On Stage

ON STAGE

A Collection of Stageplays

by

Jack Forge

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 John Stephen Rohde

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. It may not be re-sold or given to others. If you want to share this book, please buy a copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book but did not buy it, please go to Smashwords.com and buy a copy. If you want to produce a play, please, contact the author. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

Contents

Non-Music Plays

SHELTER

COMMUTANTS

THE MAGIC ROOT

THE CANYONS OF MARS

CONVERSATION #1

CONVERSATION #2

THE DOOR

WIND

FRUIT OF THE TREE

THE CHRISTMAS TREE

TOMATO JUICE

STREET LIFE

THE CONFERENCE

SUNSET ON PARADISE

SWAN DIVE

GARDEN OF DELIGHTS

INTERVIEWING THE LUMP

Music Plays*

TAMALPAIS

TIMOTHY OF ASPEN

APPLESEED JOHN

MAN ON THE MOUNTAIN

AUDUBON

TWAIN'S WOMEN

ALL TO DUST

***

Non-Music Plays

SHELTER

Three Scenes

Characters

MADELEINE

GORDON

GERALD

VICTOR

NEWSCASTER

PRESIDENT

JOE

ELLIE

Scene One

(A bomb shelter for long term living. Upstage center a steel door with three different latch locks and a steel bar. Near the door is a meter with gauges, wheels, lights, and digits--all in motion and making a continual whirring sound. On the walls, reproductions of sentimental pictures. Stage left is a kitchen. Stage right is a carpeted area with overstuffed chairs, tables, lamps, and a sofabed--all coordinated. Against one wall stands an AV system with a huge TV. A rack holds numerous disks. Offstage the noise of muffled blasts, shrill whistles, and hissing gas. MADELEINE and GORDON are finishing a meal at a kitchen table. They speak in boozy voices.)

MADELEINE: Gordon?

(No answer.)

MADELEINE (loudly): Gordon!

GORDON: Huh?

MADELEINE: Gordon, I'm worried.

GORDON: About what, dear?

MADELEINE: My tan.

GORDON: What's a mytan?

MADELEINE: My suntan, dopey.

GORDON (drinking wine): Looks great to me.

MADELEINE: I'm turning white down here.

GORDON (gazing at ceiling): Better than turning black up there.

MADELEINE: Wish I'd remembered my sunlamp.

GORDON: Could have more sun than you can handle in a few days.

(She looks at him staring at his empty plate as if at a mirror.)

MADELEINE: Gordon, you're not fading out again, are you?

GORDON: Just reflecting.

(She jumps up and stomps away from the table.)

MADELEINE: God--if only this madness would stop--so things could get back to normalcy.

GORDON: Uh-huh.

MADELEINE: Did you remember to drain the pool?

(He licks the inside of his glass and smacks his lips.)

GORDON: Course.

(They clear the table.)

MADELEINE: That'd be all we'd need now--a flood.

(More muffled blasts and hissing gas. The whole set shakes and bits of plaster fall. He looks at the ceiling.)

MADELEINE: Wonder where the boys are.

GORDON: What boys?

(She snaps a scornful look at him.)

GORDON: Oh, our boys. All right, I guess.

MADELEINE: You guess. How can you do that?

GORDON: Simple. I just close my eyes and….

MADELEINE: Don't be cute, Gordon. You always try to be cute.

(She slams the dishwasher door shut and turns it on. He again glances at the ceiling.)

MADELEINE: How can you think they're all right--when we haven't heard a word?

(He walks across stage to the AV system.)

GORDON: Discouraging.

MADELEINE: Not a single word since this whole damned thing started. (pausing) How can you think they're all right?

GORDON: Faith.

(She falls onto the sofa.)

MADELEINE: Well, I hope--

GORDON: Hope works too.

(He looks through the disks.)

MADELEINE: I hope you're right.

(He smiles at her. She regards him sentimentally.)

MADELEINE: We're in this together.

(He nods.)

MADELEINE: We sink or swim.

(He nods.)

MADELEINE: On the beach--

(He looks perplexed.)

MADELEINE: You and me.

