Someone’s behind the boy.
PETER
A man.
WENDY
Why, it’s you, and dad!
PETER
Is it? Yes. Now we’ve stopped, the lines are out, fishing.(suddenly excited)There. I’ve caught a big one! A big one!
We hear a distant splash of water.
WENDY
It’s beautiful. It’s all silver coins!
PETER
It’s a beaut, all right. Boy! Boy!
WENDY
Oh, it slipped off the line! It’s gone!
PETER
That isn’t-
WENDY
(disappointed)The boat… it’s going away. The fog’s coming up. I can hardly see the boat… or you or dad.
PETER
Neither can I…
WENDY
(forlorn)The boat’s gone. Bring it back, Peter.
PETER
Come back!
An echo, way off, repeats his words. The playroom grows dimmer.
PETER
It’s no use. The room’s broken.
WENDY
You’re not trying. Come back! Come back!
PETER
Come back!
Lydia enters on this last, slightly concerned.
LYDIA
Peter, Wendy? Is everything all right?
PETER
Sure, swell…
LYDIA
(checks her watch)Have you tried Mexico yet? The instructions book said the most wonderful things about the Aztec ruins there. Well! I’ll be downtown at 10:45, at Mrs. Morgan’s at 11:30, at Mrs. Harrison’s at noon, if you should want me. The automatic lunch timer will go off at 12:15, eat, both of you! At one o’clock do your musical tapes with the violin and piano. I’ve written the schedule on the electric board-
PETER
Sure, mom, sure-
LYDIA
Have fun, and don’t forget Bombay, India, while you’re at it!
She exits and is hardly gone when: a thunderous roar ensues. Peter, throwing out one hand, pointing at the walls, has given a shout.
PETER
All right! Now! Now! Now!
An unseen avalanche thunders down a vast mountain in torrents of destruction. Wendy seizes Peter’s arm.
WENDY
Peter!
PETER
Now! More! More!
WENDY
Peter, stop it!
The avalanche filters away to dust and silence.
WENDY
What are you doing? What was that?
PETER
(looks at her strangely)Why, an avalanche, of course. I made an avalanche come down a mountain, a hundred thousand tons of stone and rocks. An avalanche.
WENDY
(looking about)You filled the lake. It’s gone. The boat’s gone. You and dad are gone.
PETER
Did I? Is it? Are they?
PETER
(awed)Yeah … sure … that’s right , Hey, this is … fun …(he accents this last word oddly)You try something now, Wendy.
WENDY
L-London Bridge. Let me see-London Bridge.
The shadows spin slowly. Peter and Wendy stand, watching
PETER
You’re stupid. That’s no fun. Think, girl, think! Now! Let’s see.(a beat)Let there be darkness!Let there be-night!
Blackout.
The lights come up. We hear a helicopter come down, fly away. George enters, stage left
GEORGE
Hi! I’m home!
In a small alcove, which represents only a section of the kitchen, far stage right, Lydia is seated staring at a machine that is mixing something for her.
George advances across the stage.
GEORGE
Hi! How goes it?
LYDIA
(looking up)Oh, hello. Fine.
GEORGE
Perfect, you mean. Flying home just now I thought, Good Lord, what a house! We’ve lived in it since the kids were born, never lacked for a thing. A great life. Incredible.
LYDIA
It’s incredible, all right, but-
GEORGE
But what?
LYDIA
This kitchen. I don’t know. It’s-selfish. Sometimes I think it’d be happy if I just stayed out, stayed away completely, and let it work.(she tries to smile)Aren’t I silly?
GEORGE
You are indeed. All these time-saving devices; no one on the block has half as many.
LYDIA
(unconvinced)You’re right, of course.(she pauses)George… I want you to look at the playroom.
GEORGE
Look at it? Is it broken? Good Lord, we’ve only had it eight weeks.
LYDIA
No, not broken, exactly. Well, see it first, then you tell me.
She starts leading him across the stage.
GEORGE
Fair enough. Lead on, Macduff.
LYDIA
I first noticed this “thing” I’m going to show you about four weeks ago. Then it kept reoccurring. I didn’t want to worry you, but now, with the thing happening all the time-well-here.
She opens the playroom door. George steps in and looks as across a great distance, silently.
GEORGE
Lord, but it’s quiet.
LYDIA
Too quiet, yes.
GEORGE
Don’t tell me. I know right off. This is-Africa.
LYDIA
Africa.
GEORGE
Good Lord, is there a child in the world hasn’t wanted to go to Africa? Is there one exists who can’t close his eyes and paint the whole thing on his inner lids? High blue deep warm sky. Horizons a billion miles off in the dust that smells like pulverized honeybees and old manuscripts and cloves and cinnamons. Boma-trees, veldtland. And a lush smell. Smell it?
LYDIA
Yes.
GEORGE
That must mean a water hole nearby, bwana.(laughs)Oh, Lydia, it’s perfect, perfect! But-the sun-damn hot. Look, a perfect necklace of sweat right off the brow!(shows her)But I’ve lost the point. You brought me here because you were worried. Well-I see nothing to worry about.
LYDIA
Wait a moment. Let it sink in.
GEORGE
Let what sink in? I-
Shadows flick over their faces. He looks quizzically up. She does, too, with distaste. We hear a dry rustling leathery sound from above; distant strange bird cries.
LYDIA
Filthy things.
GEORGE
(looking up, following the circling birds)What? Vultures? Yes, God made his ugliest kites on the day he sent those things sailing. Is that what worries you?
LYDIA
That’s only part of it. Look around.
George turns slowly. There is a heavy, rich purring rumble from off to the right. George blinks and smiles.
