The Post Office | Page 6

road along the river bank?
BOYS. Yes.
AMAL. Do you pass our house on your way home?
BOYS. You come out to play with us, yes do.
AMAL. Doctor won't let me out.
BOYS. Doctor! Suppose the likes of you mind the doctor. Let's be off; it is getting late.
AMAL. Don't. Why not play on the road near this window? I could watch you then.
THIRD BOY. What can we play at here?
AMAL. With all these toys of mine lying about. Here you are, have them. I can't play alone. They are getting dirty and are of no use to me.
BOYS. How jolly! What fine toys! Look, here's a ship. There's old mother Jatai; say, chaps, ain't he a gorgeous sepoy? And you'll let us have them all? You don't really mind?
AMAL. No, not a bit; have them by all means.
BOYS. You don't want them back?
AMAL. Oh, no, I shan't want them.
BOYS. Say, won't you get a scolding for this?
AMAL. No one will scold me. But will you play with them in front of our door for a while every morning? I'll get you new ones when these are old.
BOYS. Oh, yes, we will. Say, chaps, put these sepoys into a line. We'll play at war; where can we get a musket? Oh, look here, this bit of reed will do nicely. Say, but you're off to sleep already.
AMAL. I'm afraid I'm sleepy. I don't know, I feel like it at times. I have been sitting a long while and I'm tired; my back aches.
BOYS. It's only early noon now. How is it you're sleepy? Listen! The gong's sounding the first watch.
AMAL. Yes, dong, dong, dong, it tolls me to sleep.
BOYS. We had better go then. We'll come in again to-morrow morning.
AMAL. I want to ask you something before you go. You are always out--do you know of the King's postmen?
BOYS. Yes, quite well.
AMAL. Who are they? Tell me their names.
BOYS. One's Badal, another's Sarat. There's so many of them.
AMAL. Do you think they will know me if there's a letter for me?
BOYS. Surely, if your name's on the letter they will find you out.
AMAL. When you call in to-morrow morning, will you bring one of them along so that he'll know me?
BOYS. Yes, if you like.
CURTAIN

THE POST OFFICE
ACT II
[AMAL in Bed]
AMAL. Can't I go near the window to-day, Uncle? Would the doctor mind that too?
MADHAV. Yes, darling, you see you've made yourself worse squatting there day after day.
AMAL. Oh, no, I don't know if it's made me more ill, but I always feel well when I'm there.
MADHAV. No, you don't; you squat there and make friends with the whole lot of people round here, old and young, as if they are holding a fair right under my eaves--flesh and blood won't stand that strain. Just see--your face is quite pale.
AMAL. Uncle, I fear my fakir'll pass and not see me by the window.
MADHAV. Your fakir, whoever's that?
AMAL. He comes and chats to me of the many lands where he's been. I love to hear him.
MADHAV. How's that? I don't know of any fakirs.
AMAL. This is about the time he comes in. I beg of you, by your dear feet, ask him in for a moment to talk to me here.
[GAFFER Enters in a FAKIR'S Guise]
AMAL. There you are. Come here, Fakir, by my bedside.
MADHAV. Upon my word, but this is--
GAFFER. [Winking hard] I am the fakir.
MADHAV. It beats my reckoning what you're not.
AMAL. Where have you been this time, Fakir?
FAKIR. To the Isle of Parrots. I am just back.
MADHAV. The Parrots' Isle!
FAKIR. Is it so very astonishing? Am I like you, man? A journey doesn't cost a thing. I tramp just where I like.
AMAL. [Clapping] How jolly for you! Remember your promise to take me with you as your follower when I'm well.
FAKIR. Of course, and I'll teach you such secrets too of travelling that nothing in sea or forest or mountain can bar your way.
MADHAV. What's all this rigmarole?
GAFFER. Amal, my dear, I bow to nothing in sea or mountain; but if the doctor joins in with this uncle of yours, then I with all my magic must own myself beaten.
AMAL. No. Uncle shan't tell the doctor. And I promise to lie quiet; but the day I am well, off I go with the Fakir and nothing in sea or mountain or torrent shall stand in my way.
MADHAV. Fie, dear child, don't keep on harping upon going! It makes me so sad to hear you talk so.
AMAL. Tell me, Fakir, what the Parrots' Isle is like.
GAFFER. It's a land of wonders; it's a haunt of birds. There's no man; and they neither speak nor walk, they simply sing and they fly.
AMAL. How glorious! And it's by some sea?
GAFFER. Of course. It's on the sea.
AMAL. And green hills are there?
GAFFER. Indeed, they live among the