The Original of Jaques

 

                                            IN THE DARK, sounds of birds in a forest. LIGHTS UP on

                                                two men in hempen homespun garb, Elizabethan c.1590.

                                                WILL, armed with a bow, is moving stealthily into a clearing.

                                                JACK follows, feet sore but eyes alert, stalking a place to rest.

                                                WILL speaks in a hushed undertone as he takes up position

                                                to await his quarry.

 

WILL:

This green’s a place where we can find a deer.

I’ve often come upon them gathered here.

They come to take a drink from yonder brook.

Thirst drives them, they’ve no choice. Last year I took

A great six-pointed stag with just one shot.

He never knew what hit him, poor old sot.

 

                                                A pause as WILL looks for deer. JACK heaves a sigh.

                                               

My Lord of Melancholy sighs, Alack!

You’re keeping awfully quiet, aren’t you, Jack?

What, do you lack for words my silent friend?

 

JACK:

Ah, Will! You talk enough for twenty men.

 

WILL:

I’d play to thousands, if they would but listen!

But the stage is yours, now: Speak, Tragedian!

Recite your text. This rustic comic’s done.

Pray impart unto your audience of one.

 

JACK: (plainly)

I’ve no heart for shooting any buck.

 

WILL:

You lack the heart to shoot a hart? But there’s no lack

Of game here. Why should good men go hungry

Amidst plentitude? God’s blood, it makes me angry

To think our children don’t have food to eat

When there’s enough to feed our families meat

For weeks, from foraging (or poaching, call it)

A single summer’s eve in Charlecote,

With old Sir Thomas Lucy never the wiser.

He sends too few to catch us, the old miser.

An’ if they did, could they begrudge us food

When deer are so abundant in this wood?

 

JACK:

They work for he who swears they’ll pay the price

Who poach upon his lands. You cast the dice,

Yet you’re not gaming with your life alone

But that of your wife and child.

 

WILL:

Ah! Your poor children.

I’m sorry, Jack. How thoughtless I have been.

You’ve had to worry more about them, since—

 

                                                JACK shifts. WILL stops. JACK blinks, fighting back tears.

 

JACK:

It’s not your words alone that make me wince.

I’ll not deny, life’s not been worth a damn

For Ham and Judith, since their mother died.

Poor Judith took it hard enough, but Ham

Has ever been the quiet one who’ll hide

His private grief.

 

WILL:

Just like his father.

 

JACK:

I’m sorry, Will. I don’t mean to be a bother.

But what would they do if ought befell me?

 

WILL:

I would take them, then. If that consoles thee.

 

JACK:

You are a good, true friend, Will Shagbeard.

 

                                                WILL doffs his cap. His hair is thinning, and with the growth

                                                on his lip and chin, we recognize the future poet-dramatist.

 

WILL:

Or ‘Lag-Beard,’ Stratford has it now, I’ve heard.

 

JACK: (chuckling)

No, since Anne Hathaway, it’s shag has stuck.

 

WILL:

Ironic. She the first girl I ever—

 

–Was that a crack of twigs? The birds stop singing. Both men look, but see no deer. After a moment, the birds resume, as do the men,

 

JACK:

Does it not disturb you that her fawns shall starve

If we do take their doe?

 

WILL:

We’ll take a buck.

 

JACK:

Will.

 

WILL:

A nice round haunch for you to carve.

Perhaps a pair of them, with any luck.

 

JACK:

Will.

 

WILL:

The lot of us will feast on venison.

 

JACK:

Will you let me speak? I’ll tell you, I—

It bodes no good, to kill a denizon

Of Charlecote—

 

WILL:

Oh poo! I don’t see why.

You fear Sir Thomas Lucy? For a lark,

I’d nail satiric verses to the gate

Of Charlecote itself. This deer park

Is too large for Lucy’s men to wait

Upon the ample herd of horned lords

Who gather here. What, so he is a friend

Of Walsingham, and all of that. Towards

Such ‘gentlemen’—

 

JACK:

But Will, we do offend,

We do usurp, as much as Thomas Lucy,

Lord Walsingham and all the rest. You speak

Of deer as ‘horned lords.’ Why then, you see

That Nature is its own domain. Why seek

To trespass here? Let’s leave the wood unto

The deer.

 

WILL:

Hm… You speak as if there were

Domains of animals and men, but you

Are making false division. Men rule where’er

Our footprints do appear. That is the way

The Good Lord has arranged our mortal sphere,

With all his creatures, great and small, the prey

To one above them.

 

JACK:

So I fear.

 

WILL:

Predating likewise on the weaker kind

With Man atop a Chain of Being, just

As falcons rule o’er pigeons, wolves oe’r hind

As God himself is set to rule oe’er us.

 

JACK:

You read oe’r much in a great man’s library,

And think thereby to keep pace with the wolves.

A great man you may be one day, but nary

A bloke in Stratford prefers hawks to doves.

 

WILL:

The metaphor’s astray. It’s not as if

I’ve no respect for animals. I swear,

When father’s trade forced me to put the knife

To some poor kid so some rich gent could wear

A better grade of gloves, it grieved my soul.

I used to make a little funeral speech.

 

JACK:

“An ass is good as deaf when bells do toll,”

My grandam always said.

 

WILL:

Mine, too! To teach

Some lesson, though I’m sure I don’t know what.

Though I respect the natural world, I just don’t think

That animals are sensible, that’s all.

 

 

JACK:

No more than men are.

 

                                                There’s a distinct crack of twigs. The birds have stopped again,

                                                but the men, deep in the dialogue, do not heed it. They resume.

 

JACK:

Once, long ago, when I still thought like you,
I chanced to come to rest under an oak

Whose ancient roots drank deep upon the bank

Of this same stream where we do tarry now.

A stag burst forth from underneath the brush

Upon the other bank, an arrow in his breast.

Great sighs he heaved, and though he saw me there,

He lay down on the ground to catch his breath.

Before his armed pursuers could catch up

With him, and bring him to that final sigh

We make on earth, that men call expiration.

So close was I that I could see the tears

He wept. Nay, do not laugh. Tears such as you

Or I would weep were we to find ourselves

Alone, an arrow in our breast, no help

In sight.

 

WILL:

               You made a moral of this, did you?

 

JACK:

A thousand metaphors. The needless stream

Of tears that we call life, it did not need

This augmentation. Leave it to itself.

It will become a Thames of tragedies,

Enough to fill a folio, full up.

This one poor deer, was a testament

To all that sorrow. And there I stood,

The only witness to this testament,
No friends else to stand venireman

To this injustice.

 

                                                Another beat of silence. There are no birds. They’ll not come back.

 

WILL:

My friend, you suck the joy out of a hunt

The way a varmint robs a bird’s nest.

JACK:

Compact of jars, I cannot sing the tune

That you would hear. I fear I am a motley fool

Whose leaden entertainment falls on ears

That would hear better japes to make them laugh

Than jibes to make them op’ their minds and think.

What are you laughing at?

 

WILL:

I smiled perhaps.

I cannot help it. Oh, the image oddly suits:

My Lord of Melancholy as a Jackanapes.

 

JACK:

At best, most men are merely fortune’s fools,
We stumble on, we mouth with sound and fury,

We stumble off the stage again.

 

WILL:

A fool?

Nay, I’d sooner play the lover’s role.

 

                                                WILL turns his back, hugs himself, and makes kissing sounds.

JACK:

The lunatic, mad poet, better suits you.

 

                                                WILL turns around, facing JACK, and regards his friend.

 

WILL:

And you, an honest courtier, sage councilor.

If I should e’er turn poet, I would pen

Just such a featured role for you, my friend.

 

JACK:

Will you be heading back to London, then,

To try your hand at acting once again?

 

WILL:

It’s hard to get your foot in at the door.

London’s mobbed with actors. I did no more

Than hold the patron’s horses at the gate.

 

 

JACK:

Perhaps your destiny is poet, Will.

You even prate in blank verse.

 

WILL:

Not until

A provident God sees fit to make it so.

 

VOICE: (off)

I found the poachers! Over here! What ho!

                                                WILL and JACK look offstage, toward to source of VOICES OFF.

 

JACK:

The Providence of God has spoken, man.

And us here on the bottom of that Chain

You spoke of.

 

VOICE: (off)

What ho, I say! Come quick!

 

                        WILL moves about, fending off panic. JACK remains calm.

 

WILL:

In Lucy livery! They bear pikes.

 

JACK:

Sir Thomas Lucy’s men. One’s got a crossbow.

A couple of recusants, Heaven knows

What they’ll do when they catch us.

 

WILL:

That’s nonsense!

Make for the gate, or else we’ll hop the fence.

 

JACK:

It’s too late, Will.

 

WILL:

It’s not. Make for the gate.

 

VOICE: (off)

Will you come on?

 

WILL:

Why do you hesitate?

JACK:

If I stay here, they’ll stop to take me in.

I’ll take my meals in Lucy’s dungeon.

By all deserts, I’ll not ‘scape being flogged.

But you, you’ll get off clean.

 

VOICE: (off)

                                                Hey, bring the dogs~

 

WILL:

No! You and I, we’ll meet up at that tavern.

You know it well, just down the road in Malvern.

I’ll stand you for a cup or two of sack.

We’ll have a laugh, we two. We’ll toast our luck.

The sign’s the Prancing Stag. You know the one.

 

JACK:

You run. I’ll hold them off for you. I’m done.

 

WILL:

Don’t be a fool!

 

VOICE: (off)

     I’ve got one in my sights!

 

JACK:

You’d better run. They’ve got me dead to rights.

 

                                                We hear the twang of a bow, the whistle of a missile

                                                and the sickening thunk of an arrow as it catches JACK.

                                                He turns, and we see it square between his shoulder blades,

                                                a mortal wound.

 

WILL:

Oh God, Jack! No!

 

VOICE: (off)

     I got one! I got one!

 

JACK:

Don’t be a fool, Will. Run, man, run!

Don’t stop till you get to London –or beyond.

Send money for my children. Go! Begone!

 

VOICE (off)

My bow is broken. Hurry! The other will escape!

 

JACK:

Go, Will, go. Don’t be a Jackanapes.

 

WILL:

No.

 

JACK:

Remember me. Report my cause aright.

Adjust the facts to suit your story. As You Like.

Or What You Will. God bless you, Will, my lad.

You know, young poet, you’re not half-bad.

An’ you should ever write of me, say this:

A poet of a sort your friend Jack was. Jack… is.

 

                                                This last comes out garbled, with the blood rising in his gorge,

                                                sounding more like “Jaques.” It is the last word he speaks.

                                                WILL cradles him a moment, then lets him gently but quickly

                                                 so the ground, then stands. He hesitates only a moment longer.

 

VOICE: (off)

He’s getting away! He’s getting away!

 

 

WILL:

I’ll live to put this right somehow. Someday.

 

                                                WILL exits, leaving the body. We hear the bayings of hounds.

 

 

                                                END OF PLAY.

WIN: a play for radio

 

Win

a play

for radio

 

by

Tim West

 

 

 

 

Win

 

a play

for radio

 

SCENE 1. Parker Pottery, small, struggling studio/shop for the ceramic arts.

Time is just before noon, any day of the week.

 

(SFX of DOOR OPENING)

(SFX of SHOPBELL)

(SFX of DOOR CLOSING)

 

ELLEN: (away from mike) Good morning!

 

MRS. KRUGER: So you say.

 

(SFX of FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING)

 

ELLEN: Can I help you?

 

MRS. KRUGER: Restroom for the boy.

 

WINSLOW: I gotta go now.

 

MRS. KRUGER: You have a public restroom, I suppose.

 

ELLEN: State law requires it if you serve food and beverage.

 

MRS. KRUGER: Well, where is it?

 

ELLEN: In the back. To the right.

 

MRS. KRUGER: Go on, then.

 

WINSLOW: What?

 

MRS. KRUGER: Use the poddy.

 

WINSLOW: Where is it?

 

MRS. KRUGER: Well? Where is it?

 

ELLEN: Back and to the right. It’s marked.

 

MRS. KRUGER: The boy can’t read.

 

ELLEN: Oh. Come on, then. I’ll show you.

 

WINSLOW: Okay.

 

(SFX of FOOTSTEPS TRAVELLING)

 

ELLEN: What’s your name?

 

WINSLOW: Winslow.

 

ELLEN: Winslow. What a nice name.

 

WINSLOW: You’re a nice lady. You can call me Win.

 

ELLEN: Restroom’s in here, Win.

 

WINSLOW: Thank you.

 

(SFX of DOOR OPENING and CLOSING)

(SFX of FOOTSEPS APPROACHING)

 

MRS. KRUGER: He might need me. He manages the toilet alright but doesn’t always manage to button up after. He’s… you know. Not quite right in the head.

 

ELLEN: Oh. I didn’t notice. He just seemed a little shy.

 

MRS. KRUGER: “Shy!” He’s got autism!

 

ELLEN: Oh, I…

 

MRS. KRUGER: I think it’s autism, anyway. What do doctors know. Something odd about that boy, anyway. Very odd.

 

ELLEN: That must be difficult. Are you— Do you—

 

MRS. KRUGER: Well? Spit it out.

 

(ELLEN laughs nervously)

 

ELLEN:Would you care for a cup of coffee? On the house?

 

MRS. KRUGER: Coffee? You serve coffee?

 

ELLEN: We’re trying light food and beverage. To increase the foot traffic.

 

MRS. KRUGER: On the house? Yeah, alright. I’ll take a cup.

 

ELLEN: Coming right up.

 

(SFX of LIQUID POURING)

 

ELLEN: Please, have a seat.

 

(SFX of CHAIR DRAGGED ON FLOOR)

 

MRS. KRUGER: I thought this was a pottery shop.

 

ELLEN: It is. We make and sell ceramics. People rent space. Mostly evenings.

 

(SFX of CUP RATTLING IN SAUCER)

 

MRS. KRUGER: Yeah, I see your little flyer here.

 

(SFX of PAPER RUSTLING)

 

MRS. KRUGER: “Let art put magic in your life.” Magic. Right. They do this at night?

 

ELLEN: You know. People work during the day. My husband thought maybe coffee and muffins would bring in more people, daytimes.

 

MRS. KRUGER: Oh, I get it. It’s a marketing gimmick. “Feed your soul.” More like ‘Buy my stuff. My art!’

 

(MRS. KRUGER scoffs)

 

(SFX of PAPER RUSTLING)

(SFX of CUP SET ON TABLETOP)

 

ELLEN: Here you are. How do you take it?

 

MRS. KRUGER: Cream, no sugar. Unless you have Sucra— Oh, powdered creamer? Never mind.

 

ELLEN: Sorry, that’s the best we can do until we get a refrigerator. My husband’s out now, looking at a used one he found in the—

 

(SFX of CUP CLANKING ROUGHLY ON TABLE)

(SFX of CHAIR PUSHED BACK ABRUPTLY)

 

MRS. KRUGER: Winslow, you done in there?

 

(SFX OF FOOTSTEPS TRAVELLING)

(SFX of POUNDING ON DOOR)

 

MRS. KRUGER: Winslow! I said, Are you done in there?

 

(SFX of TOILET FLUSHING, muffled)

(SFX of DOOR OPENING)

 

WINSLOW: Yes.

 

MRS. KRUGER: “Yes, ma’am.” Wash your hands.

 

(SFX of FAUCET, then RUNNING WATER)

 

MRS. KRUGER: Close the door!

 

(SFX of DOOR CLOSING)

(CUT SFX of WATER RUNNING)

 

MRS. KRUGER: You have to tell him everything.

 

ELLEN: It must be very difficult, being the mother of a special needs child.

 

MRS. KRUGER: Oh, he’s not mine. I mean, I’m not his mother. I’m in foster care.

 

ELLEN: I see.

 

MRS. KRUGER: County pays pretty well for it, if you got room for kids. I got room.

 

ELLEN: How nice for you.

 

MRS. KRUGER: Basement, converted garage. I get paid for referrals. I got a application.

 

(SFX of PAPER RUSTLING)

 

MRS. KRUGER: Winslow, though. He’ll likely go back to County. Don’t think he’ll get adopted. “Special needs.” Pain in the—

 

(SFX of DOOR OPENING)

 

MRS. KRUGER: Buttons! Do up your buttons, Winslow.

 

WINSLOW: I did… I did my buttons.

 

MRS. KRUGER: Then tuck in your shirt-tail! We gotta get a move on. I’ve got a meeting with a man from the County. He’s on my case. What time is it?

 

ELLEN: Almost noon.

 

MRS. KRUGER: Noon! Oh, great. The appointment’s for 12:30, and getting this one from one place to another—

 

ELLEN: You know… uh, we’ve got… a class, yes …a special class for kids starting at…at twelve o’clock. If you’d like to leave Winslow here, he’s welcome to join us.

 

MRS. KRUGER: “Special class,” huh? Oh, I get it. Free coffee, then you try to sell me on pottery classes for a retard.

 

ELLEN: He’s standing right he— um… No. No, there’s charge. We offer free classes. Yes, as part of our… uh, educational outreach program.

 

MRS. KRUGER: Free classes?

 

ELLEN: It’s called… er… POTTERY! Yes. Personal… Opportunity To Teach… and Educate… and Recreate… er, Youths.

 

MRS. KRUGER: That’s the name?

 

ELLEN: We’re still working on it. It’s very new.

 

MRS. KRUGER: Well, I don’t care what you call it if it’s free and it gets Winslow here off my hands for an afternoon. These County people can be difficult to deal with, if you get some do-gooder that’s into a lot of rules and regulations.

 

ELLEN: How long do you need?

 

MRS. KRUGER: They said set aside two hours, but I was going to hit a couple other places downtown. Could I come back, say, four –four-thirty?

 

ELLEN: Sure.

 

MRS. KRUGER: Maybe closer to five.

 

ELLEN: Take as long as you need.

 

MRS. KRUGER: Winslow, this nice lady’s going to take care of you for the afternoon. You be good and don’t give her any trouble. You hear?

 

WINSLOW: Yes, Mrs. Kruger.

 

(SFX of FOOTSTEPS TRAVELLING, DOUBLE-TIME)

 

ELLEN: Well, Mrs. Kruger, I’m so glad to have met you. Don’t worry about the time. I’ll take care of Winslow until you get back.

 

(SFX of DOOR OPENING)

(SFX of SHOPBELL)

 

MRS. KRUGER: Well, that’s great, Miss…?

 

ELLEN: Parker. Ellen Parker. Parker Pottery. It’s right there on the sign.

 

MRS. KRUGER: Sign?

 

ELLEN: The sign outside. Just above the doorway

 

(SFX of THREE QUICK STEPS)

 

ELLEN: See you at five. Bye-bye!

 

(SFX of SHOPBELL)

(SFX of DOOR CLOSING)

 

MRS. KRUGER: (muffled, unintelligible) !

 

(SFX of MUFFLED FOOTEPS RECEDING)

 

(ELLEN sighs heavily)

 

ELLEN: Unreal!

 

(SFX OF THREE SLOW FOOTSTEPS)

 

So… Win. Would you like a muffin?

 

END OF SCENE 1.

 

(MUSIC)

 

SCENE 2. Parker Pottery, later that afternoon

 

(MUSIC FADES)

 

(SFX of A POTTER’S WHEEL: A slight scraping, with two or three tones,

repeated to suggest circular motion. CONINUOUS UNDER DIALOGUE)

 

WINSLOW: What makes the potty wheel turn?

 

ELLEN: “Pottery wheel.” There’s a pedal down here, like the one you have on a bicycle.

 

WINSLOW: Some kids don’t have a bicycle. I’m too small reach the pedals

 

ELLEN: Well, I’ll do this one for you, just for now, until you’re big enough. We could use the electric wheel.

 

WINSLOW: Eclectric?

 

(SFX of POTTERY WHEEL SLOWS and STOPS)

 

ELLEN: Electric. You know, with a motor, like a machine.

 

(SFX of CHAIR PUSHED BACK)

(SFX of FOOTSTEPS RECEDING)

 

ELLEN: (away from mike) This one here

 

(SFX of A SWITCH)

(SFX of ELECTRIC MOTOR)

(SFX of POTTER’S WHEEL, as before)

 

WINSLOW: Wow.

 

(SFX of SWITCH)

(SFX of ELECTRIC MOTOR DIES OUT)

(SFX of POTTER’S WHEEL DIES OUT)

 

ELLEN: When you’re ready. But you start out with this one.

 

(SFX of FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING)

 

WINSLOW: I do?

 

(SFX of CHAIR DRAWN UP)

 

ELLEN: Everybody does. When they’re learning. I did, when I was about your age. My grandmother taught me. She was really good. Famous, in fact. As famous as you get, playing with clay. Lookey here.

 

(SFX of A POTTER’S WHEEL, as before, CONINUOUS UNDER DIALOGUE.

 

See? You spin the wheel, the wheel turns the clay. Then you shape it with your hands.

 

(SFX of HANDS SQUISHING INTO WET CLAY)

 

WINSLOW: Is that how you made all those?

 

ELLEN: Hmm?

 

(SFX of POTTERY WHEEL SLOWS and STOPS)

 

WINSLOW: Those up there. On the shelf. Did you make them?

 

ELLEN: Oh, I made some of them. Tom made some. That’s my husband. Some are from…

 

WINSLOW: Who?

 

ELLEN: You know, other people.

 

WINSLOW: Can you teach me how to do something like that?

 

ELLEN: Like those? Sure, I can teach you. Are you ready to try?

 

(SFX of DOOR OPENING

(SFX of SHOPBELL)

 

WINSLOW: Oh no. Is it five already?

 

ELLEN: No, it’s only— It’s okay, Winslow. That’s my husband. That’s Tom.

 

(SFX of SHOPBELL)

(SFX of DOOR CLOSING)

 

TOM: Hi, honey!

 

(SFX of CHAIR PUSHED BACK)

 

ELLEN: Tom! Ah-ah-ah: Clay on my hands!

 

TOM: I’m wearing overalls.

 

(ELLEN laughs)

 

(SFX of AFFECIONATE KISS)

 

TOM: Well, what have we here? Or should I say, who?

 

ELLEN: Tom, this is Winslow. Winslow, this is Mr. Parker.

 

WINSLOW: Hello.

 

TOM: Well, Winslow. It’s always a pleasure to meet a fellow student of the ceramic arts.

 

WINSLOW: You’re a student?

 

TOM: Well, we’re all learning, aren’t we? Let me tell you, I learned a thing or too about refrigerators today.

 

ELLEN: Did you get one?

 

TOM: In the pick-up.

 

ELLEN: Oh, honey!

 

TOM: Hey! Clay hands!

 

ELLEN: C’mere!

 

(SFX of LONGER, MORE AFFECTIONATE KISS)

 

TOM: Aw, it’s only a mini-fridge.

 

(SFX of A VERY QUICK AFFECTIONATE KISS)

 

(TOM laughs)

 

TOM: But that’ll do for now. We’ll look at it later. After Winslow’s gone home.

 

ELLEN: Well, Winslow is here with us all afternoon.

 

TOM: Oh?

 

ELLEN: Yes. His foster mother dropped him off. She had a meeting with the County.

 

TOM: The County?

 

ELLEN: Yes. I… eh, escue-rayed im-hay.

 

TOM: Hm?

 

ELLEN: Ig-pay atin-lay. Inslow-way’s oster-fay other-may is-yay a-ya eal-ray itch-b—

 

WINSLOW: Pig Latin! I-yay eak-spay it-yay –eal-ray ood-gay! She said, “Rescued from Mrs. Kruger.” She’s a foster mother. For kids who don’t have a real mother anymore.

 

ELLEN: You would not believe it. This woman was unreal, Tom. I put in a call while Winslow had some instant cocoa and a muffin. The County said they’d be sending someone before five. Apparently, I’m not the first who called them.

 

TOM: Sounds like you two have had an interesting day.

 

WINSLOW: Mrs. Parker showed me how she makes pottery.

 

(SFX of CHAIR DRAWN UP)

 

TOM: She’s good, isn’t she.

 

WINSLOW: Yep. She’s good. You’re a student, too?

 

TOM: Well, yes. Yes, I am. Good with my hands, but I’d never made so much as a pinch-pot before I met Ellen. And I still have trouble with those. That one up there is the first thing I ever turned on a wheel.

 

WINSLOW: That one there?

 

TOM: Hm? Oh, no. The kind of lumpy thing next to that one.

 

WINSLOW: Did you make that one?

 

ELLEN: Me? Oh, no. I’m not nearly that… that good.

 

TOM: That, Winslow, was made by Ellen’s grandmother, who was a famous artist. That piece should be in a museum.

 

ELLEN: Not for a million dollars. That was the last thing she turned. I watched her make it. When I was about your age, Winslow. She was the one who taught me.

 

WINSLOW: It’s different from the others.

 

ELLEN: It doesn’t have a glaze. After you finish turning something on the wheel, you fire it. Then you glaze it. Only this one never got a glaze. It’s fired, but… but unfinished.

 

WINSLOW: She’s beautiful. Isn’t she.

 

(ELLEN laughs nervously)

 

ELLEN: It is beautiful. Tom, would you…?

 

TOM: Get ‘er down from there? Sure.

 

(SFX of CHAIR DRAGGED ACROSS FLOOR)

 

(TOM grunts with effort)

 

TOM: (away from mike) She doesn’t belong up here with this journeyman work, anyway.

 

(TOM grunts with effort)

 

TOM: (back into mike) This should be in our front window. It’s a museum piece!

 

ELLEN: It’s… it’s unfinished. It doesn’t mean anything to anyone but me.

 

WINSLOW: I like it. It’s special. It sings.

 

(ELLEN laughs nervously)

 

ELLEN: It… it sings?

 

(SFX of FOOTSEPS RECEDING)

 

TOM: (away from mike) On the electric wheel. That’d be a great window display.

 

(SFX of HOLLOW URN SET ON METAL)

 

ELLEN: Careful.

 

(SFX of FOOTSEPS APPROACHING)

 

TOM: (back into mike) Yeah, I see what you mean, Winslow. That’s a good way of putting it. If a pot could talk, the stories that one would tell.

 

WINSLOW: Sing. It sings the story.

 

(TOM laughs)

 

TOM: What an imaginative little boy!

 

ELLEN: He’s— He’s, uh…

 

WINSLOW: Odd. Mrs. Kruger says I’m odd. She doesn’t understand.

 

ELLEN: No. No, Winslow, she doesn’t. Tom, could I talk to you?

 

TOM: Sure, hon. What’s up?

 

ELLEN: Let’s… let’s step outside for a moment.

 

(SFX of FOOTSTEPS RECEDING)

 

ELLEN: (away from mike) We’ll be right back, Win.

 

(SFX of DOOR OPENING.

(SFX of SHOPBELL)

 

ELLEN: (away from mike) Why don’t you show Tom how fast you learned to makea pinch-pot. You know, like I showed you before.

 

WINSLOW: Okay.

 

ELLEN: We’ll be right outside. Tom?

 

TOM: Right behind you.

 

(SFX of SHOPBELL)

(SFX of DOOR CLOSING)

 

(Pause)

( SFX of CHAIR PUSHED BACK)

(SFX of FOOTSTEPS, TRAVELLING)

 

WINSLOW: (whispering, into mike) You’re beautiful.

 

(SFX of HOLLOW URN ON METAL)

 

WINSLOW: (whispering, into mike) But I don’t think she’s heard you sing.

 

(SFX of HOLLOW URN ON METAL)

(SFX of A SWITCH)

(SFX of ELECTRIC MOTOR)

(SFX of POTTER’s WHEEL)

(SFX of SANDPAPER ON SANDPAPER)

 

(GRANDMOTHER, humming a tune)

 

GRANDMOTHER: Why, hello child. I’ve been waiting for you.

 

(SFX of DOOR OPENING)

(SFX of SHOPBELL)

 

ELLEN: Winslow! What are you doing!?

 

(ALL SFX OUT)

                                   

END OF SCENE 2.

 

ANNOUNCER: We’ll rejoin our story in just a moment, but first this brief word from our sponsor.

 

(SFX of CUP SET DOWN HEAVILY IN SAUCER)

 

MAN: Blech!

 

WOMAN: What’s wrong?

 

MAN: Nothing, honey.

 

WOMAN: It’s my coffee, isn’t it.

 

MAN: What?

 

WOMAN: Admit it.

 

MAN: No! I mean, Your coffee’s good. –I mean, your coffee’s great! –I mean… your coffee is the best! I, I, I love your coffee! I want to marry your coffee! I just I couldn’t be happier with… with your coffee.

 

WOMAN: Then what?

 

MAN: It’s… It’s this sweetener. What is this? Equalose? Succraline? Tevia?

 

WOMAN: That’s a character from Fiddler.

 

MAN: Well, I don’t know!

 

(SFX of KITCHEN CABINET CREAKING OPEN)

 

MAN: I like sugar.

 

(SFX of 4-6 BOXES TUMBLING ON COUNTERTOP)

 

MAN: Just plain sugar.

 

(SFX of 6-10 BOXES TUMBING ON COUNTERTOP)

 

MAN: Don’t we have any sugar?

 

WOMAN: We’re trying to cut down. Put that stuff back!

 

MAN: Couldn’t we use honey?

 

(SFX of SQUEEZE BOTTLE SPURTING VISCOUS LIQUID)

 

WOMAN: It’s not really any healthier, chemically speaking. Clean that up!

 

MAN: Chemicals.

 

(SFX of CUP RATTLING IN SAUCER)

 

MAN: That’s what this stuff tastes like. It just spoils the taste of… of your swell coffee.

 

WOMAN: Here, try this.

 

(SFX of LIQUID POURING)

(SFX of CUP RATTLING IN SAUCER)

(MAN slurps liquid)

 

MAN: Hey, that’s not bad. I mean… What is it?

 

WOMAN: It’s coffee, Bob. Just… black… coffee.

 

MAN: Really? Then, no lie: Your coffee’s alright!

 

(MAN laughs heartily)

(WOMAN laughs heartily)

 

MAN: Hey, do we got any creamer?

 

(SFX of CUP RATTLING IN SAUCER)

(SFX of LIQUID SPLATTERING)

 

ANNOUNCER: Cremoron.

 

(SFX of CUP SHATTERING)

 

ANNOUNCER: The tasteless non-dairy creamer.

 

(SFX of SQUEEZE BOTTLE SPURTING VISCOUS LIQUID)

 

WOMAN: (away from mike) You clean that up!

 

ANNOUNCER: It’s nothing to complain about.

 

(HARP PLINK)

 

ANNOUNCER: And now, back to our story. Ellen Parker and her husband Tom have encountered a little boy named Winslow, a ward of the County whose putative guardian, Mrs. Kruger, has parked him in Parker Pottery for the day.

 

SCENE 3. Parker Pottery, moments later.

 

(SFX OF ELECTRIC MOTOR)

(SFX of POTTER’S WHEEL)

 

ANNOUNCER: Winslow has taken an interest in one particular piece of pottery.

 

(SFX of SHOPBELL)

(SFX of DOOR CLOSING)

 

ELLEN: Winslow, you mustn’t touch that. That belonged to my grandmother.

 

(SFX of FOOTSTEPS TRAVELLING)

(SFX of SWITCH

(SFX of ELECTRIC MOTOR SLOWS and STOPS)

(SFX of POTTER’s WHEEL SLOWS and STOPS)

 

WINSLOW: Okay.

 

ELLEN: It’s very special to me.

 

WINSLOW: I know.

 

(SFX of DOOR OPENING)

(SFX of SHOPBELL)

(SFX of DOOR CLOSING)

 

TOM: (away from mike) Ellen? What’s wrong.

 

ELLEN: It’s alright. Win was just taking a look at my grandmother’s…  at grandmother’s—

 

WINSLOW: I wasn’t looking, I was listening.

 

(SFX of FOOTSEPS APPROACHING SLOWLY)

 

TOM: Well, listen, sport: This urn is very special to Ellen. You might have broken it.

 

WINSLOW: I’m sorry. I just wanted to hear her sing.

 

TOM: Hear who sing?

 

(SFX of THREE FOOTSTEPS, SHORT AND SLOW)

 

ELLEN: It’s alright, Win. Hear who sing?

 

WINSLOW: Can I show you?

 

TOM: Winslow…

 

ELLEN: No, it’s alright, Tom. Okay, Win. You can show me. Show me what?

 

WINSLOW: I heard it on the radio. Mrs. Kruger doesn’t let kids watch TV. But I have a radio. A little one, I found in a drawer. Sometimes I listen to it.

 

ELLEN: When Mrs. Kruger goes out?

 

WINSLOW: She goes out a lot. One day, I heard them talking about it. On the radio. About how pots can sing.

 

TOM: Winslow, your imagination’s very strong, but I don’t think—

 

ELLEN: No. I heard that. It stuck in my mind. They found that ancient pottery picked up the sound of an ancient workshop. A stylus in clay on the turntable just like the stylus in vinyl on a recording disc.

 

(TOM scoffs)

 

TOM: That’s a hoax. Gotta be.

 

WINSLOW: No, you have to believe.

 

ELLEN: It’s okay, Win. Show me.

 

(SFX of HOLLOW URN SHIFTING ON METAL)

(SFX of A SWITCH)

(SFX of ELECTRIC MOTOR)

SFX of POTTER’S WHEEL)

 

TOM: See, Winslow? Nothing.

 

WINSLOW: You have to use your hands.

 

ELLEN: //You have to use your hands.// It’s what my grandmother always said.   It’s why she liked ceramics. You have to use your hands. Go ahead, Win. It’s okay. Touch it. Use your hands.

 

(SFX of SANDPAPER ON SANDPAPER, CONTINUOUS UNDER DIALOGUE)

 

(GRANDMOTHER humming a tune)

 

GRANDMOTHER: Why, hello child. I’ve been waiting for you.

 

ELLEN: That’s my grandmother’s voice.

 

TOM: I can’t—

 

ELLEN: Shh!

 

YOUNG ELLEN: Hi, Grandma.

 

TOM: What is it?

 

ELLEN: Oh, my!

 

TOM: What.

 

ELLEN: That’s me!

 

GRANDMOTHER: Come sit by me here.

 

(SFX of CHAIR DRAWN UP)

 

ELLEN: I had to be, what, six?

 

TOM: When was this?

 

ELLEN: Just before she died.

 

TOM: Oh.

 

YOUNG ELLEN: How you doing, Grandma?

 

GRANDMOTHER: Oh, I’m tired, child. You know, the medicine makes me weak. But I wanted to see you. I need your help.

 

YOUNG ELLEN: Like this?

 

GRANDMOTHER: Oh, just like I taught you. Use your hands. Don’t be afraid. Just roll up your sleeves and use the two hands God gave you.

 

YOUNG ELLEN: Aw, I’m no good.

 

GANDMOTHER: Don’t say that, dear. I need your help in another way. This work, it needs to be finished.

 

YOUNG ELLEN: Finished?

 

GRANDMOTHER: You know. When the things we make are fired. And then sometimes, there’s a glaze. You know, when we paint them and bake them in the oven.

 

YOUNG ELLEN: Yeah.

 

GRANDMOTHER: I was always good at glazes. That’s what I’m known for.

 

YOUNG ELLEN: You’re famous.

 

GRANDMOTHER: Yes. The famous ceramicist! Recognized, yes. Acknowledged, anyway. But none of that matters now. My work’s not finished, but… we run out of time. We all run out of time. So I need you to finish it for me.

 

YOUNG ELLEN:Are you going to die, Grandma?

GRANDMOTHER: Oh child, we’re all going to die. But before we do, we have to give something to someone else. We have to do that. With all the success I’ve had, I don’t know that I’ve done that. My work isn’t finished. Ellen, I may need you to do that for me. Will you do that for me?

 

ELLEN: Okay.

 

GRANDMOTHER: Promise me?

 

ELLEN: I promise.

 

(A PAUSE, with only SFX CONTINUOUS from before)

 

(GRANDMOTHER humming a tune)

 

GRANDMOTHER: Why, hello child. I’ve been waiting for you… child, I’ve been waiting for you… I’ve been waiting for you… Waiting for you… Waiting for you…

 

(SFX of SWITCH)

(SFX of ELECTRIC MOTOR SLOWS and STOPS)

(SFX of POTTER’s WHEEL SLOWS and STOPS)

 

WINSLOW: That’s it. That’s her song.

 

ELLEN: It’s beautiful. She was… beautiful

 

TOM: I don’t know what to say.

 

(SFX of A TELEPHONE RING, DISTANT)

 

ELLEN: I don’t know what to say, either.

 

(SFX of 2^nd TELEPHONE RING, DISTANT)

 

WINSLOW: Phone call.

 

TOM: I’ll get that.

 

(SFX of FOOTSEPS, RECEDING)

(SFX of 3^rd TELEPHONE RING)

(SFX of PHONE PICK-UP)

 

TOM: (away from mike) Hello? Uh… Yes, but… She can’t come to the phone right now. This is Mr. Parker. I see. Uh-huh. Oh.

 

ELLEN: (whispering, into mike) Winslow. Who sent you?

 

WINSLOW: (whispering, into mike) Sent me?

 

ELLEN: (whispering, into mike) Did… Did my grandmother send you?

 

WINSLOW: (whispering, into mike) Nobody sent me, Ellen. Something inside you called. Keeps calling… keeps calling.

 

ELLEN: What are you doing?

 

WINSLOW: You know.

 

(SFX of URN SLIDING on METAL)

 

ELLEN: Win, don’t touch that. Winslow, DON’T!

 

(SFX of POTTERY SHATTERING)

 

TOM: (away from mike) Sorry, I have to go.

 

(SFX of PHONE HANGING UP)

( SFX of FOOTSTEPS, DOUBLE TIME)

 

TOM: Ellen, honey, are you…? Oh, no! Your grandmother’s urn. What happened?

 

ELLEN: It’s broken. It’s broken.

 

TOM: Yeah, I can see that. Honey, what– Where’s Winslow?

 

ELLEN: He’s… He’s gone.

 

TOM: Well, it’s the oddest thing. That was the County, calling back. They checked on Mrs… is it Kruger? The woman you called about. Turns out she had, like, six kids under foster care, crammed into her basement, her garage…. She’s at County lock-up now. But they have no record of her housing any boy named Winslow. No record of any Winslow in their system at all.

 

ELLEN: (whispering, away from mike) There is no ‘Win.’

 

(ELLEN laughs heartily)

 

( SFX of PAPER RUSTLING)

 

TOM: Ellen, honey? Did you hear me?

 

(SFX of PENCIL ON PAPER, UNDER DIALOGUE)

 

TOM: Honey, what are you doing?

 

ELLEN: Designing a new flyer.

 

TOM: “Free classes for kids.” Free classes?

 

ELLEN: Our educational outreach program.

 

TOM: “P-O-T-T-E-R-Y. Personal… “

 

ELLEN: Opportunity…

 

TOM: “To… Educate…”

 

ELLEN: …and Re… Create… Youth.

 

(SFX of PENCIL ON PAPER, FLORISH, then OUT)

 

TOM: That’s the name?

 

ELLEN: I’m still working on it. It’s very new.

 

(MUSIC)

 

END OF PLAY.

Two in the Bush

 

I should be very foolish to release the bird I have in my hand to pursue another.   Aesop, “The Nightengale and the Hawk”

 

CHARACTERS:                

NAN, a nature writer, early 30s-late 50s            

ROB, a nature photographer, the same age                     

 

                   LIGHTS UP. ROB and NAN are birders in                         

                   field gear, looking through binoculars.

 

NAN:

Do you see it?

 

ROB:

Not yet.

 

NAN:

You see the large boulder in the middle distance, next to the waterfall?

 

ROB:

Of course.

 

NAN:

And the tree next to it.

 

ROB:

Yes. Is it in the tree?

 

NAN:

No. Behind it. Sight right off the top of it. You’ll see it in the tree line beyond.

 

                   ROB puts down his binoculars.

 

ROB:

I don’t see it. Anywhere. Your sure it’s an eagle? It’s not just a large hawk.

 

                   NAN puts down her binoculars.

 

NAN:

It’s not a hawk, Rob.

 

                   ROB raises his binoculars again.

 

ROB:

I don’t see it.

 

NAN:

Where’s your camera?

 

ROB:

I can’t shoot what I don’t see.

 

NAN:

Not with your camera in its case.

 

                    NAN grabs at the nearby canvas bag.

 

ROB:

Hey!

 

                   ROB puts down his binoculars.

 

NAN:

You’ll miss it. It’ll fly away.

 

ROB:

(loudly) It’s my camera, Nan!

 

NAN:

(quietly) Shh. You’ll spook the eagle.

 

ROB:

If it’s an eagle. I doubt it.

 

                    ROB removes his camera from the bag

                    and fits a telephoto lens to it.

                    NAN looks through her binoculars.

 

NAN:

I don’t see it now.

 

                   ROB sights through the camera, then                           

                   lowers it.

 

ROB:

You can’t photograph what you don’t see.

 

NAN:

It was an eagle.

 

ROB:

Whatever it was.

 

NAN:

It was an eagle.

 

ROB:

Okay.

 

NAN:

It’s gone now.

 

ROB:

I didn’t see it fly away.

 

NAN:

I don’t see it.

 

ROB:

It can’t be gone, Nan.

 

NAN:

I don’t see it.

 

ROB:

It’ll reappear.

 

NAN:

No, it’s gone.

 

                        NAN puts down her binoculars.

 

ROB:

You have to be patient.

 

NAN:

Don’t talk to me about— I did this years before I met you.

 

ROB:

Then you know. It hasn’t disappeared. We just have to wait.

 

NAN:

I’ve got three major magazines interested in this article.

 

 

ROB:

I know.

 

NAN:

But we need pictures.

 

ROB:

And we’ll get them.

 

                        NAN sighs, finds a water bottle and                          

                       drinks. ROB sights through the camera.

 

NAN:

You want some water?

 

ROB:

Naw. Thank you, though.

 

NAN:

You need to hydrate.

 

ROB:

Don’t want to miss the eagle.

 

NAN:

It’s gone, Rob. It’s okay.

 

ROB:

Naw. I’m good.

 

                        NAN takes a drink from the bottle.

 

NAN:

I’m sorry I got—

 

ROB:

It’s okay.

 

NAN:

You don’t have to—

 

ROB:

Shh. Something’s moving.

 

     As NAN raises her binoculars, ROB                                 

                       quickly lowers his camera to drink.

 

NAN:

I don’t see it.

 

ROB:

Over the boulder now.

 

NAN:

I don’t see it.

 

                        ROB sights through his camera.

 

ROB:

Maybe it was the wind.

 

                        NAN lowers her binoculars.

 

NAN:

You’re humoring me.

 

ROB:

I am. But only half the time.

 

NAN:

Half the time?

 

ROB:

More, really. I was humoring you.

 

                        NAN raises, lowers her binoculars.

 

NAN:

You think I don’t know a hawk from an eagle?

 

ROB:

I don’t know how good a look you got of it.

 

NAN:

It was an eagle.

 

ROB:

I believe you.

                        NAN raises her binoculars.

 

NAN:

Three articles I pitched. Me. All you have to do is get us

the pictures.

 

ROB:

You can’t sh—

 

                        NAN holds up a preemptive hand.

 

NAN:

Don’t.

 

ROB:

 

NAN:

Honestly, Rob, would it have hurt you to have your camera out?

 

ROB:

I usually do. But—

 

                   NAN lowers her binoculars, looks at ROB.

 

NAN:

 

ROB:

 

NAN:

That wasn’t my fault.

 

ROB:

I didn’t say anything.

 

NAN:

You thought it.

 

ROB:

I shouldn’t have put the camera where you’d, you know, kick it.

 

NAN:

I didn’t kick it, Rob. I nudged it with my foot. And it… fell.

 

ROB:

Right. That’s all I was thinking. I didn’t want to put my camera where— You know. That might happen again.

 

                        ROB sights through his camera.

 

NAN:

That woman you worked with in Australia. What was her name?

 

ROB:

The Sheila, you mean? Her name was Katherine.

 

NAN:

Was she better than me?

 

                        ROB perhaps reacts subtly, but doesn’t

                        lower the camera.

 

ROB:

Not sure what you mean.

 

NAN:

She was like this big-time Aussie nature writer or something.

 

ROB:

She’d published a couple of nature books, that’s all.

 

NAN:

And there was that woman in Denver. What was her name? With the calendars and the website.

 

ROB:

What about her?

 

NAN:

Are you ever sorry you married me?

 

                        ROB holds his gaze through the lens.

 

ROB:

Some birds mate for life. Some mate seasonally. There’s advantages to both strategies.

 

NAN:

I mean, sorry you married me.

 

                   ROB holds his camera in place, looks at NAN.

 

ROB:

You ever seen a bower bird?

 

NAN:

Not in the wild. I asked you a que—

 

ROB:

The male bower bird goes to absurd lengths to decorate his bower. He’ll drag in leaves, flowers, berries, feathers, shells, pebbles, even coins, broken glass, scraps of fabric, brightly colored candies, shiny pop-tops from beer cans, whatever he can find to decorate the bower and make it attractive for the mate.

 

NAN:

Yeah, I know—

 

ROB:

Then he does a little song and dance to call in prospective mates.

 

NAN:

Rob…

 

ROB:

Then the female bower bird flies in and remakes it. Tears apart his work, and redecorates.

 

NAN:

I know this. So?

 

ROB:

So, it used to bother me that the poor bird worked so hard to please a mate, and then had her come in and re-do all his work. Until I realized that he wasn’t just trying to impress a mate.

He was trying to find one to work with him, who’d work with those materials, who’d see what he was doing and make it better.

 

                   They look at each other for a long moment.

 

NAN:

Bower bird, huh.

 

ROB:

I did a photo-spread on them. This was years ago. Before we were married. The article was terrible. That woman I was working didn’t have your knack for writing.

 

 

NAN:

No?

 

ROB:

 

                   ROB returns to sighting through his camera.

 

Great in the bush, though.

 

                   NAN laughs at this, despite herself.

 

 

NAN:

 

We hear the click and whirr of his camera.

                   NAN raises her binoculars, tracking.

 

Oh my god. Did you get that?

 

ROB:

Both of them. In flight. Above the tree line. You said you wanted a nesting pair.

 

NAN:

A pair of eagles. And you got pictures of them.

 

                        NAN kisses ROB. Then she puts away

                        her water bottle, rises as if to go.

 

I don’t think they were nesting, though.

 

ROB:

No?

 

NAN:

Not the right location. Maybe closer to the lake.

 

ROB:

Might be worth waiting to see.

 

NAN:

The sun’s going down, it’ll get cold soon.

 

 

ROB:

Right. If that is their nest, then they’ll be back.

 

                   NAN starts to say something, then sits.

 

What’ll we do while we’re waiting?

 

                   ROB takes a quick sighting through his

                   camera, then kisses NAN. After a moment,

                   NAN breaks the kiss to ask:

 

How long ago was that article on bower birds?

 

ROB:

Oh, this was years ago. I hardly remember the woman’s name.

 

NAN:

Katherine. What do you think about doing another article?

 

ROB:

On the bower bird? With you? Hmm. We’d have to do some trekking. Australia, New Guinea. Do you think you could sell it?

 

NAN:

“Sitting in the Catbird Seat: Two Bowerbirds Meet Their Match.” Something like that.

 

ROB:

Let’s look into it.

 

                   NAN sees something, raises her binoculars.

 

ROB:

(quietly) Is it them?

 

                   NAN nods excitedly.

 

NAN:

(quietly) Both of them.

 

                   ROB raises his camera and begins shooting.

                   We hear the screetch of an eagle, and

                   another one responding to its call.                         

 

END OF PLAY.