Act Four – in which the
performers discover what
is wanted of them
Narrator: Attention, all performers! Your narrator speaks.
[extended pause]
Freed: [from offstage] But we’re all still busy takin’ our leaks!
Madge:1 I’m under the impression we’d better scurry.
He’s spoken first this time, and that could mean fury.
Narrator: When you’re summoned, you’re expected to move.
Heath: He’s pushing us into a somewhat faster groove.
Clare: I wonder. This sudden interest on his part…
Narrator: If you haven’t arrived, you’ve missed the start.
Freed: He loves us, he loves us not.
Dooley: That’s his style…his art.
Pluck: Where is Flex?
Dooley: He and she are still on the potty.
Flex:2 Beam me up, unfathomable Scotty!
Narrator: Everyone is now accounted for. Get busy.
Clare: [clasping her head] God. This immoderate tempo makes me dizzy.
Flex: Any hints, Chief, as to what you’re after?
Narrator: If you like. Work quickly, and work without laughter.
Pluck: In other words, then, we’re not to have any fun?
__________________________________________
1Madge is the first to enter, and the others enter upon their initial lines.
2Line hollered from offstage, upon finishing which Flex hurries onto stage.
_____________________________________________________
Narrator: That’s up to you and how your lines are spun.
Clare: Must what you say continue to be so cryptic…
Flex: …oh Master of this stage’s oblique ecliptic?
Narrator: And no more punning from P5 and Four.
Clare: If you’re not pleased with us, why not show us the door?
Narrator: Get to work now, if you don’t wish to hear me roar.
Dooley: What are we to do?
Narrator: I’ve already said.
Freed: Either I’ve forgotten, or my memory’s fled.
Flex: [to Freed] Sayin’ the first’s the same as sayin’ the latter.
Narrator: I urge you to hasten to the matter.
Clare: Well, we’re supposed to find out what he wants, correct?
Madge: Again, this confounded bag remains in neglect.1
Dooley: So, who’s for looking inside?
Heath: We shouldn’t.
Pluck:2 May we?
Narrator: I haven’t said if you could or couldn’t.
Flex: Right. And she’s askin’ you if we may or mayn’t.
The ball’s in your court now, sucker. Play it.
Freed: You know, something bizarre has just occurred to me.
Although with each other’s names we’ve been making free,
he just referred to us as Four and Six.
Dooley: Just as I suspected. Our names to him mean nix.
____________________________________________
1Madge has been studying the bag for the past minute or so.
2Addressing the narrator.
_______________________________________________________
Heath: It was to Clare, not to me, he was referring.
Clare: Yes. You and Madge are of his preferring…
preferment, rather. It’s easy to get confused.
Dooley: That’s because the lines keep coming around in two’s.
Makes me feel like I’ve been hitting the booze.
[Loud offstage rumbling and flashing lights. The performers stumble.]
Narrator: If this is how it will be, then I’ll make you quake!
Clare: [shaken] But will you not inform us as to our mistake?
Madge: We’d better ponder hard his intentions.
I’m sure there will be more severe interventions.
Pluck: Do you suppose he doesn’t recognize our names?
Freed: It’s tough to fathom his ultimate aims.
Dooley: If our names are null, what should we call each other?
Pluck: I’m happy with my name. I don’t want another.
Perhaps it’s the same one I’ve always had.
Flex: And I’m more than pleased with the name with which I’m clad.
Clare: Of course - it clothes your true gender. It’s not so bad!
Heath: But does it even matter what we’re called?
Madge: Let’s return to the topic of this heap I hauled.
Dooley: It’s like having to share the stage with a beached whale.
Clare: What manner of information, what mail
would we find if we were to remove its innards?
Freed: Perhaps vintage wines from splendiferous vineyards.
Flex: Suppose you pet it. Do you think it purrs?
Dooley: Just open it, goddammit!
Heath: It’s not ours.
Narrator: It’s yours!
[Extended pause. Performers look at each other.]
Dooley: Well, what are we waiting for?
