by Roddy Doyle
Donkey (looking around) It missed.
Sirens and minor explosions are still heard. The red light becomes less vivid, but remains for the rest of the scene.
John Somethin’s after happenin’.
Ao (sarcastically) Go ’way!
Donkey Wha’ happened!?
John They should be chargin’ in now!
Enter Mr Farrell, in a hurry.
Farrell Aidan! Aidan!!
The lads dash to the window. The Bishop remains on the floor, looking dazed.
Ao Wha’ happened, Da?
Farrell Their helicopter’s after crashin’ into the Community Centre!
Mr Farrell laughs, and dashes downstage to look at the blaze. Donkey Jaysis!
The sirens etc. are still heard.
Farrell (dashing forward again; thrilled and important) I seen it. — Straight into it. I never seen annythin’ like it in me life. (Matter-of-factly) The caretaker’s fucked.
John Is he brownbread, Mister Farrell?
Farrell Wha’? Not at all. He wasn’t there. An’ he should’ve been. He was at home watchin’ ‘My Favourite Martian’ on the Super channel.
Mr Farrell dashes back to look, and forward again. The lads half-enjoyed listening to Mr Farrell, but they’re eager to know what exactly happened and if they’re now safe.
Farrell He’ll be sacked now. Father Molloy’ll sack him. Molloy might play the guitar an’ tha’ but he’s a terrible hard man if yeh start actin’ the prick with him. —Did yis see wha’ happened, did yis?
Lads No!
Farrell The hellier got caught in Flannigan’s aerial. It hit the wall o’ the Centre like a ton o’ bricks. (Reconstructing the explosion.) PAA-DOOM!
Exit Mr Farrell.
Enter Bukowski and Crabacre from stage right. Both are carrying field phones. As they talk they walk across the stage, Crabacre, in particular, on the lookout for snipers.
Bukowski (into the phone) Major O’Malley. How are you, Sir?
Crabacre (into his phone) Speak up there, Nelson. I might could hear you better if you was to speak into that thang you got there for speakin’ into.
Bukowski (into the phone) I’m afraid, Sir, that the news from the operational area seems to be unpositive.
Crabacre (to Bukowski) It’s a A-bort, Sir.
Bukowski (into the phone) Sir, I have to report an abort on Operation Eagle Beak.
Crabacre (into his phone) That’s bad to hear, Nelson.
Bukowski (into the phone) Yes, Sir; an abort. I’m afraid so.
Crabacre (into his phone) Slow down some, Nelson.
Bukowski (into the phone) Well Sir, it would appear that —
Crabacre (to Bukowski) Blade failure again, Sir.
Bukowski (into the phone) The helicraft suffered blade failure over the dropping zone during air insertion, Sir.
Crabacre (into his phone) Must’ve singed your eyebrows some, Nelson.
Bukowski (into the phone) The craft couldn’t maintain its hover and it banked to left and, well —
Crabacre (to Bukowski) Made uncontrolled contact with an indigenous leisure module, Sir.
Exit Crabacre.
Bukowski (into the phone) Made uncontrolled contact with an indigenous leisure, eh —
Crabacre (from offstage) Module, Sir!
Bukowski (into the phone) —module, Sir.
Exit Bukowski.
Enter Mr Farrell, still in a hurry but more relaxed.
Farrell An’ I always thought Larry Flannigan was a mean ol’ cunt for not gettin’ the piped in.
Donkey (looking across at Flannigan’s roof) Jaysis, yeah; look it.
Farrell He’ll have to get it now though, wha’. An’ a new chimley. —Lucky there was no one in the Centre.
John Is there no one brownbread, Mister Farrell?
Farrell Will yeh stop! It’s like the fuckin’ Alamo!
(Going back a few steps and looking at the blaze.) They’re all dead. Every one o’ them. Splattered. There’s half a Marine stuck to the door o’ the hairdresser’s. —Chuck Norris, wha’.
(Dashing downstage again.) Yeh can smell it from here. It’s fuckin’ terrible.
Donkey Aah, Mister Farrell!
Exit Mr Farrell.
Enter Bukowski and Crabacre.
Bukowski (into the phone) Yes, Sir. I’m afraid so, Sir.
Crabacre (into his phone) Gotcha, Nelson.
