One Man and His Vanity

What's worse than death itself? Being alive, but dead to those you love.

One Man And His Vanity

By

Darrel Draper

I should like to die of consumption, because the ladies will all say, ‘Look at that poor Byron, how interesting he looks in dying’. �"Lord Byron.

Synopsis;

Its the 19^th century, we find ourselves at the climax of the Romanticist movement, where nationalism meets liberalism in a poetic debate. The depths of humanity are challenged and yet obscured by the ideals of the romanticist. An aging man who has fallen ill to an emerging pandemic decides to devote his remaining time to finishing a portrait he started long ago, in an attempt to save himself from the recent inflections on his pride and honor, having been outcast from the community for betraying society, he struggles to re-capture the essence of his youth and win back the affections of a lost love and evidentially begins to loose sight of all he once was and all he once knew as his condition worsens.

Characters;

Man. A liberal spirit who has deserted the war efforts.

Son. A Gaoler who holds morality over everything else.

Women. A boutique merchandiser who prefers the finer things in life.

Noblemen. A well to do gentlemen.

Thief’s. Two dishonest scoundrels with sharp wits.

Widower. An accoucheuse to the wealthy who is cursed never to have children.

Maid. A young wench who longs to be loved for who she is, rather than what she does.

Physician. A doctor who diagnoses the terminally ill.

Gaolers. Two local authorities.

Note; in performance characters such as the noblemen and physician can play alternative roles, as they are only relevant to one scene.

Act One. Settings.

Scene One. A basement study.

Scene Two. Open street market.

SceneThree. Basement study.

Act Two. Settings.

Scene One & Two. Widowers living quarters.

Scene Three. Basement study.

Act Three. Settings.

Scene One. Downstairs Hallway.

Scene Two. Forest.

Scene Three. Jail house.

Act One. Scene One.

(A dark derelict 19^thcentury study lit by light that is peering through cracks, a mattress laid on the floor with a ruffled bed sheet, there is a shattered mirror hanging off a wall. A weary unkempt man sits on a corroded wooden stool positioned in front of an antique easel and canvas; he stares at the canvas with much displeasure, what he is staring at is unknown to the audience, he pants with frustration as he fiddles with a mess of brushes and paint. He lets out a violent cough)

MAN: (Muttering) Not right. It’s still not right. Argh! (Shakes his head with dissatisfaction. There’s a sudden bang on the study door that appears to be locked, the sound startles the man who leaps to his feet with a look of anxiety, the door knob is twisted repeatedly)

MAN: What have I told you!

SON: (Hollow shout from the other side) I can smell you from here. Give me the key!

MAN: No! This way I give you no pleasure.

SON: (With a mocking chuckle) Paha! You already live like an animal, it would make no difference. Bars or no bars.

MAN: And do you feed them the same?

SON: No. They are more grateful to have but bread and water.

MAN: More tame you mean.

SON: Not always. A tamed badger is given but bread and water; a tamed lion however, is fed steak.

MAN: I don’t understand, if I am that much of an atrocity to you, why feed me at all?

SON: (Pause) Because the smell is already unbearable. (Bangs the door once more) Now open up!

MAN: And what if I let myself die?

SON: You wont.

MAN: So sure?

SON: Once a coward always….

MAN: Leave it by the door!

SON: The other vermin may have at it. What have you to hide?

MAN: (Defensive) Exactly that!

SON: Exactly what?

MAN: Nothing! (Begins to clear away the easel and the paints)

SON: You had something. You had honor! It was you’re decision!

MAN: (Hiding the painting and brushes) My decision! No! (Coughs) You’re view of the world is obscure! (Coughs. He uses some left over water to wash the paint from his hands to the best of his ability)

SON: That’s outlandish from you.

MAN: Did I desert her? No! That was not my decision. (Unlocks the door and opens it in a temper, a young handsome strong man stands in the door way offering food)

SON: Then you should have fought for her.

MAN: I am!

SON: No, when you had the chance!

MAN: I loved her! (Pause) I mean, I love her. (He goes to garb the key from the lock but before he does the man snatches it and places it in his pocket)

SON: And she loved you. I loved you!

MAN: Past tense. Then I’m already dead!

SON: (Noticing some paint on his fathers apparel) What have you been up to?

MAN: (Diverting) She should be standing here holding that. (Pushing the food away from his sons arms)

SON: Because that was her job?

MAN: Yes! No. It was, it was her…. What does it matter now?

SON: Duty, duty you we’re going to say. (Pause) Ha! Like yours…

MAN: Enough! (Coughs) Please, leave me be.

SON: (Notices the shads of glass from the broken mirror) I’m not sure even you can. (Places down the food with a sigh) If it’s any solace I share the same shame, everyday, you are after all a part of me, I have to carry you’re name.

MAN: (Sarcastically) Oh such a heavy burden.

SON: The child shall have to pay for the sins of the father. It’s written.

MAN: And do you believe everything you read now?

SON: Only what’s true.

MAN: True! You know nothing of truth, not everything is at face value.

All these books, their merely written to imprison you’re mind.

SON: That’s quite the opposite.

MAN: Rot! (Coughs) You’re a slave to your own profession.

SON: Do you see chains by my ankles? No! I am a free man, because I am not weighed down by guilt.

MAN: But I thought you were part of me?

SON: Blood only.

MAN: Then there is a lot of me in you after all.

SON: And if only people didn’t bleed to death.

MAN: How poetic.

SON: The only reason I haven’t turned you in is because I wouldn’t want them to associate me with you.

MAN: I maybe half the man I used to be, but that man I used to be would have put the man you are today to shame, and rightfully so. To think my own son….

SON: Father’s provide for their families.

MAN: As you can see, I am in no fit state.

SON: Then get yourself seen by a physician, or visit the undertakers. Either way. (Gives his father one last look of disgust before storming out of the room, slamming the door behind him)

MAN: (To his feet, shouting after his son) Finally I’ll be left in peace! (He picks up the plate of food and in a sudden fit of rage throws the plate across the room. He runs to the door and locks it, paces for a moment re-collecting his thoughts, then re-assembles his easel and paints. He sits back down on the stool and attempts to start again, rambling to himself still in a temper) Why won’t you just let me be? Coward, how dare they. Coward! I’ll show them. Who do they think they are? (Coughs) Better than me, they’re not better than me. No. They took what I had, but they wont take this. No. I wont let them! Honor, pah! They’ll see. Just need to finish it, why can’t I finish it!

(Dazed once again, he feels a rumble in his stomach, looks around him at the food scattered across the abysmal floor, he contemplates salvaging the remains, stops himself several times before finally yielding to the urge. He eats from the floor as if a starved scavenger. Then falls back on himself ashamed, he stares yet again at the painting momentarily before letting out a defeated sigh, he collapses on the mattress face first and wraps himself in the blanket. The light that peers through dims, darkens further, expressing a passing of time, the deep of night has creped in. The man lies perfectly still. There is a sudden sound of scurrying that stirs the man from his slumber, the sound becomes more predominant. Scratching and squeaking. The man leaps up and lights a candle he has placed beside him, he uses it to shy the rats away that are after the scraps of ruined food)

MAN: Shoo! (He stands and stomps his feet) be gone! (An unexpected voice is heard from the darkness)

VOICE: Pathetic. (Sound of heavy movement)

MAN: (Jumps in fear, scans the room with the light in his hand, there is nothing but the easel and painting stood) Boy, was that you? (No response, there’s a moment of complete silence, only the sound of the man’s heavy panting. Then the sound of more scurrying. The voice is heard again, this time much louder)

VOICE: Bummer!

MAN: (He unlocks his door and lights the hallway, trying to get them to leave) Scurry! Or I shall end you with my boot. (Picks up his loose apparel, threatening)

VOICE: We only want the scraps.

MAN: Devil creatures! (Starts to cough violently. From behind a shadowy face appears in the hallway light, it’s a women in a distinctive dress)

WOMEN: (In a condescending tone) Don’t betray you’re brothers dear.

