Twilight Country

He Walks Outside

AN ORIGINAL RADIO SCRIPT FOR:

TWILIGHT COUNTRY

BY

DANIEL R. ROBICHAUD

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Pierson: Young man, lost in a world he cannot recognize, but still strangely his.

Maury-Mice: A hairy member of the Midnight Sideshow and Freak Theatre, voice is touched with Liverpool Accent.

Clive: The Midnight Sideshow and Freak Theatre barker.

Belle: Older woman, harboring secret loss . . .

Harold: Older man, hard manual laborer type.

Alice: Harold’s wife. Is she as mousy as she seems?

Savina: Young Gypsy girl.

Kaja: Wise Gypsy Woman.

Assorted Hucksters, Vendors, Barkers, and Carnival Goers

and

Narrator: Our guide to the Twilight Country

TWILIGHT COUNTRY

He Walks Outside

PROLOGUE

SOUND: A CALLIOPE PLAYING OUT OF KEY MUSIC – BOTH CHEERFUL AND STRANGELY CREEPY. A CROWD’S APPRECIATIVE MURMUR, ENJOYING A CARNIVAL. A BELL SINGS A SOLID NOTE AS SOMEONE DISPLAYS HE-MAN STRENGTH.

PIERSON: Are you a real gypsy?

SAVINA: What do you want, gaji? Do you want me to dance for you? To do things for quarters? Do you want to poke at me, jeer and laugh? Gaji, I am Rom. And I am proud to be Rom.

PIERSON: I didn’t mean to insult you. I just want to know if I can have my future divined or something. Like what gypsies are supposed to do.

SAVINA: (BEAT) Do you have any money?

PIERSON: Yes.

SAVINA: Then I can take you to someone . . .

PIERSON: Please, do.

SAVINA: For ten dollars.

PIERSON: Fine.

TRANSITION: THE BELL RINGS AGAIN, FOR ANOTHER HE-MAN, THE CROWD CHEERS, LAUGHTER AND JOY ARE ALIVE IN THE AIR. SLOWLY, THEY ALL BEGIN TO LOWER IN VOLUME, GETTING FURTHER AWAY. THE CALLIOPE IS STILL AUDIBLE, GIVEN AN EVEN MORE UNREAL SOUND BY THE DISTANCE WHICH HAS BEEN COVERED, IT IS ALMOST DREAMLIKE.

SOUND: CRICKETS CHIRP. A LONELY OWL HOOTS SOMEWHERE NEARBY. THE WIND WHISPERS THROUGH BRANCHES. (THEY DO NOT CONTRAST WITH THE DREAMY CALLIOPE AT ALL, INSTEAD, ACTUALLY COMPLEMENT IT.) PIERSON AND SAVINA’S FOOTSTEPS, ON GRAVEL, GET CLOSER.

PIERSON: Wow. Look at those stars. You can see them better out here than you could on the midway. So bright and . . . I used to love to sit and watch them. (BEAT) A . . . Couple . . .. years ago I would sit on a tree limb. Just stare at them for hours. With a friend. It was her tree. A little girl, she was. Twelve or thirteen. Belle, her name was. Why am I bothering to tell you this? (BEAT) How far out is this place?

SAVINA: Not much farther. You seek knowledge; you must travel for it.

PIERSON: Is that it? That wagon in the trees?

SAVINA: Yes. (BEAT) What do you think?

PIERSON: It’s so . . . Beautiful. Run down, road weary, maybe, but . . . None-the-less Beautiful.

SAVINA: It has withstood much disaster – from weather, from travel, from men. Whipping winds to tempests to thrown stones. It will stand forever. Wait here, gaji.

SOUND: Trees sway in the breeze, again, limbs whispering nature’s secrets and promises. Savina ascends a set of three steps and raps on a wooden door.

SAVINA: I’ve brought one to see you, ! I’ve brought a gaji! He seeks knowledge!

KAJA: (MUFFLED) Send him away.