(To Bukowski.) No indigenous casualties so far, Sir. Try that one on him.
Bukowski (into the phone) There are no indigenous casualties, Sir.
Crabacre (into his phone) That’s fearful to hear, Nelson.
(To Bukowski.) Seventeen inoperative personnel, Sir.
Bukowski (into the phone) There was an ammunition cook-off, Sir. Sir, we have seventeen inoperative personnel, I’m afraid.
Crabacre (into his phone) One o’ those boys owed me five dollars.
Bukowski (into the phone) Yes, Sir. And, as you say, one dead helicopter.
Crabacre (into his phone) Word I’d pick to describe what you’re seein’ there is the word ’Apocalyptic’, Nelson.
Bukowski (exiting; overhearing Crabacre; into the phone) Sir? Sir, it’s apocalyptic down here, Sir.
Crabacre (overhearing Bukowski; running after him) Shoot!
Exit Bukowski and Crabacre.
Enter Mr Farrell, strolling, eating a bag of chips.
Farrell I’ll tell yeh one thing. It’s lucky it’s not the bingo nigh’. —Half the women in Barrytown would’ve been dead by now. —Yeh wouldn’t be able to get near the chipper if tha’ happened, wha’.
John and Donkey enjoy that comment. Ao is a bit distant; thinking.
Mr Farrell strolls downstage, to get a better view of the action.
Enter Bukowski and Crabacre.
Bukowski (into the phone) Sir; Sir, I think —Sir? —General Mahoneyl
Crabacre (hearing Bukowski) Shoot a hog!
Bukowski (into the phone) How are you, Sir?
Crabacre (into his phone) Stop cryin’ there, Nelson. It ain’t dignified for you to be cryin’.
Bukowski (into the phone) Yes, Sir. I’m afraid so, Sir.
Crabacre (into his phone) Nelson, listen up, boy. Would Ollie North be cryin’, Nelson?
Bukowski (into the phone) Yes, Sir. It is a black eye for the Corps, Sir, as you say.
Crabacre (into his phone) I don’t think he would be neither, Nelson.
Bukowski (into the phone) Yes, Sir. It is an unacceptable kill ratio.
Crabacre (into his phone) Got to leave you there, Nelson. Pentagon’s all riled up on line two. Take care, boy.
Bukowski (into the phone; exiting) No, Sir, I’m not a Catholic myself but my wife once dated, eh —
Crabacre Teddy Kennedy, Sir!
Bukowski —Teddy Kennedy, Sir.
Exit Bukowski and Crabacre.
Mr Farrell strolls forward. He squashes the chip bag into a ball and throws it away.
Farrell (looking away from the blaze) Well, we’ve no Community Centre now. Were yis ever in it?
Donkey and John No.
Farrell No. Neither was I.
Mr Farrell walks downstage, getting up on his toes to see better.
Enter Bukowski and Crabacre. Bukowski looks worried, and Crabacre is stuck to his side, listening to every word.
Bukowski (into the phone) No, Sir. I’m not Jewish.
Crabacre (to himself) Ain’t no call for that.
Bukowski (into the phone) Well, Sir, I think I do appreciate the gravity of the situation, Sir.
Crabacre (to Bukowski) Seventeen inoperative personnel, Sir.
Bukowski (into the phone) Sir, I have seventeen inoperative personnel down here —
Crabacre (to Bukowski) Mechanical failure to blame, Sir.
Bukowski (into the phone) Well, Sir, I don’t think it would be right for me to refer to my men as dead meat, Sir.
Crabacre Daid meat!
Bukowski (just before the General hangs up) Yes, Sir
. I’ll do my —
Farrell (strolling forward) There’s all sorts o’ people in uniforms runnin’ round over there.
Crabacre takes the phone from Bukowski, who looks stunned.
Bukowski Thank you, Private.
Farrell Billy Delap’s over there in his Civil Defence gear; the fuckin’ eejit.
Crabacre Sir, you all look like death jawin’ a week-old ham bone. Farrell (musing) It’s gas.
Bukowski Are you a Catholic, Private?
Crabacre No, Sir. I’m a Christian.
Bukowski Good. —That’s good.
Exit Bukowski and Crabacre.
Farrell Gas. They can invade annywhere they want but they can’t break into a fuckin’ house.
