Room painted yellow.
BRIDEGROOM (entering). Mother.
MOTHER. What?
BRIDEGROOM. I’m going.
MOTHER. Where to?
BRIDEGROOM. To the vineyard. (He starts to go out.)
MOTHER. Wait.
BRIDEGROOM. Do you want something?
MOTHER. Son, your breakfast.
BRIDEGROOM. Leave it. I’ll eat grapes. Give me the knife.
MOTHER. What for?
BRIDEGROOM (laughing). To cut them.
MOTHER (muttering and looking for it). The knife, the knife … Damn all of them and the scoundrel who invented them.
BRIDEGROOM. Let’s change the subject.
MOTHER. And shotguns . . and pistols … even the tiniest knife … and mattocks and pitchforks …
BRIDEGROOM. Alright.
MOTHER. Everything that can cut a man’s body. A beautiful man, tasting the fullness of life, who goes out to the vineyards or tends to his olives, because they are his, inherited …
BRIDEGROOM (lowering his head). Be quiet.
MOTHER. … and that man doesn’t come back. Or if he does come back it’s to put a palm-leaf on him or a plateful of coarse salt to stop him swelling. I don’t know how you dare carry a knife on your body, nor how I can leave the serpent inside the chest.
BRIDEGROOM. Is that it?
MOTHER. If I lived to be a hundred, I wouldn’t speak of anything else. First your father. He had the scent of carnation for me, and I enjoyed him for three short years. Then your brother. Is it fair? Is it possible that a thing as small as a pistol or a knife can put an end to a man who’s a bull? I’ll never be quiet. The months pass and hopelessness pecks at my eyes … even at the roots of my hair.
BRIDEGROOM (forcefully). Are you going to stop?
MOTHER. No. I won’t stop. Can someone bring your father back to me? And your brother? And then there’s the gaol. What is the gaol? They eat there, they smoke there, they play instruments there. My dead ones full of weeds, silent, turned to dust; two men who were two geraniums … The murderers, in gaol, as large as life, looking at the mountains …
BRIDEGROOM. Do you want me to kill them?
MOTHER. No… If I speak it’s because … How am I not going to speak seeing you go out of that door? I don’t like you carrying a knife. It’s just that … I wish you wouldn’t go out to the fields.
BRIDEGROOM (laughing). Come on!
MOTHER. I’d like you to be a woman. You wouldn’t be going to the stream now and the two of us would embroider edgings and little woollen dogs.
BRIDEGROOM (he puts his arm around his mother and laughs). Mother, what if I were to take you with me to the vineyards?
MOTHER. What would an old woman do in the vineyards? Would you put me under the vine-shoots?
BRIDEGROOM (lifting her in his arms). You old woman, you old, old woman, you old, old, old woman.
MOTHER. Your father, now he used to take me there. That’s good stock. Good blood. Your grandfather left a son on every street corner. That’s what I like. Men to be men; wheat wheat.
BRIDEGROOM. What about me, mother?
MOTHER. You? What?
BRIDEGROOM. Do I need to tell you again?
MOTHER (serious). Ah!
BRIDEGROOM. Do you think it’s a bad idea?
MOTHER. No.
BRIDEGROOM. Well then?
MOTHER. I’m not sure. It’s so sudden like this. It’s taken me by surprise. I know that the girl’s good. She is, isn’t she? Well-behaved. Hard-working. She makes her bread and she sews her skirts. But even so, when I mention her name, it’s as if they were pounding my head with a stone.
BRIDEGROOM. Don’t be silly.
MOTHER. It’s more than silly. I’ll be left alone. Only you are left to me now and I’m sorry to see you going.
BRIDEGROOM. But you’ll come with us.
MOTHER. No. I can’t leave your father and your brother here. I have to go to them every morning, and if I leave, one of the Felixes could die, one of the family of murderers, and they’d bury him next to mine. I won’t stand for that. Never that! Because I’ll dig them up with my nails and all on my own I’ll smash them to bits against the wall.
BRIDEGROOM (strongly). Back to that again!
MOTHER. I’m sorry. (Pause.) How long have you known her?
BRIDEGROOM. Three years. And now I’ve bought the vineyard.
MOTHER. Three years. She had another young man, didn’t she?
BRIDEGROOM. I don’t know. I don’t think so. Girls have to be careful who they marry.
