AN ORDINARY WOMAN

by Pam Gems

Copyright © Pam Gems
Pam Gems is hereby identified as author of this work in accordance with section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. The author has asserted her moral rights. 

All rights whatsoever in this play are strictly reserved and application for performance etc. should be made before rehearsal to Rose Cobbe, United Agents, 12-26 Lexington Street, London W1F 0LE, UK. Tel: +44 (0) 20 3214 0800.
http://unitedagents.co.uk/agents/rose-cobbe/. Assistant: Dan Usztan. Email: dusztan@unitedagents.co.uk Tel: +44 (0) 20 3214 0873. No performance may be given unless a licence has been obtained.

AN ORDINARY WOMAN

A WOMAN half-groans, half-sighs.

Pause.

			FRANCINE
		Oh mon Dieu, but it's cold.

		On the first of July!

		Maybe the second.

She shudders aloud with the cold.

		I'm below ground, that's why.  Seven steps, then fifteen.  A cellar.  Or caves.  Ugh.  (She shudders.)

Pause.

		Accustom yourself, Francine!

		You're alive!  If they'd wanted to kill you, you'd be dead by now - a crack on the head - they're not going to waste a bullet.  If you're alive it's because they want you alive.

		They want me alive all right.

		I might as well be in my coffin!  A decent piece of oak...elm to keep out the damp...nice narrow box, plain lining, just the name - Francine Rocher - in brass.  It's human decency.

		Ohh!

		Human?

		Decency?  Hah!

She mutters to herself "you fool - you fool".  Groans, slight noises as she moves herself about.

		Never mind the cold - Move!

		Legs - arms - legs - arms!

		Keep the blood flowing!

		The head needs blood to think.  (She gasps with the effort of moving.)  Think!

		Think.

		Who?

		Who?

		What have they got?

		And how.

		Think.

She mutters to herself then claps her hands.

		Must give them Something.

		They need to win, to think they've won - if they don't think they've won - dangerous.

She groans, moving in discomfort.

		"What's your name?"

		"Everyone knows me, Monsieur."

		"Your name!"

		(Frightened voice)  "Francine, the lock-keeper's daughter.  Why am I here, Monsieur, what have I done, what am I supposed to have done?"

		"Your name - your full name!"

		(Timidly)  "Francoise Eloise Marie Rocher."

		You know nothing.  You're a stupid, un-educated woman with rough hands and big feet and you know nothing.  About anything.  Nothing at all.

		"Occupation?"

		"Farmer's wife.  My husband was taken away by an unfortunate clerical error.  Rocher - Henri Louis - put on the wrong list."

		Sales Boches.

		We don't even know if he's alive.  Try living with that.  It's not human.
		They weren't like this in the other war.  Mon pere says they lobbed loaves of bread into the trench at Christmas - even when they took him prisoner they washed his hair, set his leg, fed him.

		They've been turned.  Like horses who've known bad days, you see it in their eyes.  No - once a horse is mean -

		Lash out.

		The trouble with the Boche is they're obedient.

		Believe what they're told.

		(Sarcastic)  The Master Race!

		Digging their own graves - even a good Catholic knows you're only obedient to God.

		At least they're the enemy.  At least you know they're supposed to make your life a misery.  At least it's all out in the open.

		(Pause.)

		Who?  Who?!

		Think, Francine.

She goes silent, groans as she moves, trying to get comfortable on the stone floor.

		Think.

		Be ready for them.

		You are going to be interrogated.

		They are going to interrogate you.

		"What have I done, Messieurs?  Why am I here?"

		WHO denounced me?!

		Think.  Who will they stick on the Bench?  Fat Paul? - no, useless, even to them - little Bertrand? - too crafty, he'll slip out of it - no, it'll be slow-coach René at the Mairie - he does all that, bloody old collaborateur, they know there's no trouble with him - "Yes, mein Herr, no, mine Herr."  Old slug.

		He's not a sod, Francine.  We've had worse Mayors.
		(Beguiling)  "Monsieur René - what can I say?  I'm an honest woman, you know that - you've known me all my life.  People knock on my door - they want eggs, a chicken, a knuckle of ham - 

		And I say no - I can't - it's not allowed, it's against the law.  Now and then - I'm only human - when Georgette was feeding little Jean-Pierre - that boy was no more than a couple of kilos, brought on early by shock when they took away - you know all that.  It was only a few eggs and milk.