Donkey and John are looking as if they feel that their troubles are over. The Bishop is still sitting, head down, on the floor.
Ao (as if it’s only really occurring to him now) They were goin’ to fuckin’ kill us there.
A single shot is heard from offstage.
Farrell Oh fuck! See yis.
Exit Mr Farrell, dashing and ducking.
The lads duck, scared again. They see the Bishop.
John The Bishop.
Ao (pointing the gun) Here, Your Bishop. Back up on the chair. The Bishop stands up and starts to move towards the window; then stops.
Bishop (simply, decisively, impressively) No.
The Bishop moves towards the door. Ao, genuinely furious, shoots between the Bishop’s feet. The Bishop’s resistance collapses.
Ao (shaking in anger; grabbing the Bishop and pushing him over to the chair) Listen, you; I don’t like yeh, righ’. —They were goin’ to kill us there so we might as well kill you. It makes no difference.
The Bishop climbs onto the chair. John and Donkey are impressed with Ao, but disturbed too.
Ao I’d kill yeh now only we need yeh for the window. But just once more. —Once more!
Donkey (to Ao) He’s a cheeky bollix, so he is.
Ao is beginning to calm down.
Donkey (after a pause) I’m fuckin’ starvin’.
Ao (angry again) Righ’. This is it.
Ao pulls the Bishop from the chair.
Ao Get down. Come on. They give us food now or that’s it. They’re not goin’ to starve me; no fuckin’ way.
Ao puts the Bishop in front of the window, holding his head down roughly, and puts the gun to the Bishop’s temple.
Ao (roars) Hey! —Hey! Are yis lookin!?
Donkey and John crouch.
Bishop (whispering; praying) No, no, no, —no—
Ao Are yis lookin‘!? —We want food now. Now, righ’! — Now!!
Ao is on the verge of pulling the trigger, and the Bishop knows this. John and Donkey watch, expecting Ao to shoot; bracing themselves. The lights go down.
Eddie Cochran sings ‘Three Steps To Heaven’.
PART TWO
It is the morning after Operation Eagle Beak and the destruction of the Barrytown Community Centre. Ao is asleep on the bed, lying against the wall, his legs apart. The Bishop is also asleep, lying back against Ao’s chest. He is wearing Donkey’s mother’s dressing-gown. Ao is holding the gun to the Bishop’s head. Donkey is standing on the chair at the window, wearing the Bishop’s gown and mitre. John is moseying around the room, eating a bowl of cornflakes, now and again peeping out the window. There is a large box of groceries on the floor, and some items lying on the floor around the box.
Donkey (looking down at Ao and the Bishop) Yeh’d love a camera, wouldn’t yeh?
John (stopping and looking) Yeah.
Donkey Just slap a bit o’ lipstick on Fergus.
John Take it easy, will yeh. I’m eatin’ me breakfast. (Looking out the window.) —Nothin’.
Donkey (squirming) I never knew yeh had so much sweat in your back, d‘yeh know tha’.
John (still looking out, and searching) Where are they? —There’s no helicopters either.
Donkey Maybe they’re run ou’ of them.
John sniggers.
Donkey I know where they are. They’ve all gone to the funeral. John (mock-serious) Oh, yeah. That’s it.
Donkey blows ‘The Last Post’ through a bugle made from his fist. John Not so loud, for fuck sake. They’ll hear yeh.
Donkey Fuck them.
(after a pause.) Seventeen dead.
John (looking out the window; preoccupied) Yeah.
Donkey That’s five an’ a half each.
John Wha’? —Oh, yeah. Yeah.
Donkey (giving a clenched fist salute) Yeow!
Donkey’s raised arm leaves part of the window exposed, and John jumps for cover.
Donkey They were lookin’ for it. Yeh can’t expect to come helicopterin’ into Barrytown an’hink you’re goin’ to get ou’ alive.
(After they laugh.) Still. I’m sure it’ll be very sad.
Donkey starts to do ‘The Last Post’ again. It isn’t a pleasant sound.
John Jaysis, Donkey, don’t do the bugle again. —Talkin’ abou’ bugles, I wonder wha’ Ao’s dreamin’ abou’.
Donkey thinks that this is one of the funniest things he has ever heard. The Bishop snaps awake, grunting.
Donkey Howyeh, Fergus.
