The Castle Keeps Its Secrets

The Castle Keep

Vaughan douglas capstick

The castle keeps its secrets, Its moat is deep. Water soaks into the earth beneath, But the stone it shall not penetrate.’ 3

Stage setting

A darkly lit interior. There are chairs strewn in a rough semi circle facing outwards. An oversized metallic lampshade with a large protruding bub hangs above the chairs. When the light is switched on it throws a stark light onto the circle of chairs and creates shadows beyond them. Upstage left and right are a pair of distressd doors covered in layers of paint and grime. There are no handles on the doors. 4

Stage directions.

As the light brightens we see a group of people sat in the chairs in different postures and positions. 5

Characters

FS – A fading star (celebrity). CC – Cynic. GW – Godly Woman. Grief – A young person. LABELS – An obsessive compulsive male. LACRIMOSA – A middle aged woman. M – A young woman. Voice – The creator 6

One of the people sat on the chairs begins to talk. FS. It’s how so many people want to be me. And all the while, I just wanted to be like them. But, I guess, you can’t have it all. And even when you have, there’s still something that’s missing, the elusive piece of the puzzle that doesn’t seem to want to reveal itself or its whereabouts. The rest of the group slowly alter their postures and begin to listen. FS. (Cont’d). I often wonder where it all began to go wrong and things began to fall apart. Looking back, even when I had nothing, I had dreams. And dreams can be as bright and as precious as gold. And more than that, they’re irreplaceable. Life without a dream is a pretty hollow existence. Just like people rattling around inside a tumbler, waiting to be tipped out. Their numbers add up to nothing and the banker always wins. Dragging what’s left of you, kicking and screaming into the bottomless pit of mediocrity. (As if to himself.) It took a lifetime for you to realise that there was no longer an endless stretch of highway ahead of you, then you wanted to play your ‘Get out of Jail’ card. (Sighs.) Only then it was too late. All your cards had already been dealt, the pack was ‘stacked’ and you never really stood a chance. (States to the whole group.) It takes a dream to bring an ace to the top. A dream. And dedication to be the best player in town. And maybe that isn’t enough to take you all the way, but it sure will point you in the right direction when everything else is falling apart around you. A person to the left of the speaker audibly tuts. CC. Huh. FS. What? 7

The person stares at the speaker who returns the gesture. CC. Like I said. Huh. FS. You don’t believe me? Is that it? They continue to exchange an uncompromising gaze at one another. FS. You just don’t get it, do you? He smiles, exposing beautiful white teeth then places his hands together in front of him as if in prayer. FS. Ha, you don’t get it do you? Any of you. All you…people here, sat around holding onto something that you thought was so precious, something worth preserving that might give you hope. Some kind of belief to continue fuelling whatever world of lies you‘ve been telling yourself and decorating your heart with. But listen. Whilst you’re all busy ploughing through last year’s crop and the one before that and the one before that trying to define just what it is that you have to come to terms with before you can release it, let me tell you something that you may not know, something that you may have overlooked. He grins and shakes his head from side to side. FS. It’s not about the past. It’s not about what was. Don’t you get it? It’s the here and now that counts. What’s happening today, not yesterday or the day before that or even a thousand days before those. It’s today. Here and now. How you feel about yourself today. CC. What’s your problem fella? FS. What’s my problem!? I’ll tell you my problem. My skin itches. There’s something that feels as if it’s crawling beneath it and it’s itching so hard, screaming to get out. And you know what…? CC. I’m sure you’re gonna tell us. FS…uh?...The only way it’s ever gonna get out of there and see the light of day and smell the ozone mixed with gasoline, is if I scratch so damned hard it makes it want to crawl to the surface and break right on …’ CC. Huh. FS…wha..?...Right on out of there! And then… CC. And then? 8

FS...And then, we can go our separate ways. And maybe my life will be a little less extraordinary and maybe, just maybe, it will be worth living a little and…’ CC. Yeh? FS…I can go home. The group are attentive and silent. A woman clears her throat and begins to talk. GW. I’m not sure you’ll understand what it is that I want to say. I’m unsure of it myself, but the memories keep coming back and they stop me from moving, forwards, on-wards, I mean it’s difficult to go on with my life, well no, that is… CC. Lady, would ya? GW. Oh, yeh, sure, I’m sorry. I’ve never spoken like this to anyone before. Except of course, with my analyst. I try not to burden others. That is, I’m sure that we all have our own problems in life to deal with, so why on earth would anyone want to listen to mine? FS. We do. On both accounts. He casts a sideways glance at CC. GW. I can’t move on with my life. I don’t mean the life that I used to have, not that (With emphasis.) thing. The only memories I have of that I’ve tried to erase, along with the rest of the grubby stains that I seemed to be forever trying to erase. And I know that you must all be thinking, ‘God, not another skittish New Yorker who has dropped all her marbles on the sidewalk and let them roll off down into the gutter.’ Well, maybe you’d be kind of correct, to a certain point. Maybe I am skittish and maybe I have, misplaced some of my marbles for want of a better word. And maybe that Christian part of my soul that tried for so hard for so many years to satisfy all the men who wandered into my life who needed refuge and shelter from society’s harsh environment and a kindly heart to hold onto… And then became drunk and abusive. Threatening and uncontrollable. Until I had to pay them to go, or call the cops to escort them from the premises. Maybe that part of my soul has diminished somewhat and where there was once warmth and tenderness there’s now another stain and it’s different, ‘cause this time it’s mine. The last time it happened I promised myself that it wasn’t going to happen again. And god was ok with that. CC. God? You took him home as well? GW bows her head and begins to cross herself, then stops in mid motion and looks 9

