Ambush at Tether's End
ACT ONE
[Blackout. A spot illuminates a male body with its neck in a noose, hanging from a beam somewhere upstage with its back to the audience. On its head, a wide-brimmed hat. Scattered about, a few benches, a few chairs and a number of wooden crates]
MAX: [recorded] Early evening, in the middle of the month. After a meal of cheese, crackers and a hell of a lot of Hunchbachen, a fine domestic wine. Health is generally stable. Let that be known first. Let it also be known that I was or am of sound mind. So let there be no romantic insinuations about my death. If there is an expression left on my face, and it must be interpreted, let it be interpreted as one of smug, but evasive satisfaction. For it was my nature to be evasive, and I wish to remain loyal to my nature. And besides, I have always believed that evasiveness is next to godliness. Earlier today I purchased a specific amount of rope for a specific purpose. For, you see, I did – because of all and in spite of everything – have a point to make. So one final word to my friends and associates. Suffer!
[BUSH is discovered seated on a crate a few feet away from the body’s dangling feet, looking up at its face and smiling. After a moment or two he gets up, takes a pill, glances offstage rear, then gives the body a push, causing it to swing from side to side. He sits.
GALT enters from the darkness in the rear carrying a large bottle of wine. He stumbles, comes up behind BUSH]
GALT: Why's he swinging?
BUSH: I pushed him.
GALT: What for?
BUSH: I wanted to show him that I cared.
GALT: So you pushed him?
BUSH: I couldn’t think of anything better.
GALT: Hmmm…
BUSH: Silly, eh?
GALT: Here, hold this.
BUSH: [taking bottle] Hunchbachen.
GALT: Found it in the back.
BUSH: The man had no taste… But I still cared about him.
GALT: [pushes body to and fro] Well, so did I.
BUSH: It’s not much, is it?
GALT: No, but I feel better.
BUSH: A man does what he can.
GALT: He can’t do any more.
BUSH: Anyway, it’s better than just hanging there. At least, that’s how I feel. Silly though. Isn’t it?
GALT: What?
BUSH: Well now I feel much more comfortable. I think it has something to do with the actual physical contact.
GALT: Yes. That’s true, I guess. I guess I feel the same way.
[Pause]
BUSH: Who’d you call?
GALT: Mr. and Mrs. Crane.
BUSH: Are they coming?
GALT: They’re walking over.
BUSH: They take walks every night.
GALT: It’s a bit farther than they usually go though.
BUSH: Yes. I bet they take a taxi.
GALT: How much.
BUSH: Five.
GALT: You’re on.
[They shake hands, stop, look at body]
BUSH: Did you call anyone else?
GALT: Couldn’t think of anyone else.
BUSH: What about someone in an official capacity?
GALT: Don’t see the point.
BUSH: No… But they usually do, you know.
GALT: Uh-huh. But I still don’t see the sense of it.
BUSH: Well, it’s up to you.
GALT: I don’t see why it should be up to me.
BUSH: It has to be up to someone.
GALT: We’ll tell Mr. and Mrs. Crane it’s up to them.
BUSH: I suppose it really is up to them anyway.
GALT: Yes… Why’s that?
BUSH: Come on, Galt. They were his parents.
GALT: Yes. Wait. Are you sure?
BUSH: He called them Mom and Dad. They call him Son.
GALT: But was it natural?
BUSH: How’s that?
GALT: He could have been adopted. I don’t know.
BUSH: Neither do I. Remember, he never talked about things like that.
GALT: He was usually too drunk to talk.
BUSH: And it wasn’t so much talking as asking questions.
GALT: When he wasn't drunk.
BUSH: Or in a stupor.
[They move toward the body]
GALT: Or screaming like a lunatic.
BUSH: Look, there’s a note around his neck.
GALT: [backing away] What’s it say?
BUSH: “Mr. and Mrs. Crane are my natural parents. Everything is up to them.”
[Pause.
They look at each other]
GALT: [a feeble smile] Well, I’d like to see them try to get out of it now.
BUSH: I don’t know. I bet they try, anyway.
GALT: How much?
BUSH: Five.
GALT: You’re on.
[They shake hands, stop. GALT goes for bottle and drinks]
GALT: [cont’d] This stuff is terrible.
BUSH: Yeah, I wonder why he drank it.
GALT: He drank it because it’s terrible. He wanted to suffer.
BUSH: Yeah. He told me that too.
GALT: Did he tell you about Rimbaud?
BUSH: Rimbaud. Oh, you mean his dog.
GALT: No, Rimbaud, the poet. The Danish poet.
BUSH: Oh, he was the one who got him drinking the cheap stuff, eh?
GALT: No, he was the one who got him wanting to suffer.
BUSH: Oh. Right. Where’d he meet the bastard, anyway?
GALT: He never met him. He just read about him.
BUSH: Oh well, that was another problem of his.
GALT: What.
BUSH: He read the wrong things. Too much of it will kill you, you know.
GALT: Too much of anything will kill you.
BUSH: That’s very true.
GALT: Do you read Rimbaud?
BUSH: Of course, but I can handle him.
GALT: He told me that Rimbaud said it was better to suffer than to sleep.
BUSH: Poetically speaking.
GALT: Yeah.
BUSH: Better to suffer than to sleep. What do you suppose that means?
GALT: I thought you said you read Rimbaud?
BUSH: I do. But I’ve got a sound mind. It couldn’t mean the same thing to me.
GALT: Something about the extremes.
BUSH: Hot and cold?
GALT: Suffering and sleeping.
BUSH: Speaking…poetically?
GALT: I guess so.
BUSH: Galt?
GALT: What?
BUSH: Why do you suppose he called us before he did it?
GALT: He probably couldn’t think of a way to call us after he did it.
BUSH: [smiles, frowns] There’s always the newspaper.
GALT: No. He didn’t want it in the paper.
BUSH: How do you know? [no response] How do you know, Galt?
GALT: He told me.
BUSH: You mean he told you he was going to hang himself?
GALT: Oh. Yes.
BUSH: Did you try to stop him?
[GALT mutters]
BUSH: [cont’d] What? Speak up. Did you try to stop him?!
GALT: No.
BUSH: Some friend!
[Pause]
GALT: Wait. Didn’t he tell you?
BUSH: I don’t want to talk about it.
GALT: [grabs BUSH] Did he tell you?
BUSH: Well. Yes.
GALT: Did you try to stop him?
BUSH: Oh. Sure I did.
GALT: What’d you say?
BUSH: I told him it was up to him.
GALT: Huh!
BUSH: Well, what about you? You didn’t try to stop him. You admitted it.
GALT: You don’t understand. I was tongue-tied. You don’t understand.
BUSH: Nothing to understand. At least I offered an opinion.
GALT: But for months, I’ve been thinking about what he meant when he told me he’d rather suffer than sleep. Quite a problem. Then he calls me tonight and tells me he’s changed his mind. He’d rather sleep than suffer. Confusing as hell. I mean, how can a man offer an opinion in a situation like that? [pause] Bush?
BUSH: [nods] Yes. [pause] Besides, you had other things on your mind.
GALT: Well, don’t we all?
BUSH: Of course we do. I was busy myself.
GALT: The radio wasn’t working. The porch needed painting.
BUSH: I tried to tell him about my back. I’ve got a twisted thorax, you know.
GALT: What about your crooked vertebrae?
BUSH: They’ve been straightened.
GALT: Oh, that’s good. [pause] Actually I did manage to tell him something.
BUSH: But he wouldn’t listen. [nods]
GALT: He never listened anyway. No listening, not to us. No sir, just talking.
BUSH: Shouting.
GALT: Babbling!
BUSH: Bellowing!
GALT: It was an imposition. Typical of him!
BUSH: Yeah, typical… So what did you tell him?
GALT: After all, the porch did need painting.
BUSH: Did you hang up on him?
GALT: [pushes body] No, no. I cared about him, you know.
BUSH: Did you lose your temper?
GALT: No, I tried to be reasonable.
BUSH: Just like me. So what did you tell him?
GALT: A man of his age should be able to stand on his own. Certain decisions have to be made alone. And so I told him.
BUSH: [pushes body] You told him it was up to him.
GALT: Yes. But only because I thought it was the best thing under the circumstances. What do you think?
BUSH: Exactly… You didn’t say anything else?
GALT: What else could be said?
BUSH: What else? Exactly. Nothing more could be said.
GALT: Nothing more was said. [finds note under body]
BUSH: Another note?
GALT: Must have fallen out of his pocket.
BUSH: What’s it say? What’s it say, Galt?
GALT: “I telephoned my dear friends Bush and Galt and they both told me to go hang myself.”... It was only a figure of speech.
BUSH: You’d think he’d know how much pain a twisted thorax causes.
GALT: The man had no social grace.
BUSH: Too many distractions.
GALT: No social grace.
BUSH: If he’d been able to keep a clear head.
GALT: Where’s the sense in leaving that kind of note, anyway?
BUSH: Not very considerate.
GALT: Worse than that. It shows a complete lack of social grace.
BUSH: Typical of him, though.
GALT: Sure is.
BUSH: What are you going to do with it?
GALT: Burn it.
BUSH: Make sure you do.
GALT: Bloody right! I’ll burn it. Why not?
BUSH: It’s not like it was meant for the whole world.
GALT: We’ve read it.
BUSH: That’s what he wanted.
GALT: Misery loves company.
BUSH: He was just bitter because we didn’t give him much of it when he was alive.
GALT: Much of what?
BUSH: Our company.
GALT: Didn’t you visit him?
BUSH: Didn’t you?
GALT: You tell me.
BUSH: You tell me first.
GALT: Go on, confess!
BUSH: I don’t think confess is the right word.
GALT: Well, just admit it then.