(The man sharply turns round, but by the time the face disappears)

MAN: (Recognizing the voice) Imelda! (He walks out into the hallway) Imelda. You’ve come back to me? Imelda. Where have you gone? (He leaves the hallway and comes back into the room bewildered, he lights the hallway one last time but see’s nothing, he closes the door slowly, still peering out as he does. He’s left alone in the room once more with the painting, he speaks to it, re-assuring) Shhhh. That’s enough now. We’ll be fine. We just need to rest. (Dabs the candle out, there’s complete darkness on stage. There’s a transition from night to breaking day. The room slowly fills with light. The man is asleep once more. There’s gentle movement at the door, the door knob ever so slowly turns, the door begins to open with a faint creak, the son tip toes in surprised to find it unlocked, he takes the key from the key hole and places it in his pocket. He notices the easel set up and looks at it strangely, he creeps over and greets the sight of the painting with inquisition, he stares back at his father)

SON: (Speaks faintly) So this is where you’re sanity’s gone? No. This couldn’t have been you’re work, surely not? Oh how allusive you are, and yet, its almost perfect. Almost. (Analyzing the painting) The face, that’s what’s wrong. (Sits down on the stool and touches up the painting, amending its flaws, he stands back and looks at it once again, with a concentrated glare) Yes. Much better. (His father begins to stir) Though you should really be destroyed, you do not deserve such a thing of beauty.

MAN: (Sleep talking) Be gone, be gone I say. Why Imelda? Why? I can hear the dogs. (His father’s confused ramblings send him to the door) Can you not hear, they come, save me, Imelda, they are not my brothers. They are not my! (Awakens abruptly, his son slips out. The man takes time to gather his baring’s, his attention is drawn to the painting, he leaps out of bed with shock, his face dropped in amazement) It’s a miracle, it’s a miracle! (Praising the heavens) Oh thank you lord, thank you! It must have been her apparition. Yes. This is a message. She offers forgiveness. I must go now!

(The man gather’s his baring’s, dressing himself with haste, he takes the painting from the easel and wraps it up, marching out of the room in a hurry, leaving the door wide open behind him. There is a moment’s silence followed by the sound of church bells signaling noon. There is a blackout)

Act One. Scene Two.

(Open Street. The man looks lost trying to find his way as he wonder’s around in circles trying to gather his Barings; he seems unfamiliar with the outside world. In his lack of direction he stumbles into two men who look callous)

THIEF 1: Woe squire!

MAN: (Shying away) Pardon me.

THIEF 2: Lost are we?

THIEF 1: My acquaintance means to say you.

THIEF 2: Of course. I confuse my words from time to time

THIEF 1: WE, are not lost. Though it appears, YOU, are having some difficulties.

MAN: I’ll find my way.

THIEF 1: Which is where?

MAN: (Baffled) Um……

THIEF 2: Where are you heading he means to say.

THIEF 1: I think I mean very well!

THIEF 2: Ok, I’ll say no more.

(The two men move around unsettlingly, almost examining him, as if a rare specimen. Looking strangely at his clothes)

THIEF 1: The gentleman’s merely confused in his distance. Are you a gentlemen?

MAN: Um….

THIEF 2: There it is again!

THIEF 1: You’re not from here are you? (No response) I think he’s suffered a blow to the head. Are you a deliveryman?

MAN: No.

THIEF 1: Then what is it you are carrying?

MAN: Nothing.

THIEF 2: It looks like something.

MAN: Its none of you’re business!

THIEF 1: Owww, he’s definitely not a gentleman.

MAN: You are impeding me.

THIEF 2: So it’s important then.

THIEF 1: Let us have a look.

MAN: No.

THIEF 1: We’re only curious squire.

MAN: It would not interest you.

THIEF 2: We’re saying it already has.

THIEF 1: He’s not stupid; he’s just playing coy. (Said with a fierce intonation) Give it to us.

MAN: No.

THIEF 1: Now!

(The man tries to rush past them but he’s forced to the ground in a tussle and the paintings snatched from his hands)

THIEF 2: You’ll stay down if you know what’s wise! (Produces a pocket knife)

THIEF 1: (Uncovering the painting, still not revealing it to the audience’s eye) Well, well, I bet this would fetch a pretty penny.

MAN: No please, it has no value.

THIEF 1: Very tasteful. (To the other thief) What say’s you?

THIEF 2: Remarkable. You are indeed a fine gentlemen.

MAN: Have you no morals!

THIEF 2: We do indeed.

THIEF 1: Just not decent ones. (Both snigger with satisfaction)

MAN: Scoundrels!

THEIF 2: What else have you got?

MAN: Only that!

THEIF 2: We’ll see. (Pats the man’s body down whilst the other thief treads his boot into the man’s chest, they find miscellaneous items of no value)

MAN: Bloody vultures.

THEIF 1: A vulture would starve to death on you.

THEIF 2: (Gets face to face, pointing the blade of the knife ever so close to the man’s eyeballs) If I were a vulture I’d eat you’re eyes.

THEIF 1: Count yourself lucky; at least you’ll still be able to appreciate such fine things as this.

THEIF 2: He still could with one eye.

THEIF 1: No. I think we’ve overstayed our welcome. (Tips his hat to the man cowering on the floor) Be seeing you around.

THEIF 2: Yeah, thanks squire. (Leave’s the man with a little cut as he sharply drags the blade away from his face)

MAN: Ah!

(Both men walk away with a sadistic laugh. The man lingers on the floor after there departure, defeated. The man begins to weep; the lights slowly fade down to the sound of his sobbing. The lights fade back up to a market stool full of fine wears and jewelry, a delicate looking women stands behind it, she tries desperately to call attention to her trade in the deserted market square)

WOMEN: Ladies and gentlemen of the lady! Step on up and take a look at the magnificent splendors on show this afternoon. Treat yourself to something of taste. Affordable apparel perfect for signs of affection, alterations can be made on request. (Stops her spiel to arrange some alluring items, as her attention is diverted the man creeps up on her with anxiety and some reluctance, she looks up to see his figure, she jumps back with a whimper) Oh my…what are you doing here!

MAN: I had to see you.

WOMEN: We agreed from a distance. Now clear off before you lose me trade. (Turns her back on him)

MAN: You appeared to me in my dreams.

WOMEN: And that’s where I must stay.

MAN: I had something to give you.

WOMEN: Ha! Air pie again?

MAN: I painted you a portrait.

WOMEN: (Dismissive) Splendid.

MAN: It was some of my best work.

WOMEN: You should have sold it.

MAN: (Coughs) It was beautiful.

WOMEN: Marvelous. Now go.

MAN: (Notices an item on her stall, it appears to be a wedding ring) This looks exactly like…(Goes to touch it but his hand is slapped away)

WOMEN: You’ll dirty them!

MAN: Show me you’re hands.

WOMEN: (Turns away once more) Be gone.

MAN: It is, isn’t it? My lord, have you no shame? That’s sacred.

WOMEN: To whom?

MAN: (Pause) Please, I beg you….

WOMEN: (Sharply turns) Go! Before I scream.

MAN: But why? I’ve done you no harm.

WOMEN: I thought I’d made myself clear.

MAN: I love you.

WOMEN: I don’t love you! Wretch.

MAN: You’re confused. You listen too much to the thoughts of others. (Coughs)

WOMEN: No! I know what my eyes see.

MAN: Remember me as I were, not as I am!

WOMEN: I can’t! Why must you cause a scene?

MAN: Please, return home, I cannot exist without you. You are my soul.

WOMEN: I cannot be you’re redemption.

MAN: Just one kiss.

WOMEN: Don’t be so vile.

MAN: One last kiss!

WOMEN: No!

MAN: You are my wife! I am you’re husband! (Leans over her stall and takes her by the forearms with might)

WOMEN: Ah! (Looks frightened) Help!

MAN: Have you no respect for congregation? The vowels of the lord? I only wish to appease him, why must I burn in the depths of hell alone? (He forces a kiss on her, as this happens another man appears from behind, valiantly he rushes to her rescue and pulls him off of her with a forceful tug. He is a sophisticated looking gentlemen of high class)

NOBLEMEN: Fiend!

WOMEN: (recognizing) Oh Edwin, thank god.

NOBLEMEN: What have you taken from this fragile madam? (Goes to search his pockets)

MAN: (pushes him away) Nothing! Who is this!

NOBLEMEN: I may ask the same!

MAN: I am no fiend sir, I am…

WOMEN: I warned you!

MAN: This is where you’re loyalty lie now? To him!

NOBLEMEN: (To women) I’m highly perplexed by this turn of event, Imelda, who is this man to you?

WOMEN: He is….(hesitant) he was….

MAN: I still am!

NOBLEMEN: what!