up, staring silently ahead. GW. The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He abideth me to lie down in green pastures and anoint those poor lambs who He sends to me for redemption? Well, that’s what I used to think, believe and live with. But a whole lotta hurt meant that I had to instigate a whole lotta change. And now? Huh, I no longer hear God’s voice. She wipes away a tear. GW. It’s like He decided to weigh anchor with the rest of those bums who crawled into my life and my apartment. My body and finally, my bank account. She stands up. GW. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone. She is silent again. Then sits back down in GW. I’ve cast many stones and I’m without sin, no more. I figured that if God doesn’t want to talk to me anymore then that’s fine by me. It’s just another nasty stain. Bigger than the others, I’ll grant you, but I’ve been rubbing it real hard and little by little, the harder I rub, the more of it comes out. She appears transfixed by something no one else can see. And for the first time, we see her smile. GW. And one day, when there isn’t any more of that stain choking my eyes and blocking my nostrils, I’ll be able to finally move on. And who knows, maybe then I’ll engage his neighbour for a change. Open those windows of mine a mile wide and breathe in the cheap perfume that the hookers down on Maine cover themselves with. So pungent that when it drifts upwards it claws and screams at the windows to be let in. It smells like the poison of cheap motels and maybe, this time, I’ll invite it in and let it linger awhile. Wine and dine it. And when I’ve finished with it, hell, I’ll make sure there’s not a trace of it left by the morning. The smile on her face slowly dissipates as she relaxes back into her chair. The rest of the group are motionless and quiet. There is a pause before a young man breaks the silence. GRIEF. I grew up in the slums. 10

Nobody responds to the speaker. Everyone is still looking at the woman. She appears to be lost in her own thoughts and looks at the floor uttering a silent prayer. GRIEF. When I say the slums, it was inner city. No place for the timid or the rich late at night, without an armed guard or a piece. Gradually the group begin to notice the man speaking and give him their attention. GRIEF. But, that’s what I used to be…a… CC.A faggot? GRIEF. (He laughs nervously.) Ha ha ha! He stares at the CC. GRIEF. A faggot? A fag? What would you know? We ran to stay ahead. Sometimes just to stay alive. (Pensive.) Not that there was much worth being alive for. But like I say, that ain’t me no more. I’ve changed.’ CC. From a faggot to a fag? Grief stares more intensely at CC. and places his hands under his thighs. GRIEF. I’ve seen my fair share of violence. And I’ve dealt it out as well. Those are the rules of engagement. There’s no shame in backing down…’ CC. Or around? GRIEF. …if…you get the chance to have another go and wipe the enemy out by whatever means. The only time it’s fair is when you’ve won. Made a killing with some stolen or slammed some monkey’s face into the pavement. No one grasses and everyone is looked after except, when you know that you’re going down. CC. Going down? GRIEF. (Ignoring CC.) Then you’re left to yourself. People, your mates, don’t want to get infected with whatever it is that you’re catching. ‘Cause sure as hell, they don’t want it spreading and wiping out the pack. Honour comes before getting caught. Respect comes from taking a beating. And if your mates ain’t with you then all the better. Hospital beds are for the victorious so that they can rise up again and front out whatever stands in their way! But, like I say, that isn’t me anymore. That part of me is gone. He places his hands on his lap and examines his knuckles. 11

GRIEF. They were bruised. My lips were swollen and my lungs were full of blood. And I, couldn’t finish him off. He was beaten, far worse than I’d beaten anyone before. And it cost me dearly. Wrecking my body. But my mind as well? I stood over him, sweat dripping down my face and mixing with the blood. I stared down at the mess that lay at my feet. Who refused to give in or ask for mercy. And as much as I wanted to finish him off there and then and turn my back on that cruel winter landscape of shattered teeth and bones….I. couldn’t. And do you know what that mess of a human being, hanging onto his worthless soul by a thread did? He looked up at me with the one eye that he could still use and from between his butchered lips he laughed. Yeh, he laughed. Quietly at first, like a child whimpering between gushes of blood and broken teeth spilling from his mouth. It became louder. And Nature itself stood still and watched with me at that frozen piece of ground throwing up its death cry. And both of us were horrified at what this beaten mess was doing. Fractured from his feet up and from his own life, he laughed. And as he did, the temperature of the night surrendered to the coldness of that laugh. And suddenly, an avalanche was upon me. I slipped on the blood that had been spilled, lost my footing and fell, half off me falling on top of him and I was so close to that butchered face with its laughter ringing out from the darkest pits of hell that I began screaming, terrified myself , wanting only to get away from the carnage of the night. I scrambled to my feet and ran. All the time, that laughter getting louder and stronger as if it was being fuelled by something not of this world, something that thrived on pain and fear. It was unbearable. And it ripped into my skull in a way that his fists and elbows and feet had failed to do. (Hesitant and wavering.) His voice now began to deliver its message and I knew I was beat. I couldn’t ever win. His voice trails off. He opens his hands, turns them around, they’re slightly shaking. He places them back under his legs. GRIEF. But like I said. That person isn’t me anymore. I’ve changed. FS. Who was he? GRIEF. (Looking up.) Huh? CC. The man you didn’t want to dance with anymore? GRIEF. (Looks directly at CC.) My Dad. GW. You’re (Pause.) Father? You did that to your Dad? 12

