I
Doubleyew Banton
CHARACTER
DOUBLEYEW Blind, Braille-literate, Jamaican Londoner. In his
sixties, at least.
TIME
The instant of performance.
PLACE
The stage, bare except for a wood lectern with a 1940s microphone.
NOTES
The opening and closing incantations are culled from The Complete Enochian Dictionary: A Dictionary of the Angelic Language as Revealed to Dr. John Dee and Edward Kelley. “There is no end ...
jakes” is condensed from Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy. “Sweet
Swan of Avon ...” and “The fate of all books ...” are from the
preface to Shakespeare’s First Folio.How shall I hope to express my selfe to each man’s humour and conceipt, or to give satisfaction to all? Some understand too little, some too much.
Robert Burton, The Anatomy of Melancholy
(DOUBLEYEW, dressed in black, taps
his way in with a white umbrella.
Having found the lectern on which a
Braille folio lies, he raps the mic
before reading aloud.)
DOUBLEYEW
Do-o-aip Kwāl
Za-ka-re od zamran ā-i om
Odo sik-le kwā
Bag-le a ko-kazb i kors ka u-nig blior
In the name of the Creator
Move and show yourselves amongst us
Open the mysteries of your creation
For the time is such as requires comfort
Carts and carriages pipe and screech. Miiiiiilk! Miiiiiilk!
Squealing, howling, barking, bleats. Neighs, shrieks,
caterwauls; clatter, din and hullabaloo. Knells and peals
and tolling bells. Posthorns. Knocking at gates; creaking
of doors, floors, cupboards, shoes; clipping of hair,
razing of beards; hawking, spitting, coughs and sneezes;
belching and farts; titters, snorts. Pandemonium of brats,
racket of beatings; babbles of soap-makers, snips of
tailors, eruptions of powder-makers, hammers of smiths;
close crashings by coopers, pewterers, armourers, braziers;
blind cacophonies from harpers, pipers, fiddlers; alehouse
hoots, yells, whispers, brawls; knives a grinding, clubs a
bashing: chitty City bangarang.
Hovering over the Globe
Whistle ’cross the dark water
(whistles)
Are they coming?
(whistles)
Yes, they are coming!
Entered this eighth day of November, in the year of Our
Lord sixteen hundred and twenty-three, Master William
Shakespeare his Comedies, Histories, & Tragedies
published according to the true original copies. Isaac
Jaggard, and Ed. Blount, printers.
Deliver’d at last. I’ll to the river.
Dear friend, let not thy too natural griefs
Prompt thee to any deed unnatural.
Fear not, good Blount, I will but walk a spell.
There’s rain toward. Isaac, farewell.
Adieu.
(Gliding his hand across the page,
DOUBLEYEW finds no text. He retraces.
Nothing. Sweeps down the page. Blank.
Turns page. Same. Flips through a couple
more.)
Ah.
Adieu.
(pause)
How carefully he mine ink’d form misreads!
Albeit spent labours oft net but sapp’d
Melancholy, to boot a blind father’s
Fatal visitation, yet stand I sack-
Proof, for clear through London’s siege mine alpha
Counsels still, his script invisible reveal’d
By warm remembrance. Glad I am he, faults
Redeem’d, clasp’d that first folio at last;
William by Will for aye preserv’d as I
Am my father’s son, my son mine.
1 carefully full of caring concern; ink’d form page of type
inked ready for printing 2 Albeit ... melancholy Although
completing a project often only results in depression;
sapp’d drained, (Military) undermined by digging 3 to boot
in addition 4 Fatal visitation deadly affliction from God;
I sack-proof pun on Isaac: to sack is to destroy and
plunder 5 siege here used metaphorically; alpha first
letter of Greek alphabet, beginning 7 faults Redeem’d sins
absolved, e.g. prior copyright infractions 8 William by
Will William Shakespeare by William Jaggard, or vice versa:
Isaac took over the business upon his father’s syphilitic
blindness; also puns on volition, property disposal 9 aye
Pron. ‘eye’ ever
Will yuh try mi quality, sah? Com let mi seet.