John (to the Bishop; urgently) Don’t move! —If yeh wake Ao up too quickly he’ll probably shoot yeh in the head.
The Bishop freezes. He tries to see the gun without moving his head.
John (creeping towards Ao) How are we goin’ to get Ao to wake up without him shootin’ Fergus?
Donkey Shout at him an’ hope for the best.
John (whispering into Ao’s ear) Wakey, wakey!
Ao I am awake, yeh spoon.
The relief shows on the Bishop’s face.
John Mornin’.
Ao (pushing the Bishop) Get up off me there!
Ao and the Bishop look a bit embarrassed as they get off the bed. Ao looks very bad-humoured.
Ao (to the Bishop) I’m first.
Ao takes a roll of toilet paper from the grocery box, and exits.
Donkey He’s still in his moods.
John I’d say it’s because of his ma.
Donkey Yeah.
John Or maybe he’s just havin’ his period.
They laugh slyly.
John (to the Bishop; pointing at the box) There’s cornflakes there.
Bishop Em, —no, thank you. I don’t think so.
Donkey Wha’ d’yeh usually have for your brekker, Fergus?
Bishop Well, I would normally start with half a grapefruit —
Donkey Yeuh! Jaysis, stop!
John Wha’ d’yeh do with the other half?
Donkey and John roar laughing.
Enter Ao. He turns on the radio.
John Good idea.
Charlie Bird —on what promises to be a beautiful Spring day. Despite the deaths yesterday evening of seventeen of the Marine Corps, there has been a very definite relaxation of security here. Local people and onlookers are strolling around the base, mixing freely with the military.
Donkey The military wha’!?
Behind Charlie Bird’s voice can be heard the sound of happy people mingling and, perhaps, a Mister Whippy van. The voices of two women hawkers become more prominent.
Charlie Bird There is an almost carnival atmosphere today. An atmosphere more fitting, perhaps, to the weather and surroundings.
Hawker One Get your Mars Bar an’ chocolate now.
Hawker Two Last o’ the Mars Bars an’ the Twixes.
Hawker One Your Mars Bars an’ chocolate now.
Hawker Two The last o’ the Mars Bars an’ the Twixes.
The lads laugh, but they’re confused.
Ao (holding the radio) What’s the fuckin’ story?
Charlie Bird Excuse me, ladies.
Hawker One Yes, love?
Hawker Two Are you from ‘Gay Byrne’, are yeh?
Charlie Bird No, no.
Hawker Two D’yeh want us to kill a sheep for yeh?
Both women laugh.
Charlie Bird Is business booming this morning?
Hawker One Oh, God, it is, yeah. Very good.
Hawker Two Look it. I’ve only got three Dairy Milks left an’ it’s not even nine o’clock yet.
Charlie Bird How does it compare to, say, a rugby international?
Hawker One Ah, the rugby crowd are no good.
Hawker Two Useless.
Hawker One They’re too well fed.
Hawker Two The soccer’s much better.
Hawker One Much better, yeah. But the Gaelic’s the best. Even the hurlin’.
Hawker Two They’d eat ann‘thin’. They don’t even take them ou’ o’ the wrappers.
Both women laugh.
Hawker Two Bruce Springsteen was the best ever though.
Hawker One He paid for me sun bed.
Both women laugh.
The lads are still confused, and worried. Without saying anything, John goes to guard the door and Ao aims the gun at the Bishop.
Charlie Bird Are the Marines buying much?
Hawker One Oh they are, yeah. They’re buyin’ the most of it.
Hawker Two They’re starvin’, sure. They only have canned stuff to eat.
Donkey What’s wrong with tha’?
Ao Shut up a minute.
Hawker One They’re very nice.
Hawker Two Yeah, they are. Very polite. One o’ them called me ’baby’.
Both women laugh.
Hawker Two Your man over there. D’yeh see him? The black fella.
Hawker One The skinny one.
Hawker Two Look. He has ‘Hell Sucks’ written on his ha’. D’yeh see him?
Charlie Bird Yes.
Hawker Two His name’s T-Bone Doolightly. He’s from Memphis.
Hawker One In America.
Hawker Two His daddy used to cut Elvis’s grass for him. He said he’d’ve been able to get Elvis’s autograph for us, only he’s dead.