Bombardment, Episode 13: Peace, How We've Longed for You

Splattworks continues its presentation of Bombardment, a two-act drama by Steve Patterson. The author will attempt to post an installment each day, but, if events intercede, installments may occur a day or so apart. So please be patient.

[EPISODE 13]

ACT II

SCENE I

PLACID and CARMELITA sit in the armchairs. CARMELITA's shopping cart is overturned, her stuff spread all over the stage--balloons, trinkets, gobs of colorful, wadded paper: a toy chest emptied for Mardi Gras. PLACID and CARMELITA have exchanged clothes with ARETHA and CORNO. PLACID reads the newspaper. CARMELITA curls up in her armchair. She has PLACID's bag of surprises beside her. No matter what she does, PLACID does not react. CARMELITA takes out a pair of pruning shears, plays that they are shark jaws.

CARMELITA: (Singing “Mack the Knife”) Oh the shark has pretty teeth, dear/And he keeps them pearly white. . .. (Rummages, rummages. Comes up with a banana. Swims it past her. Singing "Sub-Mission" by the Sex Pistols) I'm on a submarine mission for you, bay-bee. . .. (CARMELITA makes bubble sounds as the banana "submerges." Puts it back. Takes out a hacksaw. Puts it to her throat.) No. . .please. I'll tell you where the treasure is! I will! Just don't. . .don't. . . arrrghghghghghh. (Her head falls forward. Lets it hang.) Arrrghghgh? (CARMELITA puts the saw away. Takes out an awl, and pretends to tie her arm off and shoot up, but can't stomach it.) Awful. (CARMELITA returns the awl to the bag. Very slowly pulls out the long carving knife.) Oh, it is a long way to Tipperary. Just an extremely long way. No matter how you try to get there. Whether walking or flying or swimming like a fish. It's an extremely long, difficult way to go. Wherever the hell Tipperary is. Know where Tipperary is, Placid? Well, I'll tell you. Tipperary is nowhere. Maybe it was somewhere once, but it's nowhere now. It's a song. It's in songland, and not even a song people know anymore. It's in the Lower Slobbovia of songland. Peace. How we've longed for you. Listening, Placid? (She pricks her finger with the knife.) Ow! Shit. (She gets up, slips into a pair of pumps with stiletto heels. Picks up the knife.) I’m stalking. I’m stalking the beast. Oh, it’s a fierce beast. Got long, jagged teeth. Scaly skin. And, and…it’s invisible! It can eat you, and you’ll never see it. Even when the teeth tear into your flesh. Oh, you see the holes ripping, the blood. You’ll feel it. Definitely. But you’ll never see it, even after you’ve been eaten. Even when you’re deep in its guts. You’ll just dissolve. Become part of it. Then you’ll be invisible too.

[To be continued]

Bombardment, Episode 11: Mirrors with Beveled Edges

Splattworks continues its presentation of Bombardment, a two-act drama by Steve Patterson. The author will attempt to post an installment each day, but, if events intercede, installments may occur a day or so apart. So please be patient.

[EPISODE 11]

CARMELITA: No, ma'am.
ARETHA: Yes, you did! Don't argue with me! You killed him!

ARETHA begins striking CARMELITA.

ARETHA: Unfaithful bitch! I let you in, but you're treacherous! All of you! Let you into my home, my life! Rescued you from dirt, disease, rivers rotting with corpses! Gave you a room! Gave you pink wallpaper with curlicues, white enamel vanity, mirrors with beveled edges! Perfumes, powders, oils! What do you give me? How do you pay me back?

ARETHA grabs CARMELITA's coat.

ARETHA: Give me this! My coat! From my animals! My skins! Without me, you wouldn't know which arm goes where!

In trying to escape the blows, CARMELITA lets ARETHA have the coat. ARETHA catches her by the throat. Forces her to her knees.

ARETHA: This is ours! We give you a little! Pacify you! Your peace, our profit! But don't think we can't take it away! If we don't get back what we put in! We'll just give it to another! Fresh meat! A body that hasn't learned to think!

ARETHA throws her on stage. Grabs the tire iron.

ARETHA: Spoiled trifle. Put your eye to the keyhole. Seen what you couldn't imagine, but now you want. Once that germ takes hold, you can't be trusted, you or your whole fucking people, and you ought to be wiped from the planet!

ARETHA raises tire iron to strike. Deafening sound of planes, screaming in.

The sound paralyzes ARETHA. CARMELITA crawls away, grabbing her coat and wrapping herself.

ARETHA: They're coming! God, they're coming back! What are we going to do? Don't you hear them? Once they let the bombs loose, they fall everywhere. They don't just fall on me. They fall on everyone. They fall on everything.
CARMELITA: There's nothing you can do.
ARETHA: No! Before I took you in, you survived!
CARMELITA: Lie down. The shrapnel might go over your head. Everything else has.
ARETHA: I rescued you. From dirt, disease. Rotting bodies floating in the river. Pink wallpaper with curlicue patterns. Table. Desk. Perfumes. Powders. I rescued you? Or did someone rescue me? Someone took my hand. But what happened--

CARMELITA backhands ARETHA.

CARMELITA: Kneel.

[To be continued]

Bombardment, Episode 4: Dallas Style

Splattworks continues its presentation of Bombardment, a two-act drama by Steve Patterson. The author will attempt to post an installment each day, but, if events intercede, installments may occur a day or so apart. So please be patient.


