Brendan’s Journey
A full-length adventure tale
by Gillette Elvgren
About the Play: Brendan Finnloag was a sixth century monk from Ireland who followed in the footsteps of St. Patrick. He was known as a great evangelist, but perhaps is best known today as the monk who sailed from Ireland to Nova Scotia (and beyond). In this picaresque two person show Brendan and his companion Birt journey to the "promised land over the waves." The actors often step out of their roles to portay characters such as Judas, Leviathan, and Cara, the love of Brit's life who has a secret of her own. In the tradition of "The Odyssey" they contend with a variety of beasts and menwith both humor and spiritual fervor, but the real struggle is between the two travelers themselves, their disparate backgrounds and their shared secrets.
Cast List: 2 men/actors and one stage manager.
Time: 1 hour and 45 minutes.
Place: The Atlantic ocean. Ireland. The Coast of America.
From the Play:
BRENDAN: I'll stand still if you'll tell me the story of the storm becalmed by the hand of God's son.
BIRT/ERC: Alright. Now sit.
(BRANDON sits at his feet.)
It was out of Sligo, off Donegal Bay that Jesus said to the twelve: "We sail lads, for Downpatrick's Head," and as the curragh set out for sea, our Lord rested his head on rope and creel and went fast asleep. It wasn't long, however, 'till Peter pointed aft and said, "Look mates, storm a gatherin'." Now what was the first thinq he did wrong?
BRENDAN: You don't point when you're at sea it's bad luck.
BIRT/ERC: Bad luck it was, and so, as soon as it were done he should of what?
BRENDAN: Held up his thumb and crossed his fingers thus.
BIRT/ERC: Ay, but in the panic of the moment he forgot. It was Tip Tod's day.
BRENDAN: Friday, the devil's day.
BIRT/ERC: And the wind was out of the East, and we all know...
BRENDAN: "When the wind is in the East, it's good for neither man nor beast."
BIRT/ERC: Andrew was counting the waves.
BRENDAN: "Watch out for number seven."
BIRT/ERC: And James, he called for a caul.
BRENDAN: Caul?
BIRT/ERC: At birth, it's the membrane what covers some baby's head. You peel it off and you dry it out. It be the most precious of charms. I've known winter fisherman out of Omagh to pay a gold coin for one.
(He whistles)
BRENDAN: You never whistle at sea.
BIRT/ERC: Aye. And as the waves crashed and the wind howled ditties from hell, and there was much quaking and gnashing of teeth, the men turned to the only help that was left.
BRENDAN: "Master, Master, we are sinking. Wake up!"
BIRT/ERC: And he did just that. Looked around. Scratched himself here. Rubbed his left eye thus, and spoke in the most gentlest of voices:
BRENDAN: Quiet down, storm.
BIRT/ERC: And it did just that.
BRENDAN: Yes.
(Pause)
BOTH: " Oh ye of little faith."
BIRT/ERC: And they turned to each other, knowing now that the waves and wind and sky and stars and rocky crags themselves had ears and listened to His voice. "Who is this man?"
BRENDAN: I know.
BIRT/ERC: You're movin'.
BRENDAN: I don't want to grow roots. I want to sail out of Donegal Bay and ride the sea as Jesus strode the hills of Galilee. I want my order to sit astride the waves, not rot away in some kells or caves. Look, I wash between my toes twice a day to keep the dirt and dust away. I want to chase the sun, west, over the sea, for that will be my promised land.
(ERC cuffs him, he falls, head pulled up to knees.)
BIRT/ERC: (Gently) "And when the wind is in the west Then 'tis at its very best."
(BRENDAN rises, brings up another slide. In it BRENDAN is seen praying while in the background Nuns are dancing, the tree of the garden is there with a serpent in the branches.)
BRENDAN: If I was drawn to the sea I was also drawn to them.
(Points to dancing nuns.)
Torn from my mother's breasts, too young, Oh, they dressed from head to toe but the movement, underneath, caught the eye, then the mind. God made them with such curves, curves to be mindful of... Oh, the curse of all the in between moments, bending over wash, scratching the neck, hand at the hair like this, standing thus, stretching for apples, stretching, murmurs and laughter and hints and promises... And the way they danced.
(pause.)
It was the Abbess Ita who taught me to sail.
(Laughter from BIRT off.)
They call her the suckling Abbess taking in strays and orphans. Twenty three years and she's never run dry. Other's say that she is the hind herself who watches in the forest glen for abandoned children. And still others say that she's a Gypsy and worships the Divine Mother of all existence until, like Paul on the road to Damascus, she met the living God on Wicklow Mount.
