Perversion

 

satire in four acts

 

by

 

Judson Blake

 

 

 

Cast:  

 

Phyllis                        A young woman

Martin                       Her lover

Terrence                    Martin’s brother

Cindy                          Phyllis’ sister

Vardaman                 Cindy’s small son   

Mr. Quibble              A gentleman

Mr. Scar                     Quibble’s companion

Major Importance   A reporter

 

 

Note: numbered headings with word count

are for rehearsal groups only.

They are not part of the performance.

                             Act I     

 

1.    We have time:    (900 words) Phyllis, Martin

Scene:     A large urban apartment.   Afternoon.    Upstage is a CLOSET DOOR used only by Quibble and Scar as they enter.   Down center are a couch facing right and immediately to left of it a couch facing left.    They may be slightly canted downstage.    Under the couch left is hidden a small satchel of children’s toys.    Upstage of the couch is a large floor lamp.     Downstage of the couches is a household trash can.   To one side is a bar station with flowers, wine, cakes and glasses.    Opposite that a sun umbrella spreads out, creating a kind of bower.    Under this umbrella is a beanbag chair that shapes to the sitter close to the floor.     Various potted plants.    There will be no scene changes.

Lights up.

Martin is seated reading his cell.       At one moment he looks up apprehensively.     He gets up, creeps toward the closet door and stops, looks at it.      He stands for a moment in thought, then he creeps closer and starts to open it, then backs away.   After a pause he relaxes, sits, and returns to his reading.      Phyllis enters.    She is dressed well and trimly.

 

Phyllis:        Oh, you’re back. 

Martin:        Yeah.      Nothing was going on.     I left early.

Phyllis:        Hm.     Cindy’s coming.

Martin:        Oh.    Thing with the doctor?    

Phyllis:        Yeah.    I left the door open.      She can never find her key.  

Martin:        Well, she’s got a lot to think about now.         

Phyllis:        That’s what having kids is all about.  

Phyllis tends to the flowers.  

Phyllis:        It’ll be good to see them.   

Phyllis pauses, slowly walks back towards him.   

Phyllis:        We have some time now.    

Martin:        Terrence is home.  

Phyllis:        Terrence is asleep.  

Martin:        Oh, you checked.     Well, maybe.      But we don’t really have enough time.  

Phyllis goes close to him and pauses, watching him.

Phyllis:        Are you afraid of me?  

Martin:        No.

Phyllis:        Sure?   

Martin:        Well, I…. everybody’s afraid of something or other, in a way.    Several ways, why not?     But in fairness, I’m afraid of other things too.      I mean, sometimes I am. 

Phyllis walks away with pensive dreaminess.

Phyllis:        Afraid of our… perversion?   

Martin:        Oh.   That.   Um,…  No.     I don’t think I’m afraid of that.  

Phyllis:        We have some time now.    

Both are silent for a moment.

Martin:        No.  

From the closet comes the sound of scuffling feet.      Martin looks at the closet.     Then he looks at Phyllis.  

Martin:        I suppose you didn’t hear anything.    

Phyllis:        No.      But I wasn’t listening.      I know you’re more sensitive to it.     Why don’t you go and look?  

Martin:        I could.      I’ve done that.     But there’s nothing.     I’m not going to be led around by my fears.    

He goes back to his cell but can’t concentrate.  

Martin:        You know, there’s something I have to tell you.     I’m not trying to avoid what you’re saying.       I know it’s just an ordinary afternoon, but it’s true at any time when I say it, so I’d rather say it now than leave it hanging in the air.      

Phyllis:        Oh.      It’s something you’ve been keeping from me?  

Martin:        No.    More of an intimation.      Something I’m not sure of.      I don’t like talking about something I’m not sure of.      I don’t mean it to sound heavy.   

Phyllis dreamily waits to see if he’ll say more.

Phyllis:        It’s about our … special thing, isn’t it?   

Martin:        Well.      It might be.      You see, I have to admire you, and admire myself, for being so open about it.      I mean, we’ve kept it secret from others, of course, but we’ve been open with each other.        We’ve been very close.  

Phyllis:        Are you keeping something from me?

Martin:        No.   No, I’m trying to tell you.  

Phyllis:        Yes and….        

Martin:        Well…. you see, what we know, the truth of it, how we’ve been honest with each other, how we’ve bared our souls really, about our, well,… our tastes…. things we don’t tell others, obviously.    But I don’t mean to be mysterious… I mean…..      

Phyllis:        (laughs)  You are so twisted.    

Martin:        Sometimes at night I feel like going right to the closet.  But I don’t.  I lie in bed and just stare at the ceiling like in a dream.  I hate the thought so much that I avoid thinking about it.    I wonder if someone is really there.  Someone who is even more perverse than… we are.    

Phyllis:        Hm-hm.   More…

Martin:        Than we are.     Yeah, that’s what I meant.     

Phyllis:        Than we are yet.      We might become more.    As we develop.     

Martin:        It could be somebody special, better than either of us.   I mean, at what we do.      

Phyllis:        Oh, that’s so exciting.

Martin:        It might be, yes.  

Phyllis:        But if it’s a dream, how will you get him,… or her… to appear?  

Martin:        I don’t know.     I’m afraid, I guess.     You can’t stop him, I think.     He’ll appear as if… to compete with us.    Or perhaps when we don’t know what more to do with our…

Phyllis:        Without our doing anything? 

Martin:        It will be like magic, yes.      I mean, if I’m right.      When I stare in the dark at the ceiling.   

Phyllis:        Well, that all may be enlivening.     Envigorating.     I wonder what Cindy will think.     Of course I don’t tell her.     About that.      I mean I don’t tell her… everything.     

 

2.    Inspectors coming:    (400 words) Phyllis, Martin, Terrence

Phyllis shoves her knee onto the armrest next to him.      Terrence enters and stands off watching them.    He carries a plate with a sandwich, which he bites quietly.    He is pensive and silent and they don’t see him.  

Phyllis:        It could improve our perceptions.      We still have time.  

Martin:        I don’t think so.           

Phyllis:        It’s so perfect, the way we are.    There’s nothing else in life that’s even close.   

Martin:        I don’t like to think that anything is perfect.   If something’s perfect then it’s finished.     Then it’s done for, and you can’t go beyond it.       There’s nothing left if you’ve reached perfection.     

Phyllis:        We can always go farther.     That’s the delight of it.    Touch me.  

Phyllis languishes in Martin’s arms.    After a moment, his cell phone rings.     He answers.  

Martin:        Yes?    Oh.    Yeah.     It’s me…. of course.    That’s as good a time as any…… I mean if you’re sure, if you’re in the neighborhood…..  of course…. well, I’m sure….. sure I’m sure…..  you know what’s what about that….  so we’re all set.     Sure.   …. and that’s what I say…. sure.      

Martin hangs up, turns from Phyllis and stares into space.     He is thoughtfully distracted.   

Martin:        The inspectors are coming.  

Phyllis:        Oh.    Well, whatever.    But my sister and the kids.     I’m sure you’re thinking of them.

Terrence:    I bet he is.   (strolls toward them)

Martin:        What’re you eating? 

Terrence:    Just a sandwich.     Before the festivities start. 

Martin:        There aren’t going to be any festivities.   

Terrence:    Who are these inspectors?      Somebody you know?

Martin:        No.      But,… well, the inspectors might… improve things.    You know, in their own way.      

Phyllis:        (gets up and moves away)  That’ll be nice.

Terrence:    Yeah, sounds nice.     

Martin:        Yes.    Set things right.     It will be all the more gracious when they come, I think.     

Terrence:    You didn’t seem that happy about it.       

Phyllis:        I didn’t know you were eavesdropping.      I thought you were above… eavesdropping.     

Terrence:    I am.       I just stood there.        You ignored me.  

Terrence munches his sandwich.    

Terrence:    They’ll be here a while, I imagine.    

Phyllis:        Well….   

Terrence:    Martin says they might improve things.     Improving things takes time.     

Phyllis:        Well, uh,… We’re not going to treat them as guests, are we?  

Martin:        Oh.   Well, no.      Of course not.     They’re only inspectors.

Terrence:    Nah.      

Phyllis:        Fine.      I’m so relieved that we think alike on that. 

 

3.    Cindy arrives:    (900) Phyllis, Vardaman, Martin, Terrence, Cindy

A yelp is heard off.     It is Vardaman’s voice.     He enters left carrying a model airplane which he holds aloft.      He makes it fly through the air as he advances.       Phyllis sits on the couch and invites him to come over.   

Phyllis:        Come here, my little giant.     It’s been two whole days.      What has my big boy been doing?    

She embraces him.     While she holds him, he raises his arm with the airplane and continues flying.  

Phyllis:        What have you done with mum?    Hm?  

Vardaman:             She’s coming.      She has stuff in the car.      Lots of stuff.     

Phyllis:        And Angelica.      You’re not going to forget your little Sis, are you?      

Vardaman:             She’s coming too.      She has to stay wrapped up.      She gets cold.     And then she cries.     Or she cries and then she gets hot.  

Phyllis:        Where did you go today?  

Vardaman:             Day care.    Sort of.      We just tore up pieces of paper.    It was boring, mostly.   Well, not all of it.      Ms. Jennings spilled her soda on Sally.     Sally yelled.    That was pretty much everything.           

Vardaman breaks away and flies his plane.  

Vardaman:             Kissssh!    Bomber Taine!   

Cindy enters, carrying an infant, Angelica, asleep on her chest.      Cindy wears a flowing dress that conceals her figure and makes her seem to spread out wherever she goes.     

Cindy:           Hi, sweety.    

Phyllis goes and embraces her sister.     With curiosity she looks under the blanket at Angelica.     She coos at the infant.      Then she turns back and flops on the couch.     She motions Vardaman to come to her and he does.     Then he breaks away.      Cindy hugs the baby close and kisses it.  

Phyllis:        How did it go with the doctor?    

Martin:        Hi, Cindy.   

Cindy:           It went.      No surprises, thank God.      She says it’s normal.     I wonder if that’s a line they learn in med school.     Well, it’s true.     Sometimes she just cries and you never know the reason.      Now she’s sleeping.     He didn’t do any of that.      They’re all different.       You’ll find out when you have one.      

Phyllis:        Yes.   

A noise of shuffling and bumps briefly comes from the closet.     Cindy stops to look.  

Martin:        Ignore it.     It’s nothing.  

Cindy:           What, you have poltergeists in this house?     Since I left?     Hi, Terrence.    

Terrence:    The brood is here.      Wake me if you need help.     Or sage advice.    

Terrence exits.        

Phyllis:        Your room is made up.      Same as before.          

Cindy drops into the pillow chair under the umbrella.            

Cindy:           Thanks.     Thank God I don’t need it very much.      Not homeless.   I’ll just stay tonight.      Go back tomorrow, I think.     

Phyllis:        I hope you’ll stay.     You have time.     

Cindy nestles the infant and buries it in kisses.  

Cindy:           Umsaquadle mandiwiddle.    Widdle diddle.    Umsa.   Yess, Umsa.      

Vardaman sees this and bolts away, flying his airplane.     He makes bombing and gunnery sounds as he moves the plane.      He careers around and falls on the floor.    This is his place where he always plays.   Phyllis takes out the satchel of toys and opens it in front of him.  

Vardaman:    Toys.      Bomberrrrs.    This is for Bomber Taine.    Kpishshsh!  

Vardaman takes out several and topples them around him.      There is a quiet moment while Cindy cooes her infant and Vardaman arranges his blocks.    At moments he impulsively knocks them over.      If they stray too far, Phyllis picks them up and returns them to Vardaman.      Without much warning,  Martin turns and stares intently at the closet door.      He gets up and goes to it.     With hesitation and some bravado he opens it.      There is nothing inside but darkness.     He looks more closely.     Nothing.     Softly, deep in thought, he closes the door and goes back to his seat.      He relaxes back.           

Cindy:           What did you do today?     

Phyllis:        I went out.       I went to a showing with Carol.      She’d be here, but she’s got something.       And I waited for Martin.    

She carresses Martin’s hair.    Cindy cuddles Angelica.      

Cindy:           I’m run ragged.     Umsakumiwumi.    Tatumtumtum.    Yebimmum.        Yumm?     Yummumum.     

Phyllis:        Want anything?  

Cindy:           No, I’ve got it all.      All under control, I think.      I’m not waiting for anyone.      Except you, suckums.     ‘Es ooo.     Oooo.     Oooo.     ‘Essss.    

Phyllis quietly watches her sister.    

Phyllis:        You don’t miss Joe, do you?  

Cindy:           Every day.    He’ll be back next week.      I’ve got my hands full.  

Phyllis:        I remember I used to borrow your dresses.      That one reminds me of one.     You never borrowed mine.      I sometimes wished…..

Cindy:           I couldn’t get in your dresses.     After a time, anyway.     You have such lovely things.      I look like an old rag most of the time.

Martin’s cell rings.    

Martin:        Hello….. (pause)    Hello?         

Pause.    

Martin:        Nobody.  

Cindy:           You’re so lucky to live here.     So close to everything.       Joe and I are always having to go somewhere.     Not fancy free like you.     A different kind of fun.       I never complained, but, well, being married is different.     

Phyllis:        Yeah, I guess.     It seems to categorize you.       Sometimes I look around on the street at all the people and I have the craziest thoughts.   All the extra people.     Isn’t that silly?   I’m pretty silly sometimes.       And then I see Vardaman and I think how wonderful, how lucky you are.      

Cindy:           He has a lovely aunt.     Aunty Phyllis.      Yesss, Umsquash.    Is ooo extraw?   Extraw?      Umsywumsy.      Squiggle giggle.   

 

 

4.    Quibble & Scar arrive:    (700)  All except MI  

There is a shuffling sound in the closet.    Martin gets up and looks at it from a distance.      The sound comes again.      He creeps toward it as if to sneak up on a flighty creature.     He opens the door suddenly and reveals Mr. Quibble standing as if waiting to be welcomed in.     Quibble is well dressed in a fine business suit.    He nods and blinks and smiles and steps into the room.   He looks around at this (to him) strange place.     He waves pleasantly as if he were addressing people but didn’t want to seem exuberant.         