MAN: Her husband! (Showing the noblemen the ring on his finger) Rightfully all that you see before you is mine!

WOMEN: It was I that worked for all of it! Not you!

MAN: Except that ring!

WOMEN: (Takes it from the table and throws it at him) Its worthless! (He does not pick it up from the ground)

NOBLEMEN: (Taken back) Why you told me you’re husband had died, in battle if I recall correct.

MAN: (Gasps) So, it is true. You’re impudence is sacrilege.

WOMEN: How dare you!

MAN: And this man, is he everything you want? Is he worth the damnation?

NOBLEMEN: Be careful with you’re words sir.

MAN: Why, When there all I have to spare.

WOMEN: You’re the damnation!

MAN: Than I guess he’s you’re salvation! (Pause. To the man) I notice you carry a gold pocket watch, how much is that worth?

NOBLEMEN: (Defensively shielding it) And what exactly is it to you?

MAN: I’d just like to know how much you value time.

NOBLEMEN: Are you intoxicated?

MAN: no, ha, maybe there’s the problem ay.

WOMEN: You stink like a drunk!

MAN: My point though, you can’t put a price on it, can you. No matter what, we all eventually run out, and that’s one thing you can’t buy more of, sure, you can make it look fancy, dress it up with fine things, (Takes off his own ring) which are, worthless, (Drops his ring on the floor next to hers) but sooner or later, time will take its tow on you. And believe me, (Glances over at the women) it has no mercy. (Stumbles away kicking the rings across the floor)

WOMEN: (Watching him leave) Good ridden! (To the man still stood) What nonsense ay? A man with philosophy and no gumption, as good as a, a, rusty springboard.

NOBLEMEN: Hmm. But you loved that man?

WOMEN: Once. But what I feel for you….

NOBLEMEN: (Comforts her) Shhhh. You do not need to justify yourself to me Imelda. Though we are breaking the law, you do realize the consequences?

WOMEN: Yes. But I am more willing for this prosecution. (Gives him a kiss)

(Blackout)

Act One. Scene Three.

(The lights are brought back up and we are met with the sight of the son sitting on the stool facing the stripped easel in the man’s study once more. He awaits his father’s return. He hears his footsteps from outside in the corridor)

SON: (Speaking indirectly) I’m amazed, I never thought you’d see the light of day. (His father stumbles into the room battered and bruised, his son turns round to be greeted by the sight of his father even more tattered and torn than before) My god.

MAN: (Sniggers) Foolish words.

SON: What’s happened?

MAN: Its gone.

SON: I can see. How long did it take?

MAN: Since, since…. I don’t know. Days are the same.

SON: And today?

MAN: I was finally going to give it to her. (Pause) Wait, you saw it?

SON: (Confused) You thought, you thought that would…that’s why?

MAN: She’ll never see it now. It’s too late. I’ve lost her.

SON: Where’d it go? Where’d you go?

MAN: I was going to surprise her, but there were these two scallywags. (Coughs) They took it. I tried to fight them off but it was no use. It’s all over. There’s no hope now.

SON: What did these men look like?

MAN: Hard to describe.

SON: Perhaps you could paint them.

MAN: (Defeated) No, no more. (Collapses on the bed) That easel will make good firewood.

SON: They cannot be free to roam the streets. They must be brought to justice.

MAN: I don’t understand, it means nothing to them.

SON: They’ll most likely try and sell it on to an auctioneer.

MAN: Why? Its value is only sentimental.

SON: To you, yes. To others, it’s just a painting.

MAN: Which is why it makes no sense.

SON: None of this does.

MAN: (Babbling to himself) Now he, he’s the real culprit, he took what meant the most. And I’m the fiend?

SON: Who! Stop with these babblings! What did you hope to achieve?

MAN: I wanted to remind her of the man I was.

SON: Of the man you were…Maybe you’re time would have been better invested in building a contraption that allowed you to revisit the past. Instead of re-creating it.

MAN: What do I do now?

SON: You, you, you! You’ve wasted you’re day’s painting a portrait of yourself!

MAN: It wasn’t for me! (Coughs violently)

SON: Then if you truly wished to capture her heart, if you truly longed to see her face again, why did you not paint her picture?

MAN: Because, because, she is already perfect. I mean, she was. She only needed to look in the mirror, but she does not see me in the same way. She did. So I had to show her. I wanted to show her! Instead all she see’s now….

SON: How hollow you are?

MAN: Yes! Without her, I am. (Pause) She’s been corrupted. They’ve corrupted her.

SON: They?

MAN: Them! Out there. She’s so cold. It’s freezing. There’s no warmth anymore, anywhere.

SON: Yes, the world has changed since you left it. You must adapt.

MAN: If I had known it would come to this; I would have gladly shot myself, rather anything than this.

SON: You weren’t asked to shoot yourself, you were only asked to defend you’re country.

MAN: With bullets. I would have died anyway, eventually, would she mourn me then? If I had been shot instead? Would you?

SON: At least it would have been a noble death.

MAN: (Sniggers) A noble murderer, is there ever such a thing. My only crime is having compassion for humanity. And if that makes me a criminal, then it is indeed a hopeless world in which we live.

SON: Oh please! The only person you had compassion for is yourself! Do not try to gloze it over to ease you’re conscience. You abandoned you’re fleet. You left others to die! It’s treason.

MAN: Treason! Then she must be held accountable for her crimes! If that’s the case. She has broken the law! The law of marriage.

SON: Do you think she could ever look at you in the same way, knowing. Remain wed to a man whose moral fiber is aloof. She’d be shunned from the community, out of a living.

MAN: But she could love a killer? Tell me, were there ever any noble men among the bounties you collected? The fiends you condemn for the base natures of what we call war!

SON: You cannot twist my mind!

MAN: It’s the same!

SON: Its not!

MAN: Have you ever had to choose? Do you have any idea what you’re talking about? Tell me, in you’re line of duty, have you ever personally had to string up a man, place that rope around their neck, watch him as he breaths his last breath, see the fear sink into his eyes. (Pause with no reply) No. You’re jobs merely to tie the knot in the noose.

SON: Active evil is better than passive good.

MAN: (Sharply) Better murder an infant in its cradle than nurse an un-acted desire, right? (His son stands slightly stunned by his fathers’ response) You’re not the only one that can read. (Pause) Are you’re prisoners still given that privilege?

SON: (Diverts) Clean yourself up.

MAN: Doesn’t the sight of me please you? Bloodied. Isn’t this what you wanted?

SON: I’ll fetch you some hot water and a cloth. (Turns his back, goes to leave)

MAN: The lions not tame! (His son stops in his tracks and looks round)

SON: Ay.

MAN: What I said earlier. (Pause) I was wrong; you see lions have more pride. Those that tame the lion are aware of its power, its dignity, the lion no longer has to hunt for its food, nor protect itself, the lion is provided for. So evidentially it is not the lion who has been tamed, but us who believed we were superior.

(The son stands momentarily with absorption, and then exits the room. There’s a moment of silence, the man lays still, the sound of scurrying picks up)

MAN: (Coughs violently) Oh my brothers, be patient. You won’t have to wait much longer.

(There’s a slow fade down on the father to a blackout, the sound of scurrying and scratching continuous throughout. Intermission. Set change)

Act Two. Scene One.

(Widowers home. A well-furnished living quarters dressed up with the finest of romanticist apparel, painting’s and art work from the century in plenty. There is a monument of painted portraits of young strapping men. The widower sits in an armchair reading; her collection of books is vast. She is aged yet carries gracefulness. A female servant youthful in beauty enters cautiously, not wishing to disturb)

MAID: My apologies mam, you have a caller.

WIDOWER: (Eye’s fixed on her book) I’m not expecting anyone.

MAID: Shall I send him away?

WIDOWER: (Drops book) He?

MAID: Yes, It’s a gentleman.

WIDOWER: A gentleman, what is his business here?

MAID: Well, I think he may be a vagrant, perhaps after money. I’m not sure. He claims you have something that belongs to him. A painting.

WIDOWER: What is his name and how did he find me?

MAID: He wouldn’t say, just demanded to speak to you.

WIDOWER: Bizzare. (Pause) Ok. Send him in, but keep the chief on stand by, encase he means harm.

MAID: Yes mam. Though I advise you to keep you’re distance, the man doesn’t look the full bed of health. (Exits and returns with the man who looks better kept, the widower is cautious at first)

MAN: Good day. Sorry to intrude.