BUSH: Oh, I cared about him. I thought about him often.
GALT: How often?
BUSH: When time permitted.
GALT: I’m sorry to say it, Bush, but you weren’t much of a friend to the man.
BUSH: You’re forgetting my business obligations, my twisted thorax. Besides, where do you get the right to judge me?
GALT: Ah, well someone has to judge you. And he was my friend. He was!
BUSH: I’ll bet.
GALT: How much?
BUSH: Never mind! Did you visit him?
GALT: At every opportunity.
BUSH: And how often was that?
GALT: Now we shouldn’t forget that you and I aren’t very much alike. I had my own special reasons for staying away from him.
BUSH: I don’t see how your reasons for staying away were any more special than mine.
GALT: Bush, I’ve just told you we’re different, you and me. Don’t you believe me?
BUSH: He didn’t think so.
GALT: Huh!
BUSH: He once told me that he likened us both to stagnant ponds.
GALT: Stagnant ponds? He did not.
BUSH: Yes, he did.
GALT: It’s bad luck lying in front of a corpse.
BUSH: That’s a silly superstition. And besides, it’s the truth. He said that when he fell to thinking about the people he knew, he always likened you and me to a couple of stagnant ponds.
GALT: Really?
BUSH: Actually, he said it a few times.
GALT: You never mentioned it.
BUSH: I wasn’t very proud of it.
GALT: Stagnant ponds.
BUSH: Swamps.
GALT: He likened us to swamps too?
BUSH: No, I was just giving you a synonym for stagnant ponds.
GALT: Oh. Why bother?
BUSH: To make sure you understand.
GALT: Are you trying to rub it in?
BUSH: No.
GALT: [pacing] I suppose he couldn’t stand the fact that our lives were well ordered and his was just a clumsy cycle of ups and downs.
BUSH: That must be it.
GALT: Stagnant! Oh, that really grates me.
BUSH: Yeah, I thought it would.
GALT: Still trying to rub it in, eh? Is that what you’re up to?
BUSH: No, why should I? I mean I’d have to have a reason, wouldn't I?
GALT: Maybe he’s influenced you.
[Pause]
BUSH: It’s hard to say.
GALT: It was a trick of his. Influence and disturb.
BUSH: Something like divide and conquer.
GALT: Yes, yes, yes.
BUSH: Yes, yes, yes. All I know is that I used to get very upset when he talked to me. He used to goad me and belittle me–
GALT: And so you let yourself be won over!!
BUSH: No I just tended to keep my distance.
[Pause]
GALT: I know what it’s like.
BUSH: You tended to keep your distance too, eh?
GALT: I still say it was different with me.
BUSH: Sure. You were farther away to begin with.
[GALT leans absent-mindedly on the corpse]
GALT: How long have we known each other?
BUSH: Who are you talking to?
GALT: [startled] How long have you known me?
BUSH: We were children together, weren’t we?
GALT: Was it a good childhood?
BUSH: It had its ups and downs.
GALT: What about his?
BUSH: He never said.
GALT: Well, how were we to know then?
BUSH: There was no way.
GALT: Not if he didn’t say.
BUSH: I’ve often wondered about his childhood, though. Because in spite of everything I really did care about that man. [approaches the body] There’s another note in his belt.
GALT: Don’t touch it! Leave it alone! [pacing nervously] You see, I told him things I never told you.
BUSH: What things?
GALT: Things I’ve never told you. Things he used to upset me.
BUSH: Maybe it was a mistake telling him.
GALT: Had no choice. He knew all about them before I told him.
BUSH: Yes, he had an eye for detail.
GALT: Unfortunately.
BUSH: He was very–
GALT: Nosey.
BUSH: Aware.
GALT: I remember telling him that when I was about seventeen I didn’t know how to use all my energy. And he reminded me that I was using it all on my teenage infatuations.
BUSH: Infatuations?
GALT: Puppy loves. You know I’ve always had a weakness for women.
BUSH: Yes, and they made you forget just about everything else, didn’t they?
GALT: Well, didn’t you have a problem like that too?
BUSH: Of course, when I was young I had a lot of energy.
GALT: Where did it go?
BUSH: I need a drink.
GALT: Tell me where it went, Bush.
BUSH: To making money, I suppose.
GALT: Money.
BUSH: Only because I wanted some things. All men want some things.
GALT: LIke what?
BUSH: Well that mansion in the valley. I was always very attracted to that mansion in the valley.
GALT: And it must have cost a lot of money, eh?
BUSH: Yes, and the making of money requires a lot of time and concentration.
GALT: And energy.
BUSH: He called it wasted energy.
GALT: He called it other things too.
BUSH: [sitting] You know, quite a while ago…don’t remember when exactly…a few years
GALT: What?!
BUSH: Never mind.
GALT: Come on, Bush.
BUSH: He came over to my house–
GALT: Your mansion
BUSH: He was drunk and he was carrying a big pile of books for me to read. Strange books. Anyway he was sitting in the kitchen–
GALT: You made him sit in the kitchen?
BUSH: Well, he wasn’t very well dressed and he was drunk.
GALT: Yeah, uh-huh…
BUSH: Anyway he kept telling me that my house–
GALT: Your mansion.
BUSH: He said it wasn’t worth one of those books. He wanted me to give it up and do important things. Things he said were important
GALT: Like reading his strange books.
BUSH: Probably.
GALT: What did you tell him
BUSH: I liked my house.
GALT: Did you read the books?
BUSH: No, I was busy just then. No time for reading strange books.
GALT: They were probably the same books he brought me. But I don’t think he was drunk. He was just screaming.
BUSH: What happened?
GALT: My wife threw him out.
[Pause]
BUSH: What was it, he called it?
GALT: I think it was…intellectual suicide. A few other things too, but mostly he used intellectual suicide.
BUSH: His very words.
GALT: Yeah.
[Pause]
BUSH: What about that note?
GALT: I’ll burn it right away.
BUSH: No… The one in his belt.
GALT: But we’ve… I mean… [moves to the body]
BUSH: What’s it say?
GALT: Can’t see. The paper’s folded over.
BUSH: Try to read through it.
GALT: [returning] I forgot my glasses.
[Pause]
BUSH: I didn’t know you wore glasses. How long have you been wearing glasses?
GALT: Fourteen years this Easter.
BUSH: How about that. You’ve been handicapped for fourteen years, and I didn’t know about it.
GALT: Handicapped? Listen, I’m just a bit–
BUSH: Strange the things you find out about people under pressure..
GALT: Yeah, amazing.
BUSH: I’ve got bad ears myself. They’ve been running on and off for about ten years.
GALT: Uh-huh.
BUSH: Then there’s my heart which is a little weak…and of course my back, my twisted thorax–
GALT: Look, if you’re going to list all your ailments, it’d save us some time if you went in alphabetical order.
BUSH: You brought the subject up by complaining about your eyes.
GALT: All I said was that I’d forgotten my glasses.
BUSH: Well, it would have been pretty insensitive of me not to comment on it.
GALT: A comment is one thing. A journey through all the weak parts of your body is something else.
BUSH: Galt. You can be a very nasty person at times.
GALT: And you can be a pain in the ass.
[Long pause]
BUSH: What about the note?
GALT: I don’t want to read it.
BUSH: Suppose it’s like the last one.
GALT: You mean it might be embarrassing?
BUSH: I mean it might be worse than embarrassing.
GALT: Okay. You read it. But don’t tell me what it says unless it’s important
BUSH: [going to body] All right.
GALT: Why won’t he leave us alone? [pause] Aren’t you going to tell me what it says?
BUSH: I’m not sure if it’s important.
GALT: Read it again.
BUSH: I’m still not sure.
GALT: Well, l’ll have to judge for myself, won’t I?
BUSH: I suppose so. [towards GALT] Here.
GALT: [backing up] What?! No, you read it to me. It’s better to judge things from a distance.
[GALT backs into a corner where he stands with his arms and fingers crossed and his eyes closed]
BUSH: [reading] “Read the postscript.”
GALT: [eyes closed] Read the postscript… Read the postscript… Is that all?
[BUSH shrugs, nods…his back to GALT]
GALT: Damnit, tell me! Is that all it says?
[BUSH nods]
GALT: [con’td] Come on, speak up!
BUSH: [turning] Why’ve you got your eyes closed?
GALT: [startled, opens his eyes and rushes out of corner] I had a premonition.
BUSH: About what?
GALT: The note.
BUSH: Yes, if a person were to think about it.
GALT: You can’t think about things when you don’t know what they mean.
BUSH: Just the fact that it was there…like the other two. That makes three all together. And if a person were to think about it–
GALT: I don’t think we can hope for anything more than a premonition.
BUSH: Premonitions might be all right for you, but I’d like a few facts or figures to deal with.
GALT: What else does it say?
BUSH: Nothing. Just “Read the postscript.”
GALT: Think hard. Is there something in your past that has anything to do with reading postscripts?
BUSH: I don’t think so. How about you?
GALT: I’m thinking. I’m thinking… No, it’s too vague. Just like him to be so goddamn fuzzy.
BUSH: Fuzzy or not, it might mean something.
GALT: All right. Think of your conversations with him. Something you said about yourself.
BUSH: Something he despised.
GALT: Right!
BUSH: There’s so much.
GALT: Something to do with…what’ya call it.
BUSH: Intellectual suicide.
GALT: His favourite expression.
BUSH: His favourite subject.
GALT: He never let me forget. That man was fierce, I tell you…
BUSH: What about that lady friend of yours who went off to the country when she became aware of your intentions?
GALT: She’s still in the country, as far as I know.
BUSH: No letters, eh?
GALT: No! And as long as we’re remembering letters from the past, what about those phony reference letters you wrote for yourself?