GORDON: How 'bout you and me have some Kahlua and coffee?

(Deflated, she nods, and watches him walk back to the kitchen where he prepares the drinks. She kicks off her slippers and stretches out on the sofa. He swigs from the Kahlua bottle and sighs with delight.)

MADELEINE: I'm still worried, Gordy.

GORDON: About your tan?

MADELEINE: No, about our sons. They're our own flesh and blood.

GORDON: Yours anyway.

(She ignores him. Another blast offstage.)

MADELEINE: They're out there--God know where--fighting for our freedom.

GORDON: Uh-huh.

(She glowers at him as he brings two cups.)

MADELEINE: But do you care? I mean, do you really give a damn?

GORDON: Sure I do. You may forget, but I know what it's like.

MADELEINE: Yours was different, Gordon.

GORDON: Whaddya mean by that? War is war.

MADELEINE: At least you got to see the world--

GORDON: Humph.

MADELEINE: And play with those native cuties.

(He forces a laugh and then looks off, seeming to hear exotic music with accompaniment from the dishwasher.)

MADELEINE: But our boys have to fight in our backyard--so to speak.

GORDON: So--war is hell. But at least they know the territory. Besides, they've had a lot of practice--fighting as kids in our actual backyard.

MADELEINE: Hah, hah.

GORDON: Regular cockfights--shoulda bet money on 'em.

(She tisks disapprovingly.)

GORDON: Naw--too one-sided. Gerald too sensitive. Victor always kicked the sh….

MADELEINE: Gordon!

(The dishwasher stops. Silence for a few moments.)

MADELEINE: Make love not war.

GORDON: Huh?

MADELEINE: Just remembering an old bumper sticker.

(He sighs.)

MADELEINE: Well, wouldn't you rather?

GORDON: Which?

MADELEINE: Maybe you'd rather switch.

GORDON: Both take a lot of energy.

MADELEINE: Come, come, Gordo--war makes death, love makes life.

(He grunts.)

MADELEINE: Babies. Love makes babies.

GORDON: If you're unlucky.

MADELEINE: Don't get cynical, Gordo. You're always cynical. (pausing) Anyway, love produces life.

GORDON: You mean sex produces life.

MADELEINE: I mean love. Sex is something else--

GORDON: You're something else.

MADELEINE: Something frivolous and crude--even commercial.

GORDON: I never paid for it in my life.

MADELEINE: Sex is for animals.

(The sound of escaping gas like a hissing snake. He hunches over and creeps towards her, his tongue waggling, eyes bulging.)

MADELEINE: Don't get crude, Gordo. You always get crude. Now, where was I?

GORDON: Sex.

MADELEINE: Oh, yes--war. War is completely destructive. Nothing good comes of it--

(He falls upon her, but she slips away.)

MADELEINE: Nothing at all.

GORDON: Peace.

MADELEINE: I suppose war does lead to peace--eventually.

(More blasts offstage. More bits of plaster fall.)

MADELEINE: But I'm talking about the substantial benefits of one over the other. Don't you see?

GORDON: Let's see what's on TV.

NEWSCASTER:…so once again--we go to the White House, where….

GORDON: The President's going to speak.

MADELEINE: Again?

(The PRESIDENT looks like a well-preserved movie star. At the sides, stand a US and a college flag. An old football is prominent on his desk.)

PRESIDENT: My fellow Americans….

GORDON: It may be important this time.

MADELEINE: Bah!

PRESIDENT:…the struggle to defend the freedom of our homeland is going well.

(GORDON turns off the lights. Only the video screen illumines their faces.)

PRESIDENT:…so join with me now in a moment of silent prayer that we may endure this our darkest hour.

(A closer blast offstage. More falling plaster. GORDON brushes bits off himself and looks at the ceiling.)

PRESIDENT: Good night and God bless the United States of America.

NEWSCASTER: With that, his twenty-third address to the nation this week, the President has once again….

MADELEINE: Please, turn it off, Gordon. I can't take another analysis.

(GORDON starts channel surfing. The flickering and flashing accompany the blasts offstage.)