[After another brief silence, the performers, excepting Madge, scramble towards the bag.]
Madge: [yelling] Hold on a minute!
[The others pause suddenly before the bag and turn to face Madge.]
I know we all want to see what’s in it.
But let’s proceed with a minimum of caution.
Freed: Alright, we’ll let Madge preside over the auction.
Clare: Do we really need such formality
in this barren, untrodden principality?
Madge: I certainly don’t wish to be the one in charge,
but who knows what happens when in we barge?
Dooley: I’m in favor of choosing two of us to look.
Pluck: Who then?
Flex: I nominate myself. I ain’t no crook.
Freed: And I nominate Heath to assist you.
Clare: We’ll see what from such an odd pairing doth issue.
Flex: Drop it. We ain’t contemplatin’ holy wedlock.
Madge: Hurry and get us out of this deadlock.
Let’s all keep in mind we’re running against the clock.
[Flex and Heath approach and open the bag slowly and, at first, with great caution.]
Flex: Well, will you look at that. There’s all sorts of nonsense.
Heath: Though nothing that’s worth more than a few pence.
So, Flex – what do you propose we do with this stuff?
Flex: Lay it out on the stage, I guess.
Freed: But don’t be rough.
Dooley: You need any help?
Flex: Nah, two is enough.
[Flex and Heath proceed to lay the various objects about the circular periphery of the stage. The twenty-one items include: a beat-up saxophone; a cellophane bag containing seeds of some sort; a yellowing roll of paper with indecipherable, faded script; a yard ruler; a pulley; a large spool from which the rope or string has been removed; a steel trap of medium size (perhaps one used to trap small mammals); a sweater in somewhat ragged condition; a hand-held telescope; a flag of no recognizable national designation; a sledgehammer of some weight; a large badge or decal; a smallish wreath that could also serve as a crown of thorns in a pageant play; a life-sized skull; a handkerchief; a moldered box of Chex with faded lettering, torn on the reverse side; a largish textbook; a compass large enough for the audience to discern; a large pair of dice such as may be seen in children’s play areas; a thick volume of Shakespeare’s works; and, an object, approximately half a meter in length, which could either be a tool (such as a hand-held gardening shovel) or a sexual device.]
Clare: What a lot of rubbish!
Dooley: Is this some kind of joke?
Clare: [looking toward the ceiling] Have you anything to say, invisible bloke?
Freed: We’ve come this far to be saddled with junk.
Dooley: I’d just as soon remain destitute as a monk.
Clare: No worries there, Dooley. We’re all quite destitute.
The worth of this junk is not in dispute.
Narrator: These, then, are your things. In all, twenty-one items.
As you gaze at them, their grip upon you tightens.
Pluck: Seven into twenty-one…three for each!
Narrator: It’s yours to discover whose things are in whose reach.
Madge: “Whose things are in whose reach.” Yet another puzzle.
Heath: Something tells me he’s just donned his muzzle.
Flex: You anythin’ else to say, Mr. Narrator?
[silence] Nothin’.
Freed: Well, we’ll hear from him sooner or later.
Madge: To preserve our “later,” let’s get to it.
Flex: You know, Heath, I thought, as we were lookin’ through it…
Heath: Don’t say it…I think I noticed the very same.
Flex: You mean things that seemed to rhyme with your name?
Heath: Not with mine. But I did see things that rhymed with “Freed”.
[Pluck walks to the periphery, picks up the saxophone and hands it to Freed.]
Pluck: Yes! This beat up saxophone. It’s a sort of reed!
Freed: It’s not mine – I can’t even play the sax.
Give me something useful, like a saw or an axe!
Dooley: Take it easy. We’re on to a hypothesis
about what this means for the lot of us –
what we’ve drawn from this paper hippopotamus.
Flex: That’s some fancy rhymin’ there, Dooley.
Dooley: I thank ye.
Pluck: And look…here’s something else for the Yankee!
[fetches the bag of seed]
Here you are!
Dooley: What in hell is that?
Freed: A bag of seed.
Clare: Ah! And something else.1 Your deed! Or perhaps your creed.
