6:54pm: Expected To Arrive...This Date, 1906
SAMUEL BECKETT
born: APRIL 13, 1906
died: DECEMBER 22, 1989
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WAITING FOR BECKOT
A Comitragedy In Two Acts
Pilgrim, a touring frisbee golf pro
Idiot, his caddy
Barnes, a blind sheep
Slice, a local clairvoyant
A Dog, a dog
Act I
A country tree. A road.
Mourning, and early afteryawn.
Pilgrim, sitting on a lump, is trying to take off his frisbee disc-golf gloves. He pries at them with both feet, with his teeth, panting (with his slacks?). He gives up, exhausted, rests, and tries again. As before.
Enter Idiot.
PILGRIM: (giving up again) Nothing to be done.
IDIOT: (advancing) I'm beginning to agree. Then I begin to think I haven't yet tried everything. And I resume the struggle. (He broods, musing on the struggle. Turning to Pilgrim.) So there you are again.
PILGRIM: Am I?
IDIOT: It would appear. Glad you're back, thought you were a goner.
PILGRIM: Me, too.
IDIOT: Where on earth have you been?
PILGRIM: Just a round of frisbee golf, whither else?
IDIOT: And didn't they beat you?
PILGRIM: Certainly they beat me. Same crowd, you know.
IDIOT: Yes, I'm aware. I can't imagine where you'd be all these years without me.
PILGRIM: Will you stop blathering and help me off with these bloody things.
IDIOT: (helping him) There's man for you, blaming his gloves for the faults of his hands. Well, one of the thieves was saved; not an unreasonable percentage.
PILGRIM: Wha...?!
IDIOT: PiPi, suppose we repented.
PILGRIM: Repented what?
IDIOT: (reflecting) Oh, we needn't concern ourselves with the details...
PILGRIM: Our being born?
IDIOT: (begins a belly-laugh, then stifles it.) Well, we can't even laugh anymore.
PILGRIM: Dreadful privation.
IDIOT: Only smile. (Smiles ear to ear.) No, it's not the same thing. Nothing to be done. Do you remember your bible studies, the Gospels.
PILGRIM: Well, only the New Testicle: John, Paul, George & Richard.
IDIOT: Yes, a shame about that nickname, they could have been famous. But no matter, the two thieves, remember, crucified at the same time as our Saviour. One...
PILGRIM: Our wha...?!
IDIOT: Saviour. Two thieves. One was supposed to have been saved and the other...(searching for its opposite)...damned.
PILGRIM: Saved from what?
IDIOT: I don't know, damnation...law school I guess? Point being, only one of the Gospels speaks of the thief being saved...
PILGRIM: When?
IDIOT: His solo Gospel, you remember, "Give Thief A Chance."
PILGRIM: Oh, that. Hey, I'm leaving. He does not move.
IDIOT: How is it they were all there, but only one of them speaks of the thief being saved. One out of four. The other three, two don't mention him at all, and the third said both abused him, and anyway that one never had any solo hits.
PILGRIM: Yes he did, he was one for four with a walk and an RBI in the All-Gospel game at the Granny Rewards.
IDIOT: What-ever.
PILGRIM: What's this all about? Abused Who?
IDIOT: The Saviour.
PILGRIM: Why?
IDIOT: Because he wouldn't save them.
PILGRIM: From what? The rock-pile: the discount bin?
IDIOT: Idiot! From death.
PILGRIM: I thought you said hell (or law school, which is the same thing, isn't it?)
IDIOT: From death, from death.
PILGRIM: And?
IDIOT: Then the two of them must have been damned. But one of the fab-four says that one of the two was saved.
PILGRIM: They just disagree. So what?
IDIOT: But all four were there, and only one speaks of a thief being saved. Why believe him rather than the others.
PILGRIM: Who believes him?
IDIOT: Everybody, since it was remastered and released as a box-set, it's the only version they know.
PILGRIM: Well, people are bloody ignorant apes, and there's an end on it. Now I'm for getting out of here. Let's go.
IDIOT: We can't.
PILGRIM: Why on earth not?
IDIOT: We're waiting for Beckot.
PILGRIM: The writer?
IDIOT: Certainly not; the musician. You know, I'm a loser, so why don't you kill me.
PILGRIM: I thought that was Beck.
IDIOT: Nah, suffix it to say the suffix is suffixient.
PILGRIM: Easy for you to say. Are you sure it was here?
IDIOT: What?
PILGRIM: That we were to meet.
IDIOT: He did say 'by the tree.' You see any other trees?
PILGRIM: Well, there's nothing on this one, no leave.
IDIOT: Right, no leave; wait.
PILGRIM: What?
IDIOT: Wait.
PILGRIM: Wait? What Wait, John Waite?
IDIOT: Certainly not, I'm not missing him at all. Tom.
PILGRIM: Tom Who?
IDIOT: Tom Waits.
PILGRIM: For What?
IDIOT: Who?
PILGRIM: Tom?
IDIOT: What?
PILGRIM: Waits?
IDIOT: Oh, for Franks Wild Years, and Beckot.
PILGRIM: Are you mad?