PIERSON: My money is good.

SAVINA: He speaks true, . (A SMILE) He wants to know his future.

KAJA: (MUFFLED) Have him wait a moment, then.

SOUND: From within the wagon, things are being put away, knocked about, perhaps hidden. Glasses clink from being knocked into one another, wind chimes shriek from being upset.

SAVINA: You must wait, gaji.

PIERSON: I heard. (BEAT) Why do you call me that?

SAVINA: What?

PIERSON: That word.

SAVINA: What, ‘gaji’?

PIERSON: Yeah. What does it mean?

SAVINA: It means you are not Rom. It means you are an outsider. That you are not one of us.

KAJA: (MUFFLED) He may come in now, Savina.

Sound: A latch is turned and the door creaks open.

SAVINA: Enter, gaji.

PIERSON: Thanks.

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS ASCEND THE THREE STEPS AND STOP BEFORE GOING ANY FURTHER.

KAJA: No need to wait at my door. Greetings, gaji. Please, come, sit. Tell me what you desire.

Sound: Pierson’s footsteps are muted by carpets and rugs which cover the wooden floor. A chair groans under his weight. The door squeaks shut, and far away, the calliope’s music is thrown to silence.

PIERSON: Uh . . . I seek. Knowledge. Of the future.

KAJA: How do you seek this knowledge? Through the cards? Through the secrets trapped in your flesh, made plain in your hands? What divination do you wish?

PIERSON: (BEAT) Hands?

KAJA: Twenty-five dollars, gaji.

Sound: Crumpled money is pulled from a pocket, twenty-five counted off, then the money is hands away.

KAJA: Now, gaji. Give me your hands. (BEAT) Oh, these hands are no strangers to physical work. These are hands that tire at days of labor. (BEAT) But they are a lover’s hands, still in need of some practice in the ways of romance. These are a father’s hands. A father of three. (BEAT) How--?

PIERSON: What’s wrong?

KAJA: (FRIGHTENED) No! ! Get away from this home! Get from this place and never come back!

SOUND: The chair squeals as Pierson rises. His footsteps carry him away – afraid and confused.

KAJA: Go!

SOUND: The door is jerked open, the calliope music returns – a frantic racing rollercoaster sound, adding to (or perhaps reflecting) everyone’s growing frenzy. Pierson’s footsteps carry him onto and down the three steps, where he stops.

PIERSON: But I paid good money! I—

KAJA: Never return!

PIERSON: I paid

SOUND: THE DOOR SLAMS SHUT.

PIERSON: (CON’T) twenty-five bucks.

SAVINA: What did you do?

PIERSON: I didn’t do anything! she just looked at my hands and started screaming at me!

SAVINA: You must have done something to upset her, gaji! What did you do to my Grandmother?

PIERSON: Nothing! Nothing! She just-- Just looked at my hands. And then started-- Screaming! I swear!

SAVINA: Then give me your hands.

PIERSON: Fine.

SAVINA: (BEAT) What are you? What are you, gaji?

PIERSON: What?

SAVINA: (GROWING TERROR) Your hands. You have no lifeline. What are you?

PIERSON: (GROWING CONFUSION) What does that mean?

SAVINA: It means you’re not alive! Not like I am! What are you that you can’t be alive, yet still walk, still breathe!

PIERSON: I don’t under—

SAVINA: ! And I invited you here? Stupid! Stupid girl! (STARTS TO SOB, ANGRY TEARS) Go away!

PIERSON: You people don’t make any sense! I’m alive! I’m normal! You’re crazy! (BEAT) I’m alive!

SOUND: PIERSON PUNCHES HIS CHEST, IN A PROPER MACHISMO GESTURE.

PIERSON: I’m normal! Not some ga—Whatever! Some outsider! (BEAT) I’m normal! (BEAT) Don’t. Don’t look at me like that! Don’t back away, like I’m some kind of freak!