__________________________________________________
1Fetches a scroll from among the cluttered objects. Unless otherwise noted, the performers retrieve the items of which they speak in what follows.
______________________________________________________________
Freed: I don’t think it’s anything I can read.
Madge: I certainly can’t make it out. A fading script.
Heath: It appears to have been removed from some dank crypt.
Clare: Isn’t this all pointless supposition?
Madge: But we must make some arbitrary decision
as to how all these things are to be sorted out.
Flex: [to Pluck] She’s praisin’ you, my diminutive scout!
Pluck: I don’t know how much I fancy “diminutive”.
Dooley: How do you like that, Flex? Filter that through your sieve!
Flex: A thousand pardons, my fetching urchin
(“fetching” meanin’ “easy on the eyes” and “searchin’”).
Clare: Your meaning is like your sex. That is, it’s double.
Flex: Yeah, and it’s as far-reachin’ as Hubble.
Dooley: As spaced out, anyway.
Madge: Please, back to our trouble.
Dooley: I’ve got an idea.
Freed: Good. Let’s hear from Dooley.
Dooley: [picking up the ruler and brandishing it with humor]
In case any of you get unruly.
Heath: And, although the rhyme’s not exact…here’s a pulley!
Pluck: Do you think it counts if it doesn’t rhyme fully?
Dooley: [examining pulley] I’m damned if I don’t recognize this thing.
It pulled me up to this purgatorial ring
from the ring of Hell where I’d been interred before.
I see that it’s entirely cleansed of gore!
[Others look on doubtfully.]
Alright, alright. I’m just having my ounce of fun.
It’s like purgatory here, as it lacks the sun.
Frankly, I think we’re crawling on a limb
that’ll break before the next time we hear from him.
Madge: Another thing that just might be yours is this spool.
Dooley: Dooley – pulley – fully – unruly – rule…
Freed: Oddly enough, each one of your things is a tool.
Dooley: Hardly anything I could put to any use.
Too bad he hasn’t provided a noose!
Clare: Could be quite useful in certain situations.
Flex: Like when Big Brother fails in his ministrations!
Dooley: Think we’d find him if we made an effort?
Freed: Keep your voices down. I’m sure he remains alert.
Clare: Our questions, our names, our songs, our things. What comes next?
Pluck: Some magic spells through which our things are hexed.
Imagine what we’ll do when we get back!
Freed: [to Pluck] We haven’t even gotten around to your stack.
Madge: You know, I’ve a feeling we may be right.
Since we found this method, his presence has been slight.
Clare: Yes. Since then, we’ve only heard from him once or twice.
Pluck: This is like a Habitrail. We’re his mice!
Heath: In fact, Clare, we haven’t heard from him even once.
Clare: Then put me in the corner and call me a dunce!
Freed: [to Pluck] Maybe it’s a pig pen and we’re his runts!
Flex: Lots we could be, if you want to allegorize.
Pluck: What’s that mean?
Flex: Tryin’ other meanings out for size.
Madge: I’m not exactly sure that’s what it means.
Flex: Yeah, but just remember – she ain’t yet in her teens.
Heath: I think I’ve found something that fits you quite well, Clare.
Clare: Whatever could it be?
Heath: This trap, this snare.
Clare: Speaking of crawling on a limb…that’s pretty rich.
Flex: I think he’s tellin’ you, Highness, that you’re a bitch.
Clare: [mockingly] Heath, if you feel trapped, I’ll let you go.
Flex: She’ll chew free your upper parts and keep what’s below!
Clare: I’ll invite you to tea, Flex. We’ll feast on what’s left.
I think you’ll find my cutlery is deft.
You may have his lovely warp, I’ll have his weft.
Flex: I accept your invitation to this grand feast,
for I’m sure you won’t leave me with his least.
Madge: Narrator, I believe it’s time to call a “hum”.
Clare: If he must give me a “snare”, then why not a drum?
Freed: We don’t need that, as Pluck brought one along.
Pluck: Yes – I offered to let him use it as a gong!