Martin:        Ah.    Mr. Quibble, I presume.     You must be the Inspector.   

Quibble strolls around pleasantly, as if admiring a park.      No one notices him but Martin.     Phyllis softly bows her head.      Cindy coos her infant.   

Quibble:      George.   George Quibble.   I’m so,… so glad to be here.       Glad.     Yes.     I am so… glad.   

He stands downstage smiling, sweetly blinking into the light.    Terrence, straightening his shirt,  enters.     

Terrence:    What’s he doing here? 

Martin:        Well, this is Mr. Quibble.     I…. He’s inspecting.      And improving.                  

Terrence:    Oh, yeah?   Well, he called.    I guess you had to let him in.      I bet he likes this place.       Comfortable as we are.    

Quibble:      Is um,… Mr. Scar here?      I was expecting to see Mr. Scar.     I wonder if he’s arrived.      Well,…. maybe he will.   Maybe he’ll… be along.   

Quibble continues smiling, oblivious to everything.    A door slams.   Mr. Scar slowly appears and stands in profile, looking up and around.      He is pompous, arrogant and intimidating.     He is dressed as a construction worker, with a tool belt and loose shirt.     He pauses thoughtfully.     Vardaman looks up at him curiously and smiles.     The rest watch in dumb astonishment.     Scar advances slowly, looking over the place without revealing at first what he is dragging behind: a child’s small four wheeled red cart in which stands a small oil drum.     Out of the oil drum three objects project prominently:  an assault rifle, a wooden cross painted gold, an American flag besmirched with grease and pinned with paper dollars.       Over the edge of the oil drum hangs an ammo belt and a dead hand.       Other paraphernalia, war detritus, skulls, etc., are strewn in the cart.     Scar carries in one hand a long roll of plastic tubing.     The near end connects to his colostomy bag, which he wears so he can easily feel it and show it off.    The other end of the tube connects to a hat, called the Tube-Hat.     Scar commands by his deadpan silence.      He strolls around, inspecting everything he sees, speaking to no one, always drawing his little cart.     

Terrence:    Hm.     Nice tools.      Is that your colostomy bag?    My grandpa wore a bag after his operation.     And you know, he kept it hidden.     When I was a kid I thought that was mean and dishonest, like slovenly to hide what’s really there.    I guess he was ashamed.    But not you.    You’re right out front.   You heft it like it’s a pouch of gold and uncut jewels.     You’re not hiding nothing.  

Scar takes his time and finally arrives beside Quibble.      He nudges Quibble to take the Tube-Hat.      Quibble at first does not seem to react or understand.     Scar must nudge him again.     Soon Quibble understands and puts it on.   

Quibble:      Oh.     It’s you.     I’m so glad.    Glad we’re here.    Here, I mean.  

Scar:             Just relax.      I’ll take care of things.   

Pause while they stand together, looking around.     Quibble smiles pleasantly.    Scar is tense and unhappy with everything he sees.       Vardaman, who ignored Quibble, is fascinated with Scar and his trailing paraphernalia.        

Vardaman:             What’s in the box?     

Scar ignores him.    

Vardaman:             In the box.     Is that a gun?       A real gun?     

Scar:                         S’nothing.        

Vardaman:             Guns.    I see there’s something.       Why do you say there’s nothing?   That’s not true.     

Vardaman approaches the toy truck.             

Vardaman:             Wow.   This is some cool stuff.       Lotsa cooool things.       Lemme have that.       Wow… real.   

Vardaman reaches for the rifle, but desists when Scar motions him away.   

Scar:             You don’t touch…. our things.     Our instruments.      They’re not meant for little boys.         

Cindy:           Leave the men alone, Vardaman.      Let’s go to your room. 

Phyllis:        Those are the inspectors?

Terrence:    Welcome.      Ave, spectatores.   

Cindy and Vardaman exit.         Silence.      Phyllis strolls closer to Scar.   

 

5.    Terrence intervenes:    (1200) Phyllis, Martin, Terrence, Quibble, Scar

Phyllis:        Um,… well…what do you inspect?      What do you men inspect?     I mean, when you’re inspecting?   

Scar looks around without facing her.  

Scar:             Meat.     We inspect meat.  

Phyllis:        Oooh.  

Martin:        Well, there isn’t much meat here. 

Scar turns breezily.  

Scar:             You never know.     You can’t be too careful.    Meat hides in different places.    That’s why we have to be so cautious.      So very circumspect.    We have to be vigilant and precise.    We have to look everywhere.       Because you never know what’s hiding and trying to conceal its… effects.      What’s hiding in the darkest places.  

Phyllis:        Oh, that’s very… intense.

Martin:        You mean, we might have meat here and not realize it?   

Quibble:      What?

Scar:             He asked you a question. 

Martin:        I mean, really, I don’t think you’ll find much meat around here.   We’re all vegetarians.       Pretty much.   

Scar:             Are you really? 

Martin:        Pretty much.     Not totally, but pretty much.  

Scar:             So you’d like us to think.

Martin:        Well, that’s what we are.  

Scar:             It’s what you’d like us to think you are.

Martin:        Er…well, I…  

Scar:             You said it, didn’t you?      (turns to Phyllis)    Didn’t he say it?     (turns to Terrence.)     Didn’t he say it?      If you said it then that’s what you want us to think.      Isn’t that clear?      Pretty obvious, I’d say.      Why else would you say something if it wasn’t what you wanted us to think?      To believe in our right minds.      Otherwise you wouldn’t have said it.     

Terrence:    Yeah, he’d have said something else.  

Scar:             Yes, he would, wouldn’t he?      Or he’d have kept his mouth shut.      But, I suspect, he’s not honest enough for that.     He wants to control what other people think.    That’s why he says things.      I wonder if he wants to head off our investigation.     But we’re ready for that.      We’ll get to the bottom of it.   

Quibble:      Well, I’m right here.      I can address the matter.  

Phyllis:        Are you going to be long?      

Scar:             A while.  

Scar strolls over to the bar station and examines the wine and cakes.  

Scar:             You having a party? 

Phyllis:        Oh.    No.     We usually have a quiet glass of wine when my sister comes over.   We’re family.     When the family gets together.       End of the day.

Scar:             You’re not married, are you?    

Phyllis:        What?   

Scar:             You.      You two.     You.    And this person.     You live together, but you’re not married.      

Phyllis:        I…. I don’t quite see…

Scar:             I surmised it.       It was indicated in a way.     To us.        

Phyllis:        I didn’t know it was any of your business.       I suppose….

Scar:             Wine.      You have some wine.      So…. aren’t you going to serve it?  

Phyllis:        Ah, well, afterwards, I suppose.        When we’re all together. 

Scar:             You’re all together now.      Who else is coming?    

Terrence:    We didn’t expect you.      

Scar:             Yes, you did.   Don’t confuse things.   We warned you we were coming.     Mr. Quibble and I.

Phyllis:        No one is coming.    That we know of.    

Scar:             Hm.      I’d like some wine.    

Phyllis:        Well,… um…. 

Phyllis moves to pour a glass but Terrence stops her.       

Terrence:    They’re here on official business.     They don’t need wine.    

Scar strolls silently over to Terrence and looks him over carefully.    

Scar:             Who are you?  

Terrence:    I’m… Terrence.     To you.      

Scar:             I don’t mean your name.       I mean who are you?

Scar’s intimidating tone creates a moment of silence.  

Scar:             Who are these people?         You, you don’t seem to know.       Are you really a family?     You don’t look like a family to me.       Are you a family? 

Terrence:    He’s my brother.

Martin:        We’re a family.      We’re all family.   

Scar:             Hm.    What do you do?   

Martin:        Do?  

Scar:             Yeah, do.      You in particular.     How do you occupy your time?      How do you make a living?     You, personally.    

Martin:        I research.    In the field of philology.    Etymology.      I’m an etymologist.  

Scar:             Ah.   Bugs.

Martin:        No, words.  

Scar strolls away.  

Scar:             I like bugs.     Happy little creatures.    Always going somewhere.      Step on them, they crackle and pop like breakfast cereal.         

Martin:        Etymology.      It’s about words.     Not bugs.  

Scar:             Words.       Hm-hm.       

Terrence:    This isn’t going to take long, is it?      I mean, well, we have some things we’d like to get on with.       I’m sure you can imagine that. 

Scar:             We understand.    

Scar strolls further.      His tube connecting to Quibble becomes strained.   Scar shakes the tube like a garden hose.    Quibble obligingly moves nearer, smiling pleasantly.        Scar turns back and slouches on the couch.       Scar stamps his foot and softly belches.      Quibble goes nearer to Terrence and looks Terrence up and down.          

Quibble:      Oh.    You’re some kinda fag, aren’tcha?   

Martin:        I don’t like that word used in our home.

Scar stamps his foot.    

Quibble:      Some kinda faggot.

Martin:        My brother’s private life is his own.     He has his life style, maybe, which is no business of yours.

Scar stamps his foot.   

Quibble:      Life style.   You mean leanings.     But what kinda leanings?      You really should understand.      Meat inspection is, well, it’s everybody’s business.      And everybody’s business is what we tend to.    

Terrence:    Hey, back off, big suit.     You get in my way, I’ll kick your ass.

Quibble strolls away and addresses Martin.

Quibble:      You know, I don’t think he understands the first thing about meat inspection.  

Martin:        Well, neither do I.     We leave it up to you.     You’re the responsible party.   

Terrence:    Think he’s responsible for where I kick his ass?    

Quibble:      You know, I have to wonder.      I have to reflect.     When things aren’t clear,  when things aren’t pure, you can’t make any sense out of life.     You know?    The right life, I mean.   The right way of living.    With the right people.    The right things.     The right decor, which people easily skip over, it’s so important.   The right paintings like yours.   And people.    And cars.   And houses.     It really ought to be right. 

Terrence viciously stamps on the plastic tube, so it disconnects Quibble and Scar.

Quibble:      Oh, my.     You…. you’ve…. you…. you…  

Quibble tries to recapture the tube.    Terrence kicks it out of reach.   

Scar:             What’re you doing?     You little dick sucking twat.    Gimme that.      Gimmmmeee That!

Scar grabs the tube and takes Quibble by the neck.     Scar wrenches Quibble down on the floor and jams the Tube-Hat back on his head.    Quibble screams, kicks his legs in the air.

Scar:             Arrrgh!

Quibble:      Owww!    That hurt.      You’re hurting me.

Scar kicks Quibble to roll him over.     Then Scar confronts Terrence.     Quibble writhes on the floor.  

Scar:             Did you do that?  

Terrence:    What?   Did I do something?

Scar:             You do it?     You the tough guy?     Are you tough?

Terrence:    I’m tough enough… most of the time.

Scar:             Huh?     Huh?     You’re smiling.     Did I say something funny?     Huh?   Fiddling with other people’s plastic tubing when it isn’t yours?      A Chief Meat Inspector’s Tube-Hat?    Is that the way you behave?      Is it?   

Bell rings.     Scar doesn’t move, concentrating on Terrence. 

Scar:             Who is it?    Mr. Quibble, see who it is.  

Quibble stands up, dusts himself off, goes toward the door off left.     Then he backs away.      The door slams.      Major Importance appears.

Quibble:      Mr. Scar.     It’s… it’s the Major.     Major Importance.

Scar:             Well, that’s good.       Don’t act so scared.     Might’ve saved this little twat’s life.   

 

6.    MI appears:    (500) Scar, Quibble, MI,  Martin, Terrence

Major Importance is dressed in black silk bell bottoms that parody a flamenco dancer.    Big smile and sunglasses.  He wears a flouncy  blouse with bulbous sleeves.     He carries a video camera.    He advances in big strides, pointing the camera everywhere.    Press passes string from his clothing.     Somewhere on his clothing is an obscure motto: “All the news we want you to know.”     He wears a broad black hat with tiny balls hanging from the rim.   

Scar:             Well let him in.

Quibble:      He’s already in.  

Major Importance:      Right you are.    You got it.    Ooookay.    What’s up?      Some disturbance, right?     Hey, folks.     Yeah.    Heyyeah.      I perceived it.     Hyeh.   Hyeh.    I got the message.   Oooookay.   What’s the trouble, hey, guys?     Don’t try to hide from the big ole media eye, the all seeing eye in the sky, hey?     Noooo.     No, no, no.    

Quibble:      No trouble.    (straightens his Tube-Hat)   I don’t think there’s any.    Is there any… trouble? 

MI:     Nah, nah.     Gotta be something.     Something out of place.    Unexpected.    Irregular.    Some wild hair somewhere.    And a wild hair, ooooh, may not want to be found.   No, no.    Fame, let me tell ya folks, fame, renown, notoriety, your name in the game, oh, it can be hard to take.      It’s up and it’s down, and it’s all around.     Lights up the dark side, dunit?     But we understand.     Ya hate to be great.   So you flee.    You run.     Crawl in the closet, dark side of the moon, ya think.   Slide to hide on the underside, snug turtle locked in his shell, but does it work?   Does it fly?   Nahhh!    We skoop-dee-loop ya turtle soup.   That little tune in the bedroom, what you don’t let on song, hey-ho, it has to come out, out, out.     Let the bleeding truth hang down and Oh, it’s a challenge, folks.    But we can help.    Out it, tout it, flout it, heyyy.    And where could you ever hide from us anyhow?     Where can a tiny little thing go if it does not want to be found?    Hoo-hoo!   Where?   It’s there.     Ya don’t want to be seen but we’re coming for ya.     We’re ready.     We come equip-dipped and flop-flipped.     And we know.    Or we’ll find out.    Hey-yup.     Yada-yada.    Here it comes.    Where are you?     Roo-coo-coo and media leak.    Gotta look.    Gotta seek.         

Scar spins around to Major Importance and takes a deep breath.   

