by Kat Georges
MARY JANE: Umm . . . Maybe.
Enter CATHERINE.
CATHERINE: Flowwwers!
MARY JANE: Buy me a rose.
CATHERINE: Flowers! Roses! All fresh . . . sort o’. A rose for ye, sire? Sees MARY JANE. What da’ hell’s this? Kelly!
MARY JANE: (To DRUITT.) I want a rose. A red rose.
CATHERINE: (To DRUITT.) A red rose?
DRUITT: I suppose.
Reaches for wallet.
CATHERINE: (To DRUITT.) Eight ye owe. (To MARY JANE.) So, Kelly, what’s this? Whorin’ is ye? Ah, lass—. . . Tis a devil ye is—(To DRUITT.) Ye owe eight. (To MARY JANE.) —What with that madman a-roamin’ the streets . . . just a longing to reach one such as yourself—(To DRUITT.) Sir? —The eight? (To MARY JANE.) Heard you’re with child.
MARY JANE: Aye, that I am.
CATHERINE: This the father, then?
DRUITT: Umm . . . Yes, yes.
CATHERINE: Whisper to MARY JANE. Are ye sure?
MARY JANE: Catherine!
DRUITT: Here’s the eight.
CATHERINE: Here’s yer rose.
DRUITT: Mary Jane?
MARY JANE: Thank you, John.
CATHERINE: John? That’s his name?
MARY JANE: Mmm-hmm. Montague John, uh—
DRUITT: Druitt.
MARY JANE: Montague Druitt. MD. Like a doctor.
CATHERINE: Is he?
MARY JANE: Oh, yes.
DRUITT: Actually, I’m a barrister. And a teacher.
CATHERINE: I see. Ow! Ye know—ye look just like Eddy—
MARY JANE: Cuts her off. Honey! Look at this rose! It’s paper, bejesus.
DRUITT: What’s the meaning of this?
CATHERINE: A paper rose, sor, will always look fresh. Look at these. Fresh just this morning, now they’re dead.
DRUITT: Nothing’s dead—except what does not yet exist—Like a baby—
CATHERINE: These are dead—
MARY JANE: Not yet—
CATHERINE: You want it?
DRUITT: Do you?
MARY JANE: Pause. Sure.
DRUITT: Hands tip to CATHERINE. Thank you. Good-night.
CATHERINE: Floowers! Exits. Flowers! Roses! All fresh! Sort of.
DRUITT: Who is the father?
MARY JANE: Could be a copper . . .
DRUITT: Stephen White?
MARY JANE: Pause. ’Ow’d you know?
DRUITT: I know everything.
MARY JANE: Hell—What’s a barrister like you doing in Whitechapel, London, at half past two in the morning outside in the rain?
DRUITT: Don’t ask.
MARY JANE: Come on. Pause. I’ll tell Steven White. He’s that copper, you know. I’ll tell him you tried to do me in. . . . I’ll tell him. I will. Pause. What do you want?
DRUITT: I can’t tell you here.
MARY JANE: Look—buy a bucket of beer and let’s go to my room. You’ll be comfortable there. May as well get off the street while we can. I’ll build us a fire. You look cold.
DRUITT: Coldly. I am.
MARY JANE: You see? I insist. There’s a pub just ahead. If you like—I’ll run in—fetch the beer—I don’t mind. Stay here—
DRUITT: I’ll go with you.
MARY JANE: Now, John—don’t bother—I’ll be fine. Look here’s my key—take it—go on—Miller’s Court—room thirteen—Ta-Ta. Oh—dear me. I forgot. I’ve no money. Have you, John?
DRUITT: I do.
MARY JANE: How much you got?
DRUITT: Enough.
MARY JANE: My God!
DRUITT: This is for beer. And this—is for you. Thirty-three shillings. Eddy sends his regards.
MARY JANE: How is Eddy?
DRUITT: I’m fine. I mean—he’s fine. Eddy.