Madge: As none of the rest of you seem at all to care…
here’s a sweater then, Clare, for you to wear.
Clare: Another stretch. “Pullover,” as we British say.
Neither pleases nor fits nor suits me, by the way.
And it distinctly smells of mildew. Mold.
As many as a thousand purgatories old.
Dooley: I think I’ve spotted another thing over there –
a telescope into which you may stare.
[Pluck retrieves the telescope and brings it to Clare.]
Clare: And it won’t help me one jot in this cloistered place.
[gazing into the telescope towards the ceiling]
Can I use it to spot the pockmarks on his face?
Freed: Has anyone bothered to consider
that none of these have gone to the highest bidder?
Dooley: What you mean’s that there hasn’t been any bidding.
No fighting. Just amiable kidding.
Heath: We’ve been working amazingly well as a team.
Pluck: Possibly because we’re all sharing the same dream!
Flex: Walkin’ the same plank, skimmin’ the same cream…
Clare: [to Flex] That doesn’t make sense.
Flex: But opportunity knocked.
Clare: And you’re the doorman?
Heath: On with it. We’re being clocked.
Pluck: Why these things and not others, I wonder?
Freed: Could be he’s making use of some ghastly plunder.
Pluck: You mean like a pirate’s booty, or contraband?
Dooley: But it’s worthless junk of no special brand.
Freed: This is like some dumb game that kids play in arcades.
You’re rewarded for ascending to higher grades,
though you’re not necessarily smarter.
Heath: Nobody’s killed or hurt, and there is no martyr.
Madge: You can’t be so sure. We haven’t seen the charter.
Dooley: If one exists, it wasn’t signed by us!
Flex: Ain’t nobody seen no blood yet, so what’s the fuss?
Madge: No, but we stand to lose quite a bit more than blood.
Clare: You’re about as cheerful as Elmer Fudd.
Madge: Really…soon there may be nothing left to regret.
Dooley: But we still have plenty of time. Don’t panic yet.
Heath: Let’s not keep Madge waiting. Let’s continue.
Freed: It would be swell if we had some list or menu
so that as we proceeded we could check things off.
Dooley: Does anyone feel we’re sunk in a trough?
Clare: Sure, why not. What haven’t we called it already?
Dooley: We ponder, we think it through and things get heady,
then boredom sets in. Same with every act.
Twiddling our fingers and fulfilling our contract,
waiting for the slate to be cleared.
Flex: Ain’t it a fact.
Dooley: A dumb cliché about being human.
Flex: Don’t stop now, my good man. You’re smokin’! You’re fumin’!
Dooley: I didn’t mean to hold forth. Too late for speeches.
Clare: Hey…a brainstorm! Hang on to your breeches!
[gathering things as she speaks her lines]
Here is a flag to which allegiance must be pledged…
This is a sledgehammer – uh…for hammering sledge.
Finally…some philosophical badge.
The recipient of these items goes by…
All: …Madge!!
Madge: The former two seem somewhat tenuous to me.
But as long as he doesn’t bark…we’ll see.
Clare: Though I hope I’m not the first to whom it’s occurred
that Big Brother’s not to be taken at his word
any more with things than with names and songs.
Heath: It’s sort of a joke guessing what to whom belongs.
Flex: We’re on to your game, Mr. Hoverin’ Rorschach!
And I don’t give a damn about your clock!
Clare: That’s bold!
Flex: But if you notice, he ain’t respondin’.
He knows we’re whoopin’ his ass and he’s despondin’.
Heath: As Madge says, it seems we’re on the right track.
Freed: He’s just glad we’ve gotten the things out of his sack!
Madge: But let’s not waste any time. I’m sure he’ll be back.
Freed: Let’s all assume Rodin’s thinker’s posture.
[Freed, Dooley and Flex do so.]
Flex: I’m takin’ a dump – a Platonic imposter.
Pluck: Tisk on the Yanks, with their silly bathroom humor.
Flex: We’re Canadians. [to Freed and Dooley] Let’s spread a rumor.