		I do all my returns!  Every night!

		Look at my books! - everything is accounted for and they're all after me - teachers, nurses, Boche sergeants - they think you're made of food - just as well I'm not a fat woman, I think I'd be lynched.  I get glared at in the street for saying no, you should see the looks.  One woman - she does the flowers down the church, I took her in a little present one Sunday, she threw the bowl in my face because it was only blackberries.  What can I do, Monsieur René, I'm a woman on my own, there's only old Albert on the farm now and you know what he's like, even slower than - than ah - than...a...a slug.  If only I had you there to support me, sir - then I could say no, no and no again.  I admit it, I've given away an illegal egg, just to get them off my doorstep - just for peace and quiet.  I have cows to milk, stock to feed, the potato crop - it's getting me down.

		I'm an honest woman, you know that Monsieur René, you've known me all my life, you're a friend of my father, my - my husband...

Her voice breaks slightly.  Pause.

		Bastards.

		You - know - nothing, Francine.

		Remember what Michel said.
		"The clever ones are the easiest to crack because they think with logic."

		Stay off the point.  Talk and talk and talk.  Off the point.

		Oh God I'm cold.  It makes you so low, being empty.
		What if they've kicked out the barn wall?  Found the culvert?

		Who have they picked up?  Am I the only one?

		At least the culvert was empty.

		And you're here, Francine.

Pause.  She hums.  And stops as a thought strikes.

		When they got Claude they took him straight to Aix.

		Not me.

		I'm small fry.

		Ye-es!

		Small fry.

		Female.

		Witless.

		Noisy.

		And hysterical.

		Don't draw breath.  Start yelling as soon as you're through the door.  Screech so's he'll do or say anything to shut you up, stop the noise.

Short laugh.  She hums "Padam, Padam, Padam."

		Ah, Paris.  Will I ever see you?  Walk the boulevards, see Montmartre, Notre Dame, the Tour Eiffel?  Does it matter?

		What I want is a bowl of soup and bread, a baked apple with honey - a glass of -

She groans.

		Nothing since the night before the knock on the door - then only milk, I gave the loaf to the airmen.

		Somebody - make a noise - something!  Even a rat! -

		Dear Lord in Heaven, Have pity on a poor sinner, I am here in silence and darkness oh Lord, I am buried alive and out of Your sight - give me strength in this travail.  Dear Lord, I am just an ordinary woman.

Fade and up.

		P-a...P...a.  Twenty words beginning with P-a.  Four letters.  Bien.  Pace.  Pack - Paco - boy's name, proper nouns allowed - how many's that?  Pace, pack, Paco, pads - that's four already.  Reach twenty and you'll get out of here.  Pads, four - p-a-e - no - p-a-f - no - page - paid - 7 - pail - 8 - pain - 9 - pair - 10 - bravo.  Et maintenant, mes enfants, as Mam'selle Monteil used to say - pais - 11 - Spanish for peace - foreign words allowed - pais, 11, - j - k - pale - 12 - pall - 13 - palm - 14 - pals - 15 - 15 - 15 - pani - Polish word - 16 - devil knows what it means, either bread or woman - anyway, 16 - pane, window pane - 17 - pans - 18 - pang - 19 - pant - 20!  And I haven't even got to papa, park, part, pass, past!  Any more extra ones I'm out of here today - or tonight - whatever it is.  (Clears her throat.)  Hum.  Past - paté - pats - path.  Paul -

She screams with fright at the sound of a heavy door opening.

Pause.

		Ohh!  Just to see the light!

		It's out there - light.  On the other side of the door.  Hullo - hullo -

Fade and up.

		I can bear it now.

		I can stand the black.

		Now I know I'm not alone, that they haven't forgotten me, there's light out there.

		And smells!

		Drains...

		Cooking...

		"Hey" I said.  "What about something to eat?"

		Not a word.  Bang.  Shut.

		They think they'll wear you down.  Frighten you.

		I like the dark!

		The boys had the big room.  I had the attic - mice in the roof, night jars, sometimes an owl, in the summer nightingales tearing their throats out, Dad coughing, Maman telling him to shut up.  He didn't mind, he knew he could swat her like a wasp if he wanted.  Never did.  A good man.  A hard worker.  They took him away.  To work on the railway, they said.