Scar:             Y’know, when I was a little kid, hoeing broomcorn and hopping over the cabbages, chasing the geese and crows, I had a dog, a hound dog, a brown dog, but I didn’t like him.      I had a cow, but I didn’t like her either.      We had a furrower and a tractor.      I didn’t like them.      But you know, out on that farm, there was never anybody like you.     If there had been,… I wonder.   I mighta liked you.    Well, it was long ago.     A dreamy time.    I get teary-eyed just thinking about how things used to be.      Life was simple then.  

MI:     That’s why I’m here.    Hey-yup!     There’s something wrong in the bul-bushes.     Hey-ah, but let’s stick to the point, hey guys?     Something doesn’t stack up.    Ooookay.     There was a disturbance.     Otherwise I wouldn’t have been notified.     That clear?     Something’s shifted.    Like a seismic clock, get me?    Ooo-kay.   Yeh-hey!     The ratings will be in in a minute.   (looks at his watch, stares around),   Polls are coming in now.       Hey-Ayy!

Quibble:      Wh….What do they say? 

MI:     Don’t get excited.    Tell you in a minute.     Now, just to get this straight, tell me what you did.    All the details.    You won’t bore me.    Oookay?   What did you do that provoked the incident that happened?     Each one of you.  (no pause)  Don’t all answer at once.    

Martin:        Did?     We didn’t do anything. 

MI:        Yeah, yeah.    They all say that.    You had to do something.      Some discord‘r something.    I can smell it out.     Some perturbation of the firmament you created and that altered the civic aura and that, let me tell you, departed from the normal sense of things.       Things as they really are.    Yah.     Or, as they were meant to be.      Whichever comes first.          (looks at watch)   All right!    Polls are even.    Whew!      Nothing’s much happened in reality, folks, so we’re cool.     So your story might fit.    Though there was some thing.     Something outa balance.    Disturbance of some kind.    Hey-heyyyy. 

Terrence:    Well, I guess, to be honest, I created the disturbance.      In fact, candidly, I was feeling angry and I reacted, as suddenly as I could, actually.   I guess if you wanted to see it overall, you’d say I wanted to make a difference.    

MI:    You?

Terrence:    To be perfectly frank.    I’m the one to blame, if you really want to know. 

 

 

 

7.    Scar & MI nail it:    (400) Scar, MI

Scar spins and points in the air, striding as he speaks.  

Scar:             He might be.      He might be.       But he might be wishing to assume guilt.      To attract attention and place himself in the spotlight in the posture of a victim.       You have to be careful.     You have to be circumspect.    You can’t assume.   

MI:     Ooo-kay.    Now we’re getting somewhere.   (writing note)   Now the hard truth comes eeking out to the surface.    Yah!   Obscure person claims guilt in hopes of transitory and effervescent fame.    But!    Is he worthy?    That’s our lede.     And then the deeper question: If he gets fame, can he handle it?    That’s our follow.   Ho-yeh-heyyyy.    You’re on.    You’re on, kid.    Lemme getcha.    Slouch a little.    More.   C’mon.    Yeah.   Attitude.   More.   Attitude.    There.     

Major Importance shines the video cam on Terrence up and down.      He turns the camera around at the others.        Scar goes to the bar station and chomps into the Terrence’s sandwich.     Major Importance backs away, tensing to see if there’s anything else to shoot.  

MI:       Well.        I believe that’s about got it, campers.     Yep.  That’s about it-tit.    Ho-yeh!     That will have to do for now.    Yah!     

Scar: You can’t assume.      

MI:     No.    You gotta know. 

Scar: They’ve got to be informed.   

MI:     Got to be sure.

Scar: Make it clear.

MI:     But.   You gotta nail it.

Scar: Define it.  

MI:     Make it def.

Scar: So they perceive

MI:     So they understand.

Scar: So they get it.

MI:     But, in the last analysis, you gotta nail it.   

Scar: No ambiguity.     No confusion.   

MI:     They hate if it’s vague.

Scar: Or they’ll have questions.    

MI:     Doubts.

Scar: Uncertainties.  

MI:     Unknowns. 

Scar: Misgivings.   Keep them up at night.   Qualms.

MI:     Which we relieve.                   

Scar: Which we clear up.  

MI:     So they’ll know.     So they’ll be sure.

Scar: No, no.    More.

MI:     Much more.   

Scar: So they’ll believe.  

MI:     Believe and be convinced.

Scar: Totally.

MI:     Absolutely.  

Scar: Of the facts. 

MI:     Of the truth.

Scar: Because it’s solid.

MI:     It’s rock.

Scar: It’s stone.

MI:     It’s granite. 

Scar: It’s monolithic.

MI:     But.    You gotta nail it.

Scar: Lay it on the line.    

MI:     Then.   It’s unequivocal.   It’s absolute.    It’s total.    They’ve got to know.   That’s it.    That’s it.     That’s it.    We raise the all-meaning question, essential quintessence of the terrible unknown, the nagging demon of uncertainty, it’s the defining moment and then, then folks, they’ve got to have the answer.    The all-knowing.    The final.     Ah, ha-ha, but when will they get it?    Ho-ho-ho-hey-yeh!

Major Importance exits.     Door slams.         

 

8.    They won’t leave:    (600) Scar, Martin, Phyllis, Terrence

Scar:             Y’see, you have to feel the atmosphere.      Judge the tenor.       Catch the vibes.      That’s the only way.    

Martin:        I think you’d better leave.   

Scar:             What?

Martin:        I think you’re not welcome here.      You’ve shown yourself to be very rude.     You cause trouble.      Besides, to be quite frank, I don’t see you inspecting anything.  

Scar:             No?

Phyllis:        Not much.  

Martin:        Nothing at all.   

Scar:             Well, we’ve just started.      We’re just getting going.  

Martin:        Yeah, well, anyway, I’ve had enough of it.      You’d better leave.     Right now.    

Martin moves to the way Scar entered to show him out.    Scar stays with his sandwich.  

Scar:             Y’know, one reason you may not have perceived us doing our job could be that you don’t know anything about it.     You think about that?     What we do isn’t visible to everyone.       The little microbes in meat, you can’t see them.     No.      We’re pretty subtle.       It’s pretty delicate the work we do.      Not everyone understands our methods.      Which is by design.      By careful plan.     Way too sophisticated for the average person.    That’s meat for you.     Because you don’t want to disturb the thing you’re observing, see?      Ask any sociologist, he’ll tell you that.     

Martin:        I don’t care.       This is the way you came in, I think.   

Martin stands waiting to show Scar out.     Terrence moves to go.     

Terrence:    Come to think of it, I think I’ll go for a little stroll while you all cool off.

Scar steps in his way.        

Scar:             You’re not leaving.    

Phyllis:        No.   Stay, Terry.   Don’t go near that man.    I’m afraid of him.  (she puts her hand on Terrence’ arm.)

Scar:             No one leaves.    

Scar looks around to see that everyone is still.    He goes to the wine bar and pours out two glasses.    He strolls over toward Quibble, who is down center.      Quibble’s smiling distant gaze out over the audience does not change, but as Scar approaches, Quibble’s hand moves out mechanically to take the glass.      Scar gives it to him, then sips.     They both stand downstage as if staring off the rail of a cruise liner, totally relaxed, unperturbed.     For a moment they seem perfectly paired.      There is a pause until Terrence moves toward Martin. 

Terrence:    I think you’d better call the police.      

Martin:        Yeah.     I guess you’re right.

Martin pulls out his phone, glances at Scar and Quibble, but they remain unfazed.     Martin hesitates, then dials 911.      Cautiously he waits.    

Martin:        Yes.    Well, I’ll tell you.     This is Martin Thurston.      I’m at home.    The emergency?   There seems to be a burglary in progress.    There are… violent people…. present….  Yes.     My number?     Yes, it’s….

Scar forces his wine glass on Quibble, races over and takes the phone from Martin.     He growls into it incoherently.     He pauses between each outburst, wheezing to catch his breath.      He repeats ad lib.  

Scar:             Nrrrghah!    Annnannnannnahhhh!.    Annahh!    It’s not a problem, Madam.   TgchedaNaNa!   Ngucheichicuiu.    Yhear?     Ngucheichicuiu. Annnannnannnahhhh!.    Annahh!    There’s no emerrrr…..gency.     Hgeh?     Henekuneh!    Annnannnannnahhhh!.    Annahh! Hneh.     Hneh-hneh.    Just a silly joke.    Hneh.       Ne!    Ne!     Ne!     

Scar pockets the phone.      He swaggers down beside Quibble and they both stand staring out.     Quibble is still smiling.       

Martin:        Well, I’m sure they’ll be along anyway.

Phyllis:        When they find out where we are.  

Martin:        You men are asking for trouble, behaving this way.     

Scar:             (sips wine, nods)   Yeah.      

Martin:        You’re in trouble.     You apparently don’t realize it.     Walking in here.    You’re the disturbance.        

Scar:             (pause)   Yeah. 

Martin:        I mean what I say.      I know the law.     I know how to get things done.

Scar:             Yeah.       (pause)      So…why don’t you go ahead?     

Lights out.    

                             Act II   

 

9.    The Easytomb appears:    (800) Quibble, Vardaman, Cindy(2 lines)

Night.    Scar is asleep on a couch, his arm draped over his cart.    Lights are dim except on Quibble and Vardaman.   Quibble is seated on the other couch, his Tube-Hat still connecting him to Scar.     He calmly sips a cup of tea.           Vardaman is walking in circles in front of Quibble.      He swings a play stick.   

Quibble:                  Quiet night in your home.   Time to kick back, relax.    Your mother lets you stay up late, does she?  

Vardaman:             Sometimes.      Tonight she does.    ‘Cuz she knows I’m the Hulk.       When I might get angry.      Really angry.      You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.     Hulk.    

Vardaman stomps in circles.    

Quibble:                  Where’s your airplane?   

Vardaman:             It’s here.      Bomber Taine brought it.   He likes flying up and up.      And up.   Like this.   Then he likes to …. Ker-pish!     Sta-bam!     

Quibble:                  Oh.    Who’s Bomber Taine?

Vardaman:             He’s the biggest bomber.    He bombs the bad guys.    And towns and villages where people don’t know what’s coming until it hits them.    Bang!

Vardaman dances back to his toys and picks up his airplane.      He glides across the floor holding it aloft, making his bombing and gunnery sounds.  

Vardaman:             Ker-pish!      Kiffle!     Tsch-tsch-tsch-tsch.     Tchuckrooom!      Ka-bam!     Pow!     See?    It’s going to go Plooie!     With a big yellow flame.    And smoke!     And burning stuff.     There’s nobody tougher than Bomber Taine.

Quibble:                  Ha-ha.    You like that do you?    

Vardaman:             Yeah.       Whole lots.      Lotsa bombs and ker-booms.            

Quibble:                  Ha-ha.     That’s just a game.     When you’re older you’ll have things that drop real bombs.    

Vardaman:             I already do that.      Ker-pishshshsh!      Kla-bommm!     

Quibble:                  No, no.      You don’t.  

Vardaman:             I do too.     Ker-pish!

Delicately Quibble pulls out the Easytomb, an instrument like a large cell phone.     

Quibble:                  Well, you’re just a kid.    Lemme show you.     Betcha haven’t seen one of these.      

Vardaman:             What is it?    

Quibble:                  Well, it’s quite a gadget.    It’s called the Easytomb.    Get it?   Easy and then tomb.  Now you lookee what this baby can do.     See these buttons?      Well, when you press these buttons, then you can drop real bombs.    Yeah.    Real bombs on anyplace anywhere on Earth.    Isn’t that something?    And these bombs, well lemme tell you, they pack quite a wallop.    And clusterbombs of course.   Whoa.  You can’t run from those puppies. 

Vardaman:             Anywhere?  

Quibble:                  Oh, yeah.     See this?      You gotta type in the name of the place.       Like that.      Yeah.       Then you type in this little number here.      That’s how many bombs you want to drop, see?   And that’s it.      You just gotta decide when you want to drop them.      And that’s this button right here, see?     

Vardaman:             And then the bombs go Ker-pish!       And Ka-bloom!     

Vardaman starts poking buttons at random.  

Quibble:                  Well, not so fast.       You gotta be careful about a thing like this.        You don’t want to bomb people you like.       

Vardaman:             Like?      The Hulk is angry.     He doesn’t like anybody.      Then Bomber Taine comes.    And he drops the bombs.    Ker-pish!    

Quibble:                  Well, it’s not as simple as….

Vardaman:             Gimme.    I know how it does.    Bomber Taine knows.   Lemme have it.     

Vardaman cries and reaches for the Easytomb but Quibble holds it away.     

Quibble:                  Oh, no, this is not for kids.    It’s too real.    That’s why they call it the Easytomb.     Easy.   Tomb.    ‘Nat a great name?       ‘Cause it’s so easy.    Ease of use, see?    And tomb is where they go if they don’t do what we say.    That’s called global reach.     Heh.      That’s what it’s all about.        Yeah.      And talk about flying, why I tell ya, I remember the old days, up in the cockpit, soaring around.   I’ve been in real airplanes, did you know that?       Real fighter planes that go up and up high.    Higher than you’ve ever been.    

Vardaman:             I’ve been in planes.     We went to Pittsburgh.      We went up high.   

Quibble:                  I mean up really high.       In a fighter plane it’s different.       In a fighter plane you do things you don’t do flying to Pittsburgh.       Oh, yeah.     The clouds were my territory.    White, fleecy.      Go on and on.    No, no, you can’t.    Like God’s pillows stacked up high as God could see.       That’s glory, I tell ya.       And then.      And then looking down off the wing and you see all spread out the whole tapestry that’s Earth and all the little dots.       Well, you see dots right here too.      

Vardaman:    Yeah, it’s got maps ‘n stuff.     Cool stuff.        

Cindy:           (off )   Vardaman!       Vardaman, come along.       It’s bedtime.      

Vardaman strides around as before.     Cindy appears in her robe.     

Cindy:           You’ve been up for an hour.       Too much.     Come on. 

Flying his plane, Vardaman circles more, but gravitates toward his mother.    Quibble secretes the Easytomb in his pocket. 