Pluck: They sound much the same, but now and then they say “ay?”
I hear they’re fond of ice sports on a wintry day.
Heath: They tend to take less wind on their diphthongs.
Clare: Yes. They’re not so clear-cut between their shorts and longs.
Pluck: And their “o – u” is different, as in “about”.
Narrator: Half of your time has already run out!
Clare: Welcome back, sir. How we’ve mourned your absence throughout.
Flex: [assuming an exaggerated Porgy and Bess accent]
We’s be gettin’ on with the work, vaulted Massa.
We’s even reckonin’ to outlast ya!
[abruptly switching to a Caribbean accent]
But we wuhk in a laaiiid-baahhck, Jamaaaiiicun raahhsta.1
_____________________________________________
1That is, “But we work in a laid-back, Jamaican rasta.”
________________________________________________________
Clare: Personally, I’d rather be making pasta.
Madge: I’d like to institute a ban on quips.
Dooley: Can it, Flex.
Heath: Yes. Enough of your linguistic flips.
Flex: Right on. I’m barren and mute as an English heath.
Freed: Oh my God…nobody’s noticed this wreath!
[Freed retrieves the wreath and hands it to Heath.]
Flex: I did. I was waitin’ for youse all to figure.
Clare: You should have made it several sizes bigger,
as it doesn’t quite fit his bloated head.
Dooley: Is it a Christmas wreath, or is it lined with dread?
Pluck: With briars, he means – as in an Easter pageant.
Freed: Either use, I think, can be imagined.
Pluck: What about this death’s head…filled with decaying teeth?
Heath: Couldn’t he have found something else to rhyme with “Heath”?
Madge: Another stretch, but here’s a handkerchief
to assist you in moments of assailing grief.
Flex: Stole my idea, you philosophical thief!
Heath: While I haven’t any right to complain,
I cannot consider this any sort of gain.
Pluck: Though I wouldn’t call his kind of humor sunny,
I admit I find it rather funny.
Flex: Precisely because they’re1 his and not yours, honey.
Madge: But we can’t assume as a given the theory
that it’s not to make all of us leery –
this wreath, that’s to say, that could be a crown of thorns –
that it isn’t meant for us, whatever it warns.
________________________________________
1I.e. the things assigned to Heath.
__________________________________________________
Heath: In other words, it’s not the signature
that ends the score, but the notes on the ligature.
Freed: Not another musical metaphor! I’m lost!
Pluck: A flat looks like a “b”. A sharp is crossed.
Flex: Heath means that it don’t matter none who sings the bass.
Heath: What’s important is the meter that sets the pace.
Clare: We are not concerned with who plays treble…
Flex: …but on seein’ resolved the clang of the devil.
Heath: Flex is referring to the sharped fourth, the tritone.
Clare: It’s used in music to wallow and groan.
Dooley: In old times they treated it as the devil’s own.
Pluck: And again, it doesn’t matter who’s soprano…
Flex: …when Ray Charles is at the piano!
Clare: Boo! Hiss! That’s entirely off of the stated theme.
Flex: It’s the only thing I could think to tie the seam.
Pluck: Further, it doesn’t matter who’s tenor…
Flex: …as long as he don’t scrape the baritone’s fender.
Clare: Don’t tell me your planning to leave out the alto?
Flex: Yes, I am. We ain’t near the Rialto.
Madge: Freed’s learned all he needs to know now about music.
Pluck: Sorry, Madge, if our humor is making you sick.
Dooley: We’re five to two. We’ve got plenty of slack.
Flex: You hear that, Narrator? Don’t give us any flack.
Heath: Before this musical aside got underway,
what I had wanted was simply to say
that, as Madge hinted, it really doesn’t matter
just who retrieves precisely what from this scatter.
Each thing carries the same message for all.
Flex: You’re just repeatin’ what Madge said.
Clare: You make us stall.
Flex: You know, I’m eyein’ that box up against the wall…
[picks up box and examines it]
Pluck: Do you think it’s something that rhymes with Flex?