WIDOWER: (Gives a nod to the maid who leaves their company) Who are you?

MAN: (Sniggers) You do not recognize me.

WIDOWER: (Puzzled) Should I?

MAN: I see you have me on you’re wall. (Admiring his portrait that is hung up, for the first time it is on full display to the audience, the portrait shows a young handsome, noble looking man in a coat of arms)

WIDOWER: I beg you’re pardon.

MAN: I painted this.

WIDOWER: (With disbelief) Is that so? You do not look like an artist.

MAN: Have you met many?

WIDOWER: Hmm. There was no name to it, not a signature nor any mark left by the artist. Only what you see here, puzzling, so how will you prove yourself?

MAN: It’s a self-portrait.

WIDOWER: (Laughs) I admire you’re humor, but honestly?

MAN: The man you see in this picture is me, or was me.

WIDOWER: And yet you left no name, why is that? Not proud of you’re work? Or yourself?

MAN: It was more of a pastime. My intentions were more inherit.

WIDOWER: Right, then why auction it?

MAN: I had no divulgence in the matter. It was taken from my hands, I found the benefactor and they lead me to you.

WIDOWER: Who would believe you’re story?

MAN: I was able to give an in depth description, every stroke, every tear, (Staring at the painting with scrutiny) except…. the wonders of life. (Looking at her collection) You have quite an appetite.

WIDOWER: There are so many artists, so many eyes out there.

MAN: So many men it seems.

WIDOWER: The male form is one that intrigues me. It’s different from my own. That’s what attracts me. Otherwise I’d be in love with myself, surely.

MAN: So what attracted you to my painting?

WIDOWER: The mystery. Of who. You see the others, there all credited. This one however, its obscure, and then you appear out of nowhere and ruin it for me.

MAN: Sorry.

WIDOWER: Save you’re apologies. I’m used to disappointment.

MAN: Out of curiosity, how much did you pay for it?

WIDOWER: A fair amount.

MAN: Then it appears you have also been robbed.

WIDOWER: Not at all. I’ve grown quite fond of it.

MAN: I’m afraid you can’t keep it. It’s all I have left.

WIDOWER: And why would you want a portrait of yourself? If what you say is even true.

MAN: You would not understand.

WIDOWER: Legally it is now my possession. At my disposal. Understand?

MAN: Then you’re admiration must be for the man that stands before you.

WIDOWER: My admiration lies with the man in the painting.

MAN: But I am the one that painted it. Therefore I am the creator of all you desire.

WINDOWER: It has nothing to do with desire, you miss judge me.

MAN: Then why do you surround yourself with these images of men that are un-obtainable? You do not have a husband?

WIDOWER: Oh please, I am not about to discuss my personal matters with a stranger.

MAN: You’d rather just sit and stare at them instead. Do you know any of these men?

WINDOWER: That’s beside the point. One does not need to live inside a person’s head to appreciate their imagination.

MAN: I am not imaginary. My prescience is real.

WINDOWER: Paint another, if you are truly the artist you claim.

MAN: I haven’t the strength left.

WIDOWER: Do you expect sympathy? From a woman that does not know you.

MAN: No, but we share similarities.

WIDOWER: Pray tell.

MAN: You are not as you once were.

WIDOWER: How can you intrude with allegations you know nothing of?

MAN: The auctioneer, he knows you well.

WIDOWER: So he has betrayed my faith.

MAN: He merely informed me of you’re prescient state.

WIDOWER: (Angered) I am not some patient of the plague! The way you make it sound. Do I look decrepit to you?

MAN: No.

WOMEN: (Patronizing) Have you come to end my suffering? Or vice versa.

MAN: I merely meant to say….

WIDOWER: I am still the lady of this house! And I feel you have outstayed you’re welcome.

MAN: Please, you miss read my implications.

WIDOWER: I know very well what you came to imply, and its Ludacris! Misery can be a symptom of love, but it can never be the birth of it.

MAN: So you are miserable?

WIDOWER: Don’t listen to what they say; I know I’m seen as a bitter spinster, they look at me as if I were touched by death itself, but speaking in the general sense, I, am content.

MAN: Contentment is not happiness.

WIDOWER: And happiness is not contrary to misery. I was un-happy even as a married woman. I have always been as I am. Death has played no part in it.

MAN: Then you never were content.

WIDOWER: Folly! He was everything I desired. Which was why it was so unbearable.

MAN: (Prying) And that was?

WIDOWER: It does not concern you!

MAN: No it doesn’t, but out of interest, the same interest you had for me.

WIDOWER: Claptrap!

MAN: Then I’ll take my painting and be gone. (He goes to take his painting from the wall with a lingering pause)

WIDOWER: (Stopping him in his tracks) Not being able to conceive! My curse is that I am unable to carry children. He, we, wanted a son. To carry his, our legacy.

MAN: I’m very sorry to hear of you’re misfortune.

WIDOWER: Yes, yes, everyone is. I often wonder whether god ever feels guilty, or perhaps this is my punishment.

MAN: Punishment for what?

WIDOWER: Who knows? God knows. (Sniggers) Brings light to the turn of phrase.

MAN: I had assumed the young girl that greeted me was you’re daughter.

WIDOWER: No, though she is beautiful isn’t she? And she has been ever so handy.

MAN: If you had the choice…

WIDOWER: I don’t.

MAN: But if you did. You’d still pray for a son?

WIDOWER: I look at all these paintings, and wonder, the possibilities. What he could have been. Though never did I imagine him a soldier. I suppose no mother would willingly want to throw her child to the lions. And yet we celebrate the mourning of so many, extraordinary isn’t it.

MAN: How did you’re husband pass?

WIDOWER: He was stabbed to death.

MAN: In battle?

WIDOWER: No. He was murdered, found dead beside a woman.

MAN: a woman murdered him?

WIDOWER: She was also stabbed to death. The two were slaughtered by a jaded lover.

MAN: You’re husband was unfaithful.

WIDOWER: I knew one day he’d be punished.

MAN: You knew he was adulterous?

WIDOWER: Of course, I could never truly satisfy his desires. As I said, he wanted more.

MAN: How many women did he….

WIDOWER: I did not ask. We acted as if there was no outside world. I still loved him.

MAN: How?

WIDOWER: The only way you can love someone, undividedly. After all, I’m the one that’s cursed. (Referring to the mass of portraits) Any one of these men could be his, wondering around complacent.

MAN: I see, and I’m not one of them. That’s why you will not part with it.

WIDOWER: You can call me crazy, it’s not unnatural to be.

MAN: Agreed.

WIDOWER: Now if you will, (Gesturing towards the door) I have a caller I’m actually expecting.

MAN: I could take it by force.

WIDOWER: Yes you could, but you wont.

MAN: I’m no coward.

WIDOWER: I did not say you were, but I can see you still have some dignity left. And besides, I could have you removed by force. So please, make this easy on the both of us.

MAN: (Momentarily contemplates) I hope you find joy again.

WIDOWER: Likewise. Good day.

MAN: (Nods his head) Good day. (He exits the stage. The widower is left slightly in ore. Shortly after the man’s exit the youthful maid returns nosing)

MAID: Everything ok mam?

WOMEN: Hmm, He’s a peculiar one. I want him surveyed. Follow him discreetly and report back.

MAID: But mam….

WOMEN: Right away!

MAID: (Reluctant) Yes mam. (She bows her head and exits with haste)

(There’s a brief blackout)

Act Two. Scene Two.

(The lights snap back up to the maid lead back into the room by her arm, grasped firmly by the son who appears valiantly with a wooden baton wielded in his other hand, the widower is asphyxiated by his sudden prescience)

SON: What’s the meaning of this!

MAID: My apologies mam, I was careless.

SON: Well, speak! (The widower stands staring gormlessly at the son, with shock) You’re lackey is just as stupefied. I could have you both in galls for personal invasion. So answers, and now!

WIDOWER: It’s you.

SON: What on earth is going on? Why am I being watched?

MAID: I was not watching you…..

WIDOWER: It’s him!

SON: Enough! Who am I to you?

WIDOWER: You’re the spitting image. Astonishing. (Looking at him from all angles)

SON: Stop and explain yourself women!

WIDOWER: You are the man in the painting.

SON: What painting?

WIDOWER: (Gesturing towards it) It’s you. (Referring to the man’s portrait in which the son appears evidently)

SON: That’s my father’s portrait! Who sold this to you? I must have their name.