		Not a card.  Not a letter.  Not a word.

		And where's Jacques?  They said all the ships were sunk off Tangier - Marie's hair's gone white - that's something you don't believe till you see it.

		I'll have to piss in the corner again.

Fade and up.

		What?  What?  Where am I?

She struggles awake.

		Oh God!

		God, I stink.

She groans, murmurs, falls asleep, snoring slightly.  The door opens with a crash.  She yelps, woken abruptly.

		What?!

Pause.  Sounds - doors, footsteps, voices, street sounds.  The sound of steps on stone.  From now on occasional street sounds.  Door opens, crashes shut.

		Well!

		That was nothing.

		I couldn't believe it.

		Sitting there, in the Mayor's seat, behind that great desk.

		Le petit Jules!

		Who used to wet himself when Mam'selle looked at him through her glasses.

		Not that he was slow in coming forward.  Quick enough off the mark when we left school - trainee salesman in six months, all pale blue suit and no Marseilles accent.  And he was the worst in the class.  Couldn't even add up, now he has dry-cleaning shops from here to Bordeaux, and a fleet of buses!

		What is he doing here?

		Back home, where we all knew all about him?

		Cool as a frog's bum.  "Bonjour."

		"Bonjour M'sieu."

		"C'est Madame Rocher, n'est pas?"

		As if he didn't know me!

		Doesn't know me?!  Had his hand on my pupuce before I was five years old, dirty little tyke.

She sighs deeply.

		School.  I loved it.  Lessons - the Count of Monte Cristo - Robespierre - the square on the hypotenuse - netball on Fridays.  (Sighs)  Yvonne and me, flirting with the boys - Jean from Cassis - good-looking Michel, but who wants freckled children - little Louis, Georges.  And Honoré, who wept so much when I turned him down that I nearly got wed out of pity.  But he went off with Yvonne so that was all right.  Couldn't have married a finer girl, they don't come any straighter than Yvonne.

		It's been so hard.

		Not to tell her.

		I see the smoke from their chimney.

		I'm on my own, bowels all loose with fright.

		They'd do it - they'd come in with us.

		No.  Honoré's the only able-bodied man left around and how long before they take him?

		He's needed.

		But when I had eleven to hide - I did, I nearly ran over there.  We could use their outhouses - that back road to the river.
		No.

		Keep them out of it, their kiddies are still young.  What they don't know can't hurt them.

		"It's Madame Rocher, isn't it?"

		Bloody nerve.

		As if we'd never met.

		Hah.  Looked him straight in the face.

		"Good morning, Jules.  I wonder - would it be possible for me to have a cup of coffee - something to eat?  I seem to have been forgotten."

		Just for a minute a funny look in his eye then he nods.  Sat there while I tried to sip and chew like a lady, as if I hadn't been in a cell sitting in my own piss for thirty-six hours.  I said, "Forgive my appearance - " and he said I was always a fine-looking woman.

		"Thank you, Jules" I said and asked after René - why wasn't he on the bench - and he said he was dead.  Then they took the tray away - just as well, I was ready to lick up the crumbs.

		"What's all this nonsense, Jules?  I've got a farm to run."

		He sits there, shaved, clean shirt, smelling of lavender oil.

		"Not nonsense, I'm afraid."

		"I realise that, Jules.  It must be serious for men to knock on my door at 4.30 in the morning, it frightened the life out of old Albert - is he all right?"

		And there we sat.

		He let nothing out,  I let nothing out.  Just as we always did.  Him looking, me ignoring.  Sitting across each other over the chess set in his mother's parlour.  I always let him win.

		Be respectful, Francine.  Admiring.

		At least I'm in a proper cell now.

		A window - small and filthy and high up.  But a window.

		I can hear carts passing.  People's voices.

		"We'll talk again."

		"If you could just tell me what it's about, Jules!"

Pause.  Noises.  Doors, voices, grating sounds.  Shouts, moans.  They die away.  Pause.

		Oh God...oh God...oh God!!

Noises as she is sick.  She draws deep breaths, recovering.  She coughs, and spits.

		Oh God.

		Ohh......

		Vile!

		Only a beast hits women.

		Never, never have I lifted my hand - not to a child - not even a dog -

		Never...never...never...

		Ohh!  (She gasps in pain.)

		I think my face is broken.