IDIOT: Not in the least. With your handicap we still finished in the money, why would I be mad?
PILGRIM: He should be here.
IDIOT: He didn't say for sure he'd come.
PILGRIM: And if he doesn't show?
IDIOT: We'll come back tomorrow.
PILGRIM: And then the day after?
IDIOT: Possibly.
PILGRIM: And so on.
IDIOT: The point is--
PILGRIM: Until he comes.
IDIOT: You're merciless.
PILGRIM: You're certain it was today?
IDIOT: He said Saturday. (Pause) I think.
PILGRIM: You think.
IDIOT: I'm sure I made a note. Check your scorecard.
PILGRIM: But which Saturday. And is it Saturday. Is it not rather Sunday. (Pause) Or Monday. (Pause) Or Friday?
IDIOT: What shall we do?
PILGRIM: If he came yesterday and we weren't here you may be sure he won't come again today.
IDIOT: But you say you were here yesterday.
PILGRIM: I may have been mistaken.
IDIOT: Whatever shall we do now!
PILGRIM: What about hanging ourselves?
IDIOT: Hmm, we'd get erections.
PILGRIM: I'm for that.
IDIOT: With all that follows, did you know that where it falls, that's where mandrakes grow? That's why they shriek when you pull them.
PILGRIM: Now I'm confused. Let's hang ourselves immediately.
IDIOT: But from this tree? I wouldn't trust it.
PILGRIM: Let's try.
IDIOT: Go ahead, then.
PILGRIM: After you.
IDIOT: No, no, you first.
PILGRIM: Why me?
IDIOT: You're lighter than I.
PILGRIM: Precisely!
IDIOT: What?
PILGRIM: Use your noggin, Bloggin!
IDIOT: I am an idiot.
PILGRIM: Certainly. GiGi light--bough not break--GiGi dead. DiDi heavy--bough break--DiDi alone.
IDIOT: I had not thought of that.
PILGRIM: If it hangs you it'll hang anything.
IDIOT: Well, what should we do?
PILGRIM: Let's do nothing. It's safer.
IDIOT: Let's wait and see what he says.
PILGRIM: Who?
IDIOT: Beckot.
PILGRIM: Good idea.
IDIOT: Let's wait till we know exactly where we stand.
PILGRIM: On the other hand it might be well to strike the iron before it freezes.
IDIOT: I'm curious to hear his offer; then we'll take it or leave it.
PILGRIM: What exactly did we ask him for?
IDIOT: Were you not there?
PILGRIM: I can't have been listening.
IDIOT: Well, nothing definite.
PILGRIM: A kind of prayer?
IDIOT: Precisely.
PILGRIM: And his reply?
IDIOT: He said he'd see.
PILGRIM: Couldn't promise anything.
IDIOT: He'd have to think it over.
PILGRIM: Nothing to be done.
Enter Slice and Barnes. Slice drives Barnes by means of a Golden Tee track-ball, pepper spray, and optional joystick (in reality a stun-gun). Barnes is first to enter, followed by the stun-gun wires, long enough to let him reach the middle of the green before Slice appears. Barnes carries a heavy bag, a speed bag, a folding stool, a stool sample, a pic-a-nic basket, a greatcoat and a not-so-greatcoat. Slice a megaphone and calculator.
SLICE: (Off, through Megaphone [hereafter Meg]) On! (Barnes crosses past Pilgrim and Idiot, and exit as Slice crosses toward the two, and stops.) [Meg] Halt! (Barnes falls with a clatter among all his stuff. Pilgrim takes a step toward him but Idiot holds him back.)
PILGRIM: Let me go!
IDIOT: Don't even move.
SLICE: Careful, he's dangerous.
PILGRIM: (to Barnes) Are you dangerous, Barnes?
BARNES: Ba-a-a-a-a-a-a-a.
IDIOT: How sheepworthy.
PILGRIM: Is that him?
IDIOT: Who?
PILGRIM: Er...
IDIOT: Beckot?
PILGRIM: Yes.
SLICE: I present myself. Slice.
IDIOT: (to Pilgrim) Not at all!
PILGRIM: (to Slice) You're not Beckot, Sir?
SLICE: I am Slice! Slice! Does that name mean nothing to you? (Pilgrim and Idiot look at each other questioningly.)
PILGRIM: We're not from these parts, sir.
SLICE: You're human beings none the less. (Dons his glasses.) As far as I can see. (Takes them off.) Of the same species as myself. (Belly laugh) Of the same species as Slice! Made in God's image!
IDIOT: Well, you see...
SLICE: Who is Beckot?
PILGRIM: Beckot?
SLICE: You took me for Beckot.
IDIOT: Oh no, Sir, not for a moment, Sir.
SLICE: Who is he?
IDIOT: Oh he's a...a kind of acquaintance.
PILGRIM: Nothing of the kind, we hardly know him.
IDIOT: True, not very well...
PILGRIM: I wouldn't even know him if I saw him.
SLICE: You took me for him.
PILGRIM: That's to say, you see, the light, the fog, waiting...I imagined, just for a second...
SLICE: Waiting? So you were waiting for him?
IDIOT: Well, you see--
SLICE: Here? On my land?