BUSH: That sort of thing is sometimes necessary to gain a toe-hold in the financial game.
GALT: P.S.! He’s such a fine fellow! P.S.! He’s a very good credit risk!
BUSH: P.S.! Yourself!
GALT: Charlatan!
BUSH: Lecher!
GALT: Keep thinking… [pause] He used to taunt me.
BUSH: Me too…
GALT: It was like visiting a priest.
BUSH: Worse. He never forgave you.
GALT: Listen, you’re a businessman–
BUSH: But I’ve always tried to be honest.
GALT: Of course, but you must have given him the idea that you spent all your time reading the postscripts of financial statements.
BUSH: Financial statements don’t have postscripts.
GALT: Keep thinking.
BUSH: All right.
GALT: Crawl into your past.
BUSH: It’s so uncomfortable.
GALT: I know, but it has to be done.
BUSH: What about your widow with the pink hair?
GALT: My wife doesn’t know about her, you know. I want to make that clear before we go on.
BUSH: Oh, surely. I’d be the last one to tell her.
GALT: Good.
BUSH: I just remember you telling me that she wrote you letters.
GALT: No postscripts though.
BUSH: Are you sure?
GALT: More or less!
[Pause]
BUSH: There must be a terrible postscript in our past somewhere.
GALT: [slaps himself on the head] It’s in the note!
BUSH: Not here.
GALT: The other one then. Find it.
BUSH: It’s on the floor somewhere.
GALT: Find it!
[BUSH searches]
B: “Mr. and Mrs. Crane…”
GALT: Any postscript?
BUSH: No.
GALT: The other one.
BUSH: On the floor someplace.
GALT: Find it.
[BUSH searches]
BUSH: Here it is.
GALT: Read it.
BUSH: It’s that nasty one.
GALT: You’ll have to read it again.
BUSH: But it’s so cruel.
GALT: We’ve got no choice.
BUSH: It’s here.
GALT: What’s it say?
BUSH: “P.S.”
GALT: Brace yourself.
BUSH: “Turn page for philosophical explanation!”
GALT: [pacing] Don’t do it! I need time to find out what this means. I mean what’s the point. Maybe there isn’t one, but I feel sure there is. In any event, I need the time to find out one way or the other.
B: But I think our time is running out. I need a pill. [takes a pill]
GALT: There does seem to be some kind of pressure involved here.
BUSH: Maybe it’s a plot.
GALT: That could be.
BUSH: A plot to expose us.
GALT: What is there to expose.
BUSH: You tell me first.
GALT: Oh, let’s not get into that, again.
BUSH: I was hoping you’d say that.
[Pause]
GALT: Anyway, there are all kinds of plots. Maybe it’s a plot of imposition or a plot of distraction.
BUSH: What’s his motive?
GALT: Ahh! Good point… His motive was in his nature. And his nature was malicious.
BUSH: And he was a drunkard.
GALT: And a recluse on top of that… So that’s it then – his motive was malice. And we’ll just ignore it. Can we?
BUSH: But what about the plot?
GALT: It might be in the note.
BUSH: Exactly. We’ll have to turn the page.
GALT: If we have to.
BUSH: It’s a question of priorities, Galt.
GALT: Yes, Bush.
BUSH: Are you ready?
GALT: Yes. No. Wait…
[He finds himself a place on the floor while BUSH waits impatiently]
GALT: [con’td] Ready.
BUSH: ”Gentlemen!” Well, he starts off nicely anyway. Maybe his conscience is bothering him.
GALT: Get on with it.
BUSH: ”Keeping our minds alert, which we should always do and which some of us have never done!”
GALT: Go on, go on.
BUSH: It’s the way he puts things.
GALT: Never mind. Get on with it.
BUSH: ”We should move on to the philosophical explanation of our problem. It is…”
GALT: Hold it. Did he say our problem or your problem?
BUSH: ”Our problem.”
GALT: Funny that he’s including himself.
BUSH: ”it is actually not our problem but your problem. For as you have no doubt noticed by now, I am quite dead!”
GALT: So what’s the point?
BUSH: ”The point of including myself was to catch you off guard and to stir you up.”
GALT: Hmmm!
BUSH: ”Nothing needs to be stirred up as much as stagnant ponds…a synonym for which is swamps… But we’re going to change all that by changing your natures.”
[They exchange glances]
BUSH: [cont’d] “To bring about this change you will perform an act of definition.”
GALT: Perform? Perform what?
BUSH: An act of definition? Oh, a definitive act.
GALT: Fine. Dandy.
BUSH: ”Now a definitive act can only be performed when one has some kind of stimulus. In most cases almost any stimuli could be used, but the one I feel you’ll both find most accessible is fear.”
GALT: Fear of what?
BUSH: I’m a bit afraid already.
GALT: That’s beside the point.
BUSH: It’s still fear.
GALT: I want to know what fear he’s talking about.
BUSH: Oh, here it is. “The fear of what you were and what you’re not. And the fear of what you’ll find yourself doing… Like Rimbaud…” Uh-huh, it’s all Rimbaud’s fault.
GALT: Rimbaud… Keep going.
BUSH: ”LIke Rimbaud, I decided to suffer rather than sleep. I decided to forego all those comforts which you two find so attractive. Now that was my first definitive act. Something for which you considered me a recluse and a drunkard…”
GALT: It’s revenge! I knew it – malice and revenge.
BUSH: He says that’s beside the point.
GALT: How’s he say it?
BUSH: ”That’s…beside…the point.”
GALT: Well for God’s sake. What’s the point?
BUSH: Maybe he doesn’t want us to know.
GALT: That’s it! Confusion! Malice, revenge and confusion.
BUSH: And fear.
GALT: Fear of what?
BUSH: “Of what you are and what you’re not.”
GALT: You know, I think you really are a part of this plot.
BUSH: That’s not fair. I’m shaking just as much as you are.
GALT: Who’s shaking?
BUSH: You are.
GALT: Rubbish!
BUSH: And me…me too… Comforts, blah, blah…beside the point, blah, blah…that was my definitive act, blah, blah…
GALT: What d’ya mean, blah, blah? Will you get on with it man?!
BUSH: Well, don’t lose your composure. I lost my place.
GALT: Just try to pay attention to what you’re doing.
BUSH: But it’s a long note and I’m a little nervous. You see, I’ve never received a philosophical explanation from a corpse before.
GALT: Just continue from where he told us about his first definitive act.
BUSH: “And when I reversed my decision, deciding to sleep rather than suffer, I completed my second act of definition. My corpse is your proof… Now that gives me two definitive acts to your none. You fellows are lagging behind. But the opportunity to change all that is approaching. Watch for the opportunity. Opportunity is knocking. You are what opportunity makes you… So long for now.”
GALT: Where’s the bottle?
BUSH: I wonder how much Rimbaud has to do with all of this?
GALT: Where’s the bottle?
[BUSH finds the bottle and hands it to GALT]
BUSH: Are you acquiring a taste for it? [moves towards body]
GALT: No. I’m hoping it will knock me out…Get away from there.
BUSH: Why?
GALT: You’re just giving him the chance to plop another note in your face.
BUSH: Ahhh! [retreats]
GALT: I wonder about you, Bush.
BUSH: How’s that?
GALT: You seem to like suffering.
BUSH: No more than the next man. I mean I suffer as well as anyone, but–
GALT: I’m almost convinced that he’s influenced you.
BUSH: No, no, no. It’s all part of the plot.
GALT: So, you are in on it! What’d he do? Offer you money?
BUSH: No!
GALT: A tip on the stock market?
BUSH: No, it’s all part of his plot.
GALT: And which one is that?
BUSH: Divide and destroy.
GALT: Ah, yes. Divide and destroy. Confuse and conquer. I’m getting tired.
BUSH: Better stay on your toes.
GALT: Don’t worry about me. Stay on your own toes. Have you got any aspirin?
BUSH: No, but I might have a tranquilizer left. [searching his pockets] Ah! There’s a note in my pocket.
GALT: [backing up] I wonder how he managed that? What’s it say?
BUSH: ”Six eggs and package of Melba toast” …Oh, it’s just my grocery list.
GALT: He’s got you climbing the wall!
BUSH: If I only knew what he wanted from us.
GALT: The last note said a definitive act.
BUSH: That could be anything.
GALT: It could be that he wants us to kill ourselves.
BUSH: Are you sure?
GALT: No!
BUSH: But that could be what he’s suggesting, couldn’t it.
GALT: More or less.
BUSH: Well, it’s not a very civilized suggestion, is it?
GALT: He probably thinks so… Come to think of it, he probably found the whole idea sublime…or something. It comes from a lack of respect. We should’ve asserted ourselves more. We had the right. Where’d he find his high horse anyway? I mean what kinds of values can a drunkard and a recluse have?
BUSH: His mind wasn’t very sound.
GALT: Right.
BUSH: Definitely not very sound. But…
GALT: But what?
BUSH: It was pretty sharp. His mind, I mean.
GALT: Stop pampering him, will you. He doesn’t deserve it.
BUSH: You’ve got the same problem I have.
GALT: What’s that?
BUSH: Don’t know whether to talk about him in the past or the present tense.
GALT: It’s all these memos and instructions.
BUSH: I say it’s very unorthodox behaviour for a corpse. He’d never have made a go of it in the business world.
GALT: Or anywhere else for that matter. No wonder he was never invited anyplace, the moody–
BUSH: Shush. You’d better watch your step. And just stay on your toes.
GALT: Stop telling me to watch my step and stay on my toes!
[Pause]
BUSH: Listen, I’d bet you’re wrong about his wanting us to kill ourselves. Yes let's bet. Let’s gamble.
GALT: How much?
BUSH: Five.
GALT: Better make it more.