Cindy:           That’s right.       Momma’s got to get some sleep too.   (Cindy and Vardaman exit.)   

 

 

10. Seduction started:   (1300) Phyllis, Quibble 

There is a moment of silence while Quibble returns to his tea.    He stares upward and enjoys the calm of evening.      Scar softly snores.       After a moment Phyllis appears, a soft light on her.     She is dressed in a fine lace negligee under her housecoat.       She stares at him for a while without being noticed.      He is startled when he sees her.      She strolls on the side opposite Scar so she can hardly see him.     

Phyllis:        Is your friend asleep?    

Quibble:      Oh, I think he must be.   

Phyllis:        I wish I could sleep.     Martin dozed off right away.     I think he’s more relaxed since your coming.

Quibble:      Is he?     That’s nice. 

Phyllis:        Yes.    More relaxed.     More composed.      I suppose he has hopes for your….inspection.      Things you’ll do.      Perhaps things you’ll discover.    Oh, he’s a dreamer.   He’s used to worrying, you know.    But… not tonight.     I’m happy for him.     And we’ve accepted you.     I mean…. for as long as you stay.     

Phyllis strolls around Scar asleep on the couch.  

Phyllis:        He looks so peaceful, lying there.     Like a man who has no cares.  

Quibble:      Oh, he’s a sound sleeper.    He was snoring a moment ago.     

Phyllis:        Ah.    He must be a man with a clear conscience.      

Quibble:      Oh.    Well, that.   I’m sure he has one.     

Phyllis:        A sound sleeper.   A man who isn’t troubled by trifles.  (pause)   Are you like that?    

Quibble:      Me?      Why, yes.       I guess I am.     The big picture.   I like to take a larger view of things.    I let others manage the details.       The other inspectors, they work for me.       The little things are for them to figure out.           

Phyllis:        I like that.     You take a large perspective.       You oversee distant vistas.  

Quibble:      Yeah, you could say that.       I mean,… when you get right down to it, we actually do a lot more than meat inspection.       There’s a lot to our job.        You don’t see it all.  

Phyllis:        No.   It’s hidden.   Hidden deep down.     Why, there must be a lot of other things.     Oh, what else?     I mean, what do you do, I mean, after you inspect?

Quibble:      Well, actually, I don’t always talk about it, but, well, part of our job is also….what you could call…. purification.    Of the meat.     What you might call correcting.   

Phyllis:        You correct things.     You correct the meat.

Quibble:      Yes.

Phyllis:        You set things right.    You put things in their places.    You make sure rigid standards are kept.  

Quibble:      Well, we try.     We have high standards naturally.      We have various methods.    Actually Mr. Scar knows a lot of the methods better than I do.      

Phyllis:        He knows the details.      You know the overall.       The generality.     To which all the rest is subordinate.

In the course of this dialogue Phyllis may pick a moment to push Quibble so he sprawls on the empty couch.     She progressively advances over him.           

Quibble:      Yes, I…. think so.  

Phyllis:        You make sure people don’t get away with just any old behavior.      You set limits.  

Quibble:      We do.      We must.      So many things go wrong when you let people go any which way.      

Phyllis:        They can stray.  

Quibble:      Yes.        That’s it.       Stray.       

Phyllis:        And if they stray….

Quibble:      Well, then….

Phyllis:        You make sure it isn’t very far.

Quibble:      No.      Not too far.    

Phyllis:        You impose.     You make demands.     You don’t allow us to go any which way.     Or we’ll become disoriented.     Confused.     At a loss.     You correct that.     People have to be shown.     Some even have to be constrained.     Into the form.     Which you impose.      We have to be corrected.     Harshly corrected.     You have tremendous power.

Quibble:      Well, of course.     We’re the Meat Inspectors, after all.

Phyllis:        You set things right.     You correct the world, really.     All that is, you correct that.    

Quibble:      It’s a big job.  

Phyllis:        You don’t let people get away with anything.   They can’t just do anything.

Quibble:      Not if we can help it.

Phyllis:        Oh, that’s so exciting.     Look into my…. eyes.

Quibble:      What?

Phyllis:        I’ve come to see…. I’ve reflected on it.     We didn’t welcome you at first.     But now, why, there’s no reason for you to leave.       I’ve come to understand that you’re here on business.     Important business.  

Quibble:      Yes, we are.

Phyllis:        It isn’t just inspection, is it?     Not just that.     As you say, you’re also here for something else.      And what could be more important than meat inspection? 

Quibble:      I’m not sure I catch your meaning.        

Phyllis:        Isn’t it obvious?      

Quibble:      What?           

Phyllis:        You’ve said it already.      You’ve already told me.       In your own words.     With inspection goes…. correction.      Harsh correction.        You have to correct what you inspect.      Isn’t that so?    

Phyllis tips off the Tube-Hat.    Scar groans in his sleep.     As the dialogue progresses, Phyllis progressively crawls over Quibble. 

Quibble:      You took off my Tube-Hat. 

Phyllis:        You don’t need it.       

Quibble:      Well, I… Mr. Scar, he knows and he says I might die.  

Phyllis:        You will not die.   Do you ever think, George, about another side of life?  

Quibble:      Another side?

Phyllis:        Beyond inspection.     And correction.       Another side.  

Quibble:      Another side?     What’s that?  

Phyllis:        I mean,… I’m sure you know…. you’re so broad minded.     You see the generality.      About living.

Quibble:      We’re all living.    I mean everybody’s living.    I mean unless they’re… not.    Too many people, confidentially, if you ask me, I mean.       The wrong kind of people, I mean.          

Phyllis:        But what about now?      What about right now?      You… and me… and… the others are asleep.      Isn’t that meaningful for you?     Have you looked at my chest?      Have you really?     Given a close look?     Look.       Do you see?     

Quibble:      Well, uh, I never thought of… putting it that way.    

Phyllis:        Well, put it.      Put it that way.       Put it that way as harshly as you can.        

Quibble:      Really, really, I… don’t know what you’re…..  

Phyllis:        I stretch things a little.   You didn’t know I was perverse, did you?

Quibble:      Uh, know?      Well, we have ways of knowing those things….things that are probably beyond your understanding.   

Phyllis:        And what do you know?     Do you know anything real?

Quibble:      Uh, well, Major Importance does.     He works for me.     And Mr. Scar.     They all work for me.

Phyllis:        But you.     You.     What do you know?       Perhaps now, at this single moment, perhaps you, you could tell me a story.     Hmm?     Some story that will… why, make me laugh.     Can you do that?  

Quibble:      I… I don’t know.      I know some pretty raunchy stories, but I wouldn’t want them to get out.      

Phyllis:        Oh, I’ll never tell.      I’ll never tell anyone what you tell me.   

Quibble:      You tore my coat.    Right here.    Do you have a disease?    I need protection.     Safety.     That’s what we put first.    In meat inspection.     We want to be safe.       

Phyllis:        For what, George?     ‘Sa nice name.     Can I call you Geo?     Geo means the world.        And you are the world.      There’s nothing else now.     You are the world.

Quibble:      Yeah?

Phyllis:        And I’m here to be with you.     To receive the world.      Spinning, whirling, a burning sphere in space, a dancing crown of truth, corona of the rising sun within us, we two.     To blast away all pretense and delusion, all falsity and subterfuge and subtle half-lies and denials and justifications that wind down a tunnel of more justifications and more lies that people live.    Oh.  That you don’t need.      All hollow posturing, that’s gone now.     You burst through all that.     Do you hear me, Geo?      I’m calling you from the Abyss of Time.      I await you.    I long for you.   All, all that’s never been said, we, we two, we’ll say that now.

Phyllis kisses him passionately.     He struggles to respond and kicks over the floor lamp.   There is a big crash.      Scar wakes up yelling.      Phyllis backs away, horrified.  

 

11. Control us:   (700) Scar, Quibble, Phyllis

Scar:             What is this?     What?     What did you do?     Do!

Quibble:      I… don’t know.  

Scar:             What are you thinking?      Where is your Tube-Hat?        Where is it?   

Quibble:      I…. must have…  I… I don’t …. it’s here…. I…. Please… don’t… I’ll get it.   I just need to have some time, time to think I…  Please,….well…

Scar:             Shut up.    You dolt!    Find it.      Shut up!      Shut!     Up!  

Scar grabs the Tube-Hat and holds it for Quibble.    Quibble finally gathers himself, takes the Tube-Hat and puts it on.    Scar sloshes the colostomy bag.     Till the end of the scene Quibble feels over his coat on the floor and looks under the sofa searching for the Easytomb.   Sometimes he sits on the couch, his hands between his knees, as if in a dream.      Scar and Phyllis ignore him.  

Quibble:      What?   No.   Where?    I’m still… I don’t think I must have probably…. no.     

Scar jams on the Tube-Hat to make sure it’s set right, then he turns on Phyllis.     He pulls his cart after him.         

Scar:             You!     You did this.     You did this…. thing.     Slimey tricks.       You think you’re funny, don’t you?      Ha-ha funny.       But weird funny is what you are.        Think you can pull any kind of silly game with Meat Inspectors?     That’s your way of thinking.       Your kind of thinking.       That’s what you think.      And you know why you think that way?     I can tell you.     You haven’t any choice.        What ideas do you have in your head?       Are they ideas, what you have?       Nooo.      They’re predilections.      Vague leanings.      Things you haven’t thought out.     Prejudices and opinions, that’s what you call thinking.       And look at this.       Who do you think you are?       You tipped over this floor lamp.      You think you can make up for that?       

Phyllis:        I’m sure it’s reparable.

Scar:             I should never have trusted you.

Phyllis:        You’re such a powerful man.  

Scar:             Yes.

Phyllis:        And you have a… big gun.

Scar:             Yes. 

Phyllis:        Such a powerful, overwhelming weapon.     You can strike anywhere.      Any time.      With no warning at all.  

Scar:             Yeah, we can.   

Phyllis:        Devastating.     Sudden.    With crushing force.    That gives you a strong advantage over others.      So others tremble before you and step aside for you.     

Quibble thrashes around searching for the EasyTomb.             

Quibble:      That…. that Easytomb… I had it.   Where is it?    That thing, well, I had it, didn’t I, no,… wait, I must have…, where can that little thing have wandered off to?    

Scar:             Hm!    What about this lamp?     First time I laid eyes on you I thought:   I don’t think she knows the first thing about keeping house.     Nah.     You’re not that type.      Look around.     No.      Do you?      You don’t seem to.       Do you know how to dust?      This countertop.      Have you ever once dusted it?       What if dust falls there, would you know what to do?       Would you know how to react to the gravity of that situation?      Of dust?      Of real dust?       You’re out of your element.       I think you are.      It isn’t them that’s the enemy.      They’re nothing.     It’s you.      You’re the insidious one.       So it’s a good thing we’ve come.       We have to take over.     We have no choice.    Because of your incompetence.       A little thing like that.      A floorlamp.      It leaves you baffled.       Confused and out of your element.        A child.       It’s no wonder you need Meat Inspection.                

Phyllis:        And correction.

Scar:             What?

Phyllis:        You heard me.        

Quibble:      (more thrashing)   I was sure it was right here.   No…. no.   not …. I had it.   But I don’t see it.    I could have sworn I had it.    Didn’t I?     Oh.    Oh, well.

Phyllis:        But did you understand me, what I said?  

Scar:             Are you telling me my job?              

Phyllis:        We need correction.      You shouldn’t forget.     

She stares at him and he won’t advance further against her.         

Phyllis:        Do you know what I mean?    Are you listening?    It’s not complicated.   But I wonder if you can see how to arrive at this simple idea, what I say.   

Scar:             What you say.  

Phyllis:        I wonder if you can adapt.     I wonder if you can fit with it.     Not just the words.    Don’t get lost in words.    That’s a fairyland, not for you.    But the idea itself.      And from that the thing itself.  

Scar:             Well, we’ll think of a way.      We’ll try very hard to think of a way.

Lights out.  

 

 

                             Act III, Scene i 

 

12. Spat with a child:   (650) Vardaman, Quibble 

Morning.      Scar is seated in a couch, sipping tea.     Vardaman is sitting on the floor in his usual place, his toys spread out.       Quibble is seated on the other couch with a teacup and saucer.    The Tube-Hat is slung on the lampshade.      Vardaman gets up and addresses Quibble.     

Vardaman:             You didn’t finish.     We had breakfast already and you’re still here.

Quibble:                  Well, I’ll tell ya, little fella.     There’s a lot more to meat inspection than people think.   It’s a big job.    It’s not simple.    Why, did you know we also help old people?      Yes.     It’s true.      We rescue puppies.       Stray animals.       We give them homes.      

Vardaman:             You help puppies?   Puppies?     Little puppies?        

Quibble:                  Oh, yes.      A great many.      Starving.    Alone.    They come to us and we save them.   They would be lost without our help.

Vardaman laughs and whirls away.       

Vardaman:             That’s stupid.    Puppies are stupid.           

Quibble:                  Well.    I guess it doesn’t matter to you.    You like your toys.    You have lots of them.   

Vardaman:             I like guns.

Quibble:                  You have a favorite?     One you like better than the others?  

Vardaman:             (holds up a stick)  This is the best.     It’s Bomber Taine’s gun.       

Quibble:                  But that’s just a stick.    It’s not a gun.          

Vardaman:             It becomes a gun.    And it’s my gun too.     Anybody knows what a gun is.     

Vardaman whirls in a circle, enjoying his stick.     Without warning he slaps Quibble’s knee with his stick.     Quibble wince and holds his knee, visibly hurt.

Vardaman:             That’s a gun.       See?

Quibble:                  You’re a mean little kid.   You oughta watch that thing.         

Vardaman:             Bomber Taine hits and hits.    See?     He bombs wherever he likes.      

Quibble:                  (Still nursing his knee)   Yeah, well, a lot you know.       I could tell you about real bombing.  

Vardaman:             Like what?     

Quibble:                  Well,….

Vardaman:             Did you drop real bombs?         

