count on any time, isn't it? . . .  Don't cry, don't cry any more. . .  I'll make it all right . . .  

	(Up—sigh)  

	Poor old thing . . .

CONSTANCE:	Oh, you mustn't worry about me, Alfred, I'll be all right . . .  
	(Thinks:)  Marshmallow . . . Mickey Mouse . . . Marriage . . . Moravia . . . Mule . . . 
	Market . . . Mumps . . .