MOTHER. Yes. I didn’t look at anyone else. I looked at your father, and when they killed him I stared at the wall in front of me. One woman with one man, and there it is.
BRIDEGROOM. You know that my girl’s good.
MOTHER. I don’t doubt it. All the same, I’d like to know what her mother was like.
BRIDEGROOM. What’s it matter?
MOTHER (looking at him). Son.
BRIDEGROOM. What do you want?
MOTHER. It’s true. You’re right. When do you want me to ask for her?
BRIDEGROOM (happy). Does Sunday seem alright?
MOTHER (serious). I’ll take her the brass earrings, the really old ones, and you buy her …
BRIDEGROOM. But you know more …
MOTHER. You buy her some patterned stockings, and for yourself two suits … No. Three! I’ve only got you!
BRIDEGROOM. I’m going. I’ll go and see her tomorrow.
MOTHER. Yes, yes, and see if you can make me happy with six grandchildren, or as many as you want, seeing your father didn’t have a chance to give them to me.
BRIDEGROOM. The first one for you.
MOTHER. Yes, but let them be girls. Because I want to embroider and make lace and be at peace.
BRIDEGROOM. I’m sure you’ll love my bride.
MOTHER. I will. (She goes to kiss him but stops.) Go on. You are far too big for kisses now. Give them to your wife. (Pause. Aside.) When she is your wife.
BRIDEGROOM. I’m going.
MOTHER. Dig the land by the little mill. You’ve been neglecting it.
BRIDEGROOM. It’s settled then.
MOTHER. God go with you.
The BRIDEGROOM leaves. The MOTHER remains seated, with her back to the door. A NEIGHBOUR appears at the door dressed in dark colours, a handkerchief on her head.
Come in.
NEIGHBOUR. How are you?
MOTHER. You can see for yourself.
NEIGHBOUR. I came down to the shop so I’ve come to see you. We live so far from each other.
MOTHER. It’s twenty years since I went to the top of the street.
NEIGHBOUR. You look well.
MOTHER. You think so?
NEIGHBOUR. Things happen. Two days ago they brought my neighbour’s son home … both arms cut clean off by the machine. (She sits down.)
MOTHER. Rafael?
NEIGHBOUR. Yes. There it is. I often think your son and mine are better off where they are, sleeping, resting, no chance of being crippled.
MOTHER. Be quiet. It’s all talk that, but there’s no comfort in it.
They both sigh. Pause.
NEIGHBOUR (sadly). How is your son?
MOTHER. He’s gone out.
NEIGHBOUR. He’s bought the vineyard then!
MOTHER. He was lucky.
NEIGHBOUR. He’ll get married now.
MOTHER (as though waking up and drawing her chair to the NEIGHBOUR’S chair). Listen.
NEIGHBOUR (in a conspiratorial manner). What is it?
MOTHER. Do you know my son’s sweetheart?
NEIGHBOUR. A good girl!
MOTHER. Yes, but…
NEIGHBOUR. But there’s no one knows her really well. She lives alone with her father out there, it’s so far away, ten leagues from the nearest house. But she is good. She’s used to solitude.
MOTHER. What about her mother?
NEIGHBOUR. Her mother, now I did know her. A good-looking woman. A glow on her face like a saint’s; but I never liked her. She didn’t love her husband.
MOTHER (strongly). Well, the things people get to know!
NEIGHBOUR. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend; but it’s true. Now if she was respectable or not, no one ever said. No one ever mentioned that. She was proud.
MOTHER. It’s always the same!
NEIGHBOUR. You did ask me.
MOTHER. I wish no one knew either of them – the girl or her mother. That they were like two thistles that no one dares name, and if you do they prick you.
NEIGHBOUR. You’re right. Your son’s precious.
MOTHER. He is. That’s why I take care of him. They told me the girl had a young man some time ago.
NEIGHBOUR. She must have been fifteen. He got married two years ago now, to a cousin of hers in fact. No one remembers the engagement.
MOTHER. Why do you remember?
NEIGHBOUR. You do ask some questions!
MOTHER. Everyone likes to know about the things that hurt them. Who was the boy?
NEIGHBOUR. Leonardo.
MOTHER. Which Leonardo?
NEIGHBOUR. Leonardo, one of the Félix family.
MOTHER (getting up). The Félix family!