GRIEF. (Stares at GW.) It was far less than what he’d done to me. And it was measured in minutes. Not years. There is a moment’s quiet as people reflect on the story they’ve just listened to. Another voice is heard from one of the group. A man holds his arm aloft. LABELS. I know that I’m no longer me anymore. (Looks for a reaction.) No, seriously. Do you know how long that took me to discover? And all those years of searching and lying to myself. CC. Bull-shit. LABELS. I don’t expect you to understand. You don’t seem to get anything or anybody. In fact, I’m not really sure why you’re here at all! CC. What? You crazy. LABELS. You know. We’re all talking and you’re sat there listening and the first thing you have to say is... CC. Bull-shit. LABELS. Yes, precisely. You’ve summed up your attitude in one word. CC. Well have some more, you bull-shittin’ crazy. LABELS. Oh. There’s a change! Same word but something a little different in the way you’re saying it. Have I touched a nerve? Attached to a little root perhaps?’ CC. (Dismissive but less conviction.) Huh, you’re so full of crap. LABELS. I am? Well at least there’s something moving around on the inside that seems to be making itself to the surface. And even if you don’t like the smell of it, it’s who I am. CC. Ha, ha-ha. Like anyone cares who you are! LABELS. Well, you seem to. In fact, I’d say that you’re showing a whole lot of interest in me. And if you’d let me continue, then maybe you’ll discover something about yourself in the process. CC. Go for it… LABELS. Thank you. CC. ...arsehole. A pause as LABELS slowly shakes his head whilst looking CC up and down. LABELS. I think our friend here demonstrates perfectly what it is that I’m trying to tell the rest of you. I’m not what I thought I was. Or should I say, what I was becoming wasn’t something that I was comfortable with. And yet, it seemed that it 13 was all I had. Not that I’m complaining about what I’d achieved in this life, I was secure in lots of ways. CC. (With underlying anger.) You’re full of crap mister. LABELS. (Directed at CC.) I know I’m full of crap! CC. You’re such a…’ LABELS. It’s what I’m telling everyone! CC. (Moving to the edge of his chair.) We all know! LABELS. And who the hell made you judge and jury! CC. No one. I nominated myself. What’s your excuse? You ever take responsibility anything? LABELS. Every single goddam day of the week mister! CC. Oh, seriously. How’d you ever take charge of anything but your pissing action? A woman from the far end of the group speaks. LACRIMOSA. (Stares at CC. who slumps back in his chair.) You seem to know an awful lot about other people but so little about yourself. CC. Oh, great. I wondered when we’d be hearing from the poor end of the neighbourhood. LACRIMOSA. Why are you such a cunt? You ever wondered? CC. Ha, ha, ha! The slum dweller rises from its slumber. I thought as much. Back of the woods, in your run down shack, distilling moonshine is it? LACRIMOSA. Go fuck yourself. If there’s any talk of trailer trash here then it’s coming from your big ugly mouth, buster! In the background LABELS is trying to be heard. LABELS. (Almost to himself.) Labels. CC. (Responds to LACRIMOSA’S comment.) Hicksville. You got it written all over your face! LACRIMOSA. Ha! And you must be from the fancy end of the trailer park. Cable TV and indoor Jacuzzi slopping around the kitchen and running down those nicely printed vinyl walls of yours? CC. I get it. You want to rag everyone down to your shithole end of town so they can immerse themselves in your ‘alternative’ lifestyle. Not the first time that’s been tried. LABELS. (Louder with more force but talking to the air.) Labels. I’d jot down what was required and put a label on it. 14