MADELEINE: Always trying to tell us what to think. We have ears, don't we? His speech was plain enough, wasn't it?

GORDON: Uh-huh.

MADELEINE: As usual.

GORDON: Nothin' on. Whaddya wanna watch tonight, dear--slides, old movies?

MADELEINE: Slides. We haven't seen them in a while. Maybe they'll take my mind off my worries.

(He sets up the system.)

GORDON: Showtime!

(The offstage noises sound closer. On the screen, color still photos appear about five seconds apart: various persons around a backyard pool. In a series of shots, MADELEINE poses like a model. In another, GORDON pretends to be seducing ELLIE, the pretty wife of his friend JOE. In another, JOE dives from a springboard into the pool, and MADELEINE admires him from poolside. In another, children play in the water. VICTOR spits water in GERALD'S face and laughs, making his brother bawl like a baby.)

MADELEINE: Oh, Gordon--look at the pool!

GORDON: Uh-huh.

MADELEINE: How I miss those days. (pausing) Here it is July and I can't see the sun, besides play in our beautiful pool. In fact, I think today is the fourth.

GORDON: Hah!

(Louder offstage noises.)

GORDON: Complete with fireworks.

MADELEINE: Oh, Gordon--look how tan we were.

GORDON: Hm!

MADELEINE: But now we're fading away down here like a couple of corpses.

(The slideshow ends.)

MADELEINE: What's next?

GORDON: Mexico.

MADELEINE: Ole!

GORDON (singing): South of the border--

(On screen, shots appear in blurry succession. MADELEINE, GORDON, JOE, and ELLIE in distorted close-ups. Many beer and tequila bottles are visible on a table.)

MADELEINE: I hadn't realized the train was going so fast.

GORDON: It wasn't. We were.

MADELEINE (giggling): Oh, you silly. (pausing) Oh, my God! Look at Joe and Ellie--stewed to the gills.

GORDON: As usual.

MADELEINE: What a pair!

(A close up of ELLIE'S ample breasts.)

GORDON: Yeah.

MADELEINE: Don't be vulgar, Gordo. You always get vulgar.

(A close up of MADELEINE makes her nose bulbous and her eyes unaligned. GORDON titters.)

MADELEINE: Jesus, Gordon--you couldn't've made me look uglier.

(He chokes back glee.)

GORDON: Camera distortion, dear. Sorry.

MADELEINE: Some photographer! Wish I'd shot you a few times.

GORDON: Bah! You say the same thing every time we look at these pictures. (pausing) Just look at that stack of empties. Can't believe we drank 'em all.

MADELEINE: Well, they told us not to drink the water, didn't they?

(They share laughter. In the last series, shots of tropical beaches, exotic women, island terrain, and palm trees. MADELEINE and GORDON look happy. VICTOR and GERALD, older, look almost chummy.)

GORDON: Hawaii!

MADELEINE (singing): Bali hai--my special island--come to me, come to me--

(He tries to embrace her.)

MADELEINE: Get off me, Gordo! Now's not the time.

(He grunts. The video screen goes white and then black with a clicking sound. The stage is dark. Neither speaks for a few moments.)

GORDON: Now the time?

MADELEINE: I think I'll just rest my eyes for a while.

(He sighs heavily and turns on a table lamp. The stage is in low light. He goes to the kitchen and she stretches out on the sofa.)

GORDON: Guess I'll get drunk. Want some brandy?

MADELEINE: Uh-huh. (sighing) It's all the same.

(He gives her drink to her and sits on the floor at her feet.)

GORDON: What's the same?

MADELEINE: Life. Everyday we do the same old thing--eat, sleep, read, watch TV, sleep.

GORDON: That's about it.

MADELEINE: What a rut!

GORDON: Well, at least we're alive.

MADELEINE: Are we? How do we know? All this good be just a dream.

GORDON: A nightmare.

(More noise offstage.)

MADELEINE: We may as well be out there with the boys.

GORDON: I wouldn't go out there for all the tea in China.

MADELEINE: You don't even like tea.

GORDON: China neither.

MADELEINE: Seriously, Gordon--look around you and tell me it's worth it.