		I can feel grating -

She spits.

		Vile, loathsome!

		A man from my own village!

		A suitor!!

		"Will you marry me, Francine?  I've spoken to Mother and she's agreed - it's a step up for you but she's willing to make you welcome."

		Never took his eyes off my breasts.

		Henri!

		Where are you?

		I want you for a killing -

		- with a knife!

		Calling me back!

		So smooth.

		Coffee on the table - "after our little chat."

		All of a sudden - bang! - on the side of the head, cutting me with his ring.  If the others hadn't been in the room I'd have kicked his balls off.

		"Now talk to me."

She speaks through her damaged mouth.

		"What about?"

		"Names."

		"I want names."

		What was it he said - while I was coughing blood?  Henri - I could go and see Henri, in the camp.  My children's safety would be guaranteed - and Maman.

		"What names, Jules?  I haven't got any names."

		"We know about the room under the barn - "

		"What room.  I've never heard of - "

		Another bang on the head.

		Now I can't see.

		They haven't found the culvert.

		Oh God - (she is sick again.)

		What can they do?

		Kill me, that's all.

		I don't care.

		Stop it hurting.  Why bring him up?

		Henri's dead for sure.

		When Henri's father gave him the farm he rode over and said "What about it, girl?"  I jumped up behind him and we rode the boundaries.  I was home.

		Thank God the kids are with Maman.

Pause.

		They - don't - know.

		What do they know?

		Who is there to tell them?

		Albert?  Deaf as a post?  And I make sure of his nightcap every night, to be on the safe side.

		The pig man?  Never.  Simple-minded.  There's only him - the Barraux sisters - both lame and deaf - who else is there - there's only me and Honoré and Yvonne, they'd keep their mouths shut even if they saw something.  Yvonne would have a word in my ear if she saw something.

		Who then?

		Old René?

		The snooper?  Mr Nosey?

		Why did he say he was dead?

		René's not old.  Strong as an ox, his family live till 90.

		He's not dead.  Why would they kill him, he'd say anything to save himself - name the whole village, the curé, his mother, the geese in the yard.  He'd sell his soul for a pat on the head.

		They got rid of him.  He was no bloody use.  They wanted information and he couldn't get it.  He'll be in a cattle truck on the way to somewhere.

		They know nothing.

		Keep your mouth shut, Francine.  Look humble.  Impressed.  Let him have his day.

		For now.

A terrible noise in the next cell as a man is tortured.

		Oh God - oh God in Heaven please help me, give me the strength to keep my mouth shut - ah! -
The door opens.

		- not again - no, please - I can't get up, the leg's smashed - ahh!

Sounds of her being dragged away.

		(Distant)  I don't know anything!

		No.

		Oh no.

		No!!!!

		No - please - no more please.

		Jules!

		Please...have a heart!

		Jules...

		I don't know what you're talking about - that's the truth - I don't know - I don't know - please -
		(As Jules)  "Perhaps it will aid your memory when I tell you that information has been laid against you."

		(Whispers, her voice cracked)  "Information?  What information?"

		"That you have been harbouring enemy personnel.  That you are part of an escape route for enemy airmen - that they are hidden in a room under your barn - fed by you - clothed by you - given money and maps by you and directed across the river through a culvert."

		"No -"

		"Why bother to deny it?"

		"I do deny it."

		"You are wasting my time."

		"We have the proof."

		The room under the barn.  With blankets, boots.

		And the culvert.  Under the reeds.

		"Your position is untenable, Madame.  You have been betrayed."

She does not reply.

		"Wouldn't you like to know who by?  The names of the citizens who denounced you?"

Fade and straight up.

		"Your neighbours, Honoré and Yvonne Caunes, have each made statements.  Which I shall now read to you.  From Honoré Caunes - address, La Ferme Bayeux, Haute Face -"

		"La Ferme Bayeux?  That's my farm."

		"Requisitioned.  Now in the legal possession of Monsieur and Madame Caunes."

		(Quietly)  "No.
		I don't believe you."

		Not Honoré.

		Not Yvonne.

		Not my best friend.

		I gave her my blood after the haemorrhage.  I went to her mother when the neighbour started interfering with her - they broke his arms.  I wrote her essays for her.

Her voice breaks and she cries quietly.

		We shared everything.

She cries.

		All for the farm.

