Magic | Page 5

or
it's wherever you are.
MORRIS. [Sharply.] Has it any inhabitants?
PATRICIA. Generally only two. Oneself and one's shadow. But
whether he is my shadow or I am his shadow is never found out.
MORRIS. He? Who?
PATRICIA. [Seeming to understand his annoyance for the first time,
and smiling.] Oh, you needn't get conventional about it, Morris. He is
not a mortal.
MORRIS. What's his name?
PATRICIA. We have no names there. You never really know anybody
if you know his name.
MORRIS. What does he look like?
PATRICIA. I have only met him in the twilight. He seems robed in a
long cloak, with a peaked cap or hood like the elves in my nursery
stories. Sometimes when I look out of the window here, I see him
passing round this house like a shadow; and see his pointed hood, dark
against the sunset or the rising of the moon.
SMITH. What does he talk about?

PATRICIA. He tells me the truth. Very many true things. He is a
wizard.
MORRIS. How do you know he's a wizard? I suppose he plays some
tricks on you.
PATRICIA. I should know he was a wizard if he played no tricks. But
once he stooped and picked up a stone and cast it into the air, and it
flew up into God's heaven like a bird.
MORRIS. Was that what first made you think he was a wizard?
PATRICIA. Oh, no. When I first saw him he was tracing circles and
pentacles in the grass and talking the language of the elves.
MORRIS. [Sceptically.] Do you know the language of the elves?
PATRICIA. Not until I heard it.
MORRIS. [Lowering his voice as if for his sister, but losing patience so
completely that he talks much louder than he imagines.] See here,
Patricia, I reckon this kind of thing is going to be the limit. I'm just not
going to have you let in by some blamed tramp or fortune-teller
because you choose to read minor poetry about the fairies. If this gipsy
or whatever he is troubles you again....
DOCTOR. [Putting his hand on MORRIS'S shoulder.] Come, you must
allow a little more for poetry. We can't all feed on nothing but petrol.
DUKE. Quite right, quite right. And being Irish, don't you know, Celtic,
as old Buffle used to say, charming songs, you know, about the Irish
girl who has a plaid shawl--and a Banshee. [Sighs profoundly.] Poor
old Gladstone!
[Silence as usual.
SMITH. [Speaking to DOCTOR.] I thought you yourself considered
the family superstition bad for the health?

DOCTOR. I consider a family superstition is better for the health than a
family quarrel. [He walks casually across to PATRICIA.] Well, it must
be nice to be young and still see all those stars and sunsets. We old
buffers won't be too strict with you if your view of things sometimes
gets a bit--mixed up, shall we say? If the stars get loose about the grass
by mistake; or if, once or twice, the sunset gets into the east. We should
only say, "Dream as much as you like. Dream for all mankind. Dream
for us who can dream no longer. But do not quite forget the difference."
PATRICIA. What difference?
DOCTOR. The difference between the things that are beautiful and the
things that are there. That red lamp over my door isn't beautiful; but it's
there. You might even come to be glad it is there, when the stars of
gold and silver have faded. I am an old man now, but some men are
still glad to find my red star. I do not say they are the wise men.
PATRICIA. [Somewhat affected.] Yes, I know you are good to
everybody. But don't you think there may be floating and spiritual stars
which will last longer than the red lamps?
SMITH. [With decision.] Yes. But they are fixed stars.
DOCTOR. The red lamp will last my time.
DUKE. Capital! Capital! Why, it's like Tennyson. [Silence.] I
remember when I was an undergrad....
[The red light disappears; no one sees it at first except PATRICIA,
who points excitedly.
MORRIS. What's the matter?
PATRICIA. The red star is gone.
MORRIS. Nonsense! [Rushes to the garden doors.] It's only somebody
standing in front of it. Say, Duke, there's somebody standing in the
garden.

PATRICIA. [Calmly.] I told you he walked about the garden.
MORRIS. If it's that fortune-teller of yours....
[Disappears into the garden, followed by the DOCTOR.
DUKE. [Staring.] Somebody in the garden! Really, this Land
Campaign....
[Silence.
[MORRIS reappears rather breathless.
MORRIS. A spry fellow, your friend. He slipped through my hands
like a shadow.
PATRICIA. I told you he was a shadow.
MORRIS. Well, I guess there's going to be a shadow hunt. Got a
lantern, Duke?
PATRICIA. Oh, you