(Moves hands back up, paraphrases on the
fly.)
Blount’s a decent sort, minds his p’s and q’s, but quite
misspells my sable frame. Granted post-job ennui’s dash
typical—let alone pater darkly shuffling off—but chin up!
said original leads on through London’s bloody hassle, fond
mem’ries heat to secret ink. Delighted he finally held the
prime edition, misdeeds offset. Our Wills being done,
reissue as one, twinned ad infinitum.
(chuckles)
A suh wi dweet.
‘Sweet Swan of Avon! What a sight it were
To see thee in our waters yet appear,
And make those flights upon the banks of Thames
That so did take Eliza and our James.’
(Whistles chorus of ‘L’il Liza Jane’.)
Why, we wherry amphibians who live by oar and skull, what
need ‘ave we of plays? Dispatcher to the Globe, totus
mundus plays me the patched fool. Nay, Master Jagged, since
for this time you sit upon my watery stage, you must be
content to ‘ear me. There is no end of writing of books, as
the wise man found of old, and in this scribbling age,
wherein the number of books is without number, as another
worthy man saith, your very presses be oppressed, for out
of an itching ‘umour that every man ‘ath to show himself,
dolor digitus, ’e will write no matter what and scrape
together it boots not whence, larding ‘is lean with others’
fat to get a paper kingdom. So comes it not only libraries
and shops are full of putrid papers, but every close-stool
and jakes; ergo their warblings croak o’er the bottomless
pit, gone for a melancholy Burton, and Bob’s your only
nuncle.
But four years hence young Master Isaac Jaggard, son of
Master William Jaggard late of this parish, will himself up
sticks. Put a coin upon his tongue for the ferryman.
(The sound of rain. DOUBLEYEW opens his
umbrella.)
The fate of all books depends on your capacities: and not
of your heads alone, but of your purses. Whatever you do,
buy now these works offer’d to your view, perfect of
their limbs as the author himself conceived them.
Niiso, crip ip nidali. Come away, but not your noises.
(Exit.)
II
Fitz & Twitch
CHARACTER
GRUB Woman dressed in man’s 18th century clothing; a drudge of
the pen; accent north of Watford; head lice, fleas, crabs.
TIME
The instant of performance.
PLACE
The stage, bare except for an overhead projector on a cart.
NOTES
The handwriting: round hand would be appropriate for the eighteenth
century, but italic or other cursive script would do.
He was therefore obliged to seek some other means of support, and, having no profession, became by necessity, an author.
Samuel Johnson, An Account of the Life of Mr Richard
Savage, Son of the Earl Rivers
(The clank of three coins dropping
into an electricity meter precedes
GRUB’s entry to its constant tick.
She switches on an overhead
projector, sole source of light and
heat, focusing it onto the upstage
wall. Her 1780s’ gentleman’s
costume is shabby, her hair in two
short pigtails. Reading aloud, she
re-edits transparencies.)
GRUB
Fame must not be presumed the principal object of authorial
endeavour; the glare of vulgar attention is anathema to
temperaments immanently disposed towardthe gloom of
bookish retreat and distillatory meditation. While it may
yet ^yet^ appear self-evident that general acclaim should
be the chief purpose and delight of any dedicated
scribbler/member of the quilled tribe/flock?, collegial
evaluation and deliverance from intellectual irritants atlast lastly turned literary pearls rather constitute the
^those^ consummations most devoutlyfrequentlycommonly
unequivocally craved/desired/preferred.
Consider, then, those incongruous the sundry excruciations
(The meter stops, the light goes out. GRUB
switches off the projector and exits. Pause.
