Just Deserts

by Richard Joyce

  Act 3

  Scene 1

  The school hall.

  Lights come up on a very good rehearsal, in masks, of the mime scene in ‘Hamlet’, Act III Sc.2. The cast, and the usual crowd of onlookers, including Ben, watch spellbound. As the scene finishes, WILLY, along with the cast, break into spontaneous applause.

  Willy: Nice work, you three. Remember, everyone, you’ll be on stage, watching this, so react. A king’s being murdered here. And his wife, seduced. It’s shocking. Right chaps, let’s do it one more time –

  LAURA hands WILLY a note.

  Laura: From Mr Jonson.

  Willy: Thanks Laura. Mr Jonson’s using one of his runners today, is he?

  WILLY reads the note while BEN joins him on stage.

  – Uh huh, sounds interesting. Right everyone, slight change of plan. Remain in place please –

  Will this work, Ben?

  Ben: I don’t see why not. It has to work. I have to test the truth of the little we know. Boys sometimes imagine desperate things.

  Willy: Okay, let’s put it to the test.

  Lights dim, BEN exits hurriedly and actors remain frozen in place on stage throughout the next scene. Spot comes up on KILMAN, seated apron L. MALFELLOW enters down R and crosses to KILMAN.

  Malfellow: You sent for me, sir?

  Kilman: I did. I have a commission for you.

  Malfellow: What might that be, sir?

  Kilman: Tell me, my friend, what would you do to improve your current fortunes?

  Malfellow: Why, anything, sir, that might make me richer.

  Kilman: As I thought. Then tell me too, are you acquainted with a certain Mr Ben Jonson senior, in the daily course of your business?

  Malfellow: I am, sir. I see him daily in town.

  Kilman: And do you like this man?

  Malfellow: Sir, I like him and I don’t like him. I’m indifferent.

  Kilman: Indeed. Well. I confess, I don’t like him either. This man and I have had a falling out.

  Malfellow: Tell me then, sir, how I may be of service.

  Kilman: I will. Come –

  They exit. Tinkling sound. Lights fade down L and come up on DELIA, down R.

  Delia:

  Men may shout and bells may ring

  But that does not repentance bring

  As Shakespeare says, the play’s the thing

  To catch the conscience of the king.

  Lights up. WILLY and full cast on stage, as in previous scene.

  BEN enters up L.

  Ben: They’re coming to the play. Coming to the play, I tell you.

  Willy: When?

  Ben: Now. This moment. I passed my mother by Parker’s office. With Kilman. She says: ‘Might it be an appropriate moment, Ben, to come and watch the school production….’ Words to that effect. It’s our moment, Willy.

  Willy: Right, boys and girls, quick. It’s the mime scene. The alternative one we rehearsed. Important guests are coming to watch. Okay, court all seated for the performance. Everyone in place.

  KILMAN and SHEILA enter.

  Ah, worthy guests, welcome to our humble play.

  They acknowledge WILLY, who disappears behind curtain.

  Sheila: Hello, boys and girls – This is Sir John Kilman. You may remember his interesting talk to us. I hope you’ll allow us a brief viewing of your little play.

  Kilman: What are you all playing? – Ah, Mr Jonson. Are you by chance taking part?

  Ben: Most certainly. You’ll see me play the part of a villain as knavish as ever darkened the stages of the world.

  Sheila: How exciting. Perhaps we can find somewhere to sit. Here, among the actors. Come John, we’ll be in the play ourselves; there’s a place for you here.

  KILMAN remains talking to BEN.

  Kilman: And what do you enact?

  Ben: A most desperate scene.

  Kilman: Let’s hope the action matches the description.

  Ben: I believe it will. There’s not a god-fearing person among us, innocent or guilty, who wouldn’t cry out for pity at this dumb show.

  Kilman: A strange paradox. I hope I stand in the former category. Come on, let’s see it.

  KILMAN joins Sheila.

  Ben: This short scene has a military backdrop. Ready backstage?

  Sheila: Strange, Ben. I don’t remember ‘military’ in ’Hamlet’.