WIDOWER: Its irrelevant.

SON: Their name or I will have you both locked away for treacherously.

WIDOWER: You’re father is the treacherous one; he claimed it was a self-portrait.

SON: He was here?

WIDOWER: Why just hours ago. You can un-hand her now. She’s no harm. (The Son looks reluctant) Neither am I.

SON: Not until you tell me you’re business.

WIDOWER: Would you really harm such a fair creature?

MAID: Please sir.

SON: I mean no harm to anybody. I merely want to be left in peace.

WIDOWER: Then unhand the poor dear and we’ll discuss matters with civilization.

SON: (Gently lets go of the maids arm, she backs away from him) There.

WIDOWER: That’s a fine boy. And you’re weapon.

SON: (He slowly shields his baton) Now, the meaning of all this.

WIDOWER: (Gestures towards a chair) Take the weight off, calm yourself. Is there anything we can get you to drink, eat?

SON: No, I will not be glozed over.

WIDOWER: As you wish. How old are you my dear?

SON: I am a man. That is all you need to know.

WIDOWER: Could I guess, a man of…. eighteen?

SON: I’ll be nineteen in three turns of the moon.

WIDOWER: It’s a fine age. I sense you’re a man of justice.

SON: I am a Gaoler.

WIDOWER: And you have no prisoners to guard at this time?

SON: Just one. Though soon I may have three.

WIDOWER: We are not criminal’s sir.

SON: Then what are you?

WIDOWER: Deserted women. Poor Isabel here was thrown out in the cold as a tiny infant, with but a baby’s blanket to keep her warm. She was not wanted because of her sex. Such a crime not to love a thing so innocent. If only they could see the women she is today. What say’s you?

SON: Yes, she is indeed a fine woman.

(The maid blushes with a bow of her head)

WIDOWER: Take a guess at her age.

SON: (Ponders) Sixteen?

MAID: (Seems flattered) Thank you sir.

WIDOWER: She is at the same age as you.

SON: She has been kempt well, but none of that explains….

WIDOWER: Do you believe in fate sir?

SON: Depending on the situation.

WIDOWER: Well what if it was fate that brought you here today?

SON: (Mockingly) Why you said her name was Isabel.

WIDOWER: I’m looking at the bigger picture.

SON: Yes, it seems you have quite the collection. (Browsing the paintings) Arnold Bocklin. Eugene Francois. Richard Westall. Franz Liszt.

WIDOWER: You’re familiar with their work?

SON: I’ve seen these painting’s before.

WIDOWER: Where?

SON: Books. I read a lot. As it appears you also. (Scanning her book collection)

WIDOWER: Art was made on canvas, not paper. Only when you see it before you’re very eyes, in all its glory, can you truly begin to appreciate its beauty. (With an admiring stare at the son)

SON: The obvious Jane Austen. Hmm, Victor Hugo. James Fenimore Cooper. Did you have these imported?

WIDOWER: No, I just know the right places to look.

SON: The complete collection of Lord Byron.

WIDOWER: Do you like poetry?

SON: it’s nothing more than an ideal, who would not value that?

WIDOWER: You couldn’t be further from the truth my dear boy. Poetry is born from imperfection. Most poets are driven insane by their work.

SON: Yes because their vision of the world is unlike its reality.

WIDOWER: Then why is it you read?

SON: Because I know the difference. All these medical books. Are you a physician?

WIDOWER: Not quite. I’m an accoucheuse to the wealthy.

SON: (Puzzled) I’m not quite sure what that is.

WIDOWER: I help women in labor give birth.

SON: It must be a satisfying role.

WIDOWER: (Sighs) Indeed. I offer men and women freedom, and you, offer them the opposite. Now that’s a test of fate.

SON: Their fate is their own, if I cross paths with them; it is because of a decision they have made, not I.

WIDOWER: But you decided to become an imprisoner, or was that fate thrown upon you?

SON: I wanted to protect people.

WIDOWER: From themselves? That’s almost impossible I’m afraid. The more time you spend with the crooked, the more crooked you become in time. Its de-evolution. You throw a man in a cage, he becomes an animal. But you, you are free, you could be oh so much more. A fine young gentlemen with you’re knowledge of the world. Why associate yourself with the deviants, when you could make a life of your own.

SON: And what life would that be?

WIDOWER: You have the potential to be a bookmen. There’s more strength in mind than there is muscle. Give back to the world, instead of taking from it.

SON: And drive myself insane?

WIDOWER: insanity lives in all of us. The way it comes out is only what separates the poor from the rich. Would you believe I paid two crowns for you’re father’s work?

SON: (Shocked) Two crowns! No. Unbelievable.

WIDOWER: I’ll give it to you to sell on. It’s rightfully yours. But think, the riches, you could live like a king, instead of merely serving one. There’s just one thing a king needs.

SON: An army?

WIDOWER: No! An heir. To preserve you’re reputation.

SON: But I am not married.

WIDOWER: Exactly. Which is why I offer you Isabel.

MAID: Mam.

WIDOWER: Do you not find the gentlemen attractive?

MAID: Of course but…..

WIDOWER: Then they’ll be no objection. And you sir, what is you’re name?

SON: Robert.

WIDOWER: Robert what?

SON: Collins.

WIDOWER: You clearly can see that Isabel is a fine lady, one that any man would be proud to have on his arm.

SON: But she is you’re wench.

WIDOWER: Think her more my daughter, and if I say her hand is yours, her hand is yours. And Isabel, you will be a free women, dispelled from my service, to live a life of your own. Together, if it pleases you.

SON: This is all very sudden. Im lost for words.

WIDOWER: There is only one word you need right now. I’m offering you both a better life, a life I could only dream of or read about.

SON: But in what way does this benefit you?

WIDOWER: (Pause) All I ask is that you take my name in marriage, and you will give onto me you’re first born son.

SON: those are callous footings.

WIDOWER: You will have many, many years together, many, many children I expect. All I ask for is one. To keep me company in my dying days.

MAID: What about love?

WIDOWER: What?

MAID: Love mam. When two people…..

WIDOWER: Yes I know what love is! I simply do not understand you’re in put.

MAID: Love overrules everything.

WIDOWER: You speak as if you had been showered in it since birth, but it was merely rain that befell you until I picked you up off the pavement and gave you a home. If you had any love or appreciation for me, the kindness I have shown, than you would do as I ask!

SON: She merely implies that the love for ones child is superior to any rationality.

WIDOWER: All people live, and all people die. Those are the only true rationalities of this world. And I know I’d rather die tomorrow in a loved one’s arms than live a long life alone. So what is it to be?

SON: Not everyone is destined to share the same fate as you.

WIDOWER: (With malice) Huh. Unlike you’re fathers. What is it they say, the child will pay for the sins of their father. (The son is stoppered. Long pause of silence) I’m offering you a way out. I’ll even pay for the ceremony from my own pocket. You can’t say fairer than that.

SON: I can’t.

WIDOWER: (Joyous) Then it is decided, you shall be wed and I will deliver the first-born.

SON: No, I can’t agree to such a sinful act. To give up ones own born.

WIDOWER: But why! He’ll be treated like a god!

SON: But that is blasphemy, as there is only one god.

MAID: Robert, sir, may I speak with you in confidence?

WIDOWER: Do not forget you’re place Isabel?

MAID: Sorry mam, may I speak to Robert in private?

WIDOWER: What is you’re purpose?

MAID: Only to make him see sense.

WIDOWER: Hmm.

MAID: I think I can resolve this situation.

WIDOWER: Then do so, but I will not grant you the solitude.

MAID: Please mam, if we are to spend our lives together, we must have words unshared.

WIDOWER: Hmm.

MAID: Have I ever betrayed you?

WIDOWER: Never. You know the consequences of treachery. And that will never change. I shall step outside, but only momentarily. Do not try anything cunning, I warn you. (Leaves the room. The maid moves closer to the son and speaks with a very soft voice)

MAID: Humor her wishes sir; it’s the only way.

SON: Why is it? What’s stopping us from walking out that door together this instance?

MAID: She may not look it, but she’s a very powerful women. She knows certain people; this may stay a secret, but I believe she had her husband murdered.

SON: Then she must be brought to trial.

MAID: But there is no proof. We must obey.

SON: I am not an object as you may be. She does not posses my will.