Quibble:                  Well, yeah, in practice.    Sure.     You have to drop the real thing.    It’s like Bomber Taine, but for real.        

Vardaman:             And then you kill people when you bomb and strafe?  

Quibble:                  Well, I guess I would have if I…..      

Vardaman:             That’s stupid.   

Quibble:                  What’s stupid?   

Vardaman:             You.    Bomber Taine doesn’t practice.    He does it for real.     Not like you.    

Quibble:                  No, no, stop.   How can I make it clear to your kid’s mind?     That’s… that’s make believe.      Not like real bombs.      Falling on real people.      Oh, no.       Well, you’re just a kid.      You can’t see the big picture.          

Vardaman whirls his airplane around.  The following lines, till Vardaman’s exit, overlap.  

Vardaman:             Bomber Taine can do it.    He can make it happen.          

Quibble:                  No.      No, it’s not like that.       You have no idea.     It’s far beyond you.    It’s…. it’s a different world from what you’re used to.      It’s entirely different from your little kid’s concept of the world.        

Vardaman:             You mean when you drop bombs and you shoot at people from high up?   

Quibble:                  You can’t understand.   That’s not what I mean.   It’s really the real thing.             

Vardaman:             Have you ever been in war?    

Quibble:                  Me?     You mean real war?   Oh.       Well,….

Vardaman:             (strikes Quibble on the knee)  Like that.   From high up.      Ker-Pish!      Have you?    

Quibble:                  That hurt.    Stop it.    Well, I….

Vardaman:             Have you?     You haven’t.          

Quibble:                  No.     I mean I, well,…. I’ve trained…. you hit me….

Vardaman:             You can’t even get your words out.   

Vardaman whirls away.    He slaps Quibble hard across the knees.    Quibble kneels in pain.   

Vardaman:             You haven’t!       You haven’t!       You just practice.       You’re not heavy like Bomber Taine.       You’re boring.    

Quibble:                  Stop that!    Would you stop!.     You have no manners.    Stop.   Stop it.    Stand over there.  I, well, …. you hurt me.      You….

Vardaman:             You never killed nobody.       You’re nobody.      You’re just a fake.       

Quibble:                  Go to your mother.    You little beast.    Get out.    Get out!    Think you know everything and … it’s complicated.             

Vardaman:             You’re nobody.     You’re not Bomber Taine.    You’re not cool.  

Vardaman exits.    Scar coughs.   

 

13. Adult spat:   (1050) Scar, Quibble

           There is a quiet moment, then Scar curiously turns on the couch, not clear how to approach Quibble about what has just happened.      Scar gets up and strolls upstage.     

Scar:             I see I have here a problem.       I gotta think about this.        It’s an intricate matter about which I gotta give some reflection.     It’s not easy, you know.    My position.    Your situation as it stands.    But it’s strange.    Very strange.  

Quibble massages his knee.    

Quibble:      What’s strange?     

Scar:             Don’t you know?    Here.   This.     Your Tube-Hat.   You’re not wearing it.       

Quibble:      I don’t need it.   

Scar:             Really.     You’ve needed it in the past.      Something’s different about today? 

Quibble:      Today is different.    I don’t need it.         

Scar nods and pauses in thought.  

Scar:             And how are you going to spot bad meat without it?     Ever think of that?        

Quibble:      I don’t need it for that.      

Scar:                         Ah.   That so?    A change has come.

Quibble:      I think it may have.       

Scar:             And what about this other matter.      The EasyTomb?     Have you found it yet?  

Quibble:      No.      Why do you bring that up?  

Scar:             Well, don’t you think it’s important?     What if it fell in the wrong hands?    Isn’t that a concern?    

Quibble:      I don’t see why.    

Scar:             It’s a powerful weapon.     Very dangerous, really.       It was in your hands.      In your care.   And now, it appears, you can’t find it.       

Quibble:      Oh, you’re going to blame me for that?              

Scar:             A powerful instrument like that?     Doesn’t it have some weight in your mind? 

Quibble:      It had some weight before.     Not now.    

Scar:             Oh.     Now you’ve changed.     Now you can’t be bothered.  

Quibble:      I was bothered before.      Now I don’t want to think about it.     I don’t have to think all the little thoughts you want me to think.      I don’t need the things I needed before.

Scar:             (thumbs the Tube-Hat) And now, you can do without.      You’re that sufficient.   (sloshes the colostomy bag.)    You’re above it, I suppose.       Something, someone, has convinced you that, well, you feel, how shall I say, liberated from your former self?   

Quibble:      That’s one way to say it.    Yes, that’s it.     You put it very well.     

Scar:             You’re able to depart from the needs you formerly had.    The duty too, it seems. 

Quibble:      Duty to you.   That’s all you think about. 

Scar:             You don’t seem to be thinking at all.     You cast off your Tube-Hat and now there’s a dangerous weapon floating around and you don’t seem to care.    I wonder if you’re affected by the ambiance.      It’s an ordinary house in an old neighborhood and people are relaxed.    They have their jobs, their dreams.       Y’know, I’ll tell ya: it’s a lot like my father’s farm where I spent all those careless years hoeing broomcorn, leaping over cabbages.      Reminds me of a story there, might interest you.     Back then when I was small, I had an old hound dog.    My best friend, really.    We were close, you know, the way a boy and his chum can be.     And you know how hound dogs, well, they’re really the smartest dogs there are.    Yeah.    Because other dogs they’re always yipping and making a big fuss.      Leaping up on the table and grabbing the sausages.     But not a hound dog.      No.    You take a hound dog someplace, he always knows just what to do.      Why, he drops down on the floor and he goes to sleep.       Now that’s a sensible dog.       That’s intelligence.      But one day my dog, he changed somehow.    He started yipping and dancing and grabbing sausages off the table like he didn’t know nothing.    Then he yaps at me while I’m working and he won’t stop.     It seems in his little dog’s heart, he had an inexplicable change.    He transformed himself, you might say, and his former cares, they disappeared.     So I took a pipe wrench and I broke his neck.   Well, it snapped like a corn chip.     Yes and I threw him in the irrigation ditch and nobody found him for a week.     Well, they all said he slipped and drowned.     They said what a silly dog.      But I knew he was smart.      

Quibble:      Oh, I get your drift.     You want to say I’m the bad guy.     Like that business with the EasyTomb, you’re going to throw that up to me, aren’t you?      Well, you’re all wrong.       You don’t understand.     That’s the thing, I’ve noticed.     You always want to find a culprit.       Always want the ad hominem needle to skewer the other guy.       But what’s the world if you have no opponent?      What if I arrived where I am by myself?       Suppose I don’t owe it to anyone, anywhere?       Nowhere.        Suppose I’ve made my decisions myself, based on my own experience.       Not on some theory from some other person, even you, but on my own experience of life, of people.    Suppose I didn’t need you.    What would you say then?     

Scar:             I’d doubt it.      I know you.      You’re lost in hopeless dreams.        Whimsical dreams again and again.       Dreams formed out of whirligigs out of phantasms.        You start with dreams, that’s what you end up with.       Build your castles in the air and set up house.       When you do, why should you ever leave?       I’m sure you won’t.  

Quibble:      I think I have.    

Scar:             You dolt!       You’ve liberated yourself?     Hm?      Have you?    

Quibble:      I think I may have.       

Scar:             And let me ask you, you the sage one, what was your first act when you liberated yourself and found the enlightenment of your experience?      What did you first do?        

Quibble:      I felt grace.      I felt new life.       I felt a level of existence I’ve never felt before.        I felt I could live without all the things that have fettered me in the past, all the formulaic ideas and homiletic repartee.      All the cheap advantages that people strive for to get an advantage over one another.      I suddenly felt I could do without all that.       I could do without all your theories.       All your made for consumption aphorisms about meat inspection.    I can see the lay of the land as well as the next man.      Why not?     

Scar:             And so what did you first do when you felt this grace?       I mean life isn’t all just what you feel about it.       It’s what you do.    At least a little bit, isn’t it?      Isn’t that business, the what you do, isn’t that in there somewhere?      

Quibble:      I can do things.       Perhaps now more than ever.       I’ve never felt I could do more things.       

Scar:             You picked a fight with a kid.

Pause.  

Quibble:      He doesn’t understand me.     

Scar:             No?      Maybe you use big words.      Maybe you talked down to him.      That’s why he got angry.     

Quibble:      The little brat.     I wonder why we came here if we have to put up with people like that.   

Scar:             Don’t you have any better sense than to start a fight with a kid?

Quibble:      He started it.  (Pause.)   He called me nothing.     Nobody.    When I’ve put in all these years into meat inspection.

Scar:             A petty squabble with a child.   

Quibble:      He insulted me.      

Scar:             The kid insulted you.

Quibble:      He started it.      He hit me.

Scar:             The kid struck you a blow. 

Quibble:      Yes.      Right here.     And he was insulting too.     

Scar:             Oh yeah?     How so?   

Quibble:      He said I was worthless.  

Scar:             Hm!    Why would he ever say that?  

Quibble:      He called me nothing.       I can’t expect you to understand.       I can’t make you sense how that made me feel.      I have feelings, deep feelings sometimes.    I felt…. low.      Lowly.     Ashamed.      No.      That isn’t it, exactly.     It’s something different.      I can’t really say.        I’m having feelings I haven’t had before.       

Scar:             And I can’t understand.   

Quibble:      I doubt you have that depth of feeling.        

Scar:             I’m too much in another world.   

Quibble:      You’re in my old world.       You’re there.      I’m here.     

Scar stands back smiling.    

Scar:             Yes.       Your old, old world.         And now, you’re where the old truths no longer matter.        You’ve discovered something you love more.     

Quibble:      ( raising his voice to a shout)  Maybe.     Maybe I have.      Y’know, you have an overbearing manner sometimes.      Goddammit you piss me off.      And y’know, sometimes it gets on my nerves.      To put it frankly.     To put it very simply.  

 

 

14. Tea song:   (500) Cindy, Scar, Quibble

Cindy:           (off,  loud)  What?      

The men turn and stare.    Cindy enters.     She is flurry of flowery light.  

Cindy:           What is it you two fight about?       Where’s the ding-an-sich of the tasty apple pie anyhow?     A system of higher mathematics of the pandiwaddle.     And I have to say, regarding you two, there seems to be a paucity of bienvenue of the autonomous not-self, a delete button for affront of the all feeling other side, a petrified preference for dogma over delight — and my, my, you do go on when you get angry.       My little umsaquaddle Angelisicoos understands this, so why not you?      What a piffle you defend your turf and decorate your pomps with rosaries of self impressed posies.     How royally you invoke the name of God and strew the world with gnashing teeth and gory platitudes.    I would think a categorical imperative of meat inspection would invoke compassion over the firm hock, endearment for the blood and flesh of a willing rump against the lust bespattered wall, but no!      You fear the uncertainty of soul and hasten to impose your imperious truth while the ice of unknowing melts beneath your feet.    It’s enough to keep my little Angelicious up all night and not pissing, but….  

(Cindy circles around the men and swings their hands in a dance while singing.  Score at the bottom. )  

Cindy:   

                When two friends cannot agree

It’s time for us to have some tea.

So dance with me and soon you’ll see the way______.  

 

When all is forgiven we’ll get on with living

Stop all this fighting and silly back-biting

You just gotta see how we two can make three together.  

 

Make tea for three and soon you’ll see:

Just me for you the Devil too.

Well hug and kiss all night in bliss till dawn______.

 

Then you’ll see how love and tea

Bring friends to you and you to me. 

And all will see how happy we can be. 

 

 

Scar separates himself while Cindy and Quibble dance in a circle.    Scar pulls out the assault rifle.      He slaps the breech shut.          

Quibble:      What are you doing?     

Scar:             I have to deal…

Scar, with the rifle, strides upstage of Quibble

Scar:             … with…

Scar aims the gun at the floor.   

Scar:             … the situation.     

Scar whirls and fires at one of Vardaman’s toys.      There is a burst of light and a blast of sound.      The shot toy flies off.      Quibble and Cindy leap back.     All are still for a moment.     There are sounds of feet off.     Doors opening and slamming.      Martin rushes in, his shirt awry.    Terrence appears, buckling his belt.      He has a piece of toast in his mouth.     Phyllis follows in her housecoat.   

Cindy:           Oh, my baby.     Baaabeee.      Where is ooooo?     (Exits)

 

15. Death of trashcan:   (650) All  (V appears, has no lines)  

A door slams.      Major Importance enters.     He dances around, pointing the video camera at everyone.     

MI:                  Just in time.    Just in time.    Yo-ho, campers!     Another disturbance I see.       Yes.   Same address.    You people have a situation, I think.     Sit-choo-ay-shun!     This might be,… well, an occurrence, why not say it?      Might be.     Yep!  Yep!    I can see.   Heyyyup!   Way-oh!     To be perfectly candid, you all gathered here, it’s the making of a significant event.         

Major Importance hefts his camera and glances at his watch, nods.     Scar relaxes back and lets the rifle butt slam on the floor.     

Phyllis:        I didn’t know they were going to do that.       I thought…. they were just…. inspectors…..       

Over the next several lines the characters form a tableau, all focused on the trashcan.   Scar advances till he kneels on the couch at the down edge.     The trashcan is in front of him and he aims his gun at it.     Quibble crouches on the other couch.     Major Importance mounts on top of the backrest of the couches, so he is above Scar and all the others.    He adjusts his camera and aims down carefully.      Martin crowds around the others.    Terrence leans behind Martin.  Phyllis goes opposite and kneels on the couch, crowding over Quibble.   

Martin:        I don’t see what this has to do with meat inspection.       

Scar:             Don’t you?  

Terrence:    You made a big noise.      You scared the daylights out of us.      

Martin:        Yeah and you even got the media involved.    

MI:     Oh, we only observe.     Hey!   Yaw!    Hey-ho!     We don’t affect.      We only report what’s there.     What we hear.    What we know.    What’s really there.       Ooooh.      Closer.         

Scar focuses on the trashcan and Major Importance follows.    