Four coins. GRUB, minus some articles of
clothing, re-enters, restarts the projector,
continues editing.)
notoriety may shall not fail to inflict upon one such
ingenious solitary. Till yYesterday few were acquainted
with ^the name of^ Nathaniel Hilton; since he has to myknowledge hitherto published but one ^acknowledged^
article, this is scarce to be wondered. Whether that essay
be fictional sufficiently creditable I want qualification
to assess, for in his ‘Epistle from an Empire of Sighs’
Mr. Hilton pretends to have laboured with the Dutch midst
Japan’s shrouded isles with Dr., during which extravagant
spell Dr. Samuel Johnson’s magisterial Dictionary was his
served ^him^ qua as sole anglophone companion. Hilton’s
^undying^ passion for that stubbornly mysteriousmysteriously stubborn asiatic land his habitual and,alas, ill-fated affection of its indigenous garb ^thekeymono? kimoano?^ ^eloquently^ attests; that he consorts
communes still with the spirit of the late Great Cham last
Thursday’s theatric efflorescence at a certain ^Covent
Garden^ molly house unequivocally confirms.
(The meter stops, the light goes out. GRUB
switches off the projector and exits.
Pause. Five coins. GRUB, minus further articles of
clothing, re-enters, restarts the projector.
Now she composes on a fresh transparency,
editing as she goes, rarely reading aloud.)
Of the good Doctor’s maturity much is known; of his coltish
years less has been revealed. ‘An Account of the Life of Mr
Richard Savage, Son of the Earl Rivers’ first
To conceive a play resembling one as written on/by? the
moon stands contrary to reason; to mount one, preposterous;
any persuaded by such an an illusion deserve merit then to
be pronounced the label lunatic; among this absurd company
I proudly^brazenly^ ^hereby^ count myself.
Through midnight streets they we wander’d
Around dark squares they we roved strode
Pugnacious Sam and courteous Savage
Wit’s’ hobbyhorses rode
That the drama was born when one protagonist escaped the clutches of fled the choric herd is well attested
manifestly credible; that he was joined thereafter by a
second fugitive, the antagonist, is likewise not to be
impugned; thence proceeds by increments our modern practice of legion characters plays teeming with catholic profusion.
The greater variety of our English this nation’s humours
doubtless approves its theatrical preeminence; for when
Thalmia & Melpomene hold up their mirroritthey must needs
reflect what lies before them. To fashionable tastes Be it
never so ingenious, a curious rambling capriccio of but two
characters might therefore presage thin gruel though
(The meter stops, the light goes out. GRUB
switches off the projector and exits. Pause.
Two coins. GRUB, wrapped in only a bedsheet,
re-enters, restarts the projector. In
desperate haste, she simply writes.)
Bio ‘rarely well executed’. Sav + J differences/
commonalities nicely drawn. Mad for company > sleep.
City pastoral. Scant plot. J ↑ tree, St James Park swim,
mock duel, St Jas Sq ⥁. Reminiscences anticipations.
Quips!!!! Penury. Cots crammed bulks + glasshouse ashes.
Paper scraps cadged pens. ’tis gone!
Profound sentiment vs. Drury fustian. Characters true
speech bare stage unlit. Artless artifice. Dionysus reborn.
Misses
Lit. obscurities
J’s twitches puffs
stale politics.
But this was London lived, whereof audience never tiredPending sodomy trial H’s projected Tetty in Bedlam + Pash
of Sam Enthraled at risk if pilloried, lost if hanged
(out loud)
Dah! Dangli—
(The meter stops. The light goes out. GRUB
wails.)
My duds and stampers!
III
Wharton’s Jelly
CHARACTERS
EFOLIA An only child, terrified yet determined. Cockney.
MITTEN Her father, a widower, godly printer, damned and dogged.
The two actors play all their character’s ages. Only Efolia’s is
indicated (Child, Teenage, Adult), Mitten’s follows suit. Each age
corresponds to the appropriate era below.
TIME
Civil War (1642-1649)
Commonwealth and Protectorate (1649-1660)
Restoration (1660; Plague, 1665; Fire, 1666)
PLACE
Efolia’s memory of the plain dark living room in a London house
above a print shop near Smithfield Market. Its windows look out on
gallows in the street below.
The street after the Great Fire.
NOTE
Wharton's Jelly is a gelatinous substance in the umbilical cord,
named for the English physician and anatomist Thomas Wharton
(1614-1673) who first described it.
PROLOGUE
(A London street burned to the
ground in the Great Fire.)
(The actor playing MITTEN unearths an
identically, but more rottenly, costumed
skeleton to use as a dummy.)