[EPISODE 4]

PLACID: Do it right! Make him come to you! Feign penance. Face behind a veil. So he’s sure he’s won. Accepting your proffered hand in his grand benevolence.
ARETHA: Humiliated.
PLACID: Does a spider humiliate? No. She waits. For the prey to relax.
ARETHA: Then strike.
PLACID: Why you need me. The most loyal of loyal. The only one--present company excepted--that he trusts. The one who’s borne the blood. Who’s bashed the heads to pieces. Slit the throats. He slinks home for you. On his knees. Pleading mock repentance. Until my shadow crosses his.
ARETHA: I know this gore and violence thrills you, but must your willie stick up my ass?

PLACID stands her up.

PLACID: Sorry, babe! Got a little excited! Excited…for your triumph!
ARETHA: Sit.

He sits. ARETHA paces.

ARETHA: Ah god.

She sits down and puts her head between her knees.

PLACID: Babe…you okay?

She sits back, obviously pained. CORNO rises from hiding place, vaguely concerned.

ARETHA: Comes in waves, the agony. My eyes. Seeing him. Them. He's kisses her hair, her neck. She clenches her calves. She drops the platter. It rattles on parquet tiles, oysters splashing. She reaches back. Bunches the pleats of his woolen trousers. Fingers spreading flat. Trembling. . .. In my bed, Placid! My bed! I need murder. Tell me murder!

CORNO eases from one spot to another.

PLACID: Sweet. (Rises. Goes to bag. Takes out a tire iron.) Eh?
ARETHA: Kitchen to garage. Better. He loves his cars. Men love to go fast. Why they always do.
PLACID: Yeah, I love this fucker. Nice and heavy, but a point, too. Let it hang by your side. Come up behind him. Jam! Right through the back of his head!

PLACID demonstrates. ARETHA winces.

PLACID: Skull frags everywhere! Dallas style! Busted pottery! Or. . .--hwack!-- uppercut! Hook that soft spot 'neath the jaw! Give a twist, snap, whole trache rips out! Blood like a Rorschach! Beautiful.
ARETHA: I don't the implement is properly. . .stylish.
PLACID: This gonna’ be a murder or a tea party?
ARETHA: What about something with a point that doesn't have to mutilate? A pin? A dart?

PLACID rummages, comes up with a drill.

ARETHA: I believe you need a cord.
PLACID: (Buzzes it.) Batteries.
ARETHA: So…intrusive.
PLACID: You know what? You still love the bastard.
ARETHA: I do not.
PLACID: Yes, you do. You hate him as much as you say, you'd cut his head off--(pulls a hacksaw out of the bag and waves it around)-- never mind the glop. Shit. Why don't you just feed him a cute little Seconal brandy?
CORNO: Prefer coffee.

ARETHA leaps out of her seat. Enraged, she lunges toward him. The lights flicker. Planes return. Bombs fall, thundering. Shatteringly loud. Strobe lights. ARETHA, PLACID, and CORNO all hit the deck and cover up.

CORNO: Aretha? Aretha!

Admist the bombardment, one bomb falls with an especially piercing whine. Lights out with a shattering concussion. Silence.

[To be continued]

Bombardment, Episode 3: Just Speakin' Colorful

Splattworks continues its presentation of Bombardment, a two-act drama by Steve Patterson. The author will attempt to post an installment each day, but, if events intercede, installments may occur a day or so apart. So please be patient.

[EPISODE 3]

ARETHA: How do you plan to conduct the administrative action?
PLACID: Well, it’s funny. On one hand, living things are a bitch to kill. If you don’t know what you’re doing, you end up just bashing ‘em till they come apart. But, if you got a little knowledge, get inside, snap the right wire, the whole gimmick goes…click. That's what we're shooting for. The right wire. Now. (Reaches into bag, pulls out a carving knife.) Standard number. Sharp, long enough to get to the juicy stuff. Strong, won't break on bone. Drawback is. . .it's been done. Million times. Kind of thing a housewife uses to whack her hubby when he's dipping his wick on the side.
ARETHA: Be very careful.
PLACID: No offense. Just speaking colorful.
ARETHA: Nothing with domestic connotations.
CORNO: Say, could I get some coffee?

The two on stage look up, pause, then go back to what they're doing.

PLACID: This wouldn't work then?

Holds up a nutcracker. ARETHA shakes her head.

PLACID: Bummer.

Puts knife, nutcracker on floor. Takes out an icepick.

ARETHA: What did I tell you?
PLACID: Could be a wet bar. Some swanky lounge.
ARETHA: No.
PLACID: Camping?
CORNO: Please, it's chilly out here. Let's get a cup for all these good people.
ARETHA: Where do you find it?
CORNO: Just a warm-up. For my loyal, loving subjects.
ARETHA: You find it in a kitchen drawer, right along with the corn skewers and the garlic press.
PLACID: Garlic press. . ..
CORNO: Don't need any cream! Black is fine!
ARETHA: (Leaping to her feet.) Shut up! Shut up, you bastard! I will not serve you! I will not! Think who I am! Think who you compare me to! I could kill you with my bare hands!

ARETHA lunges for him, but PLACID jumps up, grabs her round the waist. Holds her tight as she struggles to get into audience.

PLACID: No, no, shh. Do it proper.
ARETHA: To hell with proper!
PLACID: You can’t mean it.
ARETHA: Gouge out his eyes!
PLACID: No. Aretha.
ARETHA: With a grapefruit spoon! Pluck 'em out! Stamp ‘em on the ground!

She furiously stamps the stage while PLACID holds her in place. He finally wrenches her back. They both end up in an chair, ARETHA planted on PLACID's lap.

[To be continued]