		Our farm.  Henri's and mine.  Our children's inheritance.

		Offered to them.  If they spied on me.

		My friends.

		Sold by my friends to the Boche.  For my farm.  For Henri's land.

		His father's land, and his fathers, going back to the Crusades.
Now she breaks down.  She sobs with grief at the treachery.

		Not my friends!  No...

She cries, more quietly, stops at last.

		I'd like to die now.

Pause.  Sounds, distant - doors opening, voices.  Silence.

The door opens.  The sound of a metal tray banged down.  The door closes, making her call out at the noise.  Dragging sound as she pulls the tray towards her.

		Can't.

		Dip...

		Bend your head - suck -

Sounds as she tries to eat, and swallow.

		You're alive.

		Why?

		No.  Kill hope.  Kill despair.  Kill everything.

		All over.

Pause.

		It's getting light.

		Another day.

		I'm still here.

		Why?

		Dear God - release me from this travail.  I pray for my mother - for my brother, Jacques - for Henri, my husband -

		For my beloved children...for Jean-Luc, Amelie, Gabrielle...

		I offer myself to you in humility and repentance and hope -

		Hope?

		Dear God.

		Teach me forgiveness.
The sound of bombs falling, close.  Heavy guns, further of.

		(Gasps)  Oh...oh...

Steps.  The door bursts open.  She screams with fright.

		"Oh - Monsieur!"  (Her accent is now French.)

		"Ohh -

		You are English."

		"Thank you.  I am so sorry - can you assist me, I cannot rise."

His boots scrape as he lifts her.

		"Thank you - thank you - oh, thank you so much -"

Her voice and his steps, heavy, recede as he carries her up the steps.

Fade and fade up.  Intermittent traffic noise in the background.

Soldiers march by.

In the background someone moans.

			FRANCINE
		(Close)  Ohh! (as she moves in discomfort.)

The door at the end of the ward opens.

Steps approach.

			FRANCINE
		"Thank you, ma Soeur."

		"Yes - I have eaten.  A little better, thank you."

		"Yes, I slept well."

		"I am ready, if it is necessary."

Sounds as the CAPTAIN approaches.

			FRANCINE
		(French accent to the CAPTAIN)  "Good morning, Monsieur."

		"Thank you...much better.  I am anxious for news of my husband, my father and my brother."

		"Thank you, I am grateful."

		"Not at all.  I am well enough to proceed."

		"My name is Francine Eloise Rocher, wife of Henri Rocher - "

Fade and up.

		"- a week - two weeks - it is hard to remember."

		"The charge was treachery.  (Her voice breaks slightly.)  Treachery to the Republic.  To France."

		"That I gave shelter to British airmen and other allied personnel."

		"Oui, bien sur."

		"Thank you."

		"You wish to know who denounced me?
		Ahh!
		I am sorry, Messieurs - my head is - I cannot - I am not feeling -"

		"Thank you."

		"Tomorrow."

Fade and up.  Steps approach.

		"Bonjour, Capitaine."

		"Thank you, much better."

		"I am sleeping well."

		"Good news?  (Excited)  Oh, M'sieu - "

		(Disappointed)  "A medal?"

		"No, no - thank you, no."

		"Not at all - I have done nothing extraordinary ...please..."

		"M'sieu I am an ordinary woman."

		"Thank you, trés gentil, but please - no medal.  What I need is news of my family."

		"Thank you.  If you would be so kind."

Door.  Pause.  The door opens.

		"Yes?"

		"Yes?"

		"Ohh?  Ohh?"

		"Oh - merci, merci - oh (she breaks down with joy at the news) - forgive, oh you are so kind - so kind - and they are both well?  Oh!"

		And my brother?

She weeps with joy as he tells her the news.

		"Oh I am so proud - so proud!  Thank you."

		"Yes I do."

		"I understand."

		"I know."

		"Yes, it is important."

		"Yes."

Pause.

		"I am sorry.  I wish so much to be of service."

		"I agree - for France."

		"I realise that."

		(Sadly)  "Oh, M'sieu - je vous demande pardon - "

		"I wish - I wish so much that I could help you."

		"I realise that I am free to speak - "

		"I know."

		"I am so sorry.  It is impossible."

		(Pause.)  "Because I cannot give names."

		"Yes.  My name was given."

		"No."

		"Because I - I, Francine Rocher - do not give names."