MITTEN’S CORPSE
Who grubs my carcass, bruiting me now in London’s stench
for popinjays to crow at? Look, from out these sockets the
very wriggling worms protest. Buboes grab your crotch and
shake you! Rooting time’s cellar to glut a shallow age,
snuffling the latrines of hist— What? Already? Shorted
again.
(as if mounting scaffold)
So may my soul ascend.
(reproachfully)
Easy! Good noose, do your skilful worst. Trusting my
salvation, I recommit my bowels to abysmal gravity. And
thereby—
(Crash of stool, rattle of bones. Flames
crackle, swell, then die.)
I.i
(The dark table, stool, chair and
chest conjure a plain C17th living
room above a London print shop.)
(Looking out a window, CHILD EFOLIA
furtively sketches while MITTEN writes in
a ledger.)
EFOLIA
If he’s dead why do his legs twitch so?
MITTEN
Dancing o'er the pit.
EFOLIA
Are all hanged damned?
MITTEN
Of the king’s party.
EFOLIA
And the beheaded?
MITTEN
Clip to burning.
EFOLIA
More merciful then.
I.ii
(MITTEN reads. TEENAGE EFOLIA writes in
ledger, gazes out the window.)
EFOLIA
Remember my first? You said flames licked the man’s legs.
MITTEN
Again.
EFOLIA
The purgative fires.
MITTEN
What the …?
EFOLIA
Pass.
(accusingly)
It stays with a body.
I.iii
(ADULT EFOLIA reenacts Child Efolia.)
EFOLIA
Tippy-toe, tapping covert walls. ‘Ware Roundheads, Cavalier.’
MITTEN
‘Hold hard!’
EFOLIA
Blank. ‘I’m no babbler.’
MITTEN
The will o’ the child.
(They chuckle.)
I.iv
(To the clicks of typesetting below, CHILD
EFOLIA traces her face with her fingers.)
I.v
(CHILD EFOLIA doodles while copying the
alphabet. MITTEN slumps into a chair.)
MITTEN
Chatter chatter chatter. Man’s a bald baboon.
EFOLIA
Soon’s I read I’ll help. Count too.
MITTEN
Chatter chatter chatter. Silence and bare walls. And books.
I.vi
(MITTEN shows CHILD EFOLIA the ledger.)
MITTEN
The will of the Lord is published in profits. ‘By their
fruits ye shall know them.’
EFOLIA
The crab apples of austerity are wiser than the peaches
of indulgence.
I.vii
(ADULT EFOLIA and MITTEN.)
EFOLIA
Think of your gleeful days. The Commonwealth.
MITTEN
Ah, they dig, they rant, they level, they quake. A world
turned upside down tumbles coin from its pockets. Word will
out and must be printed, and the printer will be paid. The
black art’s golden age. What profits it a man if he lose
his soul?
EFOLIA
‘By their fruits.’
MITTEN
We printed today—at your particular prompting—a play.
EFOLIA
Think of your gleeful days.
I.viii
(CHILD EFOLIA and MITTEN play Hangman.)
MITTEN
Three words? ‘E’.
(EFOLIA fills in two.)
MITTEN (Cont’d)
‘O’?
(EFOLIA draws the head.)
MITTEN (Cont’d)
‘I’?
(EFOLIA draws the body.)
MITTEN (Cont’d)
‘A’.
(EFOLIA fills in three.)
MITTEN (Cont’d)
‘Zed’.
(EFOLIA draws an arm.)
MITTEN (Cont’d)
‘Q’.
(The other arm.)
MITTEN (Cont’d)
‘P’?
(A leg.)
MITTEN (Cont’d)
‘M’.
(EFOLIA fills in one.)
MITTEN (Cont’d)
‘S’.
(EFOLIA draws the final limb.)
EFOLIA
Hangman!
MITTEN
What does it spell?
EFOLIA
Adam and Eve.
(Flames crackle, swell, then die.)
II.i
(Looking out a window, CHILD EFOLIA
furtively sketches while MITTEN writes in
a ledger.)
EFOLIA
Are all hanged damned?