Scar:             And why would I do that?       Why do I do any of this?     

Phyllis:        Well, I wondered….  I thought maybe….

Terrence:    Yeah, what for?   

Scar:             Because of meat.     Isn’t it obvious?       Meat.    

Terrence:    Oh.     Yeah.     

Scar:             There’s bad meat here.  

Quibble:      There is?    

Phyllis:        Where?    I don’t see any.  

Scar:             It’s there.     You don’t see it ‘cause it doesn’t want you to see it. 

Phyllis:        What should we do?  

Scar:             Only one thing you can do.

MI:                Now, this is a moment.    This is it.    The climax.    The lede. 

Scar:             Because of bad meat.       When you find bad meat, you have to kill it. 

Scar fires repeatedly at the trashcan.         

Scar:             There.   

Cindy enters.     

Cindy:           What did I miss? 

Scar bangs the butt of the rifle on the floor.      All stare in wonderment.      Finally Phyllis creeps closer and picks up the trashcan, inverts it and pokes her fingers through the holes.      She displays her wiggling fingers so all can see.    Cindy joins the tableau behind the others.  

Phyllis:        It’s amazing.      Simply amazing.       Martin, did you ever see anything like this?      

Martin:        No.       I’m…. it’s… amazing.     As you say.

Phyllis:        Wiggle wiggle.            

Martin:        I’d say you got it.  

Terrence:    Nothing could survive that.  

Cindy:           Dead meat, if you ask me.

Quibble:      You’re sure?     You’re sure you got everything?     ‘Cause that trashcan is my responsibility.   

Terrence:    Dead meat for sure. 

Phyllis:        I don’t know how you can be really sure.     Isn’t it like, really small?  

Scar:             It takes a big gun to kill a sneaky little thing like that.     They get under your fingernails.     They come back at you.     Bite you where you don’t expect it.    Hard to fight.  

Terrence:    Hit it where it hurts, my advice. 

Cindy:           Hit it with everything you’ve got. 

Terrence:    First time, last time.    No more time for bad meat.  

Phyllis:        Well, I guess.  

Quibble:      It’s a show of force.

Cindy:           My, my.      

Quibble:      Decisive.   Absolute denial of the enemy and his ambitions.  

Terrence:    Yeah, any other trashcans around here had better watch out.     

No one notices as Vardaman enters and stands still, a spot on him.  He obviously holds the Easytomb and stares at them.     Lights fade on all but him.        

Lights out.     

 

                             Act III, Scene ii        

 

16. Where is the Easytomb?:   (500) Phyllis, Vardaman

The stage is dark except for a soft spot on Vardaman playing in his usual spot.    Phyllis enters and stands watching in the dark.   She sits on the sofa and a soft light surrounds her.  

Phyllis:        You should be in bed, no?   At this hour.

Vardaman: Mom’s asleep.   She won’t care. 

Phyllis:        They didn’t take my bed, but I’m not sleepy.    Come over.    Show me your toy.  

Vardaman: (comes nearer)  They’re not toys.    They’re knives and guns like this and they can kill people.    See? 

Phyllis:        When your mother and I were little, we used to play with the boys down the street and they’d say things like that.    They made me cry, but Cindy fought with them.    She was the strong one.      Where’s your new toy?    

Vardaman: What toy is that?

Phyllis:        Why, the Easytomb.    The one you got when the grownups forgot where they put it.    Isn’t that what it’s called?     

Vardaman: It’s not here.  

Phyllis:        No?    Where then?

Vardaman: Bomber Taine has it.  

Phyllis:        Ah.    Bomber Taine.     Bomber Taine knows so much.    (she combs his hair with her fingers)   You’re a proud boy.   You’ll probably do some things that’ll make us all proud.     Take your aunt on a ride in the country one day.    I’d like that.    It’s such a big world waiting for you.    Why, when we go for a ride, I’ll show you the lake where you grew up.     It’s near the forest where we got lost last autumn.    Remember?    Well, you weren’t lost, but your mother was worried.    All the time I looked for you but I knew you were all right.   You’re smart enough to know.   Then we went to the boathouse by the lake and watched the birds take off in a flock.     I love that place.    Years ago there was one end that had a sunken pier you weren’t supposed to use but we did, your mother and I, we’d dangle our toes in the water and talk about marriage and having kids, and come to think of it, that’s where I found out you were going to appear.    Yes.    And I blamed her for not telling me sooner.   She laughed and I said it was serious and that made her laugh more.    It’s better to tell people things, don’t you think?     Like your toy.    The Easy what it’s called.    You could get it for me.    Would you do that?      I asked Bomber Taine but he wouldn’t say.

Vardaman:    Bomber Taine doesn’t talk to everyone. 

Phyllis:        No.   No, I’m sure he has his special friends.   Maybe he likes to keep things secret.    Keep things from the rest of us.     But, well, you know.     You could tell me.    

Vardaman:   I don’t know.    (stands back and yells)  You can’t trick me.     I don’t know.     Bomber Taine has it.    But he won’t give it to you.   

Furiously he exits.     Phyllis stares for a moment in silence.    Lights slowly dim to out. 

                             Act IV        

 

17. Atrocity & V confesses:   (870) All  

Morning.     Major Importance, always with his hat, is seated on the couch, his legs outstretched.     Also on the couch is Scar, slouched.    On the other couch, Quibble is seated wearing the Tube-hat.      All have tea cups and are sipping tea.      Some of Vardaman’s toys are still strewn up left.    Vardaman plays on the floor under the umbrella, preoccupied with his blocks.     The Easytomb is beside him, unused.     Martin stands against the back wall facing out.    His face is blank.      At lights up Phyllis enters, bends over Scar, offering to refill his tea.     Holding the saucer her hand trembles and the saucer rattles.    She tips over the sugar.      

Phyllis:        Oh.     Sorry.      That was clumsy.     I… I’ll get more.     

Phyllis exits.     All is silent till her return with more sugar and some cream.  

Phyllis:        Cream?  

Scar holds up his cup.       Phyllis is trembling so badly she can hardly pour into the cup.  

Phyllis:        Is… is that enough?   

Scar:             More.   

Phyllis pours again, splashes some.      Scar silently moves his legs, brushes them off.    Phyllis stands back to look if she’s done everything right.    Quibble moves so Phyllis can mop the floor.      Major importance offers up his cup.      Phyllis finds the teapot and pours for him.      He holds up his hand when it’s enough.      He keeps holding his cup up for her to reach.    She puts the teapot on the bar station and comes back with cream.     Again she is so nervous it is all she can do to pour and not spill.   When he has enough he nods and holds up his hand.      Confused and distraught, she starts to withdraw with the tea and cream.    

Quibble:      This tea is cold.    

Phyllis:        Oh, I’ll get…. yes, I’ll….     

Phyllis hurries to get the tea and cream for Quibble.      She returns.     She pours, spilling a little.      When she’s served Quibble, she withdraws things, always looking around nervously to see if she’s done things right.       Finally she exits.      The men, except Martin, calmly sip.      Martin only stares out over them, his face blank.         After a moment Phyllis returns.        Every step seems dangerous to her.     She paces, crossing the entire space, slowly, with intent nervousness.        From offstage Cindy cries out, her voice full of grief.     No one reacts except Phyllis, who stops still.      Vardaman goes on playing.      Cindy enters.    

Cindy:           Did you see?      Did you see?

Phyllis:        Yes.   

Cindy:           I mean…. it just came on…. I couldn’t watch.    Then I couldn’t stop watching.     

Phyllis:        No, I know.     Yes.

Quibble:      Cream.    I’d like more cream.      

Cindy:           I was just sitting there watching.    I don’t know what.    And it came on.      

Phyllis:        I…. Yes.     I saw.  

Cindy:           So many were….      I…       Even…

Phyllis:        Yes.     

Cindy:           And the others…. they didn’t say….  there were pictures.    Clouds of smoke.     A map.     They had a map.       They showed where it is.       I couldn’t remember.       Fires in the windows.   I couldn’t understand all they were saying.       Parts of buildings falling.       People running.     Well, of course, they want to find their….   

Phyllis:        Yes.      I saw.  

Phyllis turns away.      Cindy runs to her and the sisters embrace.       Phyllis seems almost crippled.       Slowly they break away and Phyllis returns to serving tea.    Cindy nestles under the umbrella holding Vardaman.      The Easytomb is beside him, but he ignores it.       The men still sip their tea, relaxed and silent.       Terrence enters, putting on a shirt.      He looks them over, astonished at their demeanor.  

Terrence:    You bombed a city.        

Scar straightens himself and nudges the cart so he can be more comfortable.    

Scar:             Well.    I’m all right.   

Quibble:      Don’t we have more half and half?   There was half and half last night.     

Scar sips carefully and slowly.   Phyllis scrubs the floor where tea has spilled.   

Terrence:    You bombed a city.     Do you know what you did?

Scar:             Of course we know.    A city got ancillaried in an ordnance typified event.   If you want to be particular about it.        

Terrence:    You.      You bombed families sleeping in their beds.       

Scar:             I don’t know why you need those terms.     A child, a simple child, acted as children will, as children always have.      And anyway, some good was probably done and the rest is, as they say, collateral, if you will.     If you want to be a purist, a city was in the place where some bombs encountered solid ground.       Gravity being what it is and bombs being what they are, the bombs descended somewhere, I think.      I believe that’s right.       I wasn’t there.   

Terrence:                Neither was I.      None of us was there.       People’s homes on fire.      Running, tripping over the dead.     Well.      It’s on the other side of the world, isn’t it?      I don’t know why it should bother me.      

Vardaman:             I did the bombing.      

Everyone is silent.       Cindy looks at Vardaman.      Vardaman lifts the Easytomb.   

Vardaman:             Bomber Taine helped.     We bombed the city with this.        It’s the Easytomb.     I saw the bombs fall and they go ker-pish!    And there’s flames and smoke    See?    You go here….

Terrence grabs the Easytomb.    

Terrence:    Oh, that’s right.    Silly me.   It was the kid that did it.    He pushed the buttons.

He paces away with it.       Cindy draws Vardaman closer.          

Cindy:           Vardaman, play with your blocks.      Stay here.     Stay where you are.      

 

 

18.  What have you done?:   (550) Cindy, Quibble, Phyllis, MI, Scar

Cindy addresses Quibble.       

Cindy:           What have you done to my child?   

Quibble:      Your child?      I’ve done nothing to your child.     This tea is still cold.    Well, he lives his own life.      He makes choices.       We all do.      

Cindy:           What have you done to my child?

Quibble:      Well, in a way, if you must know, I connected Vardaman with the real Bomber Taine.  

Cindy:           Bomber Taine doesn’t exist.

Quibble:      Oh, that’s not really true.    

Cindy:           Bomber Taine is a child’s fantasy.

Quibble:      Which many children believe.

Cindy:           He got it from other kids.

Quibble:      Which makes it all the more real.   If many people believe a thing, then it becomes true.      It enters the world of reality, which then is common knowledge.      Or it’s the other way around, maybe.    

Cindy:           What are you trying to get from my son?  

Quibble:      Nothing.  

Cindy:           But you did something.    He has this toy.    From you. 

Quibble:      It got misplaced.  

Phyllis:        You misplaced it. 

Quibble:      Did I?

Cindy:           And then my son got hold of it.

Quibble:      And so?

Phyllis:        It seems he did your bidding, in a child’s way.

Quibble:      What if he did? 

Cindy:           He thinks he takes orders from you, now.  

Quibble:      We’re connected.    He doesn’t know it yet.        We have an understanding.    Oh, he’s still your child.     We’re not taking your child away from you.  

Phyllis:        But you showed him how to kill.  

Quibble:      I showed him that you could do something.   I’m not responsible if he did it.      

Cindy:           But now everyone will see.    They’ll see what really you did.   

Quibble:      Oh, no, they won’t see.    They’ll see what they want to see.       Just a child’s fantasy.    A fantasy of killing, not real death.    That changes everything.  

Pause.   

Phyllis:        Why have you taken over our home? 

Quibble:      It was necessary.  

Cindy:           Necessary for what?

Quibble:      What?   Well…I can’t for the moment….

Scar stamps his foot.       

Quibble:      For our… purposes.      It’s beyond you to understand.     Our inspections aren’t complete, you know.     We still have a lot to do.                                     

Cindy:           A thousand people are dead.     Many more are maimed.       Children orphaned.      I’m afraid to look at what you’ve done.    

Quibble:      Well,… I, don’t think anyone expected that the….

Scar stamps his foot and belches.

Quibble:      Those figures I think you’re referring to, well, I think you’ll see: they happened to be at a particular latitude and longitude at a point in time which no one could have with foresight foreseen.      I’m clear about that.     

Cindy:           Homes in ruins.     People screaming, their clothing… on fire.     I saw a girl running.    Covered with blood, all over her dress.     She had no jaw.     

MI:                 We shouldn’t have let them see that.      

Phyllis:        Yes, it makes the wrong impression.        And to erase the wrong impression what do you say? 

Quibble:      Well, you change the subject.    Isn’t that obvious?

Cindy:           I should never have talked to you.        

Phyllis:        It’s far away.      It’s very far away.      Like in a bad dream.   

Quibble:      Well, it happened far away, didn’t it?    And to who?    People we don’t even know.        

Phyllis:        Yes.    I see that now.    They’re only words.     Not even words.     Numbers… numbers of …. things.     (Phyllis exits.) 

 

 

19.  Sarcastic Terrence is hit:   (950)  All  

Terrence strolls over and tosses the Easytomb in the oil barrel.    

Terrence:    I guess you’ll want this back.    You might need it.        You might have uses.      For it.       In your line of work.     Your real line of work.      Oh, I forgot, it’s the kid that did it, not you.      You’re not guilty, are you?    

Scar:             Are you being sarcastic?    

Scar sets his tea and saucer on the floor.      He gestures to Quibble.   

Scar:             I think he’s being sarcastic.     

Terrence:    Or maybe I should have given it to the child.      To Vardaman.      It’s something he might need.       With his finger on the trigger.  