GORDON: It's worth it.

MADELEINE: But we have nothing to hope for, to work for, to live for--nothing.

GORDON: Nothing but survival.

(She jumps to her feet.)

MADELEINE: I want romance, passion, dreams! I want to live!

(She bends over him and starts blinking one eye.)

GORDON: What is it, Maddy?

MADELEINE: I want--

GORDON: Yes?

MADELEINE: I want you to look in my eye. I think I got a lash or something in it. Stings.

GORDON: Oh.

MADELEINE: Gordon!

(He slowly rises to his feet.)

GORDON: Lemme see--by the lamp.

(Bending his body over hers bent backward, he looks into her eye.)

MADELEINE: See it?

GORDON: I see it.

MADELEINE: Well, get it out!

(He dips his little finger into her eye. She yelps.)

GORDON: Got it.

MADELEINE: Whew!

(He examines the particle on his little finger tip.)

GORDON: Hmmm.

MADELEINE: What is it, a lash?

GORDON: No, a gnat.

MADELEINE: A gnat! Wonder where it came from.

GORDON: Donno. (peering around) Must be a hole somewhere.

MADELEINE: Well, you better find it and fix it before we get gassed.

(He finishes his brandy.)

GORDON: Tomorrow.

MADELEINE: My eye. I'm tired.

GORDON: Wanna go to bed? By the way, you look nice today. (touching her) Very tired?

MADELEINE: Exhausted. Pull out the sofa, will you dear?

(With no enthusiasm, he obliges.)

MADELEINE: Isn't it about time?

GORDON: For what?

MADELEINE: For the late news.

(He turns the TV to news and strips to his underwear. She merely removes her shoes and slips fully clothed into bed. He turns off the lamp and crawls into bed beside her.)

NEWSCASTER: The Pentagon reports over a thousand enemies destroyed today, but only seven of our freedom fighters have heroically fallen for their nation. (pausing) I just received word from Washington that we do not yet

have an actual description of the enemy. But we do know they seem to be attacking only from the air.

(More louder explosions offstage and more plaster falling. GORDON glances at the ceiling.)

NEWSCASTER:…their bombs and gas constantly threaten. Recent descriptions of their aircraft show nothing we have seen. (pausing) Nevertheless, the President states that we can expect complete victory and the preservation of our beloved homeland.

(MADELEINE is falling asleep.)

PRESIDENT: I am proud to inform you that our national honor is still secure.

NEWSCASTER: Please stay tuned….

(GORDON looks at his wife to say something, notices her eyes closed, and looks back at the TV. The video screen shows scenes of the battle: explosions, collapsing buildings, rubble, dust, and yellow gas clouding the sky. The landscape looks like a wasteland from which missiles blast off intermittently. Numerous lasers scan the surface from unseen sources in the sky. MADELEINE awakens and sits up startled.)

MADELEINE: What's happening?

(GORDON tries to comfort her with his arm over her shoulders.)

GORDON: I think it was only explosions on TV but I'm not sure--

MADELEINE: Sounded like right outside our door. Lord, help us!

GORDON: Yeah sure.

MADELEINE: Surely, you don't doubt the Lord.

GORDON: Course not.

MADELEINE: He's always been on our side.

GORDON: Uh-huh.

MADELEINE: Just wish we'd all heed his word more carefully.

GORDON: I just wish he'd say something definite for a change--or say anything at all.

MADELEINE: That's because you're too busy watching TV. Turn it off, will you? Makes me nervous.

(He lowers the sound and stares at the screen anxiously.)

GORDON: I don't wanna miss anything.

(She shakes her head.)

GORDON: Hey, wait! Here's that commercial I been telling you about. The one with the cockatoo and the egg beater--

(He laughs at the TV.)

MADELEINE: Gordo--

GORDON: You gotta see this--

(He giggles like a boy. She goes to the kitchen and pours herself some brandy-laced milk.)

MADELEINE: Gor-don! Will you stop? We're being attacked by Martians or something and you want to watch some stupid commercial.

(He stops laughing and turns on the lamp.)