NEIGHBOUR. Woman, how can Leonardo be blamed for anything? He was eight years old when those things happened.
MOTHER. I know … But I hear that name – Félix – and for me Félix is the same as filling my mouth with slime (She spits.) and I have to spit, I have to spit so it doesn’t poison me.
NEIGHBOUR. Calm down. What good does it do you?
MOTHER. None. But you understand.
NEIGHBOUR. Don’t stand in the way of your son’s happiness. Don’t tell him anything. You’re an old woman. Me too. You and me, we have to keep quiet.
MOTHER. I won’t say anything.
NEIGHBOUR (kissing her). Nothing.
MOTHER (calmly). Things! …
NEIGHBOUR. I’m going. My family will be back soon from the fields.
MOTHER. Have you ever seen such a hot day?
NEIGHBOUR. The children were fed up taking water to the harvesters. God be with you, woman.
MOTHER. God be with you.
The MOTHER moves towards the door stage-left. Half-way there she stops and slowly crosses herself.
A room painted pink, with copper ornaments and bunches of common flowers. Centre-stage, a table with a cloth. It is morning. LEONARDO’s MOTHER-IN-LAW with a child in her arms. She rocks it. The WIFE, in the other corner, is knitting.
MOTHER-IN-LAW. Lullaby, my baby sweet,
Of the great big stallion
Wouldn’t drink the water deep.
There the water’s oh so black,
Where the trees grow thick and strong.
When it flows down to the bridge,
There it stops and sings its song.
Who can say, my little one,
What the water’s anguish is,
As he draws his tail along,
Through that nice green room of his.
WIFE (quietly). Go to sleep, carnation,
For the horse will not drink deep.
MOTHER-IN-LAW. Go to sleep, my little rose,
For the horse now starts to weep.
Horsey’s hooves are red with blood,
Horsey’s mane is frozen,
Deep inside his staring eyes
A silver dagger broken.
Down they went to the river bank,
Down to the stream they rode.
There his blood ran strong and fast,
Faster than the water could.
WIFE. Go to sleep, carnation,
For the horse will not drink deep.
MOTHER-IN-LAW. Go to sleep, my little rose,
For the horse now starts to weep.
WIFE. Horsey will not touch the bank,
Even though the bank is wet,
Even though his mouth is hot,
Streaming tiny drops of sweat.
To the mountains cold and hard,
He could only call and neigh,
Horsey’s throat is hot and parched,
And the river bed is dry.
Wouldn’t drink the water deep,
Pain as sharp as coldest ice,
Horse at break of day will weep.
MOTHER-IN-LAW. Don’t come near. Stay outside.
Close the window, close it tight.
Weave a branch of finest dream,
Dream a branch so fine and light.
WIFE. Now my child is sleeping fast.
MOTHER-IN-LAW. Now my child will rest at last.
WIFE. Horsey, I would have you know,
Baby has a nice soft pillow.
MOTHER-IN-LAW. Baby’s cradle made of steel.
WIFE. Baby’s quilt so fine to feel.
MOTHER-IN-LAW. Lullaby, my baby sweet.
WIFE. Oh, the great big stallion,
Wouldn’t drink the water deep.
MOTHER-IN-LAW. Don’t come near, don’t come in.
Seek the far off mountain.
Find the dark, the grey valley,
There the mare will waiting be.
WIFE (looking). Now my child is sleeping fast.
MOTHER-IN-LAW. Now my child will rest at last.
WIFE (quietly). Go to sleep, carnation,
For the horse will not drink deep.
MOTHER-IN-LAW (rising and very quietly).
Go to sleep, my little rose,
For the horse now starts to weep.
They take the child out. LEONARDO enters.
LEONARDO. Where’s the baby?
WIFE. Fast asleep.
LEONARDO. He wasn’t well yesterday. He cried in the night.
WIFE (happy). He’s like a dahlia today. What about you?
Did you go to the blacksmith’s?
LEONARDO. That’s where I’ve come from. Would you believe? More than two months putting new shoes on the horse, and they always come off him. I reckon he rips them off on the stones.
WIFE. Couldn’t it be you ride him a lot?
LEONARDO. No. I hardly ever ride him.
WIFE. Yesterday the neighbours told me they’d seen you the other side of the plains.
LEONARDO. Who said that?
WIFE. The women who pick capers. It surprised me, I can tell you. Was it you?