Terrence retrieves the Easytomb and takes it to Vardaman.   

Terrence:    You might need this.        Are you through with it?        No, probably not.      Here.

Cindy embraces Vardaman. 

Cindy:           Don’t talk to my child.     Don’t.     Don’t think you own my child.    Don’t any of you talk to my child.  (Cindy & Vardaman exit.    Pause. )  

Scar:             You know, you should never be sarcastic with a child.       No.    I’ll tell you why.     It’s not good for him.       You might warp a growing mind.        Because sarcasm is too complicated for a child.     Did you know that?     They can’t figure it out.      It baffles and frightens them because they know something important is being said and they should understand it but they don’t.     Their minds are constrained by limited capacities.      The inner meaning escapes them.    Then they become confused.      And frightened.      And after  that, after many years, they grow up paranoid, frightened of things they can’t understand.      Some may never think clearly the rest of their lives.        

Scar hauls out the assault rifle.      He works the breach and swings the rifle around, pointing at anyone.    

Scar:             Y’know.       Y’know something?       

Scar paces down stage and addresses them all, pointing the weapon wherever he likes.    

Scar:             I don’t think there’s been a serious enough atmosphere around here.        I think we must have failed to transmit our meaning and the gravity of our purpose.    The need.    The elemental need to have pure meat.        We’ve failed.      We’ve spoken in every way we know.      In the most careful way possible.      And still we aren’t understood.     We speak in simple terms, but the words are lost.      We speak, we try to convey, and  what do we get back?    Sarcasm.   Intellectual playing around.       Obviously you people aren’t used to clear thinking.       

Scar focuses on Terrence, pointing the rifle.  

Scar:             You, for instance.       You obviously think we’re kidding around.        Are we kidding around?      

Terrence:    You killed defenseless people, women and children.     Maybe thousands.       

Quibble:      They’ll get over it.          

Terrence:    You hit people going out for groceries.      Children you crippled for life.   

Scar:             What’s it to you?    

MI:                Hey-yeh.     It’s on the other side of the world.     

Terrence:    Oh.   I’m so confused.     Where?  

MI:                 It’s on the.    Other.    Side.    Of the world.

Terrence strides around the couches, upstage, opposite from Scar.     In the next minutes, they circle each other and Terrence ends up above the umbrella.  

Terrence:    Y’know, I have a really crazy idea.     My crazy idea, you wanta know?    You’ll laugh your ass off.     My crazy idea is that if you kill people anywhere, you know, even if it’s off in someplace you never heard of, why then you did something bad.     And if you manipulate the lives of others, you’re against life.     You’re against living.      Now, isn’t that naive?     Simplistic, huh?    I’m so immature.    I probably don’t take in all the subtle complexities of our complicated world.      But you did something I think is evil.      Pardon me for using an old word.     Evil for everybody.     In fact, there’s nothing good at all about what you did.      But help me out.     How come I have such weird thoughts?      To have a conception like that, why, I must be depraved.     I’m really too simple minded.      I must have the mind of a whimsical child, to think that murdering people sleeping in their beds is bad.     My, my.     To be so misguided by my dreamy impressions.       But, y’know, I figured it out; I know the reason.     I’m too sensitive.     And that’s because I don’t think clearly.     Yeah.     It’s because my ideas aren’t formed yet.     I’m lost in idealistic generalities.     A really bizarre notion of, what should I say?    Compassion for other people?    Nah, let me take that back, I don’t want to make you laugh.      Where did that come from?     A faulty education, I suppose.      Whereas you have to be precise in your profession.       Am I in your crosshairs?         You’re gonna bomb me?     

Scar:             You’re bad meat.

Martin:        You said the trashcan was bad meat.  

Scar:             No, it’s him.

Quibble bows and holds his hand to his head.    

Quibble:      We make it simple for them.   Why don’t they think the way we want them to think?    

Scar:             Well, they try, but they can’t keep up.   

Quibble:      Oh, this is so complicated.     

Scar:             It makes our job harder, yes.    

Terrence:                Yeah, maybe I’m the bad meat.     And if you kill off all the bad parts then the world will be good.      You have to make the world pure.       How come I couldn’t see that?     Maybe I’m what you’ve been after all this time.      Is that right?      Because you know, when there’s disease somewhere, you really should stamp it out.      I mean, you wouldn’t want decay to spread to your family, would you?        And I’m the disease, right?    

Scar fires once and Terrence is hit in the knee.      Terrence screams and crumples down.      Scar advances on him.     Martin moves to the door.  

 

 

20.   Death of Terrence:   (950) Scar, Terrence, Quibble, MI

Scar:             No, you stay.     Stay.    The sarcastic man is lost for words.      Hm.       I wonder what he expects to happen next.    

Martin:        You can’t do this.    He’s my brother.  

Terrence:    You’re gonna kill me?      Right here?     In front of the media?   

Scar:             They won’t mind.       They won’t do a thing, you’ll see.       They’ll forget you were ever here.     Who are you?     Ask them in a week, I’ll have to repeat your name.       

Terrence:    You have the gun.    You don’t need anything else.   You’ve killed plenty of others.     And you’re going to kill me?     Oh, it figures.     It makes sense now.           

 Over the course of the next monologue, Major Importance circles and sets up his video camera on Terrence.     He pulls the camera from the barrel and sets that on a high tripod so it towers above.     Quibble stands and wanders downstage opposite.      He plays with the Tube-hat, sometimes taking it off.    He seems in a different space, genuinely puzzled.      

Quibble:      Is death a bad thing?    I don’t know.     I bet it matters a lot one thing: who’s dying.    Yeah, that’s probably it.   But it’s so hard to decide.     I’d ask Major Importance, he’d know.    The ratings would say.     The latest word, that’s it.      But he’s busy.      No, I have to face this myself.     Well, hell, let’s face it, killing someone might be a bad thing.     That’s a common conception, I think.      Widely respected, among people that know.     But on the other hand, you have to consider, some individuals, you know, why they kill themselves, and what about them?      Stands to reason, a lot of those people wouldn’t die at all if we didn’t help.     Without us they’d have to do it themselves.    Yeah.   Other individuals, like this figure here, put themselves in, um, dangerous situations, so if they get hurt, why, they have only themselves to blame, huh?   It figures.    They volunteered.      I’m beginning to see it now.    And this person, well, I have to stick to the subject at hand, and supposing he’s alive or on the other hand maybe pretty soon he’s dead, that has to be important somehow.    It’s so hard to think these things through.    I have to go by what people think, or what I hear them say they think.      Now everywhere you go movies and television have lots of death and that for sure gets people’s attention right away.    If the story isn’t a life and death matter, well, it can’t matter that much.      That’s pretty clear— so putting death in anywhere is probably a good idea.     Yeah.    It’s coming clear now.   Dying people make anything more important, that’s obvious.    And look at it from the other side.     Well, it’s simple: life can’t be meaningless as long as you’re killing someone.   That’s obvious I think.     Yeah.    It guarantees you’re doing something serious and that’ll get remembered.    People will take notice.   I have to work this out.    Now this person is about to die – well, doesn’t that have a dramatic ring already?     I’m onto a truth there.     All of life shouldn’t be meat inspection.   

The following lines overlap.  

MI:                This light is no good.     It looks like he’s suffering too much.  

Terrence:    I’m bleeding.      Call someone.     I’m begging for my life. 

MI:                I can’t imagine it with those shadows on his face.  

Scar:             You’re wounded now.   That means you’re a threat.     A deadly threat.  

Martin:        He’s no threat at all.       

Quibble:      I have to be decisive.    I’m the Chief.     They have to see me acting in decisive ways.    

MI:                 Down a little.    Nah, it’s still too….

Everyone is still while Quibble speaks.   

Quibble:      And what is death anyway?    I mean in the last analysis.    Is it crossing over the bar somewhere in the beyond and then you, what?    Don’t come back?     Nah.     Life is tivo.     You can always rewind.     We should have some people explore this, but how can they explore it if they don’t, like, do some drastic thing, like, well, die?    I mean, in real life.     It’s complicated, but I think now I’m beginning to see through this murky fog.      Major Importance, oh, Major, I think I see it now.      The important thing here, when all is said and done, is the kind of… well, um,… reason for death.    Yeah, that’s it.     They, the people who do it, they have to have some reason for dying.    Get it?    Then it makes sense to them.      That’s the golden key.     I bet that fixes it all up.  

MI:                 Yeah, yeah.    Hey-yo!      Whatever..

Terrence:    Please… please, don’t… I’m… bleeding.

Scar:             We don’t want you to bleed.     

MI:                 All right.     I have that camera ready.     No, no.   Wait…

Scar:             We don’t want you to bleed any more.     

Quibble:      Oh, I have to tell you what this makes me feel on a deeper level.     This is so intense.      I feel it.     It’s really, well, it’s so ecstatic.     Can you see it?     He.    Why, he’s begging for his life.     Isn’t that something?     This is a once in a lifetime experience, for him for sure.     I know just what he’s going through.     What could be more meaningful for him than this?     Oooh.    This will get people’s attention.     I bet.     They’ll never forget this moment.      And now, after all my nights of worry and anguish, I see that this, this single act, will weed out so many confusing contradictions.      It’s the culmination.     In the end, it’s the climax of all the long nights I’ve been through, riven with doubts and deep thoughts.      Now I can feel it coming: we’ll get respected after this.      This, this is really doing something important.     I have to say it—we’re stretching the boundaries of meat inspection.         

MI:                I have him on camera now….   

Terrence:    (shouts)         For the love of God, please……

Scar fires repeatedly.        Terrence is blown down.          

 

 

21.  Mourning a deeper level:   (650) MI, Quibble, Scar, P, M, C

MI:                 Heyyy.    Good go, but that was way too quick.      No-woh!       Went too fast.      You gotta do it over.     O-VER.    OH-VER.       Yeh-hup!

Quibble:      Oh, say, did he get an erection?    Don’t they do that when they die?  

MI:                 No erection.  

Quibble:      No?    Oh.    Oh, well.    

MI:                 Setup not good.    We didn’t have time to soften the market. 

Quibble:      Yeah, I don’t think it had the right kind of build.   I mean to the climax.    Of his life.   I actually when I consider it carefully, I have to say in my innermost thoughts, I think…. like, is he totally, like, dead?

Scar:             Yeah, but I can make his body move around.   See? 

Scar fires again and Terrence’s body twitches with each shot.    Finally scar stops.    Terrence lies still.    Scar shoves the rifle back in the barrel.      He motions Quibble to join him down front.     His next dialogue with Quibble is private between the two.      Martin kneels beside his brother.   Cindy enters and drapes a cloth over him.

Scar:             Well, that’s done.   

Quibble:      I think… yeah.      I believe it’s….  But I wonder.     I have to say….  You think they heard?   

Scar:             Maybe.    

Quibble:      I’ll ask the Major.  

Scar:             No, no.      Don’t rock the boat.    

Quibble:      We did our duty. 

Scar:             Yeah.    

Quibble:      And now things are better than they were, aren’t they?     Cleaner.     More definite.     I can feel it.      Yes.     But…. how can I say this?     Something bothers me.    

Scar:             That they noticed.      Yeah.      

Quibble:      Well, I wonder.    

Scar:             Yeah.     It makes you think, doesn’t it?      But that’s the idea.      You have to break eggs to get their attention.     

Scar straightens Quibble’s Tube-Hat.   

Scar:             You have to focus their thoughts.     Hmm.       Sometimes, you can’t help it.    It makes an impression, but then, that’s the idea.        

Quibble:      Well, we want people to pay attention to us, don’t we?      That’s how we get respect for meat inspection.       Isn’t it?          

Scar:             Yes, but I don’t mean that.     I mean on a deeper level.     

Quibble:      Yeah, a deeper level.     That they might remember.     That’s important.     So the matter will have some weight, some gravity.  

Scar:             Of course.

Quibble:      Because it’s serious but aprinkled with, I don’t know, a little levity, you think?  

Scar:                         Yeah, but not too much.  

Quibble:      No, of course, or they’ll think we’re small minded.   

Scar:             Or didn’t do our job. 

Quibble:      We did the best we could.    Didn’t we?     We were men about it.       They can’t question that.    Being important means you do important things, doesn’t it?    Like Major Importance, here.    He’s very important, or he wouldn’t have an important name, now would he?      But Meat Inspector is even more important.   That’s well known.    And if you’re important, you get to do the big things, the things that get you remembered.     

Scar:             Yeah, well, but they gotta forget stuff too.      

MI:                 Remember one part.     Forget the other.      Hey- yeah, I get your meaning.   Ho-wo, we’ll fix that. 

Quibble kicks away Terrence’s foot.  

Quibble:      Otherwise, I know, people begin to doubt you.    And what’s a meat inspector if people begin to doubt you?    You wouldn’t want a society where people doubted their meat inspector, would you?  

Scar:             What do the polls say?

Major Importance looks at his watch.        

MI:                 They’re all right.    Ho-yeh!    No.    No.   Hold it.     They’re going… hey-yup.   Up.     Yeah.      Higher approval rating now.   

Quibble:      That’s from acting decisively.  

MI:                 The average is, would you believe it?     Up.      Standard deviation is lower.       Skew of the distribution is holding steady.     Roo-coo-coo!

Quibble:      Is that good?  

MI:                 It’s the best, Sir.       It’s very good.       It shows that morally you did the right thing.       Morally you’re gold.       Absolute gold.  

Scar sloshes his colostomy bag.  

Quibble:      But it comes to me, it could be better, couldn’t it?      I wonder.      I’m getting an idea.    Yes.     I think maybe…

MI:                 Hey-yo !     Oh, no, they’re coming in.   Now guess what, Camperrrs.      Oooooh.    Up!     You’re platinum, Sir.     Yeh-ho!     You talk to God with numbers like these.

Quibble:      Ahhh!    Yessss!     

 

 

22. Like this dress?:   (300) MI, Cindy

Scar drops the rifle in the barrel, takes the cross, and slouches on the couch.      Major Importance adjusts his cameras to take in Cindy kneeling over Terrence.       Scar finds his tea, sits and takes a sip.     