LACRIMOSA. Ditch it Hoppalong! This world is full of broken things that can’t be fixed and you’re one of them. CC. Garbage. LACRIMOSA. I couldn’t have described you better myself. LABELS. (Continues undaunted by the bickering.) They were ordered, settled into their groups from groceries to personal matters. All set out before me. It was like organising the troops before a battle. I knew the order of things. The process. Everything has a process. It’s just a matter of familiarising yourself with the process and understanding how it operates. CC. (CC capitulates and groans.) Shit. Welcome to Weirdo-Hour. LABELS. (With more purpose.) Everyone needs order in their life, we all know that. Without order and routine we have chaos and that ain’t any way to live. The labels ensured that if the chaos come a knockin’ that it would be held back, repelled and sent scurrying back to its own cluttered part of the neighbourhood, where it serves the purpose of others who glorify themselves with its unholy presence. My soldiers, my, labels, were special ops, veterans of numerous encounters, every one of which they’d returned from, victorious. They guarded the palace gates and that meant that at least one place in the area was safe and free, to be a regular guy. We don’t all need to be special, some of us just want to live our normal lives and go about our business without interfering with anyone else. And the system that helps to maintain the discipline and order so that I can live a normal life is held together by the process. The labels are that, process. Now that might sound kind of crazy to some of you people, and I have to admit, that I kind of questioned it myself at first, but then I took a look around and saw how the world was falling into disrepair and knew that the cavalry weren’t about to appear at the end of the cul-de-sac and the only horizon that was still in view was the one filled with the armies of chaos. And I just couldn’t allow them into the house. Not after what happened last time. I read a lot of books and understand most of what a person needs to know. But when I tried telling others what was plain as daylight to my eyes well, they just wouldn’t listen. They turned their backs on me. You see, I came to realise in those times, spent alone, that I had what you might term, ‘peripheral vision,’ you know? You know what that means, huh? It’s like the stuff that you can only see out of the corner of your eye, the kind of stuff that you can’t fully focus on and you’re never a hundred percent sure that it’s actually there. Well, I learnt 15 to master that particular avenue of viewing and the more I trained myself, the more I began to see. He smiles and looks upward. He removes his glasses and starts to clean them with his shirt. LABELS. A whole new world was revealed to me. (He replaces his glasses back on his face.) It’s like looking into a mirror and seeing someone else’s reflection and not being scared, but understanding that there is another way, another type of system, a dimension that rests its shoulders on ours but moves under its own momentum, taking its own direction. And if it’s a world that we can train ourselves to see, then why can’t we train ourselves to live there as well? Sure, I know I’m not ready yet to completely move across and become a part of it, not yet at least. But it’s there and I feel that it’s holding out a hand to me, offering a choice. The chaos and madness of this world or the calmness and serenity of the otherworld, one that has its order and structure. I don’t even think that I’d even have to use my labels again, not unless of course, I was asked or instructed to. But hell, I know what kind of a world I want to live in and it sure ain’t the one I’m sat in. CC. (To LACRIMOSA.) One of yours? LACRIMOSA. Huh, what do you care? M. (Gently.) I care. CC. (To LACRIMOSA.) Well, my tooty fruity friend, the stage is yours if you’d like to hang out your dirty underwear for us to inspect. LACRIMOSA. Godammit! CC. Listen Lady. If you want to fill your life full of other people’s junk like mister Labels and his minions of obsession, then go ahead. But be prepared to live like them, that’s all I’m saying. LACRIMOSA. And their deadbeat, garbage ways, as well I guess? CC. Exactly. The difference is, is that you lay it out on the lawn where everyone can see it. Alongside your plastic windmills. M. (Slightly more assertive.) I said, I care. CC. You care? Cool. Why don’t you show Calamity Jane at the end how it’s done? M. Why do you people always have to quarrel? Isn’t the world a bad enough place already without more anger? What does it matter where we chose to settle? It’s how we decide to live that is more important. 16

LACRIMOSA. Yeh, guess so. But it (Looks at CC.) offends me with its lack of views. And there’s me thinking all trailers came with standard three hundred and sixty degree outlooks. M. Look, we all have our faults and I’m no different from the rest of the people here. But we deal with problems in our own way and don’t need to place anything on display in the parlour. CC. Parlour? M. (Becoming flustered.) The dining room or, salon. Day-living room whatever you folk call it these days. LACRIMOSA. You said the parlour. M. It doesn’t matter what it’s called. It’s the fact that you’re prepared to fill it with someone else’s problems and pretend that somehow they’re your own. CC. It matters to you. When was the last time you sat in your (Slight pause.) parlour? M. I’m…not… LACRIMOSA. You’re not sure. Yet you’re sure enough to let someone else condemn me to the dumpster because you have a (Pronounced) parlour to sit in and somehow that makes you better than me. M. I think you tell yourself that. I merely echoed your thoughts. I belie...’ CC. From your fucking parlour!’ He is visibly ill at ease. M. Yes. From my not so…that, word that you used to describe it…’ LACRIMOSA. Fucking? M. (He finishes her sentence.)….parlour. And why not? CC. Why not indeed. It’s probably where you keep the cookie jar as well. M. (Stern.) It’s where I sat with Mother. VOICE. Now we’re getting somewhere. M. My, mother. (Looks at LACRIMOSA expecting a barbed comment.) Don’t you dare, don’t you dare damn my mother! She was a good woman.’ LACRIMOSA. Really? I wouldn’t know. I never met her. M. (Reasserting his previous sense of authority.) Yes. Really! She had values. She had love in her heart and generosity of spirit. VOICE. She had a parlour. M. She cared about people! 17