LEONARDO. No. What would I be doing over there, in that dry place?
WIFE. That’s what I said. But the horse was half dead from sweating.
LEONARDO. Did you see him?
WIFE. No. My mother.
LEONARDO. Is she with the baby?
WIFE. Yes. Do you want a drink of lemon?
LEONARDO. With the water really cold.
WIFE. Not coming back to eat!
LEONARDO. I was with the wheat-weighers. They always hold people up.
WIFE (making the drink, softly). Do they pay a good price?
LEONARDO. Average.
WIFE. I need a dress. The baby needs a cap with ribbons.
LEONARDO (getting up). I’m going to see him.
WIFE. Take care. He’s asleep.
MOTHER-IN-LAW (entering). So who’s racing the horse like that? He’s down there stretched out with his eyes bulging as if he’s come from the end of the world.
LEONARDO (sharply). Me.
MOTHER-IN-LAW. Excuse me, he is yours.
WIFE (timidly). He was with the wheat-weighers.
MOTHER-IN-LAW. For all I care, he can burst. (She sits down. Pause.)
WIFE. The drink. Is it cold enough?
LEONARDO. Yes.
WIFE. Do you know they’re asking for my cousin?
LEONARDO. When?
WIFE. Tomorrow. The wedding will be in less than a month. I expect they’ll invite us.
LEONARDO (seriously). I don’t know.
MOTHER-IN-LAW. I don’t think his mother was very happy about the wedding.
LEONARDO. Perhaps she’s right. That one needs watching.
WIFE. I don’t like you thinking bad things about a good girl.
MOTHER-IN-LAW (with malice). When he says that it’s because he knows her. Don’t you know she was his girl for three years?
LEONARDO. But I left her. (To his WIFE.) Are you going to cry now? Stop it! (He roughly pulls her hands from her face.) Let’s go and see the child.
They go out with their arms around each other. A GIRL enters. She runs on happily.
GIRL. Señora.
MOTHER-IN-LAW. What is it?
GIRL. The young man came to the shop and he bought all the best things.
MOTHER-IN-LAW. Was he alone?
GIRL. No. With his mother. Serious, tall. (She imitates her.) But very posh.
MOTHER-IN-LAW. They’ve got money.
GIRL. And they bought these fancy stockings! You should have seen them! The stockings women dream of! Look: a swallow here (She points to her ankle.), a boat there (She points to her calf.), and here a rose. (She points to her thigh.)
MOTHER-IN-LAW. Child!
GIRL. A rose with the seeds and the stalk! And all in silk!
MOTHER-IN-LAW. Two fortunes joined together.
LEONARDO and his WIFE enter.
GIRL. I’ve come to tell you what they’re buying.
LEONARDO (angrily). We couldn’t care less.
WIFE. Leave her.
MOTHER-IN-LAW. Leonardo, there’s no need for that.
GIRL. Excuse me. (She goes out weeping.)
MOTHER-IN-LAW. Why do you have to upset people?
LEONARDO. I didn’t ask for your opinion. (He sits down.)
MOTHER-IN-LAW. Very well. (Pause.)
WIFE (to LEONARDO). What’s the matter with you? What’s boiling away inside your head? Don’t leave me like this, not knowing anything …
LEONARDO. Stop it!
WIFE. No. I want you to look at me and tell me.
LEONARDO. Leave me alone. (He gets up.)
WIFE. Where are you going?
LEONARDO (sharply). Can’t you shut up?
MOTHER-IN-LAW (forcefully, to her daughter). Be quiet! (LEONARDO leaves.) The baby.
She goes out and reappears with the child in her arms. The WIFE is still standing, motionless.
Horsey’s hooves are red with blood.
Horsey’s mane is frozen.
Deep inside his staring eyes
A silver dagger broken.
Down they went to the river bank,
Down to the stream they rode.
There his blood ran strong and fast,
Faster than the water could.
WIFE (turning slowly, as if in a dream).
Go to sleep, carnation,
For the horse will now drink deep.
MOTHER-IN-LAW. Go to sleep, my little rose,
For the horse now starts to weep.
WIFE. Lullaby, my baby sweet.
MOTHER-IN-LAW. Oh, the great big stallion,
Wouldn’t drink the water deep!
WIFE (strongly). Don’t come near, don’t come in.