MARY JANE: So it is you!
DRUITT: I’m John.
MARY JANE: Of course you are.
DRUITT: Mary Jane. Can’t you see? You’re in grave danger. You saw Eddy get married.
MARY JANE: Oh, that.
DRUITT: You know Eddy’s wife.
MARY JANE: Annie?
DRUITT: And his son—that’s why White—
MARY JANE: She has a son? Uh . . . What’s his name?
DRUITT: You’re to leave London tonight.
MARY JANE: What’s all this talk about Steven White? Honestly. He’s a little rough, otherwise.
DRUITT: He’s insane.
MARY JANE: Who isn’t these days? And why should I trust you?
DRUITT: I bought you a rose.
MARY JANE: It’s paper.
DRUITT: It’s yours.
MARY JANE: Twists rose, eyes closed. Softly, sadly, starts to sing. It was only a violet I plucked from my mother’s grave as a boy. . . .
Fade to BLACKOUT.
END OF SCENE III
INTERLUDE
Audio
Quick sound bytes heard as channels change on TV
AUDIO: Who is Jack the Rapper? . . . Jack the Rapper has struck again . . . The macabre and mysterious murderer Jack the Rapper . . . Police still have no leads on the identity of Jack the Rapper. . . . Jacques le Rapier c’est mordre . . . Number one on the charts for the eleventh consecutive week—Jack the . . . I think it’s disgusting. . . . knife control advocates . . . He cuts just like a sushi chef. . . . No more sushi! . . . Y2K . . . He must be a foreigner . . . The profile suggests he is well-educated, probably drives a nice car . . . We have no leads at this time . . . Mr. Mayor—what action are you taking to stop this lunatic . . . No. 1 on the charts . . . Jack the—. . . I think it’s disgusting . . . In a bizarre twist—. . . A concert? . . . Tickets at all major . . . I think it’s disgusting . . . The show sold out in under a minute . . . Who is Jack the Rapper . . . Who was Jack the Ripper . . . Are they related? . . . The experts say . . . —
SCENE IV
Ottoline Morrell’s Drawing Room Bedford Square, England, 1917
OTTOLINE MORRELL, EZRA POUND, VIVIENNE HAIGH-WOOD ELIOT and T. S. ELIOT are seated comfortably, sipping drinks. VIVIENNE occasionally inhales from a small vial of ether.
OTTOLINE: Jack the Ripper had a son? That’s a laugh. He wasn’t born. His father killed him in the womb. And then, thank God, he killed himself—at least, that’s what the papers say.
VIVIENNE: Who was the Ripper anyway?
ELIOT: (To OTTOLINE.) She doesn’t read the papers.
OTTOLINE laughs.
EZRA: Ha.
VIVIENNE: Don’t laugh. I read—
EZRA: Holds up palms. Read these . . .—
OTTOLINE: He was a teacher.
VIVIENNE: Ask Tom—
OTTOLINE: Please.
EZRA: And a barrister—
ELIOT: And The Lodger.
EZRA: Groans. Dreadful play.
OTTOLINE: Anyhow—Jack the Ripper. Irritated. —was a barrister. Passed the bar, put up a shingle—
EZRA: As if reading a sign. JACK – THE – RIPPER, Helluva Barrister.
OTTOLINE: A barrister he was.
ELIOT: In the Times, anyway.
OTTOLINE: And for your information, he used his real name—uh—Montague John, uh—
EZRA: Druitt.
OTTOLINE: Yes, Pound.
ELIOT: You’re well informed. Do you read?
EZRA: Only these. Holds up hands.
ELIOT: Holds out hands. You prefer left or right?
EZRA: I . . . right.
ELIOT: So do I.
EZRA: Aside to ELIOT. I get paid. So should you.
ELIOT: By whom?
EZRA: Ottoline? This man needs a patron.
OTTOLINE: I’m telling a story, Pound. May I continue?