BUSH: Why?
GALT: A definitive act.
BUSH: Oh, right. How much?
GALT: [proudly] One hundred dollars!
BUSH: [also] One hundred dollars! You’re on! One hundred hard-earned dollars!!
[They turn quickly from one another]
GALT: A man does his best. He lives his life the way he lives his life. How can he know if it’s wasted? How is it wasted? I repeat: how can he know?
BUSH: He told us. He kept on telling us.
GALT: I know. But listen Bush, have you had a good life?
BUSH: [quietly] I guess so.
GALT: Goddamnit. Speak up.
BUSH: Sure…well…yes. Yes! [quietly] I guess so.
GALT: It couldn’t have been as bad as he pictured it. You really did think about something important once in a while, didn’t you?
BUSH: When you’re as busy as I am there’s plenty to think about.
GALT: Sure. I’m convinced that I had an important thought at least once a day.
BUSH: There’s always the practical aspect. Especially around tax time. The practical aspect, you know.
GALT: And the sexual aspect. Now both those things are very important. They’re enough for most men.
BUSH: Most men are lucky to have enough time to do them both justice.
GALT: Yeah, I don’t know where he found his high horse. He was the most undersexed, impractical man I’ve ever met.
BUSH: Maybe he wants us to be the same way.
GALT: And it might just work if the Cranes don’t come for the body pretty soon.
BUSH: I might be bankrupt by now and never know it.
GALT: I have to get back to my wife. A man has needs. It’s a hell of a way to treat your friends, Max. Yeah. Especially when we cared so much about you.
[A knocking scratching noise. Pause]
[GALT and BUSH look at each other]
GALT: [con’td] I’ll get the front.
BUSH: I’ll get the back.
[They both leave]
[JOBEO comes out of the closet. Sits down on the floor cross-legged]
[BUSH and GALT return]
BUSH: [con’td] Who’s he?
GALT: I don’t know.
BUSH: Maybe he’s Rimbaud.
GALT: Well, if he is, he’s in a lot of trouble.
BUSH: Excuse us!
GALT: What’s your name?
JOBEO: Jobeo.
GALT: Maybe it’s an alias.
BUSH: Mr. Jobeo?
JOBEO: What?
BUSH: What are you doing here?
JOBEO: He asked me to drop by.
GALT: How’d you get in?
JOBEO: A good question.
[Long pause. BUSH and GALT confer]
BUSH: I think he’s part of the plot.
GALT: Leave it to me, I’ll find out. [to JOBEO] Why…I mean who…I mean what’s your function here?
JOBEO: I’m an intellectual.
BUSH: Oh, no.
GALT: Were you his friend?
JOBEO: That question is old hat.
BUSH: That’s too bad. [to GALT] What’s he mean by old hat?
GALT: It might be a trick.
JOBEO: Now, let me ask you a question. What happens to an old hat?
GALT: It’s a riddle. Let me handle it. [to JOBEO] It gets hung in a closet.
JOBEO: Like an old friend?
[BUSH and GALT confer]
BUSH: Now that sounds like an accusation to me.
GALT: Should we find out for sure?
BUSH: Oh, I suppose we should. Do you want to keep handling it?
GALT: Not if you think you can do a better job.
BUSH: Oh no no. You’re doing fine.
GALT: Thanks. [to JOBEO] Just out of curiosity, Jobeo old fellow, do you happen to know anything about my friend and me here?
JOBEO: Yes.
BUSH: Oh.
JOBEO: At least as much as can be known about a couple of quagmires.
BUSH: Quagmires?
GALT: Swamps.
BUSH: He’s told the whole world.
GALT: Don’t panic. I see, and what kind of relationship did you have with our fr…your…the body here?
JOBEO: We spent many hours together by the river. Talking.
GALT: Talking about what?
BUSH: We’re just curious.
JOBEO: Everything from the existential ABCs to the nature of a definitive act.
[BUSH and GALT confer]
BUSH: Definitive act. Maybe he’s the opportunity. The one in the note. The one that’s knocking.
JOBEO: Definitive act…act of will…single act…Anything you want to call it is fine with me.
GALT: Sure, maybe you’d like to talk about a definitive act with us?
BUSH: Even tell us what it is?
JOBEO: In good time.
GALT: Sure. By the way, did you know he was going to kill himself?
JOBEO: Yes.
BUSH: [boldly] Well, it wasn’t very friendly of you not to try and stop him, was it?
JOBEO: I never said I was his friend. And besides, you can’t shift your guilt on to me.
BUSH: Guilt?
GALT: What guilt? No guilt.
[BUSH and GALT confer in whispers]
BUSH: [to JOBEO] We’ll level with you. We don’t really understand what this is all about. I mean, why we’re here.
GALT: And why we’re being abused like this.
JOBEO: Yes. That’s what I’m here for. I’m going to explain it to you. I specialize in slow learners.
[GALT grabs BUSH and takes him aside]
GALT: We’ll figure it out for ourselves.
JOBEO: Never. You don’t have enough information.
BUSH: And you do?
JOBEO: He told me what he had in mind for you.
BUSH: What does he have in mind for us
JOBEO: Not yet.
GALT: What do you mean “not yet”? [approaching JOBEO angrily]
JOBEO: Not yet. We’ll do it slowly. In neat simple little steps.
GALT: I don’t like you. [returns to BUSH]
JOBEO: Really.
BUSH: [retracing GALT’s footsteps] Neither do I.
JOBEO: Good. Nothing bores me more than adulation. Especially the bourgeois variety.
BUSH: He’s a communist.
GALT: Figures.
JOBEO: Cut the drivel. We’re starting now.
GALT: We won’t be listening.
JOBEO: We’ll see. Now the first thing to understand is that the human being is limited by the limits of his mind. And because the mind is everything, he is limited by everything.
GALT: He’s not limited by sex. Sex is physical, always has been, always will be.
BUSH: That’s the sexual aspect. We know all about the sexual aspect.
JOBEO: Are you sure?
BUSH: Of course, we’re sure. [to GALT] Aren’t we sure?
[GALT nods]
BUSH: [cont’d] We’re sure.
JOBEO: Then how do you explain perversion?
BUSH: We don’t.
GALT: We leave that to the sissies.
JOBEO: Idiot.
GALT: I’ll ignore that.
[During the following speech JOBEO demonstrates with the use of a little toy cow attached to an elastic band]
JOBEO: The mind causes perversion. Not the body. Now pay attention because I’m coming to the important part. The human mind is like a well-fed cow. A cow with a tether tied around its neck which is attached to a fence. If it strays from the fence the rope becomes taut. If it grazes near the fence it stays loose and comfortable. Now, when the grass near the fence becomes sparse, the temptation to stray out becomes irresistible. But when the noose tightens out at the perimeter the cow, or the min, loses its appetite and retreats to the fence and spends the rest of its life eating dust. How are we so far?
GALT: We’re not impressed.
BUSH: We’re enjoying it though. I mean, I am.
JOBEO: So am I. I especially like that bit about eating dust. I could go on for days.
GALT: Obviously
JOBEO: And besides, I’ve just given you a complete rundown of your problem
BUSH: Oh, I’m afraid we missed that. We were too busy watching the little cow.
GALT: Try again.
JOBEO: [annoyed] You see, you’re a couple of the little cows who retreated to the fence. Your friend here was one of the few who decided to remain and see it out.
GALT: What did he see?
JOBEO: Who knows? But we can conclude that he suffered.
GALT: Sure. Because he told us.
BUSH: Rather than sleep. Just like Rimbaud. Remember Rimbaud?
JOBEO: But getting back to our body here. The question for you is this. Why did he decide to stay out there away from the fence?
GALT: Because he couldn’t take it!
JOBEO: Traditional nonsense.
BUSH: Because he wanted to suffer?
JOBEO: Romantic nonsense. No, he had another reason. Something to do with you actually.
GALT: Oh. Are you going to tell us what it is?
JOBEO: I think he’d rather you found out for yourselves.
BUSH: Goddamnit, man. We can’t find anything out for ourselves.
GALT: Shut up, Bush. [to JOBEO] It’s just that we don’t know where to look.
JOBEO: Oh come now. There’s only one place to look. [goes to the body]
BUSH: Look where’s he going!
GALT: Stay calm.
JOBEO: [retrieving a note from some obscure place on the corpse] Maybe this will help.
BUSH: Is it for us?
JOBEO: No, it’s not for you. It’s about you. This is the master copy of a note which has been sent to your families, your friends, your associates and the world at large.
BUSH: Oh, it must have cost him a fortune in stamps.
GALT: Shush. God, you’re stupid sometimes, Bush.
BUSH: I’m not stupid, Galt. I’m naive.
JOBEO: Copies of this note have also been sent to newspapers and reference libraries They have been filed in archives, sealed in vaults, and buried in time capsules. They will be a source of knowledge for all mankind.
BUSH: [to GALT] We’ll be famous.
GALT: Terrific.
JOBEO: It exposes you both as worthless, mindless men. It opens up your secrets, short-comings and indiscretions. It scandalizes and destroys you both. In short. It finishes you.
[BUSH and GALT collapse]
GALT: Did you say it exposes our indiscretions?
JOBEO: In vivid detail.
BUSH: And it scandalizes us?
JOBEO: You’ll be a hot number at the credit bureau now, Mister Bush, Esquire, sir.
GALT: What a lousy blow below the belt that is.
BUSH: A reputation is a delicate thing in the business world.
GALT: What will my wife say?
BUSH: What about the people at my office? The filing clerks, in particular, have always looked up to me.
GALT: My wife has a terrible temper.
BUSH: There’s nothing worse than having filing clerks who don’t respect you.
JOBEO: Oh, you don’t think so, eh?