Go away to the far-off mountain.
Oh, the pain is sharp as ice,
Horse of dawn that’s breaking.
MOTHER-IN-LAW (weeping).
Now my child is sleeping fast.
WIFE (weeping and slowly drawing closer).
Now my child will rest at last.
MOTHER-IN-LAW. Go to sleep carnation,
For the horse will not drink deep.
WIFE (weeping and leaning on the table).
Go to sleep, my little rose,
For the horse now starts to weep.
Curtain
Interior of the cave where the BRIDE lives. At the back a cross of big pink flowers. The doors are round with lace curtains and pink ribbon. On the walls, made of a white hard material, are round fans, blue jars and small mirrors.
SERVANT. Please come in … (She is pleasant, hypocritically deferential.)
The BRIDEGROOM and the MOTHER enter. The MOTHER is dressed in black satin and wears a lace mantilla. The BRIDEGROOM in black corduroy, wearing a chain of gold.
Would you like to sit down? They’ll be here soon.
She goes out. The MOTHER and the BRIDEGROOM remain seated, stiff as statues. A long pause.
MOTHER. Have you got your watch?
BRIDEGROOM. Yes. (He takes it out and looks at it.)
MOTHER. We have to get back in good time. These people live so far away!
BRIDEGROOM. But this land’s good.
MOTHER. Yes, but too isolated. Four hours’ journey and not a house or tree.
BRIDEGROOM. These are the dry lands.
MOTHER. Your father would have covered them with trees.
BRIDEGROOM. Without water?
MOTHER. He’d have looked for it. The three years he was married to me, he planted ten cherry trees. (Recalling.) Three walnut trees by the mill, a whole vineyard and a plant called Jupiter that has red flowers. But it dried up. (Pause.)
BRIDEGROOM (referring to the BRIDE). She must be getting dressed.
The FATHER of the BRIDE enters, an old man with shining white hair. His head is bowed. The MOTHER and the BRIDEGROOM rise and they shake hands in silence.
FATHER. Did the journey take long?
MOTHER Four hours. (They sit down.)
FATHER. You must have come the longest way round.
MOTHER. I’m too old to cross the rough ground by the river.
BRIDEGROOM. It makes her giddy. (Pause.)
FATHER. A good crop of esparto.
BRIDEGROOM. Oh, very good.
FATHER. In my day this land didn’t even produce esparto. I’ve had to punish it, even make it suffer, so it gives us something useful.
MOTHER. And now it does. Don’t worry. I’m not going to ask you for anything.
FATHER (smiling). You are better off than me. Your vineyards are worth a fortune. Each vine-shoot a silver coin. What I’m sorry about is that the estates are … you know … separate. I like everything together. There’s just one thorn in my heart, and that’s that little orchard stuck between my fields, and they won’t sell it to me for all the gold in the world.
BRIDEGROOM. It’s always the same.
FATHER. If we could use twenty teams of oxen to bring your vineyards here and put them on the hillside. What a joy it would be!
MOTHER. But why?
FATHER. Mine is hers and yours his. That’s why. To see it all together. Together, that would be a thing of beauty!
BRIDEGROOM. And it would be less work.
MOTHER. When I die, you can sell that and buy here next to this.
FATHER. Sell, sell! No! Buy, woman, buy everything. If I’d had sons, I’d have bought the whole of this hill right up to the stream. It’s not good land; but with your arms you can make it good, and since no one passes by they don’t steal the fruit and you can sleep easy. (Pause.)
MOTHER. You know why I’ve come.
FATHER. Yes.
MOTHER. So?
FATHER. I approve. They’ve talked it over.
MOTHER. My son has plenty, and he knows how to manage it.
MOTHER. My son’s handsome. He’s never known a woman. His name’s cleaner than a sheet spread in the sun.
FATHER. What can I tell you about my girl? She’s breaking up bread at three when the morning star’s shining. She never talks too much; she’s as soft as wool; she does all kinds of embroidery, and she can cut a piece of string with her teeth.
MOTHER. May God bless their house.
FATHER. May God bless it.
The SERVANT appears with two trays. One with glasses and the other with sweets.
MOTHER (to the SON). When would you like the wedding to be?
BRIDEGROOM. Next Thursday.
FATHER. The same day as her twenty-second birthday.