MAID: She will not stand the test of time. And she cannot control our conception.

SON: She expects a son.

MAID: then she can expect, and keep on expecting, and if that day never comes?

SON: Do you think we’d be able to resist that long?

MAID: We’d have to.

SON: I’m not sure I could. Just looking at you now, I can sense it, it would become un-bearable, and then that would lead to carelessness.

MAID: As long as we weren’t, we could. But we’d have to make sure.

SON: Surely she would have both our heads; if she found out we were making her wait.

MAID: Not if we proclaim I am with child.

SON: And when it never arrives? She is a mid wife; she is not dumb to these procedures.

MAID: As I said sir, she is nearing her last days anyway. Even if we do relinquish the child, she will not be able to raise it unto its feet.

SON: And you’d be prepared to take that risk?

MAID: I would. If it meant I would be made an honest women.

SON: It’s the principle. Surely you can sympathies, being abandoned yourself. How does it feel not knowing you’re true makers?

MAID: The pain subsided. I was given a good life, here. Principles are only but remnants in the wheel of society, cogs must be broken in order for civilization to move forward. Can you not see yourself loving me? (Brushes his hand with hers, looking deeply into his eyes, inviting)

SON: Too well, that’s my chief concern. You are the most delicate and scenic item in this entire household, in the entire town even.

MAID: Then you would do anything for me? For us, to preserve the love we might have.

SON: I wish it were so simple.

MAID: It is. It only takes but a tiny step.

(She steps closer and offers her lips with a gentle lean forward, he takes hers with his delicately and they embrace in a passionate kiss. The kiss is prolonged, the widower walks back in as they are in their embrace, she gives off a glowing smile of satisfaction. Blackout)

Act Two. Scene Three.

(The set is transformed back into the decrepit study. The man is lying lifeless, the son returns with his painting in hand)

SON: Father I have it. (Barely a twitch of a movement) Father. Father!

MAN: (Is jolted from his deep slumber, with a raspy and fleeting voice) What was that?

SON: I said I have it. You’re painting.

MAN: You called me father, or are my ears deceiving me?

SON: (Holding the painting closer to his face) Look. Are you pleased?

MAN: (Forces a smile with great effort and energy) Yes. Of course my child, I couldn’t have asked for more. (Staring at his sons face)

SON: Now you must give up this insanity.

MAN: I know I’ve been a fool. Forgive me. I realize now, I wasn’t painting a picture of myself, all along, it was you. You are my prize possession. Its you I’m leaving behind. (Musters up strength to stoke his sons face) You will do me proud. Thank-you my son. Thank-you, for not deserting me. You are a good man; you’re everything I wished I were. (Drops his arm, takes one last deep breathe before closing his eyes eternally)

SON: Father. Father…….

(He rests the painting beside the bed next to his father. He steps back from the bed and bows his head in a silent prayer. There’s a brief blackout, the lights fade back up to a physician inspecting the body as the son stands by)

PHYSICIAN: Hmm. I’ve seen cases like this before, quite recently in fact. It appears to be consumption. Did you make intimate contact with the deceased before he passed?

SON: What do you mean by intimate?

PHYSICIAN: Anything where you’re saliva met?

SON: No. I barely shook his hand.

PHYSICIAN: Then I can assume you’re safe.

SON: From what?

PHYSICIAN: I believe you’re father has fallen to the white plague.

SON: The white plague!

PHYSICIAN: Yes. The body must be burnt before the rats get at it, or it could become far more contagious.

SON: If I would have called you earlier.

PHYSICIAN: I would have been little use, once you are infected, there is little hope, you’re father’s death was inevitable I’m afraid. The only tragedy is that you or him did not find out sooner, you could have had arranged the funeral service timely. Not many get that privilege.

SON: (Sniggers) Is that why they call it the white plaque, not the black?

PHYSICIAN: Why just of late I had a pair of lovers fall ill to similar conditions. They passed it onto each other, tragic, but at least they’ll die together. The women I actually recognized from the towns square, pretty thing used to sell jewelry that sparkled almost as bright as she. Tis a shame really.

SON: (Concerned) And what was her name?

PHYSICIAN: It slips my mind.

SON: (Said with great anxiousness) What did she look like?

PHYSICIAN: She had long beautiful wavy hair, shoulder length, a mousey brown colour if I recall. (As he continues to describe her the son’s face drops more and more into a morbid expression) Actually a similar shade to your own. Very rounded eyes, blue, bright blue, hard to forget that, like open wells they were. (Strangely noticing similarities) Wow, your eyes are very blue too aren’t they? Remarkable. Her nose was a soft feature, which led down to her lips that were rather red, as red as roses; they protruded out, not in a hideous manner, but were full of life and looked as soft as cotton. Very inviting should I say. Well, she used to be anyway, sadly now……

SON: Did she have a faint mark, like a peach mole above her right cheek bone?

PHYSICIAN: Um, that’s hard to say. I’m not quite sure.

SON: (Showing him a similar mark on his own body) Like this.

PHYSICIAN: That does look oddly familiar.

SON: Did she have a small Walt on her left hand knuckle?

PHYSICIAN: I don’t know she wore a lot of rings.

SON: Ah! Was she wearing a diamond coated silver embossed wedding ring, just the same as this? (Picks up his fathers lifeless hand to find no ring of that description) Hold on a second. (Checks his fathers other hand, then routes through his pockets)

PHYSICIAN: I don’t believe there was a wedding ring.

SON: (Gasps) And you cannot recall this women’s name? For the love of god!

PHYSICIAN: I’m sorry. I deal with a lot of patients.

SON: If only I had a picture. Argh!

PHYSICIAN: I could take you to her if you wish, but I’m not quite sure what involvement you have.

SON: When did you last see her?

PHYSICIAN: Perhaps it was, more than two weeks since I made the diagnosis, roughly. Sorry I’m confused.

SON: So by now, she’d be, un-recognizable?

PHYSICIAN: Deteriorated yes, but….

SON: No thank you. I’ve seen enough. You may go now; I’ll deal with the body from here.

PHYSICIAN: But sir….

SON: Go!

PHYSICIAN: As you wish. (Exits leaving the son stood over his father’s dead body)

SON: (Stands momentarily with a solitary expression, suddenly bursts out with a chuckle) So much for a noble death, ay father. Turns out you were a murderer after all. (Pause) Or were you a victim of your love? Perhaps we’re all victims in this world, one way or another. Though I will not share the same fate, I won’t. I will not die of consumption; I won’t let myself be consumed, by anything, or anyone! I will not feast on the sentiments of humanity and become bloated with ideals. I’ll burn every remaining false hope and bathe in the ashes of true sustenance. And I’ll start with that painting. (Pause) I guess you were right about one thing, we’re all animals aren’t we? We eat, f**k, and kill. That’s all animals do. That’s our existence. There is no good, there is no evil. There’s only those that survive and those that don’t. That’s the true meaning of living. I finally understand now. I’m not superior, just naïve. But no more.

(Blackout)

Act Three. Scene one.

(Widows residence in the dead of night. The setting is a downstairs hallway with stairs leading up, a door at the end of the hallway. There’s a gentle tapping at the door that grows in volume ever so slightly, the tapping becomes more vigorous, until the maid hesitantly walks down the stairs in her night dress and slowly approaches the door, a little startled by the tapping. She gets close and whispers)

MAID: Who is it?

SON: (Also faintly) Robert.

MAID: What are you doing here at this ungodly hour?

SON: Let me in.

MAID: I do not want to wake my mistress.

SON: Then let me in or I’ll bang harder.

(She quietly unlocks the door and lets him enter, quietly shutting the door behind him)

MAID: Why have you come?

SON: I’ve thought more about the proposition.

MAID: Yes, and?

SON: I’m going to give you the choice. For once in you’re life.

MAID: What do you mean?

SON: Whether you leave with me tonight or not.

MAID: I can’t just leave, not like that, I have a duty.

SON: As a slave you mean?

MAID: I’m not a slave. I’m merely repaying the kindness that was shown to me.

SON: Wasn’t it you that said principles must be broken?

MAID: Yes but….

SON: You’re a hypocrite, is that it?

MAID: No.

SON: Then you will leave with me tonight. If, you truly wish to be happy.

MAID: I do but…..

SON: What? It’s a simple step remember.

MAID: Yes but she’ll never let me go, not whilst I’m under her debt, which is why I said we’d have to wait until….