GEORGE
It couldn’t be-the lions?
LYDIA
I think so, yes. I don’t like having lions in the house.
GEORGE
(amused)Well, they’re not exactly in the house, dear. There! Look at that big male. Face like a blast furnace at high noon, and a mane like a field of wheat. Burns your eyes to look at him. There’s another-a female- and another, a whole pride-isn’t that a fine word? A pride-a regular tapestry of lions woven of gold thread and sunlight.(an afterthought)What are they up to?
He turns to Lydia, who is watching the unseen beasts, disquieted.
LYDIA
I think they’re…feeding.
GEORGE
On what?(squints)Zebra or baby giraffe, I imagine.
LYDIA
Are you certain?
GEORGE
(shielding his eyes)Well, it’s a bit late to be certain of anything. They’ve been lunching quite some time. No-lunch is over. There they go toward the water hole!(he follows with his eyes)
LYDIA
George? On our way down the hall just now�
�� did you… hear a scream from in here?
GEORGE
(glances at her)A scream? No. For God’s sake-
LYDIA
All right. Forget it. It’s just, the lions won’t go away.
GEORGE
What do you mean? Won’t go?
LYDIA
Nor will Africa, either. George, the fact is, the room has stayed that way for 31 days. Every day that same yellow sun in the sky. Every day the lions with teeth like daggers dusting their pelts out there, killing, slavering on the red-hot meat, printing their bloody tracks through the trees, killing, gorging, over and over, no day different, no hour any change. Doesn’t it strike you as odd that the children never ask for a different locale?
GEORGE
No! They must love Africa as all kids do. The smell of violence. Life stark, raw, visceral. Here, you, hey! Hey!
He snaps his fingers, points, snaps his fingers again. He turns smiling to Lydia.
GEORGE
You see, they come to pay their respects.
LYDIA
(nervously; gasps)Oh, George, not so close!
The rumbling of the lions is very loud now, to the right, we feel the approach of the beasts. The light from the right side of the room becomes more brightly yellow.
GEORGE
Lydia, you’re not afraid?
LYDIA
No, no, it’s just-don’t you feel it? It’s almost as if they can see us!
GEORGE
Yes, the illusion is three-dimensional. Pure fire, isn’t he? There. There.(holds out his hands)You can warm yourself at a hearth like that. Listen to him breathe, it’s like a beehive swarming with yellow.
He stretches one hand further out
GEORGE
You feel you could just-reach- and run your hand over the bronze, the gold-
LYDIA
(screams)Look out!
There is a fearful snarling roar. The shadows race in the room. Lydia falls back, runs. George, startled, cannot stop her, so follows. She slams the door and falls against it. He is laughing. She is almost in tears.
GEORGE
Lydia, dear Lydia!
LYDIA
George, they almost-
GEORGE
Almost what? It’s machinery, electronics, sonics, visuals!
LYDIA
No, more! Much more! Now listen to me, I insist, I insist, do you hear, that you warn the children ; this playing in Africa must cease!
GEORGE
(comforting, kissing her)OK, I’ll talk to them.
LYDIA
Talk to them, no; lay down the law. Every day for a month I’ve tried to get their attention. But they just stroll off under that damned hot African sky! Do you remember that night three weeks ago when you switched the whole room off for 24 hours to punish the children?
GEORGE
(laughing quietly)Oh, how they hated me for that. It’s a great threat. If they misbehave I’ll shut it off again.
LYDIA
And they’ll hate you again.
GEORGE
Let them. It’s perfectly natural to hate your father when he punishes you.
LYDIA
Yes, but they don’t say a word. They just look at you. And day by day, the playroom gets hotter, the veldtland wider and more desolate, and the lions grow big as the sun.
There is an awkward moment. Then a buzzer rings, loudly. George presses a panel in the wall. A loudspeaker bell sounds, there is a faint crackle and:
PETER’S VOICE
Mom, we won’t be home for supper.
WENDY’S VOICE
We’re at the automation show across town, OK?
GEORGE
I think that-
PETER’S VOICE
Swell!
WENDY’S VOICE
Keen!
Buzz ding! Silence. Lydia stares at the ceiling from which the voices came.
LYDIA
No hellos, no good-byes, no pleases, no thank-yous.
George takes her hand.
GEORGE
Lydia, you’ve been working too bard.
LYDIA
Have I really? Then why is something wrong with the room, and the house and the four people who live in the house?
She touches the playroom door.
LYDIA
Feel? It trembles as if a huge bake oven were breathing against it.
She takes her hand off, burnt.
LYDIA
The lions-they can’t come out, can they? They can’t?
George smiles, shakes his head. She hurries off.
GEORGE
Where are you going?
She pauses near the door.
LYDIA
Just to press the button … that will make us our dinner.
She touches the wall panel. The lights go out.
End of scene.
In the dark, music. As the light comes up dimly again we find George in his easy chair, smoking his pipe, glancing at his watch, listening to the hi-fi system. After a moment, impatiently, he gets up and switches off the music. He moves next to the radio, switches it on, listens to a moment of news:
WEATHER VOICE
Weather in the city tomorrow will be 66 in the morning, 70 in the afternoon, with some chance of rain.
He cuts this off, too, checking his watch. Next he switches on a TV screen to one side, its face away from us. For a moment, the ghostly pallor of the screen fills the room. He winces, shuts it off. He lights his pipe. There is a bell sound.
LYDIA’S VOICE
George, are you in the living room?
GEORGE
I couldn’t sleep.
LYDIA
The children are home, aren’t they?
GEORGE
I waited up for them-(finishes lamely)Not yet.
LYDIA
Bradbury, Ray - SSC 17 Page 8