MOTHER. Twenty-two. That’s what my son would have been if he were still alive. He’d be alive, warm, the true man that he was, if men hadn’t invented knives.
FATHER. You mustn’t dwell on that.
MOTHER. Every minute. Put your hand on your heart.
FATHER. Thursday then. Agreed?
BRIDEGROOM. Agreed.
FATHER. The bride and groom and we two, we’ll go to the church in a carriage. It’s a very long way. And the guests in the carts and on the horses they bring with them.
MOTHER. Agreed.
The SERVANT comes in.
FATHER. Tell her to come in now. (To the MOTHER.) I’ll be very happy if you like her.
The BRIDE enters. Her hands at her sides in a modest pose, her head bowed.
BRIDE. Yes, señora.
FATHER. You mustn’t be so serious. After all, she’s going to be your mother.
BRIDE. I’m happy. When I say ‘yes’ it’s because I want to.
MOTHER. Of course. (She takes her by the chin.) Look at me.
FATHER. She’s like my wife in every way.
MOTHER. Is she? Such a lovely expression! You know what getting married is, child?
BRIDE (solemnly). I do.
MOTHER. A man, children, and as for the rest a wall that’s two feet thick.
BRIDEGROOM. Who needs anything else?
MOTHER. Only that they should live. That’s all… that they should live! BRIDE. I know my duty.
MOTHER. Some gifts for you.
BRIDE. Thank you.
FATHER. Will you take something?
MOTHER. I’d rather not. (To the BRIDEGROOM.) Will you?
BRIDEGROOM. I will. (He takes a sweetmeat. The BRIDE takes another.)
FATHER (to the BRIDEGROOM.) Wine?
MOTHER. He doesn’t touch it.
FATHER. That’s good! (Pause. They are all standing.)
BRIDEGROOM (to the BRIDE.) I’ll come tomorrow.
BRIDE. At what time?
BRIDEGROOM. At five.
BRIDE. I’ll expect you.
BRIDE. When I leave your side I feel a great emptiness and a kind of lump in my throat.
BRIDE. When you are my husband you won’t have it any more.
BRIDEGROOM. That’s what I keep telling myself.
MOTHER. Let’s go then. The sun doesn’t wait. (To the FATHER.) Are we agreed on everything?
FATHER. Agreed.
MOTHER (to the SERVANT). Goodbye, woman.
SERVANT. God go with both of you.
The MOTHER kisses the BRIDE and they begin to leave quietly.
MOTHER (at the door). Goodbye, daughter.
The BRIDE replies with a gesture.
FATHER. I’ll come outside with you.
They go out.
SERVANT. I’m bursting to see the presents.
BRIDE (harshly). Stop it!
SERVANT. Child! Show them to me!
BRIDE. I don’t want to.
SERVANT. Just the stockings then. They say they’re very fancy. Woman!
BRIDE. I said no.
SERVANT. For God’s sake! Alright. It’s as if you have no wish to get married.
BRIDE (biting her hand in anger). Oh!
SERVANT. Child, child! What’s the matter? Are you sorry to be giving up this queen’s life? Don’t think of bitter things. There’s no reason. None. Let’s see the presents. (She takes the box.)
BRIDE (gripping her by the wrists). Let go.
SERVANT. Woman!
BRIDE. Let go, I said.
SERVANT. You’re stronger than a man.
BRIDE. Haven’t I done a man’s work? I wish I was one.
SERVANT. Don’t talk like that!
BRIDE. Shut up, I said. Let’s talk about something else.
The light begins to fade. A long pause.
SERVANT. Did you hear a horse last night?
BRIDE. What time?
SERVANT. Three o’clock.
BRIDE. Probably a horse strayed from the herd.
SERVANT. No. It had a rider.
BRIDE. How do you know?
SERVANT. Because I saw him. He was standing by your window. It gave me a start.
BRIDE. Probably my young man. He’s been here sometimes at that time.
SERVANT. No.
BRIDE. You saw him?
SERVANT. Yes.
BRIDE. Who was it?
SERVANT. It was Leonardo.
BRIDE (forcefully). That’s a lie! A lie! Why should he come here?
SERVANT. He was here.
BRIDE. Be quiet! Damn your tongue.
The sound of a horse is heard.
SERVANT (at the window). Look! Come here! Was it him?
BRIDE. Yes, it was.
Quick curtain.