EZRA: Absolutely. By all means. Continue. Go on— Please, go on.
Pause. Ottoline? Pause. Ottoline?
Pause. OTTOLINE almost begins to speak.
VIVIENNE: Suddenly. Tom reads the papers every Sunday. Laughs. No one else laughs.
ELIOT: Ottoline?
OTTOLINE: May I?
ELIOT: Please.
&
nbsp; Pause.
OTTOLINE: Jack the Ripper—
EZRA: John.
OTTOLINE: Yes, yes. So, Jack the—
EZRA: John—
OTTOLINE: The Jack—
EZRA: The John.
OTTOLINE: (To ELIOT.) Your turn.
ELIOT: (To EZRA.) I pass to Ezra.
EZRA: Thank you, sir. The truth is Jack is John, as such—the story is—
OTTOLINE: Fills glass of ELIOT. Feel free to interrupt. EZRA holds up glass. (To EZRA.) Go on.
Pause. EZRA puts down glass.
EZRA: Thanks a lot. Montague John, uh—
VIVIENNE: Druitt.
EZRA: Correct.
OTTOLINE: You remember.
VIVIENNE: Of course.
ELIOT: Clap-trap mind. Laughs.
EZRA: Ha.
ELIOT: Sometimes.
VIVIENNE: Show respect, dear.
ELIOT: Yes, dear.
EZRA: (To OTTOLINE.) Where’s my check, dear?
OTTOLINE: Oh, dear. I don’t have it here.
EZRA: So Montague John—
ELIOT: Druitt.
VIVIENNE: (To EZRA.) Go on—
ELIOT: Is it true that—
VIVIENNE: (To ELIOT.) Quiet.
EZRA: He went to Oxford. So did I. So did Tom.
OTTOLINE: You went to Oxford?
VIVIENNE: And Harvard.
EZRA: Did you? Me too. Bright young man—rosy future. And then—
ELIOT: (To VIVIENNE.) I married you.
Silence. VIVIENNE and ELIOT stare at each other.
EZRA: His father had a heart attack. . . . His mother cracked. His business failed. And dear old Jack—er, John—bought a knife, a long, sharp knife . . . and—no doubt—a map—
ELIOT: Of course—
EZRA: He must have had a map—
ELIOT: A Baedecker—
EZRA: Well . . . perhaps. And then—
OTTOLINE: Chop, chop—
EZRA: Chop, chop?
OTTOLINE: I’m bored.
EZRA: Carry on, Tom.
OTTOLINE: Eliot? The story is yours.
Pause.
ELIOT: How should I begin?
OTTOLINE: Chop, chop.
ELIOT: The end.
OTTOLINE: Thank you, good man. We saw The Lodger.
EZRA: Dreadful play.
OTTOLINE: And, with this war—who needs more horror? I think—
VIVIENNE: Seriously. It’s awful. People are dying.
Pause.
OTTOLINE and VIVIENNE speak over EZRA and ELIOT’s conversation. EZRA wants another drink and tries to work his way over to OTTOLINE, and the bottle she holds. VIVIENNE hides from ELIOT’s eyes. OTTOLINE uses ELIOT as a shield to keep EZRA away.
OTTOLINE: I think— The second this war ends, the new Britain begins. Look at France. Look at Russia. We can and should learn from others. Within the ruling classes themselves, a foreboding is dawning, that the present society is no solid crystal, but an organism capable of change, and one that is constantly changing.
VIVIENNE: While speaking, pulls out ether and rubs it on her arms and neck. The worst thing is the air raids. Every night. Whoop, whoop, whoop. And Tom just ignores them. Does he close the curtains? No. I have to get out of bed, and he knows I’m not well, and I have to close them myself so we don’t go to jail. Tom doesn’t like to be interrupted when he’s writing. I write too, you know, Tom! And bloody well too. Feels effects of ether, gets dreamy.
EZRA: Which reminds me, I’m dying for . . . just a little taste, Ottoline. Yoo-hoo! (To ELIOT.) I tell you, Tom—you’re the only one I know with the ability to think of anything I haven’t thought of before.
ELIOT: Such as?
EZRA: It’s outrageous you waste eight hours a day in a bank doing numbing, mindless, meaningless—
ELIOT: What isn’t?
EZRA: What?
ELIOT: Meaningless.
EZRA: Me. You see—Me is meaning. Me is life.
ELIOT: Me forget. Me has wife. And somebody has to pay the rent. And somebody has to pay the rent.
EZRA: “Sooner murder an infant in its cradle than nurse unacted desire.” Blake. Of course.
ELIOT: Blake was a bachelor.
OTTOLINE: (To ELIOT.) So was the Ripper.
ELIOT: Don’t be so sure.
EZRA: (To OTTOLINE.) I’m thirsty.
Pause.
VIVIENNE: Maybe the Kaiser is Montague’s son. I mean, Jack’s son—
ELIOT crosses to VIVIENNE, angry. EZRA moves in on OTTOLINE.
OTTOLINE: —or, wait. I mean, John. (To EZRA.) Right? (To VIVIENNE.) These two insist on precision.
ELIOT: (To VIVIENNE.) Grabs ether bottle. Half-empty.
VIVIENNE: Half-full. I feel awful, you know.
ELIOT: You need sleep. Go lay down.
EZRA: Raises glass. I’m being ignored.
ELIOT: You’re embarrassing me.
VIVIENNE: Don’t touch me.
OTTOLINE: So, tell me—
ELIOT: Walks away. Don’t talk anymore. Aside. Five. One, two, three, four, f—
Pause.
VIVIENNE: It was only a simple question, Tom.
ELIOT smiles.
EZRA: Oh, Ms. Morrell. Look—Turns glass upside down. Bone-dry!
ELIOT: Turns to VIVIENNE. Hush up. Turns away. Four. One, two, three, fo—
VIVIENNE: And, besides, how the hell do you know?
EZRA and OTTOLINE: He knows everything.
VIVIENNE: He doesn’t know me. Not at all.
Silence.
OTTOLINE: Now about Jack the Ripper’s—
ELIOT: He was a man. And the soul of a man lives in his son.
EZRA: If his son is alive, he’d be what? Twenty-nine?
OTTOLINE: Twenty-seven.
EZRA: Just like Tom.
ELIOT: Just like Tom.
Pause.
ELIOT smiles.
OTTOLINE: Oh, don’t tell me—You think you’re Jack’s son?
EZRA: John’s son.
ELIOT: Someone is. Someone knows. Drifts.
VIVIENNE: That’s ridiculous, Tom.
OTTOLINE: If you’re Jack’s son, who’s Tom?
EZRA: I’m too thirsty to care.
OTTOLINE: Who are you, Tom?
ELIOT: Stands. I am . . . the son of . . . me mum . . . Collapses into chair laughing.
Silence.
VIVIENNE: (To OTTOLINE.) He’s tipsy.
OTTOLINE: Fills ELIOT’s glass. Then he must atone.
ELIOT drinks.
EZRA: You’re a sage. Holds out empty glass to ELIOT.
ELIOT: Spit take. Piss off.
EZRA: How ’bout a tease, for me. Please? ELIOT pours from his glass into EZRA’s. More. More. More. ELIOT’s glass is empty. And now . . . A toast to T. S. . . . Eliot, that is— Son of the man we call—. . .
Loud air raid siren suddenly blasts.
OTTOLINE: Son of a bitch.
VIVIENNE: Oh, no.
OTTOLINE: Air raid!
EZRA: I must finish!
OTTOLINE: Silence! I hear an announcement, I think.
Silence.
OTTOLINE and VIVIENNE listen intently for planes.
EZRA: Announcing. Das . . . ist . . . de Kaiser, mein freunden.