  Ben: Right. But our play is done in the modern vein, Mother, and, as is well-known, actions performed in the heat of battle have often made tyrants swoon in times of peace.

  BEN joins the players backstage.

  Kilman: (aside) How is it I’m uneasy at these words. No further delays please; let’s see the action.

  A line of six, all in masks, are led out by two guards at gunpoint. The woman holds the child by the hand as they’re forced to line up. The woman and child stand at the end of the line. They all kneel, arms behind their backs, heads bowed. BEN, in military uniform and masked, enters. He whispers briefly to one of the guards and walks slowly down the line, scrutinizing the faces, while the guard, with gun, accompanies him behind the line. They reach the end of the line and BEN stands looking at the child, who briefly raises his head and stares at BEN.

  Kilman: What does this all mean?

  BEN moves back, a pace or two to his right, and scrutinizes the man kneeling next to the woman. He finally makes a sign to the guard, there’s a loud gun-shot, and the man falls forward.

  Kilman: I’ve seen enough of this pantomime.

  Sheila: What’s the matter, John?

  Kilman: This is no Shakespeare as I remember it.

  Ben: There’s no offence here, believe me. It’s the murder of Gonzago, plain and simple. In a garden or in a line-up, what’s the difference?

  Kilman: Sheila, come.

  KILMAN gets to his feet.

  Ben: Does it hit a sensitive nerve, sir? No more sensitive, I guess, than this poor man’s cerebellum. But why would this bully not kill them all?

  KILMAN hurries towards the exit.

  Kilman: I’ll see you rot in hell, Jonson.

  Ben: If anyone knows that place, it’s you. But wait; you’ll see how the lady and her child make a fine exit, babbling with terror.

  KILMAN, followed by SHEILA, exit hurriedly.

  We have him, Willy. Now I’m certain. Didn’t you see? Guilty as charged. Let’s go straightaway and find a lawyer.

  Willy: Okay everyone. Well done. We’ll practise the real version next week.

  Exit cast.

  Ben, I’d still advise caution. The boy, Sonny, must first be found or we have nothing but circumstantial evidence.

  Ben: Are these people here just circumstantial?

  The CURTAIN falls.

  Scene 2

  Somewhere on the streets of a city.

  Enter a vigorous middle-aged businessman with briefcase, while MALFELLOW and SECOND MUGGER remain in the shadows. MALFELLOW accosts the businessman.

  Malfellow: Excuse me, mister. Might you perhaps be Mr Jonson, Mr Ben Jonson Snr, father of Ben Jonson who works up on the moor?

  Jonson: Why yes. How do you come to know me? Is my son all right?

  Malfellow: As right as rain. He sends you his greetings.

  Draws a knife from his belt and stabs Jonson Snr.

  Here’s one greeting –

  He stabs a second time.

  – and here’s a second.

  Second mugger: A third greeting, for good measure.

  JONSON Snr slumps.

  Malfellow: Have a nice day.

  The MUGGERS exit. The CURTAIN falls.

  Scene 3

  A restaurant near the school.

  KILMAN and MAURICE MINOR, CHAIRMAN OF THE GOVERNORS, sit talking at a table.

  Kilman: We must act, Maurice, and quickly. He knows.

  Minor: But how much does he know?

  Kilman: He knows I am in deep, and, for sure, it’ll be but a moment before both our roles in Kosovo are laid bare. Yes, it’s time for Ben Jonson to leave
Wildmoor Academy, and take his final bow.

  Minor: Well and good, John. But it’s not just the son; the father too is highly respected around here.

  Kilman: The father’s taken care of, Maurice.

  Minor: I’ve not heard.

  Kilman: He’ll trouble us no further. And I have something in hand, which might catch young Jonson too by the tail, and send him packing.

  Minor: Have we anything on him?

  Kilman: We must invent something. There’s a journalist, who might serve our purpose given the right bait. Tell me, by the way, that pretty daughter of yours, how’s she doing in the play?

  Minor: Not well, I’m afraid. Complains endlessly, hates the director and can’t speak highly enough of Jonson. What about her?

  Kilman: She’s an obedient girl. It occurred to me she might be willing to put on a pretty dress and offer Jonson a little trap of honey, if you get my drift –

  Minor But she adores Jonson.