SON: Why wait?

MAID: You’re being irrational now.

SON: On the contrary, I’ve never been more rational in my entire life. Even you said yourself she’s nearing the end of her days. So what difference would it make?

MAID: I’m not quite sure what you’re suggesting.

SON: Don’t play dumb, you’re very aware as to what I’m suggesting. There’s only one way you’ll be truly free. And you know it all too well, which is why you were scared to answer. You know exactly why I am here.

MAID: Its cruel.

SON: Not at all. Cruelty would be to offer her something we may never be able to give, and surely she’s suffered enough in that respect. If anything, we are offering her peace.

MAID: But we’ll be hunted.

SON: Then we must get a head start.

MAID: You’re a member of the local authorities for Christ sake.

SON: Which is why we’ll be one step ahead.

MAID: How?

SON: I’ll go upstairs and smother her in her bed with a pillow; it will look like she died in her sleep of natural causes.

MAID: But with me gone it would be all too obvious. There would be speculations.

SON: Who would come looking? You’re the closest person to her. By the time anyone found her, it’d be too late.

MAID: Which is exactly why it would look suspicious. I’d have to stay behind, report her death in the morning, as if it were sudden, but no, wait, the others towns folk, they’d say they saw her looking a full bed of health.

It would be too sudden.

SON: Not with the amount of disease that is spreading.

MAID: Maybe if I was to plead with her.

SON: Only slaves beg. You must be the master of your own fate. Think of it this way, she chose her life.

MAID: And she also chose mine. She could have left me to die.

SON: But instead of treating you like a daughter, she treated you like a possession. And now she wants to posses you’re future generation. Our future generation. Why? So she can mold us into what she believes to be the perfect world, but for whom, her, or us?

MAID: Then do it.

SON: You have to be sure.

MAID: (Pause) I said do it.

SON: Ok, then lead me to her room. (The maid creeps up the stairs with the son. They disappear out of sight. There is a long pause of silence and then a sudden loud cry and prolonged sobbing, the son’s voice is heard above) Shhh. You’ll alarm others, now quickly, take only what you need and leave the rest. Hurry!

(Blackout)

Act Three. Scene Two.

(The wilderness. The two are in exile. A fire burns in the darkness; the son and maid huddle around it together in a forestry area. The maid is showing early stages of pregnancy, she keeps rubbing her stomach. Both look a bit scruffy)

SON: Its strange, I can hardly hear the crickets any more.

MAID: Oh yes, now you mention it, me neither. Do you think they’ve gone away?

SON: (Chuckles) Where would they go? (The maid shrugs her shoulders in gest) I believe we’ve just become accustomed to the sound.

MAID: I swear I saw a cat earlier.

SON: A cat, really? That is strange.

MAID: I’m sure it was a cat. Fluffy as anything, would have loved to stroke it.

SON: I wouldn’t, probably carrying around all sorts.

MAID: Can we get a cat when we settle?

SON: If you wish. You can have anything my dear.

MAID: I’ve always wanted one. I’d name it molly.

SON: Mollies a nice name. And what if it was a boy?

MAID: Morris.

SON: I was thinking Maurice. Sounds classier.

MAID: (Giggles) But we’re not French.

SON: Or Francesca if it’s a girl.

MAID: (Laughs) I’m not sure whether we’re still speaking about the cat or not.

SON: (Noticing her stomach rubbing, he places his hand over hers) Is that the baby or are you just hungry?

MAID: Both, we’re starved.

SON: Here. (Offering rations of food salvaged from the land)

MAID: This won’t be enough forever.

SON: Its just until we’re further south, they’ll be plenty to eat then. Deer, plenty of fish upstream, perhaps a few goat, we may even come across a cow or two on our travels. I’ll try and catch us a rabbit tomorrow.

MAID: We need to settle in a village. I can’t give birth out here.

SON: I told you, we will, eventually, we just need to throw them off our sent. Give them the run around; they’ll soon give up. Don’t worry. It will all be ok. As long as our child is healthy, that’s all that matters.

MAID: And what shall we tell it?

SON: In regards to what?

MAID: Everything. How we ended up like this? I mean, what do we say when we’re asked about how we met, how the child came to be a b*****d? We haven’t exactly got a fairy tale story to tell.

SON: Fairy tales are made up anyway, none of them are real, we’ll simply just make up our own.

MAID: But we’ll know the truth, and what happens when one day they’re too old for fairy tales?

SON: Then we’ll tell them the truth. It won’t make them love us any less.

MAID: You’re so sure, how can you be that way?

SON: Because as long as we love each other, who cares? That’s the essence of it. Here no one can tell us wright from wrong. We’ve been given a second chance; lets not burden ourselves with the past. Just concern yourself with the future.

MAID: I wonder sometimes whether we have one, or whether histories just repeating.

SON: Do you love me?

MAID: Of course I do. You know I do. You’re my everything.

SON: Then please stop with this nonsense. We’re finally free! To create our own world, together. I thought this is what you wanted?

MAID: It was, I mean, it is. But I can’t help thinking can I.

SON: Do you still believe in destiny?

MAID: Of course, it brought you to me didn’t it.

SON: Then this was how it was meant to be. I could only dream to own such land as this. Nature is what we should be nurturing. There’s no disease out here, no greed, no obsession, no guilt, just purity and peace. The way man was intended to live before we fell to self-futility. (Pause) That’s why I was able to finish my father’s portrait; he was unable to comprehend his own existence, and so was I subconsciously, I only discovered myself when I looked through the eyes of his, I saw my reflection in that easel and then saw what I could become if I let myself.

MAID: What’s that?

SON: A hypocrite. Looking back now, my father was right about a lot of things. I used to brand him a coward for not being brave enough to fight, to stand up for what he believed in, but in many ways, he was braver than I, he defied a whole nation for what he believed in. And I think I finally understand why he deserted the war, he was scared, but not of dying, I think he was truly afraid that he’d never see our faces again, mine and my mothers. That’s all that was important to him, he turned his back on the world for us, and we turned our back on him. For that, and that only, I feel ashamed.

MAID: Its still beautiful isn’t it? The world. The night’s sky. All those stars. How could anyone hold the moon responsible for all the evil? Look at it. It’s magical. That something so bright can exist in all this darkness.

SON: Lets pray our child will be born by the moon’s light. (They embrace) Are you warm enough my love?

MAID: Yes my dear.

SON: Though I will soon need to fetch more wood for the fire.

MAID: Will you hold me till I’m asleep first?

SON: As always.

MAID: I had another horrid dream last night.

SON: I know. I could hear you. I felt you shake. Dare I ask what it was about?

MIAD: The same.

SON: In time you will forget her face and it will be replaced by a happier one.

MAID: Have you forgotten you’re fathers yet?

SON: It’s fading. Though I’m sure once I’ve aged many years it will re-appear when I look in the mirror. In a way you’re lucky not to have been burdened by her genes. It will make things much easier.

MAID: Do you really think so?

SON: Yes, now please try and rest and place you’re mind elsewhere. Think of fairy tales that involve the moon.

MAID: Ok my summer blossom. Goodnight. I love you.

SON: I love you too my rose petal. Goodnight, god-bless. (He kisses her on the forehead and she rest’s her head in his lap, curling up into a ball next to him under a blanket, he sits awake stroking her brow gently. The noise of crickets breaks up the silence of the night. The two lovers look at peace in each other’s arms. This moment is short lived, as there is a growing sound of distant dog barking, at first it is ignored, but then becomes more apparent. The maid opens her eyes and leaps up, the son takes out a small pistol)

MAID: Was that…..

SON: I think so. Quickly, put out the fire. (The two scurry around to put out the fire)

MAID: What do we do!

SON: Shhh. They may pass. (The barks grow increasingly louder and as if nearing closer)

MAID: There getting closer I swear. They’ve found us.

SON: No, not yet. You run, I’ll attract they’re attention.

MAID: I’m not leaving you.

SON: You have to. They’ll hang us both.

MAID: I can’t. I won’t get far like this. We cant out run dogs.

SON: Then you stay and hide. I’ll run towards them firing, I’m bound to catch a few of the mutts, they’ll be too concerned with me to worry of you’re whereabouts.

MAID: No my love, I don’t want to see you hurt.

(The barks and sounds of shouts grow nearer)

VOICE: (From off stage, authorative) Give yourselves up and we’ll call the dogs off!

