Trad’s Tale
Tradition is a matter of much wider significance….No poet, no artist of any art, has his complete meaning alone. His significance, his appreciation is the appreciation of his relation to the dead poets and artists. You cannot value him alone; you must set him, for contrast and comparison, among the dead.
– T.S Eliot, “Tradition and the Individual Talent,” 100-101
It might be stated as a general formula that the technology of reproduction detaches the reproduced object from the sphere of tradition. By replicating the work many times over, it substitutes a mass existence for a unique existence. And in permitting the reproduction to reach the recipient in his or her own situation, it actualizes that which is reproduced. These two processes lead to a massive upheaval in the domain of objects handed down from the past – a shattering of tradition which is the reverse side of the present crisis and renewal of humanity.
– Walter Benjamin, “The Work of Art in the Age of Technological Reproducibility,” 254
Preface:
The purpose of this unperformable play, in a loose sense, is to fictionally grapple with two distinctly non-fiction theoretical works. The first, T.S Eliot’s “Tradition and the Individual Talent,” argues that tradition is a present and active element in even the most radical, anti-traditional art. All present art, then, conversates with the past, even if that conversation manifests itself as a repudiation. The protagonist of this play – ‘Trad’ –, a loosely personified rendition of Eliot’s ‘Tradition,’ confronts this concept with his ‘Heroic’ (see diagram) encounter with different movements of the avant-garde. This takes place both in terms of form and theme. Different artistic movements have their own unique formative effects on the style of the play. Warner Bros famous cartoon “Duck Amuck” makes for an interesting analogue. Relevant to this process is Eliot’s argument that: “Art never improves, but… the materials of art are never quite the same.” The other work, Walter Benjamin “The Work of Art in the Age of Technological Reproducibility,” becomes relevant towards the end of the play. Among other things, his work posits that technological reproduction of art poses a threat to the very process of tradition. Conclusions with regard to this and the end of the play are generously left to the reader. A somewhat explanatory diagram is provided below. Warning: Relations in diagram may be less strictly adherent than they may appear.
Cast:
DIRECTOR: Rimbaud
TRAD: Protagonist, full name Tradition. Played by Trad (himself). Not given much time to prepare – a rather impromptu performance.
ACT I:
(Curtain opens upon a young man sitting on a –)
YOUNG MAN SITTING ON A:
What? What is –
(– stump outside a small house with a thatched roof. Out of costume, holding script. Looks up. Sees
raised curtain and audience. Looks around wildly, confused and anxious. Italian countryside. Birds chirping, flowers in bloom. Stammers silently, shocked)
STAMMERS SILENTLY, SHOCKED:
(Now muttering somewhat angrily) … said… opening night… Friday… (furiously putting on costume) today… Monday (Frantically runs fingers through hair) …no time… script… (scrambles to hide script)
(Looks up at his name. Realizes –)
REALIZES:
(Shouting offstage) HEY! That’s not – THAT’S NOT my name! My name is – well, one second – my name is –
(Pulls script out of left pocket. Peeks at it quickly, discreetly. Tucks it back into pocket.)
BACK INTO POCKET:
(Confidently now, placing foot on stump) My name is HEROLD! (wait?)
(Furrowed brow, confused. Looks down and checks paper again. Sees real name. Nods head with
newfound apprehension, then distaste. Frowns, almost as if disappointed)
DISAPPOINTED:
(Muttering to himself) Well, there it is. A little heavy-handed, I’ll admit, but alas –
(Straightens up and replants foot on stump)
ON STUMP:
My name is…. HERO!
(Pauses for a moment, waiting, panting from exertion. Looks down at his name, hopefully)
HERO:
AHA! Yes! Yes, confirmed: Hero. My name is Hero and… and …
(Looks frantically about him. Sees the thatched-roof house, the blooming flowers, the singing birds,
the bright blue sky, the haystack. Walks over to haystack and nervously begins to pull out
straws. Looks around again. Lights upon a sheathed sword leaning against the house.
Strides over excitedly to pick it up)
HERO:
(Proudly caressing. Ad-libbing) Ah yes, my trusty sword! Vanquisher of evil, bringer of death, harbinger of destruction, the source of my…. er… my – power, yes, power! For I am Hero, a knight of great renown, famed across the land, powerful, rich and –
(Contemplates humble origins)
HERO:
Or rather – rather a humble country boy living off the land, but one who dreams, ah yes, one who dreams of becoming a knight of great renown, famed across the land, powerful, rich and brave! And so this sword, this sword which – (wait)
(Closely inspects scabbard and reads inscription aloud)
HERO:
“This sword, owned by the evil king on the hill in the castle who killed Hero’s late father, and which therefore acts as a cosmically ironic catalyst for Hero’s revenge, is dubbed ‘A Call to Adventure’”
(Looks at inscription with distaste and disappointment)
HERO:
(Shaking head, muttering to himself) Jesus. Just lazy.