MITTEN
Of the king’s party.
EFOLIA
And the beheaded?
MITTEN
Clip to burning.
EFOLIA
More merciful then.
(MITTEN grabs the sketch.)
MITTEN
Hanged, drawn, and so,
(rips sketch)
quartered.
II.ii
(To the clicks of typesetting below, CHILD
EFOLIA fingers the alphabet on her face.)
EFOLIA
a,b,c,d,e,f,g,h,i,j,k,l,m,n,o,p,q,r,s,t,u,v,w,x,y,zed.
II.iii
(CHILD EFOLIA bites an apple.)
EFOLIA
It’s maggoty.
MITTEN
This night the people’s Roundhead army starves in muddy
fields, drenched and bitter cold, faaar from home, while
cozy round a blazing hearth, the king’s Cavaliers sup on
soup, eels, carp, pies, beef, mutton, venison, diverse
cheeses, baked codlings, puddings, dried apricots, black
walnuts, cakes, ales, sherries, claret and brandies
plundered all from larders of the godly. Not the spirits.
Our Lord fasted forty days. Finish it.
EFOLIA
Merry Christmas, father.
II.iv
(TEENAGE EFOLIA reads to a drowsy MITTEN
from the Book of Judith.)
EFOLIA
‘Wherefore thou gavest their rulers to be slain, so that
they dyed their bed in blood, being deceived, and smotest
the servants with their lords, and the lords upon their
thrones; And hast given their wives for a prey, and their
daughters to be captives, and all their spoils to be
divided among thy dear children; which were moved with
thy zeal, and abhorred the pollution of their blood, and
called upon thee for aid: O God,/ O my God, hear me also
a widow.’
MITTEN
O my God, hear me also a widow.
II.v
(An axe’s swish and thud, a crowd’s groan.
CHILD EFOLIA clutches her bleeding
crotch.)
EFOLIA
‘As I was going by Charing Cross,
I saw a black man upon a black horse;
They told me it was King Charles the First—
Oh dear, my heart was ready to burst!’
II.vi
(TEENAGE EFOLIA scrubs her first
bloodstained sheets and drawers.)
EFOLIA
Hail Queen Mary, full of grace, blessed art thou
amongst … Hail Queen Mary, full of … The Lord is
with thee and kings come out of thee. Hail Queen Mary,
full … Oh, let me not be dying. Hail Queen Mary, full
of grace … And this shall be a covenant between us by
thy husband’s royal and precious … Hail Queen Mary,
mother of … How do you get these stains out? Hail Queen
Mother Mary, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of
our death. Amen.
II.vii
(TEENAGE EFOLIA tosses the liquid contents
of a chamber pot out the window.)
MITTEN (Off)
Christ’s bowels, Efolia! Shan’t a man sniff his proper
turds?
EFOLIA
It’s potpourri.
MITTEN (Off)
Popery is right.
EFOLIA
Are you incensed?
MITTEN (Off)
Clouds the scent of godliness.
(EFOLIA reaches off to take the bowl of
petals from MITTEN, sniffs them, sighs,
then tosses them out the window.)
EFOLIA
Excommunicated.
(Flames crackle, swell, then die.)
III.i
MITTEN
… and so,
(rips CHILD EFOLIA’S sketch)
quartered. Reproduction offends Him!
EFOLIA
Sit still, do not breathe, do not blink. Weep not and be
not comforted; you are not. Ascend to safety. Happy
birthday. Put away childish things.
III.ii
(To the clicks of typesetting below, CHILD
EFOLIA fingers her face.)
EFOLIA
E.a.r.s. E.y.e.s. N.o.s.e. M.o.u.t.h.
(Buries head in hands and weeps.)
III.iii
(ADULT EFOLIA proffers MITTEN a manuscript.)
MITTEN
An actor? Whiles I print below he’ll steal through the
window.
EFOLIA
Keep him by you.
MITTEN
Ha! Hooked. Bonk!
EFOLIA
He entered the shop, through the door, and asked about the
printing of a manuscript. I dissuaded him, but said I would
enquire.