  Kilman: A student crush surely. Such passions are hot one moment, cold the next. And if she quits the play prematurely, she’ll hold resentment against all those who hounded her out.

  Minor: True – But just so long as she doesn’t get hurt, Jack. Nothing physical must occur.

  Kilman: Nothing need occur, Maurice; just be said to have occurred.

  Minor: Our word alone though will not carry the Board.

  Kilman: Are you not Chairman of the Board? You see to Eisha, and together we’ll take care of the Board. Time to settle our accounts, Maurice. Divide the spoils. Keep me up to speed on young Eisha. Lovely lunch. I’ll follow you out.

  Exit MINOR and enter JOURNALIST.

  Excellent, I perceive my man buzzing towards us, as if the world were not a dangerous place for so self-important a fly.

  JOURNALIST bows theatrically.

  Journalist: Good morrow, sire. I trust I’m not interrupting.

  Kilman: By no means. My friend was just leaving. Take a seat, and let’s finish this Sauterne together.

  Journalist: What was it you wished to see me about? An in-depth interview perhaps about your time in the Balkans?

  Kilman: All in due course, Mr Hacker. But we have a problem. One that might be in your interests to help solve. Tell me, rumour has it you wish to change professions.

  Journalist: You are right, sir. To move from the journalistic to the dramatic, while keeping my options open for the academic, and not completely relinquishing my interests in the journalistic.

  Kilman: A heavy programme, sir. But your help in our current dilemma could give you swift advancement in both arenas.

  Journalist: I thrill to hear it. What dilemma is it which promises so much in the solving? Unfold.

  Kilman: Do you know a Mr Jonson?

  Journalist: An excellent man. I’ve frequently observed him lending cast and director the benefit of his wisdom and experience.

  Kilman: There’s rumour of this man’s imminent departure from the school.

  Journalist: I’m flabbergasted. Do you mean to enlist me in persuading him to stay? I would exercise my last sinew –.

  Kilman: – Good. Your proposal is precise and pertinent. With one major exception however. We would like to enlist you in persuading him to leave.

  Journalist: Ah, I see. The converse. Well, of course, I’d be ready to speed Mr Jonson’s exodus, were it to further my own advancement.

  Kilman: It would, sir, it would. Mr Jonson’s exit would leave a vacancy on the staff, and a handsome financial incentive. Not to mention the play. Mr Jonson’s part could be your own, should he decide to vacate.

  Journalist: What is your proposal, sir? I’m impatient to hear it.

  Kilman: May I suggest we seek a more private place to talk further. Tell me, am I right in thinking you practise the art of photography, as might befit someone in your profession?

  Journalist: You are, sir. From weddings through funerals, traversing everything that’s notable in between.

  Kilman: And are you competent in the technique of enhancement, to make the photo more persuasive?

  Journalist: Indeed, sir. Almost all photographs in the press these days are –

  Exit together. The CURTAIN falls.

  Scene 4

  The school Hall.

  JOURNALIST enters apron L in modern dress while DELIA watches down R, invisible to him.

  Journalist: Am I part of this plotting? Is this really Mike Hacker who makes deals with those he’d best avoid? Or do I dream? Let me pinch myself – ouch, it hurts enough. It must be reality. Yet, still I’m not convinced.

  Delia: This man is so confused he turns self-deception into an art-form.

  Journalist: Why, even Willy Wagstaff would flinch, were he to molest his skin as I do now – ouch – Yet he’s an academic, a man immersed in dreams. Without doubt, the diagnostic is unsafe – ouch! –

  He wanders across and exits apron R.

  Delia: Let’s watch. Perhaps participate. Lead this man carefully back to his wits.

  A tinkling is heard and she zaps in the direction of JOURNALIST, who enters shortly up R, dressed as Hamlet; he assumes a tragic pose and pretends to carry a book.

  Journalist: Here, in this empty space, I’ll practise my art, unhampered by idle interruption. This medieval weed suits my pursuits well – how I came to it I cannot tell – and, wondrously, I find myself speaking rimes and rhythms that scarcely match the emptiness of my thoughts. How came I into such a happy plethora of words? Am I enchanted? – en garde malevolent spirit – trouble me no more.