VIVIENNE: Stop it!
EZRA: Das ist alles für dat dummkopf King George. Downs drink.
OTTOLINE: That’s not funny. Not in the least.
EZRA: My intention was—
ELIOT: Parody.
EZRA: You ought to be King!
OTTOLINE: Suddenly. Oh, I left the windows open. Stands. Pretends to be jovial. Draw the curtains. Dim the lights. Exits.
Pause.
VIVIENNE: I feel ill. Starts rubbing lotion from bottle.
EZRA: What’s that?
ELIOT: Cologne.
VIVIENNE: Ether. Medication. I’m not at all well.
EZRA: May I try some?
VIVIENNE: Of course.
ELIOT: Vivien, don’t you dare.
&n
bsp; VIVIENNE: Stop it. You’ve no right—
ELIOT: You’re sick, remember?
OTTOLINE: Offstage. Yoo-hoo! Herr Kaiser!
VIVIENNE: (To ELIOT.) I hate—Rises.
OTTOLINE: Offstage. Kaiser!
ELIOT: Sit down, dear.
OTTOLINE: Offstage. Wie gehts? LIGHTS dim.
VIVIENNE: I hate—
ELIOT: Sit.
EZRA: Picks up ether, rubs it on. This is wonderful stuff. Where’d you get it?
VIVIENNE: I’m sick! The world’s sick! Oh! I hate—I hate—Starts to exit. Grabs bottle from EZRA. Give me this. Storms off stage.
OTTOLINE: Offstage. Das du neben eine Fraulein, mein Kaiser?
VIVIENNE: Offstage. Stop it! Stop it!
EZRA: What does she hate, Tom? You? Or—
OTTOLINE: Offstage. Ya wo.
ELIOT: It’s a ruse.
OTTOLINE: Offstage. What’s that smell?
VIVIENNE: Offstage. Ether. Try some.
ELIOT shudders. EZRA starts to fall asleep.
EZRA: Dear, dear. My little marsupial—Thomas—I think—
OTTOLINE: Offstage. This stuff is nice!
VIVIENNE: Offstage. Have some more.
EZRA: You, my good man, are afraid of your wife—Snores.
ELIOT: Vivienne?
In his sleep EZRA transforms into EDDY.
EDDY’S VOICE: From EZRA. Do her in.
ELIOT: Do I dare?
EDDY’S VOICE: From EZRA. Oh, why not? Here’s a knife. Top left pocket.
ELIOT: Vivienne!
BLACKOUT.
Air raid siren continues. When air raid siren stops, low light rises. EZRA is on floor, passed out from the ether.
ELIOT: How should I begin?
EDDY’S VOICE: From EZRA. Honey, calm down.
ELIOT: Dad? Is that you? Where are you?
EDDY’S VOICE: From EZRA. In here.
ELIOT: Inside Ezra Pound?
EDDY’S VOICE: From EZRA. His head’s my hotel. Nice place. Clean sheets. Quietly. By the way— Is he dead?
APPOLLINAIRE’S VOICE: From EZRA. Nothing’s dead . . . —except what does not yet exist.
ELIOT: Appollinaire?
APPOLLINAIRE’S VOICE: From EZRA. Greetings! Snores.
EDDY’S VOICE: From EZRA. He’s old. We’re roommates.
ELIOT: You’re joking.
APPOLLINAIRE’S VOICE: From EZRA. Greetings! Snores.
EDDY’S VOICE: From EZRA. Do him in, too. He’s driving me nuts.
EZRA: Wakes up suddenly. Tom! I had a thought—
ELIOT: Good lord. Rubs ether on EZRA. Sorry, Pop.
EDDY’S VOICE: From EZRA. You know I’m allergic to ether.
EZRA snores.
ELIOT: He’s not.
EDDY’S VOICE: From EZRA. Stop it! Oooh—I’m itching all over! Put that stuff away—