MITTEN
He may counterfeit any customer, even the godly. I must
trust none, suspect all.
EFOLIA
Would you turn away business?
MITTEN
Show me the thing.
EFOLIA
A very speaking sight wherein the age may see its faults
reflected.
MITTEN
Actresses? Daughter, confine yourself still to the sober
fellowship of books.
EFOLIA
Times turn, our volume declines.
MITTEN
Bonk! Bonk!
III.iv
(ADULT EFOLIA reads to a drowsy MITTEN
from the Book of Judith.)
EFOLIA
‘And approached to his bed, and took hold of the hair of
his head, and said, Strengthen me, O Lord God of Israel,
this day. And she smote twice upon his neck with all her
might, and she took away his head from him.’
(Noticing MITTEN nodding asleep, she leafs
back, becoming CHILD EFOLIA.)
EFOLIA (Cont’d)
‘And she took sandals upon her feet, and put about her
her bracelets, and her chains, and her rings, and her
earrings, and all her ornaments, and decked herself
bravely, to allure the eyes of all men that should see
her.’
(Pulls stool to the window, kneels on it,
gazes out, looking back at MITTEN now and
then.)
III.v
(ADULT EFOLIA looks out the window. Hurries
off, then back. Looks out the window. Hurries
off. Clip-clops down the stairs. Two sets of
footsteps climb.)
MITTEN (Off)
He wasn’t in.
EFOLIA (Off)
You should’ve let me go.
(MITTEN drops a string-tied bundle of scripts on the
table.)
MITTEN
The house was shut.
EFOLIA
He was at the theatre. Conceivably. I did offer.
MITTEN
Still prattling against the plague.
EFOLIA
I heard.
MITTEN
Godforsaken country needs a proper scourge.
EFOLIA
I would’ve gone. I could’ve. If you’d let me.
(Steps back as though rewinding, sees bundle
as if for the first time, picks it up.)
EFOLIA (Cont’d)
Oh, they’re done. Better late than never. I’ll go. You
stay. You’re too busy.
MITTEN
Alright, you go.
EFOLIA
The plague. Each snared in the fatal air, glanced by a
common dread, suspect executioners all. Bliss to be knit
so close.
III.vi
(Reverse: As ADULT MITTEN staggers,
feverish, toward the chair, CHILD EFOLIA
pushes him back into the wings. Forward: As
MITTEN staggers toward the chair, ADULT
EFOLIA supports him.)
MITTEN
To and fro, to and fro. Quick. Untangle the choking cord,
the umbilical. The choking cord. Quick, quick. What, the
mother lost? Snuff the infant too then: she has her eyes.
My rib, gone. Unhang every portrait, let barren walls
protest.
(stares at EFOLIA)
My spitting joy my curse … water under the … thou shalt not.
(Dies.)
EFOLIA
(sketches her father through tears)
‘Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any
likeness of any thing that is in heaven above, or that is
in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the
earth.’
(Flames crackle, swell, then die.)
EPILOGUE
(A London street burned to the ground
in the Great Fire. ADULT EFOLIA
contemplates the ruins of her home.)
EFOLIA
If he’s dead …
(She remembers a while. Then, under the
charred remains of a printing press, she
discovers the damaged, long-hidden
portrait of a woman who has her eyes.
EFOLIA jigs.)
IV
The Bowels of Darkness
CAST
SISSI flower seller, street performer, 20s, postpartum
and malnourished, capable of surprising intensity
SLACK EDDY 30s, street performer, dreamer
TWO-STRING Chinese refugee, er-hu player
MAGGOT baby with cholera, a doll
RATS rag puppets
AUDIENCE See Notes
TIME
Late 1860s
PLACE
A gallery and a hovel off it on the south bank of the Thames in
Gustav Doré’s London.
NOTES
Conceived as an immersive piece, this could also be done by either
selecting people from the audience to serve as onstage spectators,
or by using life-size rag dolls.