  COCKRELL and FRED enter up R in modern dress.

  Delia: Who comes here? Two more would-be actors, tedious both, the one by vanity, the other by self-pity. Then they too should find suitable attire.

  She zaps both of them. They turn round, amazed, and exit up R.

  Journalist: I confess, with all this backwards and forwards, this quid pro quo, whether I wake or sleep, I no longer know.

  COCKRELL and FRED re-enter. They are now both in Shakespearian costume and masked.

  Cockrell: Hold on, is not this turkey-cock here none other than our colleague in the play? A simpleton with little wit but great ambition? He currently seems less needy of a part than of a lesson. Let’s have some sport.

  He bows deeply to Journalist.

  How now, fellow, art in need of a teacher, and of a book and of an audience?

  Journalist: Beyond all doubt, a teacher would render to my new endeavours a pinnacle no less lofty than high Olympus. Know you then a skilful teacher?

  Cockrell: I myself am a teacher in these thespian arts and will serve you willingly in your oratorical endeavours.

  Journalist: Have you perhaps a book with words that will set the world afire?

  Cockrell: Why certainly. My colleague here is a purveyor of books full of wondrous words. Knowst thou the famous tragedy ’Hamlet’ by William Shakespeare?

  Journalist: The very one I observed a while back performed by those students, before – before my transmutation.

  Cockrell: The very one. Lover, hand over.

  Fred: Here. My daughter’s copy alas.

  Cockrell: More on that later. First, I must instruct this learned fellow here in the declamatory arts.

  Fred: (aside) And I will seek out a safe method by which I might snuff out this brief candle.

  Delia: (aside) For all his mean habits, I loved my father and would have given my life to save him from this.

  Cockrell: Come, good fellow, strike now a heroic pose – thus. Now, with the book at this and this page, declaim in regal voice the great speech –

  Journalist: To be or not to be, that is –

  Cockrell: – Wait, there’s something missing from this speech, some little gesture. Let me see – yes, something of movement in the midriff region. Know ye the noble game of golf?

  Journalist: Golf I’ve played on all the courses of the world. St Enodoc’s, Saint Andrew’s, St Trevor’s – ’Tis there, business is done, contacts formed, and little good golf pl
ayed.

  Cockrell: You speak true indeed and will know, it is a game of hips – the movement of – thus

  COCKRELL waggles his bum exaggeratedly while pretending to strike a ball.

  – and thus.

  Journalist: (aside) I was never that good.

  Cockrell: Now, speak the speech and contemporaneously make to hit the ball – thus, moving the hips with a vigour to tear the upper body from its anchor – thus. (aside) ’Tis no wonder the game is the cause of so many artificial hips in these times of ours.

  Journalist: Ah! Accomplished! ‘To be or not to be, that is the question –’ I have it, I have it, I am become, with your instruction, the consummate actor, and could deliver – thus, all other speeches that hold the world’s stages in thrall.

  Delia: (aside) For now, I’ll put so many speeches at his disposition he’ll stand all day playing golf. Meanwhile I must slip away to mend my own fortunes. Alas, I’m shortly to become – Ophelia.

  Exit.

  Cockrell: That fool will be there hour long. Let’s away. I have yet a role to play in our drama that’s as vital as any the playwright could devise. Come.

  They exit up L.

  Journalist: ‘Our revels now are ended –’ ‘Out, out, brief candle –’ ‘put out the light and then put out the light’ –

  School actors begin to enter for a rehearsal.

  Enough of this. Let’s ascertain what further expertise I can glean from the school players.

  Exit up R. The CURTAIN falls.

  Act 4

  Scene 1

  The school Hall.

  Cast of players on stage with the usual crowd of student onlookers.

  Delia: Mr Wagstaff, I need to speak to you for a moment.

  Willy: Sure, Delia. But can it wait? I’ve got to get this unruly mob under control first.

  Delia: Yes. Sorry to get you at the wrong time.

  DELIA makes to go but then comes back.