LACRIMOSA. Did she care about you? M. Of course she goddamned cared about me! I was all she had! LACRIMOSA. No brothers, no sisters? A father, maybe? M. Let me tell you about my father…’ LACRIMOSA. Go ahead, do just that. Fill us in with some details and let’s call it Tales from the Parlour! M. You have a foul mouth. A dark mind and a soul without passion. How on earth did you ever make it this far? I can see that you’re broken inside, but why the hell are you so determined to spread your darkness over the rest of us? You didn’t know my mother. Not even my father knew my mother! CC. (With surprise.) How did you get here? M. (Proudly.) The stork brought me. LACRIMOSA. Ha ha-ha! M. The stork from the orphanage. LACRIMOSA. (Tiredly.) Whatever. M. Yeh, like you say. Whatever. You’re right for once. I don’t wear the information like a cross around my neck and I don’t choose to show my darkness as a way of attacking others. I was cast out. Left by the side of a road, in a ditch. (He looks to the floor.) I got no idea who my biologicals were but I sure as hell don’t give a damn for anyone who has it in their soul to abandon their own flesh and blood out on the sidewalk. VOICE. Food for the crows. M. (Looks up and around.) What? FS. Food for the crows? CC. Shit, we’re back on the bird trail with the bird brain who was delivered by a stork. When are the giraffes and pink elephants going to appear? M. (More thoughtful.) What I’m saying is that we don’t have to announce our past, just to be heard or understood. I’m trying to say that I’m not who I thought I was or what I believed I was all these years.’ GRIEF. Then what are you? CC. I can tell you what he’s not. M. What? FS. What are you now? M. Well, that remains to be seen. I’m still getting there, I guess. 18

GW. Where are you going with all this? LACRIMOSA. ‘Cause you sure are taking a long time getting there and I ain’t so sure that I’ll still be around when you do. CC. Hey, madam slum, why don’t you take him home with you. I’m sure he’ll blend in well with the rest of the broken furniture. M. (Nodding.) Of course. I see it now. This is exactly what mother warned me about. GW. What? M. Do not judge and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Luke chapter six verse thirty seven. LACRIMOSA. Jee-sus! M. (Stands upright.)Yeh! Jesus Christ our lord and saviour! He’ll be there, not for everyone that’s for sure, but he’s watching, waiting and he’ll be your judge not me. And certainly none of you gathered here…(Stops short and seems confused). GW. And your mother? M. (Returns from his revelry.) Sorry? CC. Your Mother. You know, the queen stork? M. My Mother… CC. Yes, we got that part. Do you want to double your money and go for the Las Vegas holiday and all the burgers you can eat? M. (Angrily.) My Mother! Was more person than all of you put together. Godammit! He looks horrified with himself and immediately puts his hand across his mouth before sitting back down. FS. And where is she now? M. What do you mean?! Where is she…? LACRIMOSA. Your Mother. Where is she? M. Where? CC Is there an echo in here? (With deliberation.) Where is your mother? M. She’s, safe. GW. Safe? M. She’s in safe hands. FS. You mean being looked after? M. Yes. Cared for. GW. Where? 19

M. Why, here. Inside of me and beside me. Her words are in my head, her voice upon my lips. FS. (Attentively.) She doesn’t live in a care home? M. A care home? (Shakes his head.) Ha-ha, no. (Chastising the group in a parental way.) I shouldn’t get mad with you people. How could we ever think that you’d understand. Mother always said that forgiveness is the cloth worn by saints. Not always the most comfortable of suits but the reward it offers transcends the discomfort it provides. My mother is a wise person. She can see others for what they are, not what they’re trying to be. But she won’t judge, no, that wouldn’t be kind or show the generosity that is in her soul. She abides. She abides those that are torturing themselves and others and offers them comfort and understanding. She doesn’t judge, oh no. She responds… FS. Where is she now? M. …in a way that allows a person to feel that they can truly be themselves without having to move about in the shadows of the night. (Looking confused he attempts to respond to FS.) Where is she? Why, here of course. (He leans back into his chair with a look of satisfaction on his face.) And she wants you to know that she listens and cares. Life was never meant to be as difficult as people have made it and she wants to help you, in the same way that she’s helped me all these years. Even now, she’s telling me that I’ve got to move on, leave her and go away someplace else now. And if mother says I should go, then I’ll obey her wishes. She was there when I had no one else in the world and no place to go. She pulled me up and taught me to stand by her side and face our battles together when anybody wanted to hurt us. She showed me how to live. CC. From the parlour? M. (Ignores the question and continues.) From a place that gives me great comfort and safety from others. The bulb in the shade begins to flicker and crackle. The group look up. Only one person hasn’t looked up. A middle aged, attractive woman wearing heavy make- up that hides more of her natural beauty than it accentuates. Whilst the others are still staring at the fizzing light bulb she stands up as if to address the others, her eyes 20