“… a maze of close, narrow, and muddy streets … tottering house-
fronts projecting over the pavement, dismantled walls … chimneys
half crushed half hesitating to fall, windows guarded by rusty iron
bars that time and dirt have almost eaten away … rooms so small, so
filthy, so confined, that the air would seem too tainted even for
the dirt and squalor which they shelter … every repulsive lineament
of poverty, every loathsome indication of filth, rot, and garbage.”
Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist
(Down a rank, rickety, smog-bound
gallery SISSI, in tattered hand-me-
downs, greets the queuing audience
with sprigs of rosemary.)
SISSI
Gainst the stink, sir? Ma’am? Remembrance? They do say
that, don’t they, yes. The Venice of drains. This way,
gentles. Out the dank miasma.
(Into a ramshackle sty with bundled
rags for seats. Rotted floorboards
with a sizable hole whiffing of
sewage. Scurry and chatter of RATS
that pop up from time to time.
Shadows cast by an oil lamp onto a
suspended sheet silhouette SLACK EDDY
dabbing MAGGOT with a cloth. To one
side, TWO-STRING on er-hu.)
Mind the—
(Clang! Flattens rat with a frying pan.)
Banging your pardon, gentles. Vermin nibbles our pigmy.
Don’t suppose …? No? Ah.
(Presses pan on an audience member.)
Don’t mind if you do, ma’am/sir. Whack on sight. There!
Gong it! Gong it! Getting the hang of it, are we? Grateful,
ever so.
(Serves cups of water.)
Adam’s ale. There. Everybody comfy? Commencing shortly.
(Retires behind the sheet. TWO-STRING
changes tune. EDDY shakes his head.
SISSI shrugs. EDDY sighs: on with the show.
Ignoring MAGGOT, who begins to cry and
will continue to do so, the couple step
from behind the sheet. They accompany
their patter with a barrage of quick-fire
variety turns which might include: slack
rope, dance, acrobatics, juggling, magic,
escapology, unicycling, knife throwing,
fire eating, goldfish swallowing, mime,
stilts, puppetry, etc. Assorted African-
style props and costumes.)
EDDY
Boobies, behold the mysteries of aqueous existence!
Liquid compliments, my wassailing water bags. We shall
commence with the overture. Haitches and Os, Ebenezers
and Floes, drops and droplettes, pray hoist a moist
salute to Middlesex’s miraculous musical mandarin, our
very own valiant virtuoso on the vertiginous vertical
violin, maestro Two-String Show-me!
SISSI
Er, who?
EDDY
Precisely. Take it away, sifu.
(TWO-STRING obliges.)
Tonight we shall attain the dark continent’s primeval
Eden via the infernal entrails of our yet darker
metropolis, coursing London’s malodorous labyrinth to rest
at last by Afric’s lacustrine shores, those limpid
tributaries to mighty father Nile, eternal mother of
mankind. Too far, too late, too much? No, for here in this
den of dreams, this dispensary of consolation, all time is
redeemed and singular experience made joint. Let us plunge
into the bowels of darkness.
SISSI
Sewers of blood, sewers a-boil, arching, cavernous, ovoid,
barrel; waste, effluvia, dung; conduits sh-
(MAGGOT stops crying. Everything stops.
EDDY goes back to check. He brings out the
corpse. TWO-STRING plays a version of “Waft
her, angels” from Handel’s Jephtha. RATS
stand up, their front paws pressed in
prayer. EDDY and SISSI prepare the body
then commit it to the hole. They dip cups
into the sewer and drink. MAGGOT ascends,
borne aloft by angel RATS.
As the audience leave, the cast distribute
programmes written on discarded proofs. One
side has handwritten production details, the
reverse, the following printed text.)
The Taiping Rebellion or the Taiping Civil War (Tàipíng
Tiānguó Yùndòng, literally “Great Peace Heavenly Kingdom
Movement”) lasted from 1850 to 1864 and was fought
between the established Manchu-led Qing dynasty and the
millenarian Heavenly Kingdom of Great Peace.
The war was the largest in China since the Qing conquest
in 1644, and it also ranks as one of the bloodiest wars
in human history, the bloodiest civil war and the largest
conflict of the 19th century, with estimates of the war
dead ranging from 20–70 million to as high as 100
million, with millions more displaced.
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