BUSH: Something’s worse. What’s worse? What’s worse?!
JOBEO: Suppose you just wait and see.
[Pause]
[All three suddenly rush for the bottle. JOBEO wins. And the other two chase him around]
GALT: Hey, leave some for us.
BUSH: Please.
JOBEO: Look at yourselves!
[They stop suddenly – embarrassed]
JOBEO: [cont’d] What would your children think?
[Pause]
BUSH: What will we do?
GALT: See if there’s another note.
[They rush to the body. BUSH finds a note. Takes it quickly to JOBEO]
BUSH: It’s for you.
[JOBEO takes the note and it unravels to the floor.
[BUSH returns to GALT]
GALT: What did it say?
BUSH: I don’t read other people’s mail, Galt.
[They sit. Pause]
GALT: How do you feel?
BUSH: My heart is pounding.
GALT: I can hear it.
BUSH: That’s probably yours.
GALT: Damn.
[Pause]
BUSH: Oh Galt, we’ve been exposed, haven’t we?
GALT: Yes, we have.
BUSH: And that’s the frightening thing, isn’t it?
GALT: Uh-huh.
BUSH: But something else is bothering me.
GALT: What?
BUSH: If all he wanted was to expose us, he didn’t have to get us here to do it, did he.
GALT: No.
BUSH: So there must be something else.
GALT: There must be.
BUSH: Any ideas?
GALT: I don’t even like to think about it, Bush.
[Pause]
BUSH: My heart.
GALT: Mine too…
BUSH: And have you noticed?
GALT: What?
BUSH: The corpse is starting to smell!
GALT: I know.
JOBEO: [just now finishing the note – stands in a rage – addresses the body] Max, you bastard! This note stinks! [looks around suspiciously]
BLACKOUT
ACT TWO
[Later. BUSH and GALT are asleep. BUSH is sucking his thumb and whispering “mummy, mummy.”
JOBEO is writing notes and glaring off and on at MAX. Finally he looks around and rushes to the corpse, whom he addresses.
During the following speech he will be stuffing notes all over his own person]
JOBEO: What d’ya mean by this? Do you know what this is? This is a dirty trick. First of all, I’m just as capable as you were of the ultimate gesture. I am not all talk and no action. [note] After all it was me who encouraged you to go through with it in the first place. [note] This will really get them. So you think you’ve exposed me as a fake, do you? This one is a masterpiece. Well, we’ll see whose final moment is remembered. We’ll see. [note] This one is a classic. There’s something more definitive than suicide, you know. Something that won’t leave my remains hanging around like old cheese. When I write a note, I write a note. [note] And how’s this for a postscript? I’ll tell ya. It’s inspired. You’ve asked for it. It’s my game now and I’m taking it one step beyond what that noose did for you. What you had in mind for your two friends wasn’t bad. But what I’ve got in mind for them is something else. And what I’ve elected to have done to myself is nothing short of majestic. Right. The word is majestic! [note] The coup de grace! [puts note in his mouth]
[JOBEO goes upstage and lies down. Pause.
GALT wakes up. Checks BUSH – then taking his belt off and putting it around his neck, gets on a chair and fastens his belt to a beam or a peg…or something handy. Pause]
GALT: Hey Bush!... Bush!
BUSH: What
GALT: Come over here for a minute, will you?
BUSH: Why?
GALT: I need you to take away the chair.
BUSH: What’s that?
GALT: You’ll have to get rid of the chair for me.
BUSH: What are you up to? [just waking up]
GALT: I’ve made a decision.
BUSH: What kind of decision?
GALT: I’ve been exposed. And I don’t much like it.
BUSH: Well, neither do I, Galt. Neither do I.
GALT: Yeah. Well, you’ll have to make your own decision. But in the meantime, will you take away the chair?
BUSH: No, I don’t think so.
GALT: Aw, come on.
BUSH: No, I’d be responsible for it then. And I don’t feel like being responsible for anything right now.
GALT: Ask Jobeo if he’ll do it.
BUSH: He’s sleeping.
GALT: Well, wake him up.
BUSH: I’d rather not. He upsets me.
GALT: But somebody has to take the lousy chair away.
BUSH: You could ask the Cranes when they get here.
GALT: Listen, I don’t want to make a spectacle of this thing.
BUSH: Well, let’s think about it for a while. [thinks, snaps his fingers]
[GALT gets down]
BUSH: [cont’d] Wait, I’ll come up with something.
GALT: Forget it. I’ve changed my mind.
BUSH: So soon? I’m sure we could have come up with something.
GALT: I’ve changed my mind!
[Pause]
BUSH: I wonder how he did it
GALT: He probably had a plan.
BUSH: Well, maybe you should have one too.
GALT: Forget it, Bush.
BUSH: But if you really want to do it, I’ll draw up a plan for you. All I need is some time.
GALT: Listen, Bush, if plans are going to be drawn up for my suicide, I’ll draw them up myself.
BUSH: But I don’t mind. It’s really no trouble at all.
GALT: That’s not the point.
BUSH: You were serious, weren’t you? I mean you weren’t faking it?
GALT: Don’t call me a fake, Bush.
BUSH: Listen…
GALT: No, you listen…
BUSH: But I…
GALT: Now get this.
BUSH: But Galt, I…
[A frustrated and ad-libbed argument. Mostly of gestures and grunts. Stopping only when GALT notices that MR. and MRS. CRANE have entered out of the closet. Their entrance has gone unnoticed by BUSH]
BUSH: [turning] The Cranes. My God the Cranes.
[They rush to the CRANES. Nervously. Obsequiously]
BUSH: [cond’t] Mr. and Mrs. Crane, nice to see you. We’ve been waiting.
GALT: We’ve been watching over him for you. We haven’t moved from this spot. Not one foot.
BUSH: Just like well-trained dogs.
GALT: Well-trained friends; no, friends, just friends, good friends, but…
BUSH: We knew you’d come eventually.
GALT: Did you have a nice walk?
MRS. CRANE: We took a taxi.
BUSH: Didn’t we have a bet on that?
GALT: Now now. So you took a taxi. That’s great. No better way to travel.
MRS. CRANE: We had a few stops to make on the way. Business, you know.
BUSH: Sure, we understand. I’m a businessman myself.
MRS. CRANE: Not all business. Some pleasure, too.
GALT: I’m very fond of pleasure.
MRS. CRANE: Life must go on, you know.
MR. CRANE: And business and pleasure are both important parts of our lives.
BUSH: Of course. Business. Pleasure. All the same. There’s plenty of room for both.
GALT: Your son Mr. and Mrs. Crane. We’ll cut him down for you. Knife!
BUSH: Don’t have one.
GALT: Find one.
BUSH: Right. [searches]
MRS. CRANE: Wait.
GALT: Why?
MRS. CRANE: Why not?
GALT: Ah, I see. You want to look over it first.
MR. CRANE: What’s that?
GALT: The body. Well, as you can see it’s in good shape. We haven’t tampered with it. It's just as it was when we found it.
[BUSH rushes to the body and holds it outwards. Brushes it off]
MRS. CRANE: But is it our son?
BUSH: He called you Mom and Dad.
MR. CRANE: But was he sincere?
BUSH: Let’s show them the note that says it’s all up to them.
GALT: Find it.
[BUSH searches]
MRS. CRANE: You see, death is a touchy subject in some circles. Especially this kind of death. And so we’ll have to decide if it’s worth risking a scandal by claiming the body.
MR. CRANE: And one of the many questions to be answered, in that respect, is whether or not he was sincere.
GALT: Ah, good point. And in answer to that, although it’s only my opinion, I’d say he was. [to BUSH] Find a knife, goddamn you. A knife!
[BUSH searches]
MRS. CRANE: That’s very nice of you. But we really can’t pay much attention to anything you say.
MR. CRANE: Especially now that you’ve been exposed.
MRS. CRANE: No, we’ll have to judge for ourselves.
MR. CRANE: First, we’ll look him over. If you’ll get out of the way.
BUSH: But the body…
GALT: The corpse.
BUSH: Your son.
GALT: The odour…
BUSH: There are notes…
GALT: Terrible lies…
BUSH: All over him…
GALT: Everyone’s vulnerable.
BUSH: It’s got a terrible smell…
GALT: The smell of scandal…
BUSH: It should be burnt…
GALT: Or embalmed.
BUSH: Whatever your pleasure is…
MRS. CRANE: Believe me, there’s no pleasure involved.
GALT: Of course, he didn’t know…we–
[But it is the CRANES’ turn]
MRS. CRANE: The taxi fare…
MR. CRANE: The inconvenience. The interruption of a nightly routine…almost a nightly ritual.
MRS. CRANE: We don’t usually come in this direction,
MR. CRANE: Nor do we usually come this far.
BUSH: We understand. But still…
MRS. CRANE: I’m sorry, but we’ll have to weigh the pros against the cons.
MR. CRANE: And the cons against the necessities… Now stand clear!
[The CRANES move closer to the body]
MR. CRANE: Take note of the expression on his face.
MRS. CRANE: There doesn’t seem to be one.
MR. CRANE: That’s right. Not exactly a sign of sincerity, is it? To die without a twist of emotion.
MRS. CRANE: Not a line out of place.
MR. CRANE: Slack-jawed and indifferent.
MRS. CRANE: I’d have to agree.
MR. CRANE: And consider the surroundings.
MRS. CRANE: Squalid. Terribly squalid.
MR. CRANE: And his choice of friends.
MRS. CRANE: Men without strength or will.
MR. CRANE: Who’d carry the coffin?
MRS. CRANE: Yes, there’s a lot to consider.
BUSH: Maybe we can help.
MR. CRANE: Stay where you are, you fraud!
MRS. CRANE: Father?
MR. CRANE: Mother.