GORDON: Who in hell said anything about Martians?

MADELEINE: I simply….

GORDON: That's the trouble. People always think this country is going to be conquered by Russians or Martians or someone. Well, I say this is the greatest country in the world and we're gonna stay that way.

MADELEINE: Why Gordon--you're so, so--

GORDON: You've never really seen me work up, have you?

MADELEINE: No. I don't think I've had the pleasure.

(They get back into bed and continue watching TV. The sound intermittent.)

NEWSCASTER:…increased…around…capitol. No word from…House, but fires…down Pennsylvania…Congress and…Court adjourned...FBI…CIA…armed forces…Fort Knox….

(The video screen goes to snow and static. The gauges on the wall blink red lights and vibrate needles. MADELEINE and GORDON fall asleep. A blast offstage and the TV goes out. Stage is dark.)

Scene Two

(A knock three times from outside the big door. Again, three knocks, louder. MADELEINE stirs. Three more and louder knocks. She sits up suddenly.)

MADELEINE: Wha--?

(Louder knocking.)

MADELEINE: Gordon, Gordon! Someone's knocking on the door.

GORDON: Huh?

MADELEINE: Who would come a-knocking at this hour?

(Banging on the door.)

MADELEINE: GORDON!

GORDON: Someone's at the door.

MADELEINE: What in hell you think I've been saying? Answer it, Gordon.

GORDON: At this hour?

MADELEINE: We can't ignore someone at our door.

GORDON: I can.

MADELEINE: Well, I can't.

GORDON: Who could it be?

MADELEINE: How in hell do I know? Go and find out!

GORDON: Why don't you go and find out?

(She stares at him.)

GORDON: Okay, okay--

(He goes to the door.)

GORDON: Yes--who is it?

(Muffled voices from the offstage.)

MADELEINE: What did they say?

GORDON: I couldn't make it out. Maybe foreigners or maybe....

MADELEINE: Well, open the door and find out.

GORDON: But maybe they're, you know, Martians or something. And they want us for specimens. God knows, we're pickled enough.

(He titters.)

MADELEINE: Real funny.

(More banging.)

MADELEING: Open it!

GORDON: Okay! Okay!

(He opens the door. On the other side of an outer glass door, stand two glowing images of VICTOR and GERALD.)

GORDON: Good Lord!

MADELEINE: Who is it?

GORDON: I-I'm not sure but I think they're….

(When the images speak, their voices distort.)

VICTOR: Hello, father.

GERALD:…father.

(GORDON is dumbfounded.)

MADELEINE: Who is it, dear?

GORDON: I don't know for certain, but they called me father.

MADELEINE: What?!

GORDON: Are--are you Martians?

VICTOR:…boys.

GORDON: Newspaper boys?

VICTOR and GERALD: No.

GORDON: School boys?

VICTOR and GERALD: No.

GORDON: Doughboys?

VICTOR and GERALD: Uh--

GORDON: What boys?

MADELEINE: Whose boys?

VICTOR: Your boys.

GORDON: You don't look like our boys.

MADELEINE: You look like Martians.

VICTOR:…not Martians.

MADELEINE: Well, don't just stand there letting the war in, Gordon. Close your mouth and show them in so we can see who they are.

(GORDON opens the glass door, letting VICTOR and GERALD enter with a puff of yellow gas. GORDON coughs and closes the doors behind them. VICTOR and GERALD walk as if floating to stage center.)

MADELEINE: Can I get you something--coffee, beer, water--?

VICTOR: We don't drink--anymore.

GERALD:…anymore.

MADELEINE: Then how about a sandwich or a nice piece of cake?

VICTOR: We don't eat either.

MADELEINE: Mm. Don't drink or eat. How in the world do you expect to keep body and soul together.

VICTOR: We don't.

VICTOR: Not anymore.

GERALD:…anymore.

MADELEINE and GORDON: Oh.

VICTOR: We barely made it back here in one piece.

GERALD:…in one piece.

GORDON: Wh-where you boys from?

VICTOR: You still don't recognize us, do you?

(MADELEINE and GORDON look at each other, shrug, and shake their heads.)