(Sighs deeply, shoulders sagging. Gazes wistfully at the sky, shaking head slowly. Finally pulls
himself together with a heavy sigh. Grasps hilt of sword)
HERO:
(Dramatically unsheathing sword, foot on stump again) O, late ‘Father-Figure,’ hereby equipped with this tragic instrument of your demise, I vow to venture to that castle on the hill and find that evil king and, armed with his very own sword, avenge your death! O, evil king in the castle on the hill, how you will rue the day you killed my father but left your sword leaning against my house which, in an ironic twist of fate surely unforeseen by you, will now serve my purposes, not yours, and which I will soon use to end your evil existence! O how they will sing this gallant tale of Italian bravery for ages to come!
(Suddenly a roaring echo of rapidly-approaching automobilist-revelry is heard in the distance.
Gunshots shatter the pastoral Italian scene. Stifling, black industrial smoke rises through
the trees. Bird-song ceases and submits to the choking guttural chug of oil engines, the wild
whooping, inhuman screams that tear through the air like industrial whistles or the
steam-sirens of freight trains. The air reeks of speed, smoke, sweat, and oil. Hero coughs
and falls off the stump. He recovers, brandishing his sword amidst a cloud of dirty clinging
smoke)
HERO:
(With a hacking cough) Who goes there? I warn thee – ahem – I am armed to the teeth – ahem – and prepared to fight! Show yourself or suffer – ahem – the consequences!
(Laughter emanates from within the cloud of smoke. The muffled metallic creek and clang
of a closing car door makes its way through the smoke. The low animalistic purr of a running engine vibrates the air. The scuff of boots, the mechanic winding twist of a wristwatch, the stench of factory muck. A sharp dark silhouette emerges, surrounded by a ghostly entourage)
THE VOICE:
(Zealous, raw, and demanding) What-did-you-just-say, you antiquated Italian corpse?!
HERO:
(Boldly but wavering, coughing) I said – ahem– that I am – ahem – armed for – ahem – action! And I also said – ahem – show yourself!
THE VOICE:
(Impatiently) Before! Before that! (Muttering off) Goddam relic, oh curse this damned…
HERO:
(Uncertain, confused) Before? I think it was something about avenging my father and establishing myself within the noble canon of Italian tales, but that’s just a loosely paraphrased plot summary….Is that what you’re referring –
(The dark silhouette suddenly materializes as a mustached man in a black suit with
a black bowtie, both covered in factory filth, a pair of leather driving gloves, driving loafers, a shiny wristwatch, a ring of car-keys swinging from his left forefinger, and a Beretta aimed at Hero’s head)
THE MUSTACHED MAN:
(Furiously brandishing the Beretta) YES THAT! TAKE IT BACK! TAKE IT BACK OR FEEL THE INVIGORATING HEAT OF A RAPACIOUS LEAD BULLET BLASTING THROUGH THE BLOOD-FILLED CORPUSCLES OF YOUR BRAIN!
HERO:
(Scared) Wha –? Who –? For – for real? Take back what? The revenge, the canon? Who?
THE MUSTACHED MAN:
(Explosive) YES, YES ALL OF IT! (Restrained now, but still seething) All of it. Yes, all of it.
(Looks around distastefully. Scowls at the thatched cottage, the blue sky, the pastoral scene, the
unsheathed sword.)
THE MUSTACHED MAN:
All of this, in fact. Disgusting, really. A disgrace. You drop your little quest and I will destroy the rest. Leave nothing behind. Annihilate it all into oblivion. Absolutely disgusting. MEN!
(The army materializes from the smoke, dressed similarly to their leader. They salute.)
THE MUSTACHED MAN:
(Gesturing to the pastoral Italian set) Men! Tear this whole thing down! Burn it, break it, I don’t care – just make a corpse of this corpse of a play! And when you’re done erect something new, flashy, carnivorous, invigorating, and violent! Make it fast and make it punchy. Yes! Yes! Fast and punchy I say! (Muttering) Absolute disgrace! Horrifying frankly! A revenge tale! A king in a castle! – is this a joke?! Disgusting affair really –
(Catches sight of Hero cautiously tiptoeing away)
THE MUSTACHED MAN:
(Whirling around and grabbing him) And YOU – you come with ME.