are fixed to the floor. As the light flickers on and off it causes the scene to move between bright light and darkness. CC. I think that someone is trying to tell us something. The girl who stood up now produces a razor blade and slides it effortlessly across her outstretched wrist. It is only by this action that the rest of the group finally notice her. There is confusion and panic as the light continues to fizzle and fluctuate in brightness, casting distorted shadows around the group. FS. What the ..! CC. Shee-it! GW. Oh my god! The woman standing continues to saw at her wrists but no blood appears. She stops as suddenly as she began, halfway through her sawing motion, turns her face upwards and begins to laugh. CC. (Angrily.) What the fuck you doing lady? VOICE. You don’t get it do you? L. Ha, ha, ha! You just don’t fucking get it! She sits back down in her chair. M. Do you have to use such blasphemy! L. Blasph? (Pause.) Fuck me! M. Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom…’ L. Come! Come! Come! Fucking Come! (Takes a deep breath.) Come all over me if you want. But for god’s sake come! You bunch of ship wrecked bastards! CC has risen out of his chair, it now lies on the floor and he stands with clenched fists almost in the centre of the group. The flickering light is now static and bright. CC physically shakes but cannot move. Instinctively, he reaches into a small pocket in his waist coat and looks as if he is about to draw something from it. When nothing appears he looks puzzled and turns the pocket inside out. 21

CC. (Stammering.) I…I…don’t get it. I must have left my pills…but I never leave home without them…The doctor. L. Warned you not to? CC. Yes. He begins to grope behind him, searching for the chair that he’d spilled to the floor. GRIEF rises from his chair and gently takes hold of the CC’s arms whilst FS pulls the fallen chair upright. GRIEF eases CC back into his chair. Crestfallen CC places both of his hands upon the younger man’s hand. CC. (Humbly.) Thank you, son. GRIEF. It’s ok. Really, it’s ok. VOICE. God won’t save you. GW. He can’t save any of you! He can’t even save himself. So why should he bother with you? M. I don’t know what it is that you’re trying to say lady. But your views sure ain’t welcome here. GW. Oh, really. Who says? M. Why, all of us. All of us here. He looks towards the others for confirmation. LACRIMOSA. Are you sure you speak for everyone? You sure as hell don’t speak for me. M. Listen to me young lady. You may be without redemption but the Lord is not. He is the most…’ LACRIMOSA. He? M. Yes, Absolutely. He. He is the way. The light and the word. He is our saviour. His strength our sword and His love our shield. L. So, where is he? Where is your saviour? Your light, your word and your, way? M. Why, that’s simple miss. He is all around us. LACRIMOSA. That simple, huh? M. That simple. And that is the bea… L. Bullshit! I don’t see him. I don’t feel him. And I certainly ain’t too sure that his light is showing me how to get out of this fucking shit hole! Or haven’t you noticed? 22

M. The Lord moves in a mysterious way. It is His to guide and ours to follow. LACRIMOSA. So, is that how you got here tonight? Of course, I am only assuming its night. It may as well be, for the complete lack of illumination that we have here amongst us here. VOICE. How do you expect to see if you don’t believe? L. I always heard that seeing was believing. And until I begin to see anything resembling a giant star entering the room then I’ll suspend my faith until the next one comes along. Deity that is. CC. (Gently.) Was that why you came here tonight? L. To see a god? Who knows? But I’m here ain’t I? At least I think I am. And I guess that I ain’t much different from the rest of you. My soul has been tortured. My spirit butchered and my self-esteem hung out to dry. I thought I was in a bad place and couldn’t sink much lower. LACRIMOSA. And now you’re here with us. CC. Would you like to tell us what happened? L. Not really. But seeing as it’s you I’ll make an exception. FS. No one’s forcing you. If you’d rather not? L. Like I said, I’d rather not. But in some ways it’s not even mine to tell. It belongs to all of you. In order to be finally free, you have to open the door. Walk through it and let go of all that stuff that you’ve been clinging onto for so long. You can’t take it with you and the longer you drag it around the heavier it becomes. Nostalgia, by its own reckoning, is not a true reflection of events. It provides a window by which we can access our feelings, both good and bad. It’s the life that is being lead in the moment and not the one that you used to have or the one that you hope to acquire in some blurry vision of a future, that’s important. She draws a deep breath and composes herself. L. The woman that I lived with for five years ran off with another woman and it broke my heart. I trusted her, completely. And she betrayed my trust. She surveys her confessors for a reaction. FS. Please, continue. L. So what is somebody supposed to do? I couldn’t bring myself to call her, at first. It was me who was the injured party. Me that had suffered the humiliation that comes with that kind of betrayal. 23