IDIOT: We didn't intend any harm.
PILGRIM: We meant well.
SLICE: The road is free to all.
IDIOT: That's how we looked at it.
SLICE: It's a disgrace. But there you are.
PILGRIM: Nothing to be done.
SLICE: (magnanimously) Let's say no more about it. (He shocks Barnes with the stun-gun.) Up, swine! (pause) Every time he drops he falls asleep. (Gestures with the joystick) Up Sheep! (Barnes arises.) Back! (Barnes backs up.) Stop! (Barnes stops.) Turn! (Barnes turns.) (To Pilgrim and Idiot) Gentlemen, I am happy to have met you; the road seems long when one journeys all alone for...(consults watch)...what seems an eternity, and never a soul in sight. (To Barnes.) Coat! (Barnes puts down the bags, advances, gives Slice the coat, goes back to his place, takes up the bags.) Hold that! (Slice holds out the stun-gun and pepper spray; Barnes advances and, his hands occupied, takes the stun-gun and pepper spray in his mouth, and returns to his place.) Coat! (Barnes puts down the bag, basket and stools, helps Slice on with his coat, and returns, and there is more of the same for what seems an eternity, culminating in Barnes delivering the pic-a-nic basket to Slice, who proceeds to eat his lunch from it.)
Pilgrim and Idiot begin to circle about Barnes, inspecting him up and down.
SLICE: Careful, he'll pull the wool over your eyes.
PILGRIM: I'll see which end is up.
IDIOT: I'd throw a mid-range driver, PiPi.
PILGRIM: I've got my XD ready, DiDi. (approaches Barnes, cautiously.)
IDIOT: But why does he follow you like this?
SLICE: He wants to impress me, so that I'll keep him.
PILGRIM: What?
SLICE: Perhaps that's not quite it. He wants to mollify me, so that I'll give up the idea of parting with him. No, that's not exactly it either.
IDIOT: You want to get rid of him?
SLICE: He wants to con me, but he won't.
IDIOT: You want to get rid of him?
SLICE: He imagines that when I see how well he carries I'll be tempted to keep him on in that capacity.
PILGRIM: You've had enough of him?
SLICE: In reality he's not much of a carrier. It's not his job.
IDIOT: You want to get rid of him?
SLICE: He imagines that when I see him untiring I will regret my decision. That is his scheme. As if I were short of servants.
IDIOT: You want to get rid of him?
SLICE: Remark that I might just as well have been in his shoes and he in mine. If chance had not willed otherwise. To each one his due.
IDIOT: You want to get rid of him?
SLICE: I do. But rather than drive him away as I could have, in the goodness of my heart I am bringing him to JazzJest, where I hope to get a good price for him from the minions who populate that depraved affair. Truth be told you can't drive such creatures away. Best would be to kill them. (Barnes brays.)
PILGRIM: He's crying!
SLICE: Old sheep have more dignity. (Holds out his hanky.) Comfort him, since you pity him. He'll feel less forsaken. (As Pilgrim does so, Barnes rears up and kicks him in the groin.)
PILGRIM: Oh, the swine! (Grabbing his crotch.) He's crippled me!
SLICE: I told you he didn't like strangers.
PILGRIM: I may never walk again.
IDIOT: I'll carry you if I have to.
SLICE: Oh, the Hollies, verranice. And see, he's stopped crying. (To Pilgrim) You have replaced him as it were. The tears of the world in constant flux: for each one who begins to weep, somewhere else another stops. Same thing for the laugh. And it was my Barnes there who taught me all of this!
IDIOT: And after all his service you want to crucify him like this? Really!
PILGRIM: Does he want to replace him?
SLICE: He can perform if you like.
IDIOT: What does he do?
SLICE: Sing, dance, calculations, metaphors...
PILGRIM: Let's have an allegory!
SLICE: Oh, sorry, that's beyond his abilities. (Barnes collapses to the ground) See, he'll be wanting a new contract any minute now. Union wages, benefits, there's no end. It's the paid crowds, they're swelling his head. We'd better go before he gets an agent. (Slice and Barnes exit, with Slice applying pepper spray and stun-gun, shouting instructions through Meg, driving with the track-ball and steering with the joystick.)
Enter A Dog, carrying a letter in his mouth.
A DOG: Arf!
PILGRIM: Have you come from Beckot?
A DOG: (nodding, offers up the letter.) Arf!
IDIOT: Well, what's it say?
PILGRIM: Says here Beckot's on tour, won't be here today. Definitely make it tomorrow, though.
A DOG: (Sniffs, then lifts his leg on Pilgrim's trousers.) Arf!
PILGRIM: Hey!
A DOG: (tail wagging) Arf!
IDIOT: Well, we can't wait, you've got the tourney to finish.
PILGRIM: True, can't wait. Let's go.
IDIOT: Let's go.
PILGRIM: We're gone.
IDIOT: We're history.
PILGRIM: We're outta here.
IDIOT: Vamoos!
They do not move.
-CURTAIN-
(WAIT HERE FOR ACT II [II BE POSTED IIMORROW])
Posted by cronish at April 13, 2002 07:36 PM