Archive of Our Own ^beta

A soliloquy from the perspective of Eric Birling. Eric is talking to a psychiatrist, an older man sitting in a chair opposite Eric in a dimly lit office. The psychiatrist is frozen with a clear, analytical expression plastered on his face as Eric talks. The year is 1946.

“Do you feel unstable, Eric?”That's what they'd all ask, during my bereavement, yet years after the offence, as I wasted time, sat hunkered (gestures pathetically to chair beneath him) in some chair, hoping I'd find something that had been awry about her- a scapegoat for my actions. So, I would answer obediently, finally giving it all up.

(begins hesitantly) Every night since that Inspector- it's all I can think about. Her- the child. Her. And despite considerable effort, the 'family'.(mockingly) By God, what a jolly one we are, eh?(giggles childishly, slowly coming to a standstill when he glances at the psychiatrist)The men would file in this room - back in the war - light their cigarettes, pour what rum they had, get gassed* and talk about (sneers and speaks bitterly) life back home. And of course Gerald was there! Where else?!No - none of us would escape that war - or the next. He'd give me that warning look of his, the one father so adored, when the soldiers decided they'd have one with 'that Eric lad'. Yes, Gerald was there,(draws out the word) al-ways in the background- the dark corners- telling me to put a sock in it. (sneers)Oh, how convenient for him! He had no problem digging himself in! They liked to scratch at the surface- those men- they already knew- but they wanted me to admit it.(whispers) To humiliate me by shooting me down in flames. Like Goole. (shouts) As if I haven't had enough!

(speech slows) So what? What of the rest? Sheila? (spits, smiling sarcastically) No, all she ever was was a pretty commodity to be handed down through the generations of great business men. (leans back in chair, repetitively tapping his fingers on the arm rests)And we know how Gerald turned out. That marriage is off the cards! After all, just because we were born with a silver spoon in our mou- (huphs) And what of that?

(Eric collects himself momentarily, maintains eye contact with the psychiatrist and loudly declares-) I'm a hated man! A dud. It's that Inspector... with his hard gazes ... since him, I am little more than, why, ( pauses between words) a silly boy! Even now I wonder, could I have truly cared for her? Would that have been so felonious? (tone lowers) Would I have been just like him? Some cantankerous posh man, far gone on brandy?(quickly looks away from the eyes of the psychologist, rubs hands over eyes) No-no- thats not me. I don't drink. I'm not even rich.

I was living up against a wall. Oh, if mother and father could have seen me! HA! Forget proud! NO- I wouldn't even get loving! All those years...preaching superiority....father always had vehement enthusiasm for that... yet to what avail? He'd been all wrong from the very start of this rotten business. We were fallacious, raised by vultures. But, still, I was a coward. First, shell shock, second, conscientious objector. Wouldn't want to taint that nice white record now, would I? I ran away... Like I always do. And for what? After everything, I came home just to find it empty... abandoned and devoid of all its previous splendour. So, I wandered. Out across the streets... so familiar to me. It's where I found her. Eva- Eva- Eva.

(Eric adjusts himself self- consciously in the silence, rubbing his hands methodically over his forehead, sighing) Eva. She had looked so hungry. So starved. (Eric swallows) She saw the clothes I wore- (wrinkles forehead) so proudly - back in those days, my cocky persona, and from that she judged the weight of my wallet, knowing- knowing... that for at least one night she'd eat... And for all this- this- anguish- in the end, who could blame her? Still, whenever I was around, she was a nervous dance of movements... (eyes become unfocused, hazy) With her smile... and her sweet face... I never realised how pretty she was. My child would've been like that (sniffs loudly, promptly slapping the skin under his eyes before a tear can escape). Oh, she was a bright little flame... dangerous. (breath hitches) People- they knew who I was - they knew what was expected of them. They turned a blind eye as I did things- terrible things, (moans) I know! I was someone else. Not me (nods erratically) I'm changing. (whispers) Hell, I've done her in all right.

(Looks directly upwards at the ceiling lights and sighs deeply, fighting the need to cry)

(snorts in a way that suggests disgust)Anyway- I'm chewing a rag here. (quieter) Someone has to understand that I'm sorry- so sorry, that I could not help her in this life. Hers was no life! (shakes head and exhales sharply) Give it a year or two and her profession would doubtlessly have had her in some warehouse or... where she is now. Regardless, I would like to think that she's in some firmament... peace at last. Still, she haunts me. She's only in my mind, all psychological really, you know- but it's a miracle when I don't wake up just about drowned in my own sweat. The voices in my head cry 'guilty, guilty'... and not even you can tell me how to remedy that. Can you? Sh-she's everywhere. There's millions. Millions of Evas. But my Eva has no face, you see, not even in life, I never saw- I never chose to see -a face. She was my thing. My object. And now she's dead.

(Eric's breathing is shallow as he raises his head to stare at the psychiatrist and speaks in a whiny, helpless voice)I-ah-um... I need your help. Please tell me, tell me how to stop, because I'm – I'm struggling to know whether any of this...this disaster, my misfortune, even began when that Inspector called. I'd signed her death warrant long ago. And to think that was in me. Luckily, that is how it'll end. (snorts weakly while getting up to leave but stops soon after) Oh, and to answer your question, sir; I've never felt more stable in my whole life.