Flex: I’m the object of ridicule. A box of Chex.
I ain’t even partial to breakfast cereals
stuffed up with synthetic materials.
Heath: And…a physics textbook guaranteed to perplex.
Freed: And…a compass in case you ever go on treks.
Flex: You mean I gotta eat Chex in Tibet?
[paging through textbook]
Next to that, Newton and Einstein don’t make me fret.
Dooley: Three left. They’re Pluck’s. Let’s finish and be done with it.
Madge: I’ve misgivings. I’m not so confidant.
It seems that we’re getting through this with too much ease.
Heath: Remember the bit about ones and twos and threes?
Dooley: Yes. You mean all the way back in Act One?
Freed: It’s hard thinking back on what we’ve already done.
Pluck: I scarcely remember the beginning at all.
Dooley: Did we come here on foot, or did we fall?
Clare: And did we get along at first or did we brawl?
Flex: All I know’s that we’re caught in the fourth of our loops.
Heath: Anyway, he said we’d come out in groups.
Clare: We have, haven’t we?
Madge: Yes, but we were not called out.
We’ve sort of casually grouped ourselves about,
heeding nothing in the way of a plan…
Freed: …meeting now man to woman, now woman to man.
Pluck: In some cases, man and woman to man-woman!
Flex: That ain’t bad at all, my punnin’ yeoman!
Take it easy, Heath – stop your to-in’ and fro-in’!1
Dooley: Could be we’ve been following his true intention,
though the method’s of our own invention.
Madge: I’m not so optimistic about his silence.
Heath: No. He perceives our raillery as defiance.
Flex: What the hell else could it possibly be?
What sort of right does he have bein’ cross with me?
Cross with us, that is.
Clare: It’s with you he’s the most cross.
Flex: Ya think so? Anyway, he ain’t my boss.
Heath: No. But he may hold in his hands our existence.
Freed: I’m inclined to think he thrives on our resistance.
He’d be bored if we went along like sheep.
Pluck: Where is he?
Dooley: Could be he’s catching up on his sleep.
Heath: Well, we know what we’ve got to do now. Let’s end it.
Flex: Any ideas, my bright dependant?
_______________________________________
1I.e. Heath has been pacing.
_________________________________________________
Pluck: Sure! I’ve been waiting my turn. These dice are for luck.
And, though the others don’t so clearly rhyme with “Pluck”,
this volume of Shakespeare includes a Puck.
I’ll admit though, on the last thing I’m stuck.
[All eyes center on the remaining object, which appears to be some sort of tool, although it could be a representation of a sexual device.]
Flex: It’s a device for if you ever wish to…
Clare: …dig
your way out of the muck. [to Flex] You sexless pig.
Flex: Oh, I understand. You mean it’s just a shovel!
Freed: You think we could dig our way out of this hovel?
Dooley: It seems that we’ve accomplished our mission.
Heath: Or is there some last-minute task in addition?
Clare: Shall we sit back and monitor time’s attrition?
Flex: Well, look at that. He ain’t sayin’ nothin’.
Clare: That box of Chex could well serve as your escutcheon.1
Flex: Heath, you suppose there’s anything in there we missed?
Heath: I did feel something brush against my fist,
although I thought it was no more than the lining…
perhaps a bit of loose thread or extra twining.
[Flex rummages through the bag.]
Flex: What the hell? A pile of cardboard flashcards.
Madge: We’ve still a few miles to go, then.
Freed: Or maybe yards.
[Heath and Flex begin examining the cards and holding them up for the others to see. They should be large enough for the audience to read.]
_______________________________________
1I.e. Flex has been holding the box of Chex.
Heath: Hmm. “A Halloween skull.” They seem to be labels.
Flex: “Atoms and Other Physical Fables.”
[picks up the textbook]
I reckon this must refer to this hefty tome,
which tells of all that transpires ‘neath the starry dome.
But wait a minute – the name ain’t the same.
Dooley: Must be some weird finish to the narrator’s game.
[Madge approaches Flex, who hands her the book.]