HERO:
(Cautiously taking out script and referencing it) Ah, yes, well see sir, see this here script says really, uh, says really nothing about the set being destroyed, so I think, I think I must be in the wrong place and should, uh, better continue this, uh, this somewhere else if that’s ok with you, uh, sir?
THE MUSTACHED MAN:
(Tearing script out of Hero’s hand) A script you say? (Reading): ‘Hero, played by Tradition’…. blah blah blah … ‘Pastoral Italian scene,’ …blah blah blah…., ‘Call to Adventure’ …. I see, I see…. ‘avenge father’…. ‘become knight’…. blah blah…. ‘happily, ever after’… HAPPILY EVER AFTER?
HERO:
(Surprised, genuinely excited, mostly talking to himself) Oh really? A happy ending, wow, what do you know? I think I could certainly manage that! Oh gosh, I really should’ve read ahead – the things you learn, I mean wow, ok, what a change in mood, what a discover –
THE MUSTACHED MAN:
(Screaming, raw) NO! How DARE y – (Interrupted by a long hacking cough) Excuse me. The answer is no. No happy ending. No plot even. None of this. I will write – in a flurry of ecstatic violent passion– a new play!
HERO:
(Hesitantly, trying to pry script out of hands) No really, sir, it’s ok. I was doing pretty well in the last one, and actually I think I was really getting the hang of it, so I would honestly just prefer to –
(Viciously slapped in the face. Script yanked back)
THE MUSTACHED MAN:
(Trembling with anger, delivering a slap with each ‘no’) NO! NO! NO! (Recomposing, out of breath) Now remind me – You left off where? A Call to Adventure, yes?
HERO:
(Massaging his face) Yes but –
THE MUSTACHED MAN:
(With a look of great benevolence) Very well then. I shall do you this one kindness. I shall not make you restart at the very beginning. Let’s see here.
(Sits down on the stump to rewrite, humming ‘... very beginning, a very good place to start…’ while
Henchmen finish destroying set, burning all wood and textiles in one great big bonfire, throwing the inflammable materials offstage. Mustached Man furiously writes for several minutes, scribbling frantically all over the play, crossing out, writing in, covering the script with violent splashes and blots of black ink)
THE MUSTACHED MAN:
(Handing script back) There. All done. Your new name is Boom-Bang-Pow. Good-bye.
BOOM-BANG-POW:
What? Why? What’s happ –
(Mustached Man and his entourage drive away with a loud purring roar, spewing dust and smoke
behind them)
ACT II:
(Cloudy foggy smoky dusty unclear uncertain unseeing unsensing)
BOOM-BANG-POW:
(Coughing) Hello – ahem – helloooOOOOOOOO
(Smoke fading clearing changing now whirling whirling fog standing night-time empty city street
vibrating humming spewing gasing lamp-posts-light looking seeing glancing no one empty emptying organism-less ambience atmosphere presentless night time)
BOOM-BANG-POW:
Name me who what confusion street where place person thing gone look left right nothing nothing houses no one house nothing signs factory words alone
(Form shape figure showing moving creeping corner lamp post shadow closer face half-lit standing
looking watching speaking words language sounds breath explosive rapturous yearning)
FORM-SHAPE-FIGURE:
You YOU YOU YOU YOU YOU YOU
BOOM-BANG-POW:
Gone gone king sword castle hill here here labyrinth maze streets dark dismal dreary dripping signs streets roads skyscrapers dark skies confusion
FORM-SHAPE-FIGURE:
Plane airplane hull wings body tail pilot propellor metal steel nail engine glass guns moving swirling wings dipping dancing FASTER FASTER loud propellor ENGINE closer 100 feet 50 feet 10 feet 5 feet
AIRPLANE ZERO-FEET:
Whhhhiiirrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
(Streets suddenly explosively rapidly roaringly full busy busting bursting blasting belching
everyone everyone movement motion lanes roads ripping tires crashing noise puff zirrreee ratatatat people cars airplanes skyscrapers bodies touching moving jostling colors bright and burning and seething violent reds purples blues yellows angles sharp and jeering blasting)
FACTORY SMOKESTACK:
puff
puff
puff
puff
puff
GUNSHOT:
Ratatatataratatatataratatatataratatatataratatatata
BOOM-BANG-POW:
Overload nerves blood body stomach heart lungs chest ringing ripping stinging stimulation shock shock shocking shockers ears eyes sight sense touch burning blasted each every any all direction
TRAIN:
chugachugachugachugachugachugachugachugachugachuga
SIREN:
EuEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
CAR:
VROOM VROOM VROOM ZOOOOOO MMMMM
BOOM-BANG-POW:
STOP
STOP
STOP
STOP
STOP
HELP
–– INTERMISSION ––
(The scene collapses. Empty stage except for Boom-Bang-Pow. Director enters from offstage,
hastily throwing on a white robe and a fake white beard. Audience remains in their seats to watch.