MI:                 You know, I have to tell you, that, the way you are now, kneeling there, it’s, well, it’s, I have to say this, it’s deeply affecting.   

Cindy:           W…. what?  

MI:                 You, your benevolent feminine form, the way you engage the inner eye… Ooooh….  your image lingers, lingers so.     It’s really haunting.      It’s so touching.     I just can’t express how much….

Cindy:           I don’t know why or what you’re saying.

MI:                 I mean, in the depth of your grief, how can I say it?     That dress, it’s just exquisite.      The way it molds and encloses you.      

Cindy:           Whu,… you like this dress?  

MI:                 It’s unusual.     So graceful and so complete.       It stands out.     It has presence.    It has being.    I know it’s hard right now, but could I ask you for just a moment to stand up?  

As she speaks Cindy slowly rises to her feet.     Major Importance focuses more closely on her.

Cindy:           This dress?       You really like this dress?   

MI:                 It’s a spectacular ensemble.     Divine, really.  

Cindy:           Oh, I don’t know.     You think so?     Really?  

MI:                 It sends a message.    A unique montage of style fully expressed.     It’s totally, totally  you.      Could you… a little more profile.     Hand on your hip.     Yeh-hey.     That form.    That.    Ooooh.     Yesss.    That’s our lede.   

Cindy:           You don’t want any more?

MI:                 We got it.    We got it.      You were great.   Just great.    Hey-yupp.     Roo-coo-coo….    

Major Importance has closed his cams.     Cindy hesitates, then collapses in tears back over Terrence.       

Cindy:           I am used, deceived, made nothing.    But my child.    My children.   My….      (Cindy exits.)  

 

 

23.  The verb to gwib:   (1050) Martin, Scar, Quibble

Major Importance packs up his cameras and stashes them in the oil barrel.       Martin moves forward.   

Martin:        So the problem wasn’t the trashcan.     All this time.     And we thought it was.       You could have told us.       But instead you went ahead and killed my brother.     But perhaps I’ll tell.    I’ll get the attention of others.

Scar:             No, no.    That would be a crime.    Disloyal to Meat Inspection.     Get people thinking the wrong things.   And then where would we be?     Don’t rock the boat when the boat is under way.     

Martin:        Still.    It was a strange act.   But I can speak above my grief.    I can be objective.     I can be… detached.     I can take a distant view.      

As Martin speaks, he tries to appear at ease.       He is pensive and speculative on the surface.     Quibble thoughtfully returns to his seat on couch.     He stretches out, extending this legs.      His posture is a mirror of how Scar is spread out on the other couch.  Major importance does the same.   All get their tea and sip.  

Martin:        Although, to be precise, you really killed my brother for no possible reason.  

Scar:             The reasons are obscure, difficult for you to understand.     You can’t reason about death, once it’s done.    Death, after all, goes to the very depth of Meat Inspection.    You need to see the big picture.     All the details, the fine points and the little arguments, that’s all better left to us, since we know the field.    After the fact, after the thing is done, it’s good if you don’t question too much.    You get lost in facts and then questions get messy and messiness is what we try to avoid. 

Martin:        Ah yes, I see.    Well then, it comes to me, did you know, there’s a word for that.   Yes.   It’s very unusual.    A verb.   To gwib.   G. W. I. B.   So this is a little like gwibbing, what you say.     I read about it.    It’s a strange word.   It’s from the Proto-Bantu, an ancient tongue no one speaks today.     Oh, there’s nothing like it in English.   To gwib, to have gwibbed, the act of gwibbing.    It’s really very curious.      Word like that.    

Quibble:      It’s like my name.  

Scar:             Don’t get a big head.    He didn’t say Quibble.    He said gwib.     Gwib.     The verb to gwib.         

Quibble:      Oh, you’re right.     

Scar:             Gwib.     To gwib.      I like that.      What’s it mean?  

Martin:        Well, I’ll tell you….

Scar:             Of course, you know, what could a word like that mean?      It rhymes with squib, which means, you know, an explosive device, and that makes it important.      Thing to be reckoned with.    Mm-mm.    And it rhymes with glib, which means not taking other people too seriously.      Yeah.     Yeah.     I think I get your drift.       What’s it mean?

Martin:        Well, it means….    

Scar:             Of course it also rhymes with fib, which means changing the facts to fit the words.    Altering reality so it matches the truth.   Hm-mm.     This is etymological metaphysics, if you will.     Pretty sophisticated actually.     Right up your line, hm!      What’s it mean? 

Martin:        It means…..

Scar:             And then again, gwib rhymes with crib, which means an insatiable striving for truth.     Hm.    I like your word.  

Martin:        It’s not my word.      It’s from a culture that flourished in Africa long ago.      It’s from the early tenth century or before.       Well, little is known.       A few phrases have come down.      Gwibbing is one of them.       Hm-mm.     To gwib, verb transitive and intransitive, means to take your tribe into war using wholesale lies which then become justified because now you’re at war.     

Scar:             Wow.   That’s a brilliant idea.     

Martin:        Hm-hm.   They’d tell a lie to get into war, but then if anyone questioned them, that would be disloyal in time of crisis.      The lie creates a cataclysm, which then makes the truth irrelevant.    Isn’t that beautiful?  

Scar:             Genius of the primitive mind.    

Martin:        But just imagine a culture, way back in the tenth century, that needed a word like that.      Why, those forests and high grasslands must have been a hotbed of political intrigue.  

Scar:             Marvelous people.   

Martin:        Oh, those would have been exciting times.      What a thrill to have lived in those days, hm?    

Scar:             Genius.     Pure genius.      I’ll have to remember that word.     Gwibbing.   To gwib.   To have gwibbed.    ‘Course, don’t know where on Earth I’d use it.       Meat inspection.      Well.

Martin:        Of course, you might wonder why a Bantu chieftain would ever want war in the first place.  

Scar:             Oh, I can help you out there, I think.    Conflict, especially a big one, gives meaning to life, ever think about that?     You wouldn’t want people running around with no meaning, would you?    Life can’t be pointless if you’re killing people.     And war ends so many doubts.    Brings people together.    Brothers under fire, they never forget that ultimate experience.    War is the obvious solution, well of course, the obvious way of solving all the problems within the tribe.     All kinds of petty squabbles evaporate.     The chieftain becomes more powerful overnight.    Desperation, properly invoked, is the passport to control.     Life, even life itself, becomes so much simpler.     Ah, yes.    Who worries about deep problems when there are lives at stake, hmm?      And there you see it, the key, that’s why you need enemies.

Martin:        And if you don’t have them….

Scar:             Then you drop bombs and, like magic, they appear.      I knew you were a smart guy.   War, ah yes, gives purpose, devotion of the masses to something larger than themselves, and, by the way, justifies, well, here you are, any crime whatever.     

Scar lingers, massaging Terrence’s corpse, then returns the cross to the barrel.     Scar relaxes back on the couch.

Scar:             You don’t get it, do you?     Well, how could you?    You’re an intellectual, so naturally you’re puzzled by the subtlety of gut logic.      In meat inspection we see it every day.      

Quibble goes and sits on the floor where usually played.      Quibble spreads out his legs like Vardaman and pushes a toy block in a circle with his finger.     He sometimes looks at the others to see if he has their approval.      He finds a stick and uses the stick to push the block.    

Quibble:      (mumbles)  Forget.     (pause)    And remember…. forget…. and…

 

 

24.  Phyllis’ monologue:   (1100) Phyllis, MI, Martin, Scar

All are silent while he does this.      Phyllis enters, pauses over the body of Terrence.    Then she stands, facing out.    

Phyllis:        We cannot mourn them, they are so far away.     We did no know them in life and now in death even less.    Like blind birds circling, we have vague images and we did not hear their cries.     We do not know who they were.    But there must have been some who like ourselves had a special joy somewhere, who strived and stumbled at what they did or tried to do.    And there would have been others who merely sat with those they cared for, perhaps through nights stretched out by hope of something new.    Why, there must have been, well, some who were lovers, sentimental perhaps but caring for each other with thoughtless caring without even asking why.     Perhaps when they saw what was happening they exchanged a simple word or shared one single glance.    No.    It’s better not to think such thoughts.    Such stuff would be mockery to stalwart soldiers.    And there must have been children who every day only wanted to go out and play instead of going to school but still they went because their mothers said.      And then, did they cry out?    We did not hear them, we did not know their voices when they were alive, and now in our thoughts, we only reach out like truncated nerves, and reaching out find what they are now: nothing.   The heart is disconnected and they are far away.     Why should we see them if we could, those dark and sleeping faces?    Separated in space, they are separated in time as well, and they recede, they grow tiny in the distance and we are left in a vacuum of air we cannot breathe.     Like something blown in the wind so far you don’t see it after a while, as if they were figures in a video dream.     And among nice people atrocity is too strong a word.    To use that word, you have to be someone else and you have to kill so, so many.     And then the numbers become facts and the facts get explained by clever men.    And the talk goes on longer, becomes calmer and more reasoned.    Young men become happy warriors, humming a tune and cracking jokes and leaving behind strewn flowers and wooden boxes no one wants to look inside.     Then cruelty becomes a song that old men sing, easy, boastful of how they are feared by fathers of defenseless children.      How can we care about so many, when killing one child is an atrocity?      But that’s too strong a word.            

Pause while each person settles.      Scar sips his tea.       Quibble continues with the stick and blocks.       

MI:       Someday, you know, maybe I’ll kick this journalism rag.     The whole bit.    Just walk out.    Yeh-yeah.    I’ll go off somewhere and write something… meaningful and deep,  something that makes people think.    Yeah.     Something where old ladies really matter.        

Pause while Martin circles thoughtfully about Scar.

Martin:        There should be some retribution for what you’ve done.

Pause.   Scar nods.    

Scar:             Yeah.  

Martin:        Some…. but how could there be?    You’ve done too much.    And we have no words.  

Scar:             Yes, you lack that.     

Martin:        You have great power, genius ballistic hardware, and the moral integrity of ants.

Scar:             Yeah.    Ants.  

Martin:        Which guarantees you’ll prevail over the rest of us.     Our words mean nothing.   We’ll cave in to your wishes.     Even your whims.     In the end we’ll take pride in our courageous obedience.   

Scar:             Hm-hm.   I think so.    

Martin:        And it’s in the past now.     And you are the meat inspectors.    (Pause.)  So it will be healing for everyone if we… just forget.

Scar:             Yeah.     I think so. 

Martin:        And so, of course, we will forget.

Pause.   Scar sips his tea.  

Scar:             Yeah.      You get the idea.    (pause)   Yeah.    I think you’re right. 

Quibble silently plays with his blocks.     Slowly the lights fade to gray, then black. 

 

 

+++++++++++++++++++++++

Special props:

 

Two sofas back to back.  

Scar’s tool belt & colostomy bag with long tube
connecting it to Quibble’s headband, called the Tube-Hat   (done)

EasyTomb, the shape of a large cell phone. (done)

Scar’s toy wagon, assault rifle & paraphernalia.

Major Importance’ costume, watch.

MI’s   video camera   (done)

Lamp with mechanism to tip it over.   (done)  

Trashcan with holes for Phyllis’ fingers.   

Child’s toys & airplane.   

Step ladder for Major Importance in Act IV.

Door bell to signal Major Importance’ first entrance and perhaps other

entrances.  

Sheet to drape over Terrence. 

Tea service with cups that may be broken, and wine glasses.  

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Sound queues: 

                Door bell (heralding MI’s first entrance)

                Door slammed (MI’s entrances and exit)

                Gun shot

Music queues: 

Before first act :    Les Barricades Mystérieuses et Les Jumelles– François Couperin

Before Act II  — John Fahey:  Twilight Time  

Intermission and Prelude to Act III:   Marin Marais: Arabesque.     

Before Act III, scene ii:    Instrumental introduction to ‘Una furtiva lagrima’ from Donizetti’s L’Elisir D’Amore  

Before Act IV:   Elgar: Wand of Youth

After last act:   Ravel:  Pavane For a Dead Princess. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

 

Rehearsal Groups:

 

Act I. 2

1. We have time: (900 words) Phyllis, Martin.. 2
2. Inspectors coming: (400 words) Phyllis, Martin, Terrence. 6
3. Cindy arrives: (900) Phyllis, Vardaman, Martin, Terrence, Cindy. 8
4. Quibble & Scar arrive: (700)  All except MI. 12
5. Terrence intervenes: (1200) Phyllis, Martin, Terrence, Quibble, Scar. 15
6. MI appears: (500) Scar, Quibble, MI,  Martin, Terrence. 21
7. Scar & MI nail it: (400) Scar, MI. 23
8. They won’t leave: (600) Scar, Martin, Phyllis, Terrence. 26

Act II. 30

9. The Easytomb appears: (800) Quibble, Vardaman, Cindy(2 lines). 30
10. Seduction started: (1300) Phyllis, Quibble. 33
11. Control us: (700) Scar, Quibble, Phyllis. 39

Act III, Scene i 43

12. Spat with a child: (650) Vardaman, Quibble. 43
13. Adult spat: (1050) Scar, Quibble. 46
14. Tea song: (500) Cindy, Scar, Quibble. 50
15. Death of trashcan: (650) All  (V appears, has no lines). 52

Act III, Scene ii 57

16. Where is the Easytomb?: (500) Phyllis, Vardaman.. 57

Act IV.. 59

17. Atrocity & V confesses: (870) All. 59
18. What have you done?: (550) Cindy, Quibble, Phyllis, MI, Scar. 62
19. Sarcastic Terrence is hit: (950)  All. 65
20. Death of Terrence: (950) Scar, Terrence, Quibble, MI. 69
21. Mourning a deeper level: (650) MI, Quibble, Scar, P, M, C.. 72
22. Like this dress?: (300) MI, Cindy. 76
23. The verb to gwib: (1050) Martin, Scar, Quibble. 77
24. Phyllis’ monologue: (1100) Phyllis, MI, Martin, Scar. 81