Madge: An Introduction to Physics, by S. S. Hame.
You’re right. It’s likely the narrator’s prank.
Clare: Something to set the fish a’frenzy in their tank.
Pluck: What’s next?
Heath: “A book for when the weather is unfair.”
Dooley: What? That means the Shakespeare belongs to Clare!
Flex: The pulley! “It will hold up whatever’s beneath.”
Freed: We’ve assigned to Dooley what should have gone to Heath.
Heath: Look: “It will trap badgers but no T. Rex.”
Pluck: The trap’s not Mummy’s but should go to Madge or Flex!
Freed:1 And this “deed” obviously belongs to you, Pluck:
“A title with which you’ll maintain your luck.”
Flex: “They’ll gaze upon it in awe. ‘Twill keep them ruly.”
I guess I’ll be giving this flag to you, Dooley.
Pluck: “A book of plays and poems for you to read.”
Clare: So the Shakespeare isn’t mine, but belongs to Freed!
Heath: But wait. This charade could be carried on all day.
____________________________________________
1Freed reads off the following two flashcards, which Heath and Flex have been taking turns holding up.
_______________________________________________________
Dooley: A game that I myself don’t want to play.
Madge: He never warned we were leading ourselves astray.
Flex: Maybe this time the bastard’s truly absconded.
Clare: He thinks that we’ve improperly bonded.
Madge: Our time’s running out, but he’s given us no sign
as to whether he thinks we’ve done poorly or fine.
Dooley: What on earth should we do now? Start over?
Clare: Ere we finish I’ll be pushing up the clover.
Heath: It’s possible we’ve already finished our work.
Flex: [to ceiling] Scotty, do you read me? It’s Captain Kirk!
[silence] He ain’t listenin’ – the metacritical jerk.
Clare: Metacritical?
Flex: Sure. It’s his commentary.
Our various theories make him wary.
He ain’t overly fond of the fact that we gab.
Clare: Or that each time you throw in your sarcastic jab.
Heath: Surely there’s more to do than mark the time
until the next rung that he allows us to climb.
Dooley: So you think we’re climbing up, as on a ladder?
Flex: Or else descendin’ from bad to badder?
Clare: We’re stuck in a trough again. Or is it a slump?
Freed: It’s either pace or look for a seat for your rump.
Dooley: And this stage is a veritable dump.
Madge: Maybe he wants us to ponder the things we’ve got.
Freed: At first we had only Pluck’s drum and Dooley’s cot.
Pluck: Other than the books, only one thing’s named.
Clare: That’s right. The box of cereal that Flex has claimed.
Madge: It’s odd that they included a brand-name item.
Pluck: Cheap rubbish made by the Yanks.
Flex: Don’t slight ‘em.
Freed: I suppose you eat Scandanavian muesli
and dump on the cream and the sugar profusely.
Heath: Why did they include a commodity?
Would they have us make a clue of this oddity?
Madge: It’s not the only thing that sticks out from the pack.
Dooley: This all could be due to something we lack,
some central apparatus to which they’d attach.
We’ve got to be missing some central trick or catch.
Flex: Ya know, he never said they’d come in threes.
Perhaps we ain’t seein’ the forest through the trees.
Clare: What do you mean? He told us there were three for each.
Madge: No. I exactly remember his speech:
“It’s yours to discover whose things are in whose reach.”
Flex’s memory is correct. He said no more.
Heath: Thus, “three things for each” is a bit of lore
that spuriously accrued to our procedure.
Madge: Earlier, though, we’d been in a state of seizure.
The point, I believe, was to start somewhere.
Dooley: And exactly where we started he didn’t care.
Madge: Maybe. But as we haven’t heard from him, who knows.
Heath: Then if all depends on what we suppose,
it’s truly the same with our things as with our tunes.
And these flashcards are merely nonsensical runes,
controverting the corresponding spoons
that would allow us to stuff ourselves with meaning –
our words, our things, our selves in a single seeming.
Flex: Damn. Is that what it’s all about, in fact?