THE SEER:
(Whispering urgently ) Are you serious Trad?!?
TRAD:
(Shocked, also whispering) Is that you? I hardly recognized – we only met that once – wait you shouldn’t be here!
THE SEER:
(Whispering angrily, sarcastically) No I shouldn’t, should I?
TRAD:
(Slightly abashed, whispering) Sorry sir, I wasn’t think about – WAIT! (quieting himself down to a whisper again) It’s not like I signed up for this!
THE SEER:
(Slightly abashed, still whispering angrily) Yes well – either way. It doesn't matter now. What’s done is done. You only have two options left.
TRAD:
(Whispering furiously) What does that even mean? What is this?
THE SEER:
(Shrugging his shoulders) Two choices, Trad.
TRAD:
(Relenting) Fine. What are the choices?
THE SEER:
Backward or forward.
TRAD:
(Amazed) You mean I can just leave this thing? Oh, thank god! Backward, vite vite!
THE SEER:
(Surprised but supportive, leaving stage) Well, alright, then – backward you go!
GUNSHOT:
Ratatatataratatatataratatatataratatatataratatatata
AIRPLANE OVERHEAD:
Whhhhiiirr –––
TRAD:
Wait WAIT NO!
THE SEER:
(Impatient) What? This is what you wanted, yes?
TRAD:
(Outraged) Not if it just makes you repeat everything! I mean, why would that even be an option? What’s the point? I mean really? What is the point?
THE SEER:
(Awkwardly) So…uh… forward then? You want forward?
(Trad gesticulates hopelessly. Sadly sits down on floor. Puts head in hands. Pulls on his hair.
Thinks for a minute. Stands)
TRAD:
(Annoyed) Fine. Yes. Forward it is. Let’s just do this.
THE SEER:
(Relieved) Ah, perfect. Good to see you’re feeling it again – thought we had really lost you there for a moment! Whoo! Close call, am I right? Anyway – see that arch?
TRAD:
(Pointing) That one over there?
THE SEER:
Yes.
TRAD:
What about it.
THE SEER:
(Exiting the stage ) Go through it.
––– SCENE III –––
(Trad watches him leave and then walks towards the arch. There is a boom-barrier. A tall
thin man stands beside it inside of what looks like a toll-booth. The man is dressed in a combination of cardboard, newspaper clippings, and several small metallic gadgets)
TRAD:
(Cautiously) Uh, hello sir.
TOLL MAN:
(Genially) Hello.
TRAD:
Uh, yes, hello. What, uh, what exactly is this?
‘
TOLL MAN:
(Not unkindly) I don’t know. I am only in charge of entry. But I have heard some say there is a rather illuminating inscription at the top of the arch.
TRAD:
(A little perplexed ) Oh ok, thank you. (Looking up and reading to himself) ‘Crossing the Threshold’
(Shakes his head. A look again of distaste and disappointment)
TRAD:
Of course. Really should’ve seen it coming. (Turning to Toll Man) Would you like to know what it says?
TOLL MAN:
(Genially) No thank you. I’m not particularly concerned.
TRAD:
Er, right. Anyway – (bracing himself) how, uh, how do I get through?
TOLL MAN:
Oh quite easily really. Just place all of your possessions in this bin for a security screening. Clothes excluded of course.
(Holds out large plastic bin. Trad shrugs with relief and checks pockets. Finds script and puts it
into the bin, but nothing else)
TOLL MAN:
(Finding the script) Ah, unfortunately I can’t let you through with this. Safety hazard. Simply not allowed. Is that going to be an issue?
TRAD:
(Warily) Uh, no I suppose not, but could you perhaps tell me why or –
TOLL MAN:
(Shredding the script) Ah, unfortunately I cannot. Oh, and I almost forgot. You’ll need this.
(Reaches down into the booth and pulls something out. Thinks for a moment and then scribbles
something. Hands it over to Trad)
TRAD:
(Looking at it) A nametag? ‘OOF BOOGAR’? I really would rather not. Surely there is something else –
TOLL MAN:
(Regretfully) Ah, yes, no. There is not. Unfortunately you’ll have to put it on before I can lift the gate. It is the only way. Company policy.
TRAD:
(After slight hesitation, grumbling) Well, can’t be worse in any case.
(Peels off name tag and sticks to shirt. Toll Man lifts the gate and OOF BOOGAR Walks through.)
ACT III:
(Stage disappears. Suddenly sitting in the audience, looking very confused. No one
notices. Empty stage. Still dazed. Audience talks quietly amongst themselves. Still confused. Chatter quickly grows louder and louder. Still confused, disoriented. People stand up. Begin to boo. Begins to riot.)
OOF BOOGAR:
(Looking around helplessly, apologetically) Oofa booga hapa thata kiple! Tykle inju oklap.
(Complete pandemonium breaking out. Full scale riot. Stage is stormed. Chairs broken.
Audience members fighting. Bodies thrown and bruised. Screaming. Shouting. Stage curtains ripped down. People jumping off balcony seating.
OOF BOOGAR:
(Energetically, pleadingly) Ooofa! Oofa! Hapa kiikii yertuh iklo!
(Hears himself speaking. Touches mouth in shock. Eyes wide in comprehension. Looks around
wildly, motioning to those around him)
OOF BOOGAR:
(Pointing to himself) BABA FOPA! BABA FOPA! QUARYE JUKI KI HUU! BABA FOPA!
(Makes eye contact with nearby woman with cropped hair, a long robe, and a hard face. Gestures to
himself, points to his mouth, and shakes his head. Woman nods in comprehension and reaches into her bag. Hands over a typewriter)
OOF BOOGAR:
(Frantically typing) A name is a name of which one would probably say this one is Trad. One could also say not Trad. But many and most of those who were not of the many would say Trad. Some also said that this very same Trad needed to return to that place he had been before. That place which he had been before and which he needed to return to now some would probably call the stage. It was a place which he needed to return because it was a place he had been before and also because he was where he should be now. One was mostly certain that the one whose name some called Trad was someone who needed to be on the stage. Things took place when he was not on the stage that were not so good at least according to some and probably also to many. This was a problem as some and maybe many would say and also the one whose name was Trad would say. But speaking in the way that was not speaking was not a way that was good for getting to the place where one had been before. So one now had to use a thing to make a new way of saying that was not the way of saying from before that had not worked so well for saying. But this new way of saying was not a very good way of saying though some would say it was a better way of saying than the way of saying that was said before this way of saying was said. This way of saying was not a way of saying that would get one to the place where they were before and wanted to be now since this way of saying was a way of saying that said a lot but really said very little in all the saying that it said. Though the one who is this who is doing the saying at this moment is saying something it is not a way of saying that the people to whom the things need to be said will hear in a way that is more than hearing and is something where the thing said is more than a sound and actually a thing said. This way of saying is a way of saying that the one who says now sees is not a way of saying that is a good way of saying now.
(Hands typewriter back to the women, shaking his head. Looks around wildly. Makes eye contact with someone else. A man with a large moustache hands him a typewriter. )
OOF BOOGAR:
THIS MAN
LOST, CONFOUNDED, confused
standing on a shore
riotous turbulent commotive
crashing sea waves
Body waves
baffling bursting busting
Cursing crowing
LOOKING TOWARDS THAT SHIP
Searching seeking sighting
that place desolate
alone
Silent centered
SWARMED WITH CREATURES
violent merciless cruel
full of fury
BUT THE PATH
Obstructed
Blocked by bodies
(Hands typewriter back to man, shaking his head. Almost hopeless now. Scanning the room
for help. Sees a man in the next aisle over standing next to a bicycle. Excitedly, hopefully, runs over. Makes eye contact. Points to himself then to the stage then to the bicycle and clasps his hands together pleadingly)
(Man nods his in affirmation. Oof jumps on bike and begins pedaling furiously, frantically.
Bike stays in place. Oof looks around confused, adjusts gears, and begins to peddle again, furiously, frantically. Bike in place. Angry now. Jumps off bike and inspects the wheels. Bike nailed to surfboard)
(Moves away from bike and aggressively tries to push through crowd. No luck. Strangely dressed
woman sees efforts. Walks over. Taps him on shoulder. Turns)
STRANGELY-DRESSED WOMAN:
(Removing clothes and handing them over, smiling) Here, try these on.
(Looks at clothes for a long time. Then back at her. She nods encouragingly. He takes clothes. Puts
on birdcage headdress, a striped dress bedazzled with spoons, bright yellow stockings, and a necklace made of tin-cans. Struts down the aisle towards the stage followed by the now-nude strangely-dressed woman. Audience moving out of the way, shocked and appalled)
PERSON 1:
Oh goodness what is going on!
PERSON 2:
What is he wearing? And she, wearing nothing!
PERSON 3:
This is too much for even me!
PERSON 4:
The riot was fun but this is simply too far!
(Audience settles down to watch the scene. Riot over. Oof finally arrives at the stage. Begins to strip
off clothes, but woman motions for him to stop and keep them. Points to herself and gives a thumb up. Oof nods at her, bowing his thanks. Climbs up on the stage, relieved)
––– SCENE II –––
(A pastoral scene. A field in the middle of a forest. A black and white tiled kitchen floor without a
kitchen. Several cooks hard at work walking around in circles holding catering trays. A small child conducting from atop a large romanesque pillar. A large elephant sitting criss-cross with a party having an animated conversation with a man sitting in a chair facing the opposite direction. A large dining room table with no perceivable end. Four table settings. Thousands of dinner guests milling around)
TRAD:
What is – oh my voice is back! – what is going –
MRS. LADYWOMAN:
(Warmly grabbing him by the arm) Why Hello Mr. Hello Mister! So glad you’re finally here!
MR. HELLO MISTER:
(Apologetically) Sorry for the delay, Mrs. Ladywoman. I dearly hope you’ll forgive my… wait what is going –
MRS. LADYWOMAN:
(Graciously) No worries, my dear, no worries! We’re just glad you could make it all!
(Taking his birdcage hat and hanging it on the goatrack)
MRS. LADYWOMAN:
(Admiringly at the goatrack) Just one of the dandiest little investments, don’t you think? So well-behaved! And my oh my, just how big you’ve grown!
MR. HELLO MISTER:
(Appreciably, blushing) Well it has been so long, just over a week, you know. But really –
MRS. LADYWOMAN:
You are just too right old friend! The years just seem to pass on by! Come, come, your dear old friend Mr. FriendlyMan is just over there by the shoe-heap. He’s ever so anxious to see you!
(Walking together towards the shoe-heap. Mr. FriendlyMan sitting nearby digging through the
shoes. Very intent upon his work. Sees Mr. Hello Mister, looks up)
MR. FRIENDLYMAN
(Warmly, moving to embrace him) MR. HELLO MISTER! Happy Birthday my old friend!
MR. HELLO MISTER:
Birthday – ? – oh yes I suppose yes it is my birthday, I must have forgot or –
MRS. LADYWOMAN:
(Playfully) Forgot! You jokester you, Mr. Hello Mister, this whole party is for you!
MR. HELLO MISTER:
(Confused but pleased) Well, yes, I suppose so now that you mention it. I guess I dozed off a little on the walk over – muddled my poor old memory or something….
MR. FRIENDLYMAN
(Sympathetically) Ah Hello Mister, nothing to worry about. I can’t tell you how frequently I forget these days. In fact (Looking at the small pile of shoes next to the shoeheap) I’ve already forgotten how many shoes I’ve counted. A day’s worth of work! Gone!
(Mr. Hello Mister Looking around at the large crowd. Taking in the scenery. The patch of desert
off to the right. His childhood home to the left. The cotton balloons)
MR. HELLO MISTER:
(Amazed, touched) How did everyone possibly get here!
MRS. LADYWOMAN:
(Practically) Oh well you know, various ways. (Motioning to the hotel) A small number are local of course, (Motioning to the hot airless balloon) quite a few came in the traditional way, (Motioning to a small rowboat in a duck pond) and mostly everyone else came by boat. But you know, Mr. Hello Mister, everyone here would travel any distance to see you. You’ve lived a kind, good life. You are a very popular and loved man.
MR. HELLO MISTER:
(Wiping a tear from his eye) I am touched. It is a pleasure, so late in life, to find so many dear friends. Thank you. Thank you for this.
(Adult voice yelling nearby, impatient but not angry)
MRS. LADYWOMAN:
(Taking off her wig) Oh guys we gotta stop, mom’s calling. We’d better go. Good acting though Tommy. You’re always so good at this.
(Shyly, quickly kisses him on the cheek. Runs off, pigtails flying)
TOMMY:
(Blushing but tears still in his eyes) Wha – who –
MR. FRIENDLYMAN:
(Meanly) Lame Tommy. Tears are for girls. Probably why Jenny liked it.
TOMMY:
(Sadly confused) What? Bobby I wasn’t acting –
BOBBY:
(Cruelly laughing) You mean you were actually crying?! Ha! (Running off, following Jenny) Last one is a rotten egg!
(Tommy looks around, all out of sorts. Adult voice calls again. Looks around one last time and
then starts to run after Jenny and Bobby. Trips. Falls face forward)
––– SCENE III –––
(Wakes up naked except for shoes in large empty landscape. Some sort of desert. White-blue sky.
To the left a checkerboard floor with two men in chairs playing chess on a table. Both dressed head-to-toe in plaid. To the right a facade of an antique store with a sign that says open. Immediately beside it an identical antique store with a sign that says ‘closed.’ Walks towards the open store)
––– :
(Knocking on the door) Hello? Anyone home?
VOICE FROM INSIDE:
(Gruff and muffled but not unkind) Yes, yes. Come in. Enter through the back though please.
––– :
(Graciously) Of course, sure thing. Thank you.
(––– walks around the side of the store. No walls. Only the facade. Lines drawn in the sand stand for walls. Sees inside the store. Piles on piles of antiques and artifacts. Elderly man
standing by the front door. Does not notice ––– standing on the other side of the sand-line. –– shrugs shoulders. Respectfully walks to the back of the store. A standalone door. Nothing around it)
–––:
(Knocking on back door) Hello?
(No reply)
–––:
(Knocking again) Helloooo ?
(No reply. Peeks around side of door. Sees elderly man peeking through peephole at him )
–––:
(Impatient now) Sir! Sir! – I see you behind there! Would you please let me in?
ELDERLY MAN:
(Gruff but not unkind) Read the sign sonny.
–––:
(Impatient now) There is no sig –
(Arm reaches around and sticks sign to front of door)
–––:
(Reading) ‘No name no service’ (Remembering now) Ah, yes, ok, let’s see. Hmm – oh what the hell – my name is Herold, sir.
ELDERLY MAN:
(Opening the door and shaking his hand) Nice to meet you Herold. My name is.
HEROLD:
(Confused, curious) Is what?
ELDERLY MAN:
(Surprised at the question) My name is.
HEROLD:
(Confused, curious) I still don’t follow sir. What is your name?
ELDERLY MAN:
(A little impatiently) I still don’t follow. My name is!
HEROLD:
(A little impatiently now) Ok sure Your name is. But what would you like me to call you?
ELDERLY MAN:
(Simply) Ah. You may call me Jeremy.
HEROLD:
(Relaxing impatiently) Very nice to meet you Jeremy.
JEREMY:
(Kindly) Very nice to meet you too (under his breath) – took long enough. (Gesturing inside) Would you like to come in?
(Herold nodding in affirmation. Follows Jeremy through the piled labyrinth of antiques and
artifacts and trinkets. Mostly worthless. Arrive at a small cluttered desk between two gargantuan piles. Jeremy sits in worn out leather armchair. Motions at Herold to sit. Herold sits)
JEREMY:
(Leaning back, fingertips touching) So. What can I do you for?
HEROLD:
(Pondering) I don’t quite follow? What do you mean?
JEREMY:
(Amused) Everyone comes for something. What’ll it be for you?
HEROLD:
(Cautiously, eager, hopeful) You mean something, like, something to help?
JEREMY:
(Straightforward) If help is what it’ll be.
HEROLD:
(More confidently) Uh – yes. In that case, I’d like to go back. Like all the way back.
JEREMY:
(Intrigued, stroking chin) Back, you say? A curious request, certainly, but possible, very possible. (Thinks for a moment) Yes I can do that. I can bring you back.
HEROLD:
(Suddenly hopeless) Oh, sir, I just realized – I don’t have any money. (Motioning at himself) Or anything at all for that matter.
JEREMY:
(Reassuringly, patting his hand) No worries, no worries. My services are free.
HEROLD:
(Amazed, grateful) Oh – wow – thank you, thank you, uh sir, – I am ever so grateful. (Motioning around) So where is this special item?
JEREMY:
(Remembering something now) Ah. Yes. About that. I’m not actually sure myself. It’ll have to be all you. You’ll have to find it.
(Undeterred, Herold stands. Looks around thoughtfully. Walks through the aisles slowly. Picks up
item after item. A rubber-ducky nailed to a cross. A chair with no legs. A top hat with nails nailed inward. A pair of worn out bowling shoes. A brand new pair of bowling shoes. A cabinet filled with dozens of gold bricks. Hours pass. Herold returns to Jeremy at his desk)
HEROLD:
Are you quite sure it’s here?
JEREMY:
(Nodding confidently) Yes, yes it’s here. (Remembering) Ah. Though it might require multiple objects now that I come to think of it. (Nodding his head) Yes yes. In fact I am quite sure of it.
(Herold, suddenly inspired, leaps from seat and runs out of sight. Returns with a shovel and a
miniature potted bush. Smiles triumphantly. Raises shovel and smashes it down into – )
JEREMY:
(Yelling) WAIT!
(– into the bush and –)
FREIGHT TRAIN:
(Crashing through store facade and knocking over pile after pile) DING DING DING DING DING!!!!
HEROLD:
(Clambering onto train) So sorry for the meeessssssssssss –––––––––––––––
(Train rapidly accelerating out of store)
ACT IV:
(Sitting down in train seat)
TRAD:
(Exhausted but relieved) At last some time to just sit, think and –
FREIGHT TRAIN:
(Pulling into original set, now empty) DING DING DING DING DING!!!!
CONDUCTOR:
(Walking down the aisles) All right folks. You’ve arrived at your destination. Hope you enjoyed your ride on the Shovelbush Freight Train Express. Good night!
(Trad exists train. Train rapidly accelerates out of the set)
TRAD:
(Standing in the empty set) Alone at last – this has been such a –
YOUNG MAN SITTING ON A:
Hey Trad what’s up.
STAMMERS SILENTLY SHOCKED:
Hey Trad what’s up.
BACK IN POCKET:
Hey Trad what’s up.
DISAPPOINTED:
Hey Trad what’s up.
ON STUMP:
Hey Trad what’s up.
HERO:
Hey Trad what’s up.
BOOM-BANG-POW:
Hey Trad what’s up.
TRAD:
Hey Trad what’s up.
OOF BOOGAR:
Hey Trad what’s up.
TRAD:
Hey Trad what’s up.
MR. HELLO MISTER:
Hey Trad what’s up.
TOMMY:
Hey Trad what’s up.
–––:
Hey Trad what’s up.
HEROLD:
Hey Trad what’s up.
TRAD:
Hey Trad what’s up.
TRAD:
(Shocked, stammering) Who are – how did you all – what is going on?
HERO:
Oh. I – we – thought this was relatively, uh, obvious, but uh…
TRAD:
(Confused and embarrassed) Well yes, I mean, obviously you’re all sort of me. I get that. But, uh, where, exactly, did all of you, uh, you know –
YOUNG MAN SITTING ON A:
Where did we all come from? Oh. (Looking at others and sharing a smirk) We sort of thought you would, uh, well – well anyway – I’m a photo.
TRAD:
A what?
YOUNG MAN SITTING ON A:
A photo. The one Eddy took. (Pointing) See? Over there?
(Young man in the front row waves)
TRAD:
Oh well I guess –
STAMMERS SILENTLY SHOCKED:
I’m a photo too. Some nice woman named Nicole took –
EVERYONE SEES:
I’m actually a video! This great guy named –
DISAPPOINTED:
– a video as well, but honestly –
ON STUMP:
– mass produced paperback script of all this, I think his name is –
HERO:
– copy and pasted from earlier on, not too upset about it but I sometimes do wish –
BOOM-BANG-POW:
– a video myself –
TRAD:
– weird guy named… audio recording actually –
OOF BOOGAR:
– juhd odkkj okasdi ijfk –
MR. HELLO MISTER:
– quite nice to think, as a man of my stature, to be visually recorded –
TRAD:
(Yelling over all of them) OK! OK! I get it.
(A shocked, hurt silence)
TRAD:
(Pulling himself under control) Ok. Ok. Sorry. So what are we doing?
YOUNG MAN SITTING ON A:
Oh umm –
STAMMERS SILENTLY SHOCKED:
See actually –
EVERYONE SEES:
So the thing about that is –
DISAPPOINTED:
I don’t mean to be rude but –
TRAD:
OK! OK! (calmly restrained) Just one of you talk. Disappointed. Just you. Tell me what the issue is.
DISAPPOINTED:
(Helplessly looking at others, then sheepishly) Oh well, uh, see the thing is that, uh, all of us are leaving when they leave. So.
TRAD:
(Playing it off) Ah. I see. So then, uh, what happens to me?
(Audience begins to leave. Trads begin to disappear)
OOF BOOGAR:
Juhhy forrtre munjk lio….
MR. HELLO MISTER:
Oh ever so unfortunately I am just simply not sure, oh it seems I’m being, oh goodby….
YOUNG MAN SITTING ON A:
I just wish I knew, I really did but ….
DISAPPOINTED:
You’ll figure it out, I’m sure you w….
(Stage and audience finish emptying. Trad sits down in chair. Silent. Suddenly director comes
running out from backstage, avoiding eye contact)
TRAD:
Mr. Director! Please, what’s going on?
DIRECTOR :
(Uncomfortable, moving towards door, avoiding eyes) Oh, uh, hi Trad, didn’t see you there. I was actually just heading out to uh… yes… I’ll surely see you around, uh… well anyway, Goodbye Trad. Great show. Really just fantastic. Really something of a… yes well… goodbye now.
(Theatre door slams shut. Silent. Empty)
TRAD:
act five?
–– 1 of 7.5 billion copies printed worldwide –