MRS. CRANE: Look, he’s wearing one of his hats.
MR. CRANE: I know, I know.
MRS. CRANE: Isn’t that his John dos Passos-in-Spain hat?
MR. CRANE: Oh, if only it were, things would be so much simpler.
MRS. CRANE: Then it’s that poet-in-the asylum hat. You know like that fascist fellow who wrote those terrible little cantos.
MR. CRANE: That’s cant-as, isn’t it?
MRS. CRANE: No, Cant-os. Cantos.
MR. CRANE: Well, never mind, it’s the wrong hat anyway.
MRS. CRANE: Do you know which one it is then, Father?
MR. CRANE: Yes Mother I’m afraid it’s the Compatriot-Expatriot-Thought-Negates- Life-Everything-is-Nothing-and Nothing-is-Everything-Hideaway-Philosopher’s Hat.
MRS. CRANE: But how could he do this to us?
MR. CRANE: It has all the marks of an obsession.
MRS. CRANE: An obsession? But didn’t he promise us that if he ever did it, it would be reasonable?
MR. CRANE: He did.
MRS. CRANE: Surely, he must have known how fond we are of reason.
MR. CRANE: Of course, he knew.
MRS. CRANE: Then how can this be explained? How can we ever explain an obsession?
MR. CRANE: Insincerity
MRS. CRANE: Insincerity. I’m afraid you’re right.
MR. CRANE: Don’t worry though. It’s not our fault. We did our best.
MRS. CRANE: There’s no doubt about that. Is there
MR. CRANE: No, no. It’s just another parent-child tragedy.
MRS. CRANE: I suppose so.
MR. CRANE: But unfortunately, it doesn’t leave us much choice ourselves, does it?
MRS. CRANE: But he had so many hats.
MR. CRANE: Come here, squirrels!
GALT: If you’ll just wait a minute while we find a knife…
MR. CRANE: That won’t be necessary.
BUSH: But we…
MRS. CRANE: Hush! My husband hates to be interrupted.
MR. CRANE: We have no business with this corpse. He’s not our son.
BUSH: [to GALT] He was adopted.
MR. CRANE: Shut up.
MRS. CRANE: He came from the only womb I have. He was a glowing red baby. I nursed him on my only two breasts. He got fat. And then he got skinny like he is now.
MR. CRANE: He got fat on logic and was emaciated by intuition.
MRS. CRANE: That sums it up very nicely.
MR. CRANE: And so we must deny him.
MRS. CRANE: We deny him.
GALT: They’re denying him.
BUSH: No! They can’t.
GALT: Are you really denying him?
MR. CRANE: Again.
MRS. CRANE: We deny him twice then.
BUSH: See if they’ll deny him thrice.
JOBEO: [joining in] Oh, why don’t you leave these people alone? Can't you see they’ve got more important things on their minds?
MRS. CRANE: Thank you, young man.
BUSH: [to JOBEO] Mind your own business.
MRS. CRANE: Oh, look, Father, there’s a note in his sock. It’s for us.
MRS. CRANE: What’s it say?
MRS. CRANE: It says… “I forgive you.” [hands the note to JOBEO]
JOBEO: [to body] You clever son-of-a-bitch. [throws the note to BUSH]
MRS. CRANE: Such a nice young man.
BUSH: He forgives them. Look at this. He forgives them. Well, what about us. What about me?
GALT: Listen, you’re obligated to take him with you.
MRS. CRANE: That’s impossible. Haven’t you been listening?
GALT: Yes, but…
MRS. CRANE: Besides, he’s already forgiven us.
MR. CRANE: And now we have a few practical aspects of our lives to attend to. Come along, Mother.
BUSH: Practical aspects! We’ve got them, too.
GALT: Wait!
BUSH: If you won’t take the body away…
GALT: You have to take the body. We have to get out.
BUSH: We have to get back.
MR. CRANE: Nonsense. There’s nothing for you to get back to. The word is out.
MRS. CRANE: I’m afraid so.
BUSH: But it’ll be all right if you take the body away.
MR. CRANE: It won’t make any difference. Everybody’s already received that letter about you. So it won’t make any difference.
MRS. CRANE: Yes, that sums it up very nicely.
MR. CRANE: Thank you.
JOBEO [opening the closet door] This way out.
[The CRANES and JOBEO start into the closet]
MRS. CRANE: Parental love is such a burden, isn’t it Father?
MR. CRANE: Yes mother. It does make unfair demands on one.
[JOBEO and the CRANES enter the closet. Close the door behind them. Pause.
GALT and BUSH look at each other. Run to the closet. Open the door. It is empty. They check the walls. The floor. The ceiling. Nothing. They come out. Puzzled Nervous. Looking at each other. Pause. They sit down heavily. Then they start to laugh and point to the closet. The laughter gradually becomes hysterical and stays that way up to GALT’s "Retreat, retreat, retreat.” In the meantime they are rolling around the stage]
BUSH: He forgives them!
GALT: They’re not obligated!
BUSH: They deny him!
GALT: He absolves them!
BUSH: They come, they go!
GALT: Practical aspects to be attended to…
BUSH: Free as bloody birds!
GALT: The body’s starting to smell.
BUSH: Notes keep popping up.
GALT: He’s wearing a stupid hat.
BUSH: They say he’s insincere.
GALT: They come, they go.
BUSH: We stay.
GALT: We have to stay.
BUSH: We’ll never leave.
GALT: We’ll rot here.
BUSH: The word is out.
GALT: Everybody knows.
BUSH: No place to go.
GALT: Have us believe we’re stuck.
BUSH: We’re stuck.
GALT: The Cranes are coming.
BUSH: Wait for the Cranes.
GALT: In and out.
BUSH: Deny him once.
GALT: Deny him twice.
BUSH & GALT: Then piss off!
GALT: Insincere!
BUSH: Obsessed!
GALT: A stupid bloody hat!
BUSH: Cantos, cantas, cantus… Cantas, Mother. No cantos, Father.
GALT: Cantos, cantos, can’t can’t can’t.
BUSH: Can’t leave. No retreat, no…
GALT: Retreat, retreat…retreat! Retreat from tether’s end. When the rope tightens…
BUSH: The rope’s tightening.
[They’re both sober now]
GALT: Then it’s time to get back to the fence.
BUSH: I’m all for that…but all these notes. And who knows how many more there are and what they might say… And the body. [pause] And him.
[BUSH points to JOBEO who has silently come out of the closet to stand between them]
GALT: But we’ll just make all the evidence vanish. The body, the notes, you, me, Jobeo….everything.
BUSH: Vanish? How?
[Pause]
GALT: No. Well, we’ll just sneak out and deny it all happened.
BUSH: Sure, the Cranes did their denying, we’ll just do some denying of our own.
GALT: Right.
[They start off, but JOBEO blocks their way]
JOBEO: It's too late.
BUSH: What’ya mean, it’s too late?
JOBEO: Take a look outside.
GALT: Now look, we’re not taking anything more from you – no more instructions.
BUSH: No more advice.
JOBEO: Don’t say you weren’t warned then.
[BUSH and GALT look at each other]
GALT: I’ll take a look. Be right back.
[GALT leaves. Long pause.
JOBEO positions himself casually and starts to whistle]
BUSH: [approaching him tentatively] What do you mean, eh, “It’s too late”?
JOBEO: Oh, it’s just too late.
BUSH: We don’t believe you anymore, Mr. Jobeo.
JOBEO: Well, that’s your problem. I’m just here to help out. Call me when you need me. [walks away]
[GALT runs back in]
GALT: There’s no way out.
BUSH: What are you talking about?
GALT: Disguises. Costumes. We’re being watched. They’ve all gathered to see what we’ll do.
BUSH: I don’t get it.
GALT: My wife wrapped in an army coat selling chestnuts across the street. My children made up to look like neighbourhood urchins. My golf partner delivering milk next door.
BUSH: Are you sure?
GALT: The resemblances are more than striking.
BUSH: My God! I’ll go check the back.
GALT: Yeah, check the back.
BUSH: Yeah, the back.
[BUSH rushes off. Pause]
GALT: It’s a trap.
JOBEO: No, it’s curiosity. But the result’s the same.
GALT: And you probably know what the result will be, eh?
JOBEO: Uncomfortable.
GALT: Uncomfortable. Of course, what else?
JOBEO: What you should be concerned with now are things like dignity and courage.
GALT: Thanks.
JOBEO: The difference in begging cornered like a rat, or cornered like a…a…
GALT: Like a man.
JOBEO: I like to complete my own analogies, if you don’t mind.
GALT: Yes, well, I’m beginning to mind. In fact, I’m beginning to resent a few things. And I intend to say something about it very soon.
JOBEO: Well, don’t get upset with me. I’m just here to help out. [walking away] Call me when you need me.
[BUSH rushes back on]
GALT: Well?
BUSH: Uh-huh. It’s true. We’re surrounded. They’re all out there. All my failing clerks disguised as lamp posts. I’m surrounded by filing clerks disguised as lamp posts!
GALT: Did you make contact?
BUSH: Yes. There was a whore at the door.
GALT: A whore. At the door?
BUSH: Yes. And she looked a lot like my secretary. She was well disguised but–
GALT: You didn’t speak to her did you?
BUSH: I had to make sure.
GALT: You did speak to her.
BUSH: Yeah. I stuck my head out the door. And I said. “What are you doing here?”
GALT: What did she say?
BUSH: She said, “That’s up to you, honey.”
[Pause]
GALT: That’s it then.
BUSH: Yeah. We’re surrounded and it’s up to us.
GALT: Up to us.
[Pause. JOBEO starts to whistle casually in the corner. Something classical. BUSH and GALT confer]
BUSH and GALT: Jobeo.
JOBEO: You called boys.
[They approach him shyly]
GALT: Is there salvation in an act of will?
JOBEO: Salvation? Sure.
BUSH: Can it give a person peace of mind?
JOBEO: Peace of mind? Sure.
GALT: Does it make you look good?
JOBEO: No doubt about it.
[BUSH and GALT confer]
GALT: [to JOBEO] All right, we’ll try it.
BUSH: If you’ll give us a hand.
JOBEO: [mobile] Of course I’ll give you a hand.
BUSH: I’m glad we’ll be trying it together. I’m not much good at these things on my own.
GALT: I’m not exactly an expert myself.
BUSH: But I’m still glad you’re here to put your foot down if it gets out of hand.
GALT: What will you do if it gets out of hand?
BUSH: I’ll back you up.
GALT: Thanks. [to JOBEO] Can you begin with the nature of a def…def–
BUSH: Definitive.
GALT: Yeah. Definitive act.
JOBEO: That’s a good idea. [paces] Now an act of definition is a step beyond the limit, and in this case it applies to a man’s relationship with his fellow man ah… Anyway, what it all boils down to is that you either remove yourself from your fellow man or you remove your fellow man from yourself.
BUSH: Are you following this?
GALT: Almost.
JOBEO: Now in Biblical times, a step beyond the limit involved withdrawal into the nearest desert. A man lived on his juices while he dried up under the sun like a fig. Some waited for revelation but most just dried up. Anyway, the desert’s the thing.
BUSH: Times have changed.
JOBEO: It’s good that you’ve noticed.
GALT: Besides, there aren’t any deserts around here.
JOBEO: Oh, you’re just as sharp as he is… So, as you’ve already observed – albeit somewhat awkwardly – withdrawal is out of the question. There’s no place to go.
BUSH: And we’re being watched.
JOBEO: Yes, that too.
GALT: So what does that leave us?
JOBEO: Two alternatives. Rational suicide, or rational homicide! As long as it’s sensibly done, you can kill yourselves… Or kill someone else.
BUSH: Not much of a selection, is it?
JOBEO: Personally , I favour homicide. Suicide can never be trusted.
GALT: I don’t think either of them is very civilized.
BUSH: No. I don’t think I could do either of them. Not even for my wife.
GALT: A crime of passion. That’s something I can understand.
JOBEO: Yes, of course, you and your widow with the pink hair.
GALT: I wonder if my wife knows about her.
BUSH: It was probably in that letter.
GALT: Well, that’s that.
JOBEO: Now getting back to the idea of rational murder…
GALT: Maybe we should concentrate on passion.
JOBEO: Pay attention! I want to talk about murder.
BUSH: Don’t forget the suicide.
JOBEO: Suicide has a certain quality I can’t quite put my finger on.
GALT: Maybe it’s passion.
JOBEO: Okay! Let’s settle down and get to work!
BUSH: What?
JOBEO: You’re going to murder me. You’ll murder me rationally and then your problem will be solved. It’s all very simple really. Rational murder. Very simple, indeed.
GALT: No it’s not. I’m not capable of murder.
BUSH: Neither am I.
JOBEO: But this is a special circumstance. You’ve got no choice.
[Pause]
GALT: Everyone keeps saying that.
BUSH: Yeah. And it’s starting to get on my nerves.
GALT: Yeah.
BUSH: Uh-huh.
[Pause]
GALT: But we agreed to try. And besides, since we have no choice, I mean it seems like the only honourable choice–
BUSH: We’d better try.
BUSH and GALT: [to JOBEO] We’ll try.
JOBEO: Good.
GALT: One question, Jobeo.
JOBEO: Yes.
GALT: What do you expect to gain from this?
BUSH: Besides being killed. [to GALT] Maybe he’s a what y’call it. A masochist.
GALT: A pretty extreme case though, eh.
JOBEO: Let’s just say that I’m involved in a game of one-upmanship and I’m a lousy loser.
[BUSH and GALT both shrug]
JOBEO: [approaching and addressing the body] We’re about to reverse the logical outcome. Thanks for the opportunity. [chuckles, returns, sits back on his haunches, puts his head up, and closes his eyes] All right, go ahead
[Pause. GALT and BUSH stare blankly at him]
JOBEO: Go ahead. [pause] For God’s sake. Go ahead and do it.
GALT: How?
JOBEO: Rationally.
BUSH: But… How?
JOBEO: [sitting up] Oh. You mean why. Right. Motivation. I suppose even a logical murder needs a motive.
BUSH: Give us one.
JOBEO: Just tell yourselves that you don’t like me.
BUSH and GALT: We don’t like you.
JOBEO: But convince yourselves that I’m noxious to you, that my being alive makes it difficult for you to be alive…Because I’m noxious to you. [settles back again and closes his eyes]
[BUSH and GALT repeating the word “noxious” over and over, trying to approach the prospect of murder. Hit him on the head? Choke him? Smother him? Poke his eyes out?]
JOBEO [cont’d; waiting, then wonders] What’s the delay fellows? [no response] Hurry up, eh!... Come on… [sitting up] Well, what’s wrong!
GALT: Trying to convince ourselves.
BUSH: Don’t know how to go about it.
JOBEO: Well you’d bloody well better come up with something soon, or I might just change my mind.
BUSH: Have any idea?
GALT: The body.
[They rush to the body. GALT finds a note]
BUSH: What’s it say?
GALT: ”I could never have plotted this out without Jobeo. Sending that letter to your families and friends was just one of his helpful ideas.”
BUSH: All right.
GALT: Okay.
[Pause. They look at each other, look at JOBEO. Then they begin to pace madly all around. Building up speed and pressure. Pounding their fists. Muttering. Cursing. Kicking things.
JOBEO is nervously watching through partially opened eyes.
Finally… They both explode in horrifying screams.
JOBEO is startled and frightened. Tries to make it to the closet. But they are on him with kicks and punches]
JOBEO: No keep it rational. It’s a trick.
GALT: We’ll show you an act of will.
JOBEO: Keep it rational. It has to be rational.
BUSH: We’ll show you a definitive act.
JOBEO: Uh-oh.
GALT: You’re going to die.
BUSH: You louse.
GALT: Squeeze.
BUSH: I’m squeezing.
GALT: Squeeze harder.
JOBEO: No.
BUSH: We’ll crush his neck.
GALT: Burn him alive.
BUSH: Cut his head off. Oh yes, let’s cut his head off.
GALT: Find a knife.
[As BUSH lets go, JOBEO escapes GALT’s hold. JOBEO pushes GALT down. Starts for the closet. BUSH has found a machete and is swinging it around like a madman. JOBEO makes it inside the closet. Closes the door. BUSH is hacking wildly at the door with the machete. GALT sits up. Watches BUSH for awhile. Decides to stop him. Goes to him. Taps him on the shoulder. BUSH turns around with a violent swing of the machete. GALT ducks.
Pause.
They look blankly at each other. BUSH drops the machete. Mops his brow. Sinks down beside GALT]
BUSH: I’m sorry.
GALT: I know.
BUSH: We almost murdered him.
GALT: Almost.
BUSH: We almost carried it off.
GALT: Murder.
BUSH: Uh-huh.
GALT: Murder!
BUSH: I haven’t even raised my voice in years let alone tried to murder someone.
GALT: I’ve got a bad taste in my mouth. I feel like an animal. [walks slowly to the body] It’s his fault. If he were alive I’d kick him in the crotch.
BUSH: You’d just hurt your foot.
GALT: Probably. [pause] Oh, he’s really starting to stink now.
BUSH: Have you got anything we can spray him with?
GALT: Like what?
BUSH: Cologne? Perfume?
GALT: Why would I be carrying perfume?
BUSH: It was just a suggestion.
[Pause]
GALT: Maybe we’ll get used to the smell.
BUSH: But I don’t want to get used to the smell, Galt. That would be an awful thing to have to get used to, wouldn’t it?
GALT: Yeah.
[Pause]
BUSH: You know, the day started nicely enough. Uneventful. Just the way I like it.
GALT: It’s been like that for months.
BUSH: Longer. It’s been like that for years.
GALT: I know. But it gives a man a chance to think, when his days are uneventful.
BUSH: Think? Nobody will believe that.
GALT: But maybe it’s true, anyway. I think my own thoughts. Maybe they’re not the kind of thoughts other people find important. But, honestly, Bush, they’ve always seemed important enough to me.
BUSH: They’ve always seemed important enough to me, too, Galt. Mine, I mean. At least they’ve left me enough time to be practical and to feed my family.
GALT: Isn’t that important?
BUSH: Oh, don’t you start asking me those questions. I don’t know, I…
GALT: [to the body] Isn’t that important?
BUSH: Any answer?
GALT: No. But I could turn his pockets out. Or look in his socks.
BUSH: Don’t bother with him.
GALT: God I’m worn out.
BUSH: I feel sick to my stomach.
GALT: I’m worn out. And I’m dizzy.
BUSH: I think I’m going to vomit.
GALT: Me too.
BUSH: Let’s vomit on him.
GALT: Good idea. No I can’t do it.
BUSH: Neither can I. I’d like to though.
GALT: It’d just give them another reason to laugh at us.
BUSH: Or something else to expose.
GALT: I’d say they're got enough.
BUSH: Yes. What now?
GALT: Where’s the bottle?
BUSH: What about the act of will?
GALT: First the bottle. I need a drink.
BUSH: It’s empty.
GALT: Look for another one then! Please. [pause] I’d like to think there’s a point to all this, you know. I really would.
BUSH: So would I.
GALT: But I can’t help thinking it’s just a plot.
BUSH: Or a joke.
GALT: That’s even worse than a plot.
BUSH: But everybody got there so quickly. Quickly like they do when they go out for laughs.