LACRIMOSA. It must have been tough. But, it happens to the best of us. It’s part of what determines who or what we are. CC. (Slowly with feeling.) The road to true love is strewn with broken hearts. L claps her hands slowly and deliberately three times and stares at CC as she does. CC. I’m sorry if you find what I said disagreeable, but I am sincere in what I say. L. Of course you are. Everybody here is sincere. If nothing else has come out of this, discussion, then I’d say that the jaw dropping honesty that’s been on offer has been far worthier than the mouths from which it has spilled. CC. I’m sorry you feel that way. L. You don’t think that’s an honest appraisal of our little mass? (Pauses before continuing.) I getcha. Sure. And why shouldn’t I? I’m one of you aren’t I? The bulb begins to fizz and flicker again for a second or two and some of the group look up before it returns to its static condition. Now it seems a little brighter. L. Like I said, I was hurt. More than hurt. I felt broken inside. The pain that shot through my heart when I realised that I’d never see her again was only matched by the tidal wave of shock that I’d probably never see my daughter again either. She stops and grips the sides of her chair and lowers her head. Tears can be seen falling from somewhere amongst her hair onto her lap. L. She, stole my little girl from me. First, my husband. Then my life. And finally my little girl. How can anyone do that? How can anyone be so heartless and think so little of others? GW is sat next to her and extends her and places it on the M’s lap. There is a moment of tense silence as L stares at the hand and takes a sideways look at GW before the hand is withdrawn. L. I was, I guess, in the modern world, a successful woman. Not that I was rich or famous or any of those things that others kind of associate with success. I had an income, which was earnt from my own efforts building a reputation for myself in the pursuit of helping others. And get this, I gave group sessions, seminars and individual workshops on how to overcome your fears and reduce expectations to the minimum. Expectations, eh? They sure have a lot to answer for. (She smiles mockingly.) Angel, 24 there I go. I almost said her name. She was in one of my regular group sessions. There were generally about five to eight people there. Men and women. I held three or four meetings a week down at St. Patrick’s church hall. And once people had signed up for the scheduled six week initial course I would move them around until I felt we had a mix within each group that would achieve the aims of the course and allow the individual to begin to realise their own potential. She came to me with the usual list of repairs. Broken home, broken marriage, infidelity, low self-esteem, and asked if I could fix the bits that were most in need of repair. The rest, she said, could go rot. (L stops momentarily and her mood becomes more reflective) Sure, I said. Isn’t that what I’m here for? Her eyes. Her beautiful, wonderfully deceptive eyes. They were like two dark coals that had been extinguished of their light. She held her body at an odd angle as if the spine that should have been keeping it upright had somehow snapped and left a healthy body looking as limp as a wilting flower. (L pauses, picturing ANGELA in her mind.) She was shorter than me. Why that should matter I have no idea. (She raises her hand.) This was the hand that I cupped beneath her chin to raise her head. To look into those perfect eyes that pleaded to be unburdened. Free to gaze upon whatever they desired. (She breaks off and drops her hand down.) But, that was later. Much later. To begin with I needed for to understand that she wasn’t the only one in feeling trapped and alone in the world. That we all feel alone at times and constantly trapped. It’s just a case of how you get by from day to day that’s the art of living. And so, I worked with her, within our group in role and gender play. She was a very feminine woman who I felt needed to discover some of the more masculine attributes inside that had never been kindled. Something, or someone, within the conditioning she’d received whilst growing up had decreed them unacceptable and were therefore shelved from an early age, I guess. Not dead but dormant. You see, she knew how much certain parts of our society value a woman’s body and to those people who she was surrounded by saw it as not just her only attribute but also her most valuable asset. One that she should use wisely and guard into old age if she wanted to be, cared for. (Pause.) Well, after those first sessions she wanted to continue and so I began moving her along through several of my other groups. She became confident and aware that the person on the inside was as equally attractive as the one on the outside. She began changing her look. Her clothes and her hair. For the first time in her life she began reading more than the daily horoscope or dating ads. And it wasn’t just down to me and the work that I done with her. It helped, of course. But what it did 25 was to allow her to relax within her own skin and leave her old self image out with the trash. She was a star. Pure and simple. The protégé who came good. And in turn, she protected and cared for others. As, (Pause.) she cared for me. The light from the bulb above temporarily flickers. FS. What, happened? L. (Smiles.) What didn’t happen would be an easier question. I thought my husband was seeing someone. Not sure why, it may have been insecurity on my behalf. It may have been that time in life when nature chooses to reclaim the gifts given to women in order to attract a mate. Maybe, Sammy our, no, my, little girl had something to do with it. Trouble in high school with the boys and occasional drug use. Normal shit. We all went through it and you don’t become an angel until you die, apparently, so I rode with it. But made sure she knew she was always in my thoughts. Throughout it all her grades remained good enough for her to go to university. She chose one not too far from home that meant that she could leave the roost and build a nest of her own. But I was still close enough for her come stay weekends and holidays if she chose to. And once the excitement of the parties and one night stands subsided, she did. Not only did she come home on a regular basis but she also helped with my groups. During that period she sensed that I wasn’t particularly happy. That I had my doubts as to the worthiness of my marriage, its durability and what it was actually supplying me with in terms of growth and happiness. But I wasn’t ready to confide in Sammy. Instead, I went to, her. And spilled the beans. She was supportive. Attentive and caring. She held me