VICTOR: I was afraid of that.

MADELEINE: What?

VICTOR: That we'd appear strange to you.

MADELEINE: Well, what with your bodies flashing and all....

GORDON: We sort of….

VICTOR: But we're not as strange as we look.

VICTOR: I am Victor and this is Gerald.

GERALD:…Gerald.

VICTOR: And we've come home.

GERALD:…home.

(They advance and reach to MADELEINE and GORDON who withdraw in fear.)

MADELEINE: Uh, that's wonderful--isn't it, dear?

GORDON: Er, yeah, wonderful--I guess.

VICTOR: We've been through hell.

GERALD:…hell.

VICTOR: You know what it's like, don't you, dad?

GERALD:…don't you, dad?

GORDON: Sure do--son. So, tell me, kids--what did ya do in the war?

VICTOR: 'Bout same as you, dad.

VICTOR: 'Cept I think we got killed.

GERALD:…killed.

MADELEINE and GORDON: Killed!

VICTOR: Maybe so.

VICTOR: As you can see, we're not exactly the same ol' Vic and Gerry.

GERALD:…Vic and Gerry.

GORDON: I should say so--

VICTOR: I expected you to be a little surprised.

MADELEINE: Well, yes--you could've at least called first.

GORDON: Yeah.

VICTOR: Sorry, but we couldn't find a phone.

MADELEINE: I suppose so--

GORDON: You see, we haven't seen the outside world for many months, except for TV.

VICTOR: But that's not real, is it?

GORDON: No, not really.

MADELEINE: I just don't see how you could stand it--the real thing, I mean.

VICTOR and GERALD: Drugs.

(MADELEINE covers her gaping mouth with her hand.)

GORDON: I need a drink. Sure you boys won't, er, can't--?

MADELEINE: Gordon! (pausing) You know your father--he'll never change.

VICTOR: Neither will we.

VICTOR: Forever.

(VICTOR, MADELEINE, and GORDON stare at GERALD.)

GERALD: Forever.

GORDON: Well, you were a fine son, Victor. You too Gerald.

MADELEINE: Still, I'm so happy to see you again. You too Gerald. In spite of your, er, deaths.

GORDON: Uh-huh.

MADELEINE: So then, what will you do now?

VICTOR and GERALD: Nothing.

GORDON: Where will you go?

VICTOR and GERALD: Nowhere.

MADELEINE: Do you have any plans?

VICTOR and GERALD: None.

MADELEINE: Oh, Victor, don't sound so hopeless.

VICTOR: It's a fact of death, mom.

MADELEINE: How sad.

(Another blast offstage, louder than ever. Plaster rains over the stage.)

VICTOR: They're getting closer.

MADELEINE: Who…?

GORDON: Who in hell are they, son?

VICTOR: Not of this world.

GERALD:…world.

(MADELEINE and GORDON gasp in unison.)

MADELEINE: Oh, dear!

GORDON: Martians!

MADELEINE: Well, we're safe down here, aren't we?

GORDON: Aren't we?

VICTOR: I'm afraid it's graver than you think.

MADELEINE and GORDON: Huh?

VICTOR: You're only buying a little time.

GERALD:…little time.

VICTOR and GERALD: Unless--

MADELEINE and GORDON: Yes?

VICTOR: Unless you can adapt.

GERALD:…adapt.

MADELEINE and GORDON: Adapt?

VICTOR: Like rats--

GERALD:…rats--

VICTOR: Or insects.

GERALD:…sects.

(GORDON is dumbfounded.)

MADELEINE: What are you saying?

VICTOR: To survive--

VICTOR: Like roaches adapt to insecticides

GERALD:…insecticides.

GORDON: Or gnats?

VICTOR and GERALD: Yes.

VICTOR: They killed me and Gerry--

VICTOR: But you don't have to die.

GERALD:…die.

(MADELEINE starts to open her arms to them but thinks otherwise and closes them across her breast.)

MADELEINE: My poor babies--you must have blown to bits.

GORDON: Smithereens.

VICTOR: It wasn't that way.

GORDON: