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James Fitt
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The Meek
ACT ONE
SCENE ONE
ALL IS BLACK
HOLLOW FOOTSTEPS RUNNING THEN SLOW
A KEY IS TURNED IN A HEAVY LOCK
A SOLID DOOR OPENS CAUTIOUSLY- GROANING
AND CREAKING
IN THE BLINDING LIGHT THAT SHINES THROUGH WE SEE JOHN IN SILHOUETTE.
JOHN HAS TO MOVE QUICKLY. HE CLOSES THE DOOR QUIET AS HE CAN. STILL A CRASH AS LOUD
AS THUNDER ROLLS AROUND THEWORLD HE’S
STEPPED INTO.
LIGHTNING ILLUMINATES THE OTHER CHARACTERS ON STAGE - MARY IN HER APPARTMENT, GODFREY IN HIS OFFICE, PETERS ON HIS ROUNDS, LA SALLE & ROBSON IN THEIR HQ. ALL HEADS JERK TOWARDS JOHN.
HE EXITS THEN ALL ARE DISMISSIVE OF ANYTHING
HAVING HAPPENED.
EXCEPT MARY. IT’S AS IF SHE’S WOKEN FROM A
NIGHTMARE IN THE EARLY HOURS.
CHORUS: (STAR JINGLE) She’s a sleepless star
But since when did stars slumber
A 24 hours news maiden
Who’s meteoric rise is a thing of wonder
Flashing “The Word” from the stratosphere
But tonight her enquiring mind is gripped with fear.
MARY GODFREY IS ONE OF THOSE UNIQUE YOUNGISH WOMEN TV PRESENTERS WHO MATERIALISE OUT OF THE ETHER ON SATELLITE TV. SHE’S NOT A STAR YET, BUT SHE SURELY WILL BE.
THINKING MEN’S CRUMPET, TO CLICHÉ HER.
BUT NOW SHE’S NOT COOL.
RESTLESS, SHE CLICKS ON A MINI TAPE RECORDER.
MARY: I’ve been doing this job too long.
Infected by the scum I’m filtering to fill 5 minutes between the adbreaks. What I really wanted to do was write the book - I thought I did… Now I am and I’m not so sure…And I don’t want to think about it. Daren’t. My haven. My bolt hole. The book. It’s infected too….(CLICKS OFF MACHINE). Stupid cow - it’s just a simple case of common or garden raving paranoia. You won’t get me, bogeyman. (SHE LAUGHS IT OFF, THEN BECOMES NERVOUS AGAIN) Doubt, oozing out, like the early hours cold sweat. For shit’s sake, pull yourself together - you’ve got a degree - bogeymen are bollocks. (SUDDENLY FINDS ANOTHER TAPE AND PUTS IT IN HER MACHINE & PRESSES PLAY).
JOHN: (VOICE OVER) Do you hear voices?
LIGHT UP ON JOHN WHO SITS IN A GARDEN. MARY WATCHES HIM FOR A MOMENT THEN GOES TO HIM WITH RECORDER. THIS IS A FLASHBACK. SHE INTERVIEWS HIM. THE CAMERA OPERATOR FILMS THE INTERVIEW. WE SEE MARY AND JOHN’S FACES ON SCREEN.
JOHN: Do you hear voices….in your head?
MARY: Do you?
JOHN: I can see you are your father’s daughter.
MARY: Do you – hear voices?
JOHN: It was a psychiatrist’s answer - another question. They all do it. All the ones I’ve met.
MARY: You must have seen a few. Do you hear voices then?
JOHN: What - excuses to justify me doing a terrible thing?
MARY: Is that how you see it?
JOHN: You’re doing it again - another question.
MARY: So are you – doing it again, not answering it. Do your voices tell you to do terrible things?
JOHN: No.
MARY: But you did a terrible thing.
JOHN: My voices aren’t like that - not instructions. They’re conversations.
MARY: Who with?
JOHN: Depends…..when I was a kid, I’d go to the shops to get some bread - one white sliced, one wholemeal. If I stuttered or something in the shop I’d rehearse it over and over in my head all the way home hoping my ears would stop burning.
MARY: Some of my best reports have been given to my bathroom mirror or while sitting o n a crowded tube.
JOHN: And I’d suck on the Angel Pop…
MARY: Ah yes, the toffee lollies.
JOHN GETS A PACKET OF SHERBERT DIP FROM HIS POCKET, OPENS IT, PULLS OUT THE LITTLE CANDY ON A STICK TO SUCK AND DIP OCCASIONALLY IN THE SUGARY CONFECTION.
MARY: I’m surprised you’ve got any teeth left.
JOHN: That’s what my mum said. Only one a day.
MARY: If you were very good boy.
JOHN: I never finish them - anyway, in here it’s either this or cigarettes, and I can’t spend the rest of my life scouring this place for the last shred of tobacco. It’s all they do…
I’d chomp on one back from the bread shop. Suck the comfort out. Until…
MARY: Yes.
JOHN: They took it off me.
MARY: Your parents?
JOHN: No. They. Them. A gang.
MARY: Kids? Other kids.
JOHN: And tip the sherbert down my neck or a grid. And stick the little half sucked candy onto my face.
MARY: So the voice you hear is simply you rehearsing your order for the local breadshop twenty odd years ago - it’s not even a conversation.
JOHN: Oh no….that was then. The voices I hear now are much more….they have more to say. It’s often a matter of life and death…. they are arguments. Dialectics, you might say.
MARY: Dialectics aren’t fashionable.
JOHN: I read a lot - I have time. But one thing puzzles me. All this is cogent up here (HEAD) - and given I’ve got vocal cords and a tongue, why doesn’t it come out cogent. Why am I still standing in the breadshop queue.
MARY: You seem to be doing alright now.
JOHN: That’s because I’m talking to you.
MARY: (FLIP) What’s so special about me?
JOHN: Everything
SHE LAUGHS THEN SEES HE IS NOT JOKING.
MARY: None of us would want some….most…virtually all our inner thoughts blabbed out.
JOHN: No they wouldn’t. But when the conversations get louder, babble and gabble, you’ve got to let them out.
MARY: Or meditate, pray or find quiet.
JOHN: That’s what the meek are expected to do, isn’t it? Shut the bad out or pray for something better.
MARY: The meek?
JOHN: (CONTS) It doesn’t work. It’s what they want.
MARY: Who wants what?
JOHN: (SHRUGS) The non-meek want the meek to stay meek.
MARY: So it’s the non-meek.
JOHN: Can inherit the earth.
SHE LOOKS THEN MOVES BACK SLOWLY TO HER ROOM. LIGHTS HALF DIM ON JOHN.
CHORUS: (SING) There is a creature which lives near
Listen at night and you might hear
You won’t find where it resides
No nest, no lair and besides
No one has seen it, but know it’s there
Quiet as a mouse, fierce as a bear
MARY: There is a creature which lives near
Listen at night, and you might hear
It’s been drawn and carved, sculpted too
It’s never never filmed, it’s cry is boo
CHORUS: It’s been on the earth, as long as man
When dark first fell, its life began
Tottering steps, now it’s up and running
Chameleon colours, fox’s cunning
MARY: The meek first knew, they became aware
And the holymen said, you’d better beware
It was a goat to be scaped, a gremlin to blame
Only a madman, thinks he could tame
(REPEAT CHORUS)
JOHN: Or a madman, will ride the beast
Timid and scared, now it’s unleashed
Supposing it’s a cure, that finally kills
Who’s to judge, in this battle of wills
JOHN MOVES TO LEAVE.
And who has no sword, and neither no shield
Nor no guns, no metal to wield
HE EXITS.
MARY WATCHES HIM GO. SHE IS BACK IN HER APARTMENT.
MARY: Whose strength has grown from being weak
Could the only candidate, come from the Meek.
SHE RESOLVES TO ACT, FINDS A COAT & EXITS.
LIGHTS UP GODFREY’S COSY OFFICE.
HE PACES. THERE’S A STORM OUTSIDE. HE TRIED TO READ.
CHORUS: There is an old house on the hill
A sanctuary for the spiritually ill
It’s quaint outside which does belie
The hi-tech prison found inside
This kind of kindness costs more than the Ritz
But kindness kills who picks up the bits
Lost sheep, lost souls, losers by any name
It’s a monument to the criminally insane.
GODFREY WISHES SHUTTING OUT OF THE WORLD WAS AS EASY AS CLOSING THE CURTAINS.
MARY VISITS HIM.
MARY: Dad.
GODFREY: What are you doing here at this time of night?
MARY: I’ve come to visit John
GODFREY: At this time
MARY: I couldn’t sleep
GODFREY: Everyone else is
MARY: He isn’t. He’s not in his room
GODFREY: He must be.
MARY: He’s not.
GODFREY: Bells would have rung.
MARY: He was in a strange mood when I last saw him.
GODFREY: That’s why he’s here - his strange moods
MARY: Do you think he’s mad?
GODFREY: I’m only a psychiatrist.
MARY: Is he?
GODFREY: Do you think he’s ill?
MARY: Mad?
GODFREY: If you like.
MARY: How should I know? God, he was right - you and me talk in questions.
GODFREY: He said that?
MARY: There’s another one.
GODFREY: Atleast he talks to you - you’re the only one.
MARY: It’s my job - to illicit a response.
GODFREY: It’s my life - but it doesn’t make much difference.
MARY: He fascinates me.
GODFREY: Hence the book…
MARY: No… not just that… If someone spends their whole time thinking…
GODFREY: He’s escaping from the world, that’s all. A lot to be said for it.
MARY: If some one thinks and thinks -mightn’t they come up with some answers?
GODFREY: He’s hardly a prophet…
Answers he might have - we all have - gods, aliens, science, pseudo-science, superstition, fate. The chances of them being correct are…
MARY: Slimmish?
GODFREY: Why him out of 6 billion?
MARY: Behind the inarticulacy, he knows.
GODFREY: You’re supposed to be a hard-bitten journalist, sad to say.
MARY: He’s discovered a truth. I’ve seen it in his eyes. That’s why I can’t sleep.
GODFREY: Being so sure, so absolutely certain, is a sign of craziness. A certain sign.
MARY: We need to be sure of things
GODFREY: You’re probably right. I’m old. I’m not sure of anything. Some would say that’s a sign. Mr Peters would.
(COLLECTS HIMSELF) Where would he go?
MARY: Where angels fear to tread.
GODFREY: He can’t have gone.
AN ALARM BELL CUTS INTO THIS AND PETERS HURRIES IN.
PETERS: He’s gone. Done a runner
GODFREY: Oh dear.
PETERS: He’s been ringing his hands - (ASIDE) Since Miss Face of TV News started paying him special attention.
MARY: I’ll go after him
PETER’S SCEPTICAL.
MARY: Have you any better ides?
PETERS: No fine…(ASIDE) Yes, leave him to rot out there. He’ll shit himself and come back for us to clean him up
GODFREY: Go and see if you can find him - you know him better than any of us…(TO PETERS) Wringing his hands you say?
PETERS: Wearing his heart on his sleeve.
GODFREY: Oh dear, not the best place to keep it. Oh dear oh dear.
MARY: Look, I’ll go and look.
PETER: (ASIDE) She thinks he’s a pet pooch who’s gone walkies. (TO GODFREY) He might be dangerous
MARY: He’s not dangerous.
GODFREY: Perhaps Mr Peters should see to him
MARY: See to him?
PETER: (ASIDE) You stirred this up. Set him off. I warned the silly old sod. Told him. Predicted it. As sure as eggs. (TO MARY) I don’t mind either way. We’ve got procedures.
GODFREY: You thought it might not be a good idea, didn’t you Mr Peters?
PETER: I’ve observed him. I thought I detected changes. But you can’t be categorical when it comes to human behaviour.
MARY: More’s the pity, eh Mr Peters?
PETER: (FRIENDLY LAUGH, THEN ASIDE) I can be categorical about her. Certain she’ll have the right on attitude for every situation. Saves her having to think.
MARY: It was John’s decision to leave.
PETERS: (ASIDE) He wouldn’t know a decision if it bit him on the arse.
GODFREY: What to do, what to do…
PETERS: (ASIDE) Neither would his lord and master.
GODFREY: Better write it in the book, Mr Peters
PETERS TAKES A LARGE LEDGER AND BEGINS TO WRITE AS GODFREY LOOKS AT THE SCREENS WHICH LOOK LIKE SECURITY VIDEOS JUST NOW
PETERS: And in the beginning was the word…the gospel according to..untold tales of in-human endeavour but mostly human error…all down here - chapter and verse - for better or worse…
MARY’S MOBILE PHONE RINGS.
MARY: (TO PHONE) Mary Godfrey… What kind of incident?
LX CHANGE.
MEAN CITY STREETS
A GROUP OF YOUTHS COME ALONG.
THIS IS STYLISED, CHOREOGRAPHED, A PHYSICAL EXPRESSION OF STREET VIOLENCE. THERE IS A MOUNTAIN OF LITTER, INCLUDING A LARGE SHEET OF BUBBLE WRAP OR POLYTHENE THAT COULD HAVE ENCASED A FREEZER OR SIMILAR..
YOUTHS: (THE FOLLOWING DIVIDED AMONGST THEM)Yo. It’s a battle. The enemy’s a stranger…or a neighbour. A lone youth’s trainers or boots at a 100 quid a throw. Or some old fart’s meter. There’s nothing sweeter than a bag’s bag and she’s dragged down the road clingin’ to her hand out from the
post office queue. The enemy.
JOHN ENTERS. THEY SEE HIM.
HE TRIES TO IGNORE THEM. HE GETS A SHERBET DIP FROM HIS POCKET, OPENS IT, SUCKS LOLLY.
YOUTHS: The enemy.
JOHN: Me?
YOUTHS: You.
JOHN: What have I done?
YOUTHS: You aren’t one of us.
JOHN: I could be. (HIS ACCENT & MANNER CHANGES & BECOMES LIKE THEIRS) I can have a fuckin’ rough arsed, rough edged voice honed by shouting from a crap filled cot and disinfectant stinking class rooms and useless fucking mums and not-there-dads. And fuck schoolies whose goolies just sire more of the same, who’ll pass their exams and judgements on us.
1st YOUTH: You’re takin’ the piss. (TO OTHERS) He’s takin’ the piss. (TO JOHN) You’re takin’ the piss.
OTHERS: He’s takin’ the piss.
1st YOUTH: Let’s do him.
2nd YOUTH: Let’s do him.
3RD YOUTH: Let’s do him. (ASIDE) I’m just a wanker, a stiff, but I’ll get a sly kick in when the cock of the block, ‘as wound us all up - planned the attack, cobbed the first brick, at the unlucky prick, who comes in our faces. (LOUD) Let’s do ‘im.
1ST YOUTH: This is war, pal.
JOHN: (STILL IN THEIR MODE) And our campaign - dunt need maps, or charts, that’s just for twats - with moustaches - who grow on their face what grows wild on their arses. No, your D Day is any day - preferably - big, BIG fuckin’ word - preferably after a six pack or two. A look. Or nothing. For a ruck to erupt. Well, it’s not really a ruck. It’s an ambush. A nuclear attack with no four minute warning. War.
1st YOUTH KNOCKS SHERBET OUT OF JOHN’S HAND.
1st YOUTH: I don’t know where you’re comin’ from but we all know where you’re gonna end up. In the gutter with the dog shit, crisp packets and thrown away rubbers.
JOHN: Wait a minute.
THEY STOP.
2nd YOUTH: Life’s too short.
1st YOUTH: ‘is is.
JOHN HAS HIS BACK TO US. HE TAKES SOME GLASSES FROM HIS POCKET & IS ABOUT TO PUT THEM ON.
1st YOUTH: He’s putting specs on.
2nd YOUTH: The oldest gag in the book.
1st YOUTH: Like that’ll save him.
ALL YOUTHS: Let’s do ‘im.
JOHN PUTS GLASSES ON. (WHENEVER HE PUTS SPECS ON WE NEVER SEE HIS FACE.)
LX CHANGE.
MUSIC.
AND IT’S AS IF A STORM IS BLOWING UP, DARK AND VIOLENT. THE DEBRIS OF THE STREETS IS WHIPPED UP IN A WHIRLWIND AND THE MUGGERS ARE ENCASED IN PLASTIC SHEETING. ONE CAN’T TELL IF THEY’RE STRUGGLING TO FREE THEMSELVES OR WRAPPING IT ROUND THEM FOR PROTECTION.
CHORUS: There’s a storm brewing
A force 10 blowing
A wind of change howling
Moaning, sighing, stinging, growling