as much in her mind and heart as she did her arms. She became my mainstay. My banner under which I could rally and…my…lover. (L pauses to regain her composure.) I fell in love. Probably for the first time in my life. And it felt good. Unimaginably good. (She lifts her face, which is radiant.) I couldn’t tell anyone. And I swore her, (Aside.) the Thing, to secrecy. I wanted to be able to sort out my own affairs and lay the past to rest, giving it a decent burial. The last thing I wanted was ghosts coming back to haunt me. To begin with, I decided to talk to Steve, my husband and asked him to be as truthful as he possibly could. Tough on the outside, but a lamb leaping about a meadow on the inside. He admitted he had a fling with a younger, more attractive woman a little while ago because he was feeling unloved at home. But that it had finished as quickly as it had begun. He wasn’t sure why, but it was her, his mistress, who called it a day and told him to go home to his 26 wife and kid. Well, I can’t pretend I wasn’t a little shocked. But not as shocked as he was when I told him that I’d met someone and our marriage, at least in my mind, wasn’t going to take us into retirement together. I think that once the tears and recriminations were out of the way we both knew we’d been growing apart for years. Now, that definitely is one of nature’s gifts. The chance to see things for as they really are, at least once in your life. Steve moved out within the year. And not soon after that, I finally confided in Sammy about Angela. Sammy still had a year to go at University and so, with the house pretty much to myself, Ange… (L forces herself not to say Angela’s name.)…she starting staying over more and more. Sammy wasn’t really surprised, at least that’s how she responded to my declaration of new style self-determination, sovereignty over my own body and new sexual preference. In fact, she was openly happy. As much as she loved her father, she had begun (Pause.) to love, Angela. There I’ve said it. And the three of us seemed strong together. So strong, in fact, that Sammy moved back home as soon as she’d finished her degree and asked if she could work with my groups until the fall when she would be heading for Europe to travel and hopefully find work. She couldn’t breath she said and wanted to spread her wings, as she put it. (She halts and begins to inflate her cheeks and exhale noisily.) It’s one of my practices. Let it enter through silence and exit as if it’s rustling the leaves of autumn falling from the tree. CC. Is there anything that we can do to help? (Instantly aware of the clumsiness of his statement.) L. (With ease.) You already have. CC. How’s that? L. You listened and then you offered your help. Maybe you’re unaware of it. But I think the rest of us have noticed that whilst we’ve been sat here at this Mad Hatter’s tea party, that you’ve stopped thinking so much about yourself and have attempted to break out of the mould that you’ve been building for yourself, probably most of your life. (She looks around the group.) You all have. And what more could anyone ask of anyone except that they be themselves. CC. That’s mighty decent of you. But what about you? L. Me? Oh, I’m not too certain about that. After all, who helps deliver the angels when they have finished helping the poor souls wandering the earth? Have you ever wondered about that? (Pauses for a response.) No, I guess not. But that’s about the 27 truth of it. We angels have to learn to deliver ourselves. And there’s no reason why we shouldn’t be able and willing, considering all the wisdom and experience we’ve accrued along the stony path. FS. And Angela? Sammy? What happened to them? L. Who knows? The note that Sammy left on the kitchen table was clear and precise. Apologetic but not regrettable. And why should she have been? It was the way that I had influenced her to live. To seize the moment when it arose. I did. And I was incredibly happy for as long as it lasted. That’s as much as any of us can expect. It’s more than some people experience in a whole lifetime of trying. The fact that it was my daughter made it hurt more that words could ever describe. But that’s for me to ponder upon. Perhaps to help me to the next level of this divine existence of ours. Sammy, and I’ll bless her ‘til the day I die, left for Europe with extra baggage. Namely, Angela. I’m sure that Sammy is more than a match for her and Angela will find someone else once she feels the need to expand her own horizons. And I know in my heart of hearts that one day I will see Sammy again. And we shall weep tears of joy and embrace each other like never before. Both of us would have been to the top of the mountain and back. The view was spectacular and if it had been cloudy or rainy we would have missed it completely. But can you imagine the effort that would have been wasted hauling yourself all the way up that mountain and not bothering to enjoy what was beneath your feet the whole time? Why should the view be any greater from the top than it is from the bottom? Or the sides, or even below? (Looks around for a reaction.) Maybe it’s because that it’s what other people want us to believe. And maybe it’s true or maybe it’s not. Like all things, it’s a personal preference. And that is something we should live for, not die by. By living in a world of denial telling other people anything they want to know about us but leaving nothing for ourselves in the process. No soul. No spirit. And no love in our heart for ourselves. There is as equal an amount of grace in accepting as there is in the gift of giving. Something we should all be prepared to do, no matter how difficult it seems at times. The bulb fizzes once more. Dims, then brightens, throwing the brightest light of all The group exchange glances to each other before rising from their seats and heading towards the two doors that are now three quarters open. As a small group 28

arrive at each door there is a sense of joy and relief. One or two hug one another, wipe away the odd tear and smile before turning to step through the doorways. Before they are able to do so the light begins to fizzle. It flickers before slowly dimming and we are able to see the sudden change of expressions on the people’s faces their joy now turns to fear and bewilderment. Both doors slam shut. Blackout. The light on stage is slowly raised to reveal an empty space except for the chairs. As the audience applaud both doors slowly open and we hear the characters voices echoing snatches of dialogue, spoken during the performance, rising to a crescendo. The light begins to fizzle and flicker before fading. Both doors waver then slam shut as the light is abruptly cut.

Blackout.

THE END