Clare: I’m shocked I was even included in this act!
Dooley: Yeah. I figure we’re all up for a Ph.D.
Freed: Good deal, considering tuition’s free.
It’ll lead me out of blue-collar filth and dreck.
Flex: They’ll be handin’ your ass a job at Dumbass Tech!
Madge: Alright. We’ve figured out it’s just a joke.
Still, it’s disconcertingly long since last he spoke.
Clare: It really seems we should be given some reward
for being civil and not untoward.
Dooley: Especially true, now that we’re thoroughly bored.
Heath: Our questions, our names, our songs, our things and our words.
Freed: You suppose there’s a special act for turds?
Pluck: How nice if they’d set one aside for fun and toys!
Flex: Or perhaps a further level for special joys…
Clare: …in which we’d clearly discern girls from boys!
Flex: They’d go to sadistic lengths to silence the noise.
Freed: Surely they’d have to deprive you two of your tongues.
Dooley: I wonder – is this the last of our rungs?
Maybe we’re simply to leave of our own accord.
Freed: But the last time we tried that, the narrator roared.
Clare: What are you saying, Freed? We never tried,
as we don’t know where the exit’s to be descried.
Pluck: Isn’t it true, though, that we’ve left from time to time?
We rested after each act’s final rhyme.
Freed: But wherever in the world was that rest taken?
And how did we get back when we were awakened?
Heath: Wasn’t there some manner of door or flap
through which we sauntered on either side of our nap?
Dooley: Yes. There must have been, but I didn’t take notice.
We left without him having to goad us.
Clare: Good God! Did no one bother noting where it was?
Flex: The facts of our comin’ and goin’ are a fuzz.
Heath: I can’t, for that, recall my arrival.
Freed: You think it’s necessary for our survival?
Dooley: You mean remembering how it is we got here?
If it comes down to that, we’re lost, I fear.
Pluck: Tell me, how many days are in this stage’s year?
Freed: Impossible to answer, as there is no sun.
Madge: I fear now that our time is almost run.
Clare: I’ve a chilly feeling now, too. It’s ominous.
Flex: Hey! You anywhere up there, Voice Anonymous?
Pluck: At least he could give us a nod or wink,
or warn us if we’ve meandered close to some brink.
Clare: Perhaps Mr. Grand Omniscience has ceased to think.
Dooley: Our conversation’s all run out of steam.
Freed: Would anyone care to introduce a new theme?
Pluck: [yawning] Are any of you feeling sleepy like myself?
Clare: How good is this sunless place for one’s health?
Madge: Note how we’ve all drifted off into our own thoughts.
No common will arises from our shoulds and oughts.
This is the truth, I believe, and it stings:
The narrator’s verdict is that we’ve failed our things.
[Lights flash, accompanied by loud rumbling and the sound of a heavy, intervallic pounding, as well as sirens. The utterances of the narrator are loud and impersonal, as if issuing from a recorded alarm system.]
Narrator: Warning! All systems!
Clare: What in good God’s name is that?
Flex: That you, buddy? Better remove your hat!
Better speak to us gently, show some courtesy –
and I’ll think about whether to bow or curtsey.
Narrator: All systems alert! All systems alert!
Clare: Flex, please put your joking aside and don’t be pert.
Something’s happening and we better make ready.
Dooley: [to Narrator] Take it easy with us, will you? Steady!
Narrator: Warning! All systems alert! Warning! All systems!
Freed: I’d say that we’re through with our theories and -isms.
Dooley: My ears! My ears! Lay off with the pistons!
Narrator: Warning! All systems alert! All systems! Warning!
Pluck: Do you think they’ll wake us up tomorrow morning?
[There is a sudden, extremely bright flash. The performers shout. Utter darkness follows immediately, the siren ceases along with the pounding, and the rumbling subsides considerably.]
Clare: Have we fallen?
Madge: Someone, help me…I’m hurt!
I’m hurt!
Narrator: Warning! All systems! All systems alert!
[Silence. The performers exit before the house lights come up for intermission.]
[Next: Act Five]