SON: It’s the only way!

MAID: (Clings onto him) No please! Stay!

(Sounds grow closer)

SON: Its too late. Forgive me my love. (He suddenly takes the maid by the throat from behind and fires his pistol into the air) Halt! Or I shall shoot the lady, she is with child! (Points the pistol at her stomach)

MAID: (Confounded) Robert, why!

SON: Shhh! I raped and kidnapped you. Scream.

MAID: No I won’t.

SON: Scream for help. (Tugs on her hair, she lets out a yelp of pain) I’ll kill both of them!!

VOICE: Easy! Woe boys! (The barking subsides)

SON: (Whispers in her ear) I’m sorry, this is the only way.

VOICE: Give the lady up!

SON: Take the w***e! (He forces her gently to the ground, fires again into the air and shouts) You’ll never catch me! (Before sprinting off stage)

(Two men holding torches run on stage. One see’s to the maid knelt on the floor and the other tails after the son)

GAOLER 2: Don’t you worry miss; we’ll catch the bugger.

GAOLER 1: Get back here! (Running off in the same direction)

(Blackout)

Act Three. Scene Three.

(A jail house. The son is chained to a bench whilst under surveillance, he is battered and bruised)

GAOLER 1: We got a full confession from him. He’s a disgrace.

GAOLER 2: But I still don’t understand, Robert, this isn’t you. What happened? (No response)

GAOLER 1: The devil got inside him, that’s what happened. I always knew one day he’d let him in, I could sense it, I’m never wrong about people.

GAOLER 2: (Puzzled) So you killed the old bat, who was laced in coin, and just took the girl, nothing else?

SON: She was a tease. She thought she was worth more than what she is.

GAOLER 1: And now she’s going to have you’re b*****d devil child, you sick twisted puerile pig! You’ve corrupted an innocent soul, twice over! I should give you a lashing myself! (Goes to remove his belt, but is halted)

GAOLER 2: Steady.

GAOLER 1: Nothing would give me the greater pleasure than to cut you’re demon child out of her myself, and bury it with you. Coward, victimizing the weaker sex.

GAOLER 2: That’s enough. He’ll reap his justice. It’s no longer up to us to condemn his poor soul, he must ask the lord for forgiveness.

GAOLER 1: But make no mistakes, you will hang for this. And I’ll be there to watch. I never liked you. Ever. There was always something about you.

GAOLER 2: Enough I said! His fate is his own.

GAOLER 1: I’ll bring that poor dame in now.

GAOLER 2: Wait. Why is she here? Surely she no longer wishes to see the face of the man that violated her?

GAOLER 1: She wants to see it one last time, so she may spit upon it.

GAOLER 2: No I will not stand for this sadism.

GAOLER 1: This man is no longer a man, but a monster! Do you still hold compassion for him?

GAOLER 2: This is not the proper way. Besides, a lady who spits is no lady.

SON: Oh I can assure you she is not, she is anything but a lady, she is nothing but a nasty w***e, bring her in here, I welcome her spit, I shall swallow it, return the favor. (Gives a deviant smirk, coxing)

GAOLER 1: See! He is already filth! Nothing but a foul f**k fiend.

GAOLER 2: (Shakes his head in dismay) This is all preposterous, to think one of our own has betrayed the coat of arms. (Pause) Bring her in, but I will not stand and be part of this profanity. (He exits the stage, leaving the son alone with Gaoler 1)

GAOLER 1: (Gets up close to the son, sneering in his face) You’ll burn for this.

SON: So hurry up and light the fire.

GAOLER 1: Oh no, there’s no rush; you’ve got an eternity of pain waiting for you. This is just the beginning. (He opens a door and leads the maid in and over to the son, she gasps at the state he is in but then quickly shields her sincerity, as she stops herself from becoming tearful) Go on miss. Let him have it!

(The maid stares at the son looking for approval, the son gives her a subtle gesture of acceptance for what she is about to do. The maid self forces herself to spit on the son with great-concealed displeasure)

GAOLER 1: You can do better than that. Again! From the bottom of you’re throat, really suck it up. Like so. (Demonstrating to her how to produce phlegm as he procures an almighty spitball directed at the sons face) Go on, give it a go. (The maid on the verge of an emotional outburst sucks up the phlegm as a prevention of her weeping, but cannot bring herself to spit again) Go on! He’s already scum! (The son gives her another gesture that everything is ok)

MAID: (Instead of spiting again, she forces a slap with tears in her eyes) Take that! (As she brings her hand down she removes it gently with a subtle stroke of his cheek)

GAOLER 1: Yes! That’s more like it! Give it to him.

MAID: (Chocking up) Listen carefully to what I’m about to say. (With opposite inflections to what she says) I hate you! Do you understand? I hate you with all of my heart.

SON: I hate you too, more than life itself. You disgust me. If I could break free from these chains……

GAOLER 1: Shut it you!

MAID: I can’t think of anyone more disgusting. I will never, ever, forgot you’re face, as long as I or this child lives. You’re the worse thing that ever happened to me.

SON: Likewise.

MAID: (Fighting back the tears) And when this child is grown I will have to lie to it and say that their father was a good man, a great man, the most hansom and noble in all of the land, and that I loved him unconditionally and that every day I miss him more and more, and in a perfect world we’d all be as one. And when the night draws in, and the moon is full, I’ll tell it fairytales to send it to sleep, about a prince and a princess, and how one day the prince valiantly rescued the princess from the clutches of the dragon and freed her from the castle that she was enslaved in, and bestowed upon her the greatest gift of humanity. And for the first time in her life, she was truly happy. (Pause) But of course, that’s just a fairytale, and not at all a reflection of the truth.

SON: And I’ll always know the difference, and I’ll take that to my grave, with pride. (The maid cannot control herself any longer, she bursts out into tears)

GAOLER 1: You evil b*****d! (He strikes the son and then runs to the maid who is grieving and tries to comfort her) There there my dear. (In her grievant state she pushes him away) I think its best now you leave. (The gaoler shows the maid the way out, she stumbles to the door in hysteria, the son manages to keep his composure, the maid turns back round for one final look at the man she loves)

MAID: (Wiping the tears from her eyes) I’ll never hate anyone as much as you.

SON: (Smiles) Yes you will. It won’t be long now. (Admiring her stomach)

GAOLER 1: C’mon miss, let the lord deal with him now.

(He takes her from the room, the son is left alone. He hangs his head in grief, finally letting his emotion out, he gives an almighty roar of displeasure as he pulls on the chains that tie him down, shaking the bench, he then desists and crumbles into himself. Both gaoler’s walk back in with two other men in restraints, they appear to be the two thief’s that stole the painting originally)

GAOLER 1: (To the son) Meet you’re new roommates.

GAOLER 2: It certainty has been a day of reckoning; I knew eventually we’d catch you two.

GAOLER 1: Just a matter of time, that’s what I always say.

THEIF 1: (Sniggers at the previous comment) Well of course, time’s infinite.

GAOLER 1: Not yours! What you got there? (Noticing a roll of paper protruding out of the thief’s jacket, he takes it out and unrolls it, it’s a newspaper) Hey, maybe we’ll make the headlines, the amount of justice we’ve served lately. (Opens it up and begins to read)

GAOLER 2: Keep dreaming.

THIEF 2: You took the words from my mouth.

GAOLER 2: I’ll have no more lip, from either of you. Or I’ll let the rats s**t in you’re porridge. C’mon. (He chains them to the bench one either side of the son)

GAOLER 1: Ha! Get this, I should like to die of consumption, because the ladies will all say, look at that poor Byron, how interesting he looks in dying. Ha! He’s already as pale as a ghost.

GAOLER 2: What’s that?

GAOLER 1: This article in the paper, Lord Byron on the death of, romatic, roman….(Struggles to pronounce the world) Romantic ism….(Both thieves’ chuckle)

SON: Romanticism.

GAOLER 1: Shut up! I’ll use this to wipe my backside.

(The thief’s either side of the son, stare at him as if dazed by dejavu)

THIEF 1: Have we met? (The son looks up at the Thief and shakes his head) You sure? You look too familiar. (Trying to recall his memory)

THIEF 2: I was thinking the very same.

SON: We have never met.

THEIF 1: Hmm. (Pause’s for another moment of reflection, cannot recall the familiarity) I’ll take you’re word.

(Slow fade to blackout. Curtain)

THE END.