GALT: He must have prepared them by sending his notes out in advance.
BUSH: Everyone’s so well disguised. My secretary looked so much like a whore. And the whore looked so familiar.
GALT: He must have given them pretty thorough instructions on what to do.
BUSH: But why’d they go along with it?
GALT: They must have liked the idea.
BUSH: That’s it I suppose. But God, it’s hard to imagine why so many people would go to so much trouble just to get at us.
GALT: Probably, none of them ever liked us very much anyway.
BUSH: I always thought they did.
GALT: They deceived us, Bush.
[Pause]
BUSH: Do you think they’ll go home for breakfast.
GALT: Not unless we do something.
BUSH: It seems to me that all this talk about us doing something has come out of the mouth of a very strange horse.
GALT: Yeah… A man who kills himself isn’t that much out of the ordinary…
BUSH: Happens all the time.
GALT: But a man who lays plans to upset the lives of his oldest friends and then kills himself, has very strange values.
[They nod. Pause]
BUSH: It reminds me of the time my parents took me to see my aunt in the asylum because they wanted to show me the work of the devil.
GALT: Your parents were fanatics.
BUSH: So were yours!
[Pause]
GALT: All right. What happened at the asylum?
BUSH: We were standing around the bed watching my aunt stare at us, and my mother was whispering to me that I should do something to relieve the tension…
GALT: Why you?
BUSH: I was only fourteen. Maybe they thought I’d say something cute.
GALT: Did you say something cute?
BUSH: I couldn’t open my mouth. I was too scared. So I did the next best thing and offered her my hand.
GALT: A nice gesture.
BUSH: That’s what I thought. It’s supposed to be comforting to offer a sick person your hand
GALT: What did your aunt do?
BUSH: She bit it.
GALT: Strange behaviour.
BUSH: That’s why they put her in the asylum. For strange behaviour. She turned savage one night and went around biting all her children in their sleep.
GALT: Well, if she was a chronic biter you shouldn’t have given her your hand.
BUSH: That is one of the points of the story.
GALT: Yes. I know. And the other point is that your mother told you to do something and you did it.
BUSH: Yes. I did it because I was being watched. My mother was whispering in my ear, my father was frowning for all he was worth, which wasn’t much, and my aunt was staring at me like an owl.
GALT: Yeah. I don’t like to be stared at either. And I hate being watched up close. Especially by people who know me.
BUSH: You don’t get a chance to fight back or get out of the way. It’s like being attacked in a small room.
GALT: I don’t like small rooms.
BUSH: Galt? If we're being watched and laughed at and everyone thinks we’re useless and weak-kneed, that is what’s happening to us, isn’t it?
GALT: Yes.
BUSH: Then will they respect us again if we kill ourselves?
GALT: I doubt it. But at least they won’t be able to watch us anymore.
BUSH: Couldn’t we just run away?
GALT: They’d call us cowards.
BUSH: They’re calling us cowards now.
GALT: But it’d go on and on. They’d get together just to talk about us. And I don’t like the thought of that very much. Do you?
BUSH: No… No… Well, we’d better get on with it then.
GALT: First the bottle…Anyway, I’m not sure how to go about it. Besides I'm getting tired, and I can’t think straight when I’m tired.
[BUSH searches, finds a length of rope with nooses at both ends behind a crate]
BUSH: Look.
GALT: Well, that solves it for us, doesn’t it?
BUSH: Thoughtful of him.
GALT: Yeah. No loose ends.
BUSH: You know, it must have taken a lot of planning.
GALT: Sure. He really outdid himself.
BUSH: All that for revenge.
GALT: Or whatever it was.
[BUSH puts the nooses on their necks. He adjusts his]
GALT: [cont’d] How’s it fit.
BUSH: Fine. How about you?
GALT: It’s a little loose.
BUSH: See if you can adjust it. Like this.
GALT: Oh! That’s better. Now what?
BUSH: Let’s go see. [to the body, another note]
GALT: Here.
BUSH: What’s it say?
GALT: Nothing. It’s a diagram.
BUSH: I guess that’s how we’re supposed to do it. Back to back.
GALT: Back to back. How else? It has to be back to back. And he thought we were too stupid to figure it out for ourselves.
BUSH: So he drew us a diagram. How about that?
GALT: The final insult.
BUSH: Well, I’m fed up!
GALT: HIm and his bloody high horse
BUSH: I’m fed up, I tell you.
GALT: Well, it’s about time you got fed up.
BUSH: I was waiting for you.
GALT: All this from a drunkard and a recluse. And you’re just getting fed up now.
BUSH: I bide my time. But when I let go I really let go.
GALT: It’s time for a decision. We have to go out in style.
BUSH: I’m with you all the way.
GALT: It’s time to make a mark. We’ve had our fill of being cornered by wives and widows.
BUSH: We’ve had it up to here with notes and deceptions.
GALT: Deception upon deception.
BUSH: Note after note.
GALT: Instructions! Everywhere I look, instructions!
BUSH: I’m through with it all. In fact, I’m glad to be rid of it all. He wins.
GALT: We’ll see who wins. Turn around!
BUSH: Maybe we should leave them some notes.
GALT: Leave who some notes?
BUSH: All those fools outside in their disguises.
GALT: Just turn around!
BUSH: Right! You too!
GALT: Don’t worry about me. No whining, no whimpering. Turn around.
BUSH: I’d like to invite them all in.
GALT: To hell with them! Pull!
BUSH: I’d like to go out and machine-gun every one of them.
GALT: Just pull, damn it!
BUSH: Pull yourself!!
GALT: Hurry up!
BUSH: Lean hard! I’m right behind you.
GALT: All the way to the end.
BUSH: My sentiments exactly.
GALT: Come on. Do your part!
BUSH: Do your own!
GALT: Lean, you bastard!
BUSH: I bet it won’t make any difference.
GALT: How much?
BUSH: Everything!
GALT: Why not?
BUSH: You’re not pulling!
GALT: You’re not pulling.
BUSH: Coward!
GALT: Weakling!
[They begin straining. Heaving]
BUSH: There…ah…better.
GALT: It’s tightening…my throat…
BUSH: Don’t…get…scared.
GALT: Don’t you!
BUSH: Tighter. Has to be…tighter!
GALT: I know… Pull!
BUSH: Tighter…uh!
GALT: Tight! Tighter!
BUSH: :Yourself…
GALT: Harder.
BUSH: You…
GALT: Ah….
BUSH: Uh…
[Pause.
Simultaneously they remove nooses, fasten them to posts or pegs or something, leaving the rope taut. They start crawling off – still groaning – discover one another – embarrassed smiles, etc. Long pause]
GALT: I hope you realize that what you’ve just tried to do is commit murder.
BUSH: Murder? Murder who?
GALT: Murder me!
BUSH: I didn’t do anything you didn’t do.
GALT: But you did it first.
BUSH: I did?
GALT: I knew you’d back out, so I was keeping my eyes on you. I saw you take the noose off. I saw you hang it on that post…leaving me to strangle myself.
BUSH: Well, if that's so why were you sneaking off and making all those silly noises?
GALT: I…didn’t want to embarrass you with a confrontation.
BUSH: It’s more likely you were just looking for a place to hide.
GALT: I don’t have to take that from a homicidal maniac!
BUSH: Homicidal maniac?
GALT: That’s right You selfish bloothirsty pig’s ass!
BUSH: Pig’s ass yourself! How do I know you didn’t take off the noose first and leave me to strangle? In fact, from what I know of you, that’s probably what happened.
GALT: What d’ya mean, from what you know of me?
BUSH: Well, you’ve been shirking responsibility since you entered grade school. That’s why you got mixed up with all those ugly dames. And that’s why your wife has to handle all the money.
GALT: My wife handles the money because she can be trusted. In much the same way that you never take your wife anywhere because she can’t be trusted.
BUSH: What are you saying, Galt?
GALT: I’m saying what I just said.
BUSH: Well, say it again.
GALT: Your wife can’t be trusted. She’s been on the make since you married her.
BUSH: On the make for what?
GALT: For a man who doesn’t take the financial section of the newspaper to bed with him.
BUSH: Oh! That’s just like you! Everything has to crawl down to the sexual level or you can’t cope with it.
GALT: Don’t talk to me about coping.
BUSH: If you’d been able to cope with your family, your kids wouldn’t be outside laughing at you and your wife wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of renting a chestnut cart.
GALT: The only reason your wife isn’t out there – if she isn’t out there – is that she’s in the sack with the postman..
BUSH: The postman?
GALT: Take your choice. The postman, the guy who checks the gas meter, the paper boy.
BUSH: The paper boy! But he’s only twelve years old.
GALT: Typical!
BUSH: Oh! You’re just trying to lead me off the track.
GALT: You’ve never been on the track!
BUSH: I could say the same about you!
GALT: If you weren’t such a bloody coward!
BUSH: We’ll see who the coward is. We’ll see who crawls away to hide. Those people are coming in soon, and they’ll find out just who’s who and what’s what. [takes an end, puts noose on]
GALT: Just watch me and I’ll show you how it’s done. [takes the other noose and puts it on]
BUSH: I’ll be watching, all right. But it’ll be to make sure you don’t run away.
GALT: You’re the expert at running away. Remember, you took the noose off first.
BUSH: Well, I say it was you.
GALT: But nobody believes what you say! You stagnant pond!
BUSH: Swamp!
GALT: Quagmire!
BUSH: Uh…
GALT: Uh…
[They strain and pull again. But at that one particular moment when that rope really does hurt – they remove the nooses again. This time they turn to each other…but they cannot talk. They crawl upstage to different corners. Lights down]
BUSH: Keep away.
GALT: Keep away, yourself.
FADE OUT