SAVINA: (HOLLOW WHISPER) What have I done?

Sound: Pierson’s fleeing footsteps. A heavy running pace, carrying him back toward the carnival, back toward civilization.

PIERSON: (SCREAMING, TO ASSURE HIMSELF AS WELL AS EVERYONE ELSE) I’m normal! Not a freak! I’m normal!

TRANSITION: Footsteps fade away. Savina breaks into a soul felt moan, with the realization that she’s damned herself and her Grandmother. Her crying drowns to nothing. In it’s place, only the Calliope continues to spin it’s macabre, frenzied dance, before falling to silence as well.

End PROLOGUE.

Music: Theme Music

Narrator: Welcome, travelers. The landscape may be a little new to you. Or perhaps it’s somewhere you can swear you’ve seen before. The source of a powerful deja vu. Maybe you’ve dreamt this. (BEAT) This is the Twilight Country. Where the sun is always just set; dawn is still a long while off; the sky is a piece of violet velvet and the moon is just slipping over the horizon – beautiful in all her glory; where attics and trees are homes to shadow. And sleep . . . Sleep is just a few drooping eyelid blinks away . . .

Music: A quiet music begins. It starts to build slowly, as the Narrator speaks . . .

NARRATOR Tonight we dream of carnival midways. Simple enough things which brings lives together. Still, these things, these carnivals, are places which respect anonymity. True enough, lives are tossed together, bodies are shouldered into one mass, in response to each of them, but there is no need to lose our identities to the world around us. Nevertheless, these places are wonderful siren songs to mental stability, serving to remind us – through these large gatherings – that we aren’t completely alone. That there are always others like us, leading lives similar to our own, who need escape under cotton candy big tops or watching the carousel horses spin and prance in time to cheering recorder music just as much as we do. (BEAT) Now what do we make of this fleeing figure. This Pierson? Rushing back, in a breakneck pace, trying to find that link, that . . . Connection. To the world he calls his own. Will he find what he seeks? Or will the landscape, while he was away, for just one moment, have become inalterably changed? Will he instead find himself trapped in a world, not his own . . . But still, of him. (BEAT) In Twilight Country . . .

MUSIC: ThE quiet music builds and then breaks before any kind of climax that listeners might be expecting. It becomes something brooding. A mournful parting and a promise of things lurking in dark places . . .

ACT I

SOUND: The calliope is louder now, fully before us, around us and everywhere, a part of everything. The crowds are all about as well, we are in the heart of them. Pierson is breathing heavily, footsteps slowing as he enters the midst.

HUCKSTERS: Step on up. The greatest sight this side of paradise. Just a quarter. A nickel. One single dime. Terrifying. The loveliest dancing girls. A nice seat, a nice show. Come on over. Right up here.

VENDOR: Can I help you?

PIERSON: Can I get some cotton—

LADY: (INTERRUPTING) I want some sweets. Candy. Chocolate beans. Something sweet. You got sweets?

PIERSON: candy?

VENDOR: Yeah. We got sweet stuff. How ‘bout some cotton candy.

LADY: Great. That’ll do.

PIERSON: Hey, can I—

VENDOR: You need something buddy?

PIERSON: Yeah—

GUY: (INTERRUPTING) Sure do. My kid is screaming for popcorn. How much for a bag.

VENDOR: He screams too loud, you can sell him to the carnie! (LAUGHTER) Just a quarter.

GUY: Don’t tempt me, I just might. (BEAT) Here you go and thank you . . .

VENDOR: Now, who needs some cotton candy, some sweets, some popcorn. Drinks?

PIERSON: I could –

SECOND LADY: (INTERRUPTING) I need some . . .

PIERSON: (TO HIMSELF) Never mind.

SOUND: Pierson walks away from the vendor. The strength testing bell sounds again. It is almost a round bell for a boxing match.

PIERSON: Why are you staring at me? Don’t stare at me!

A COUPLE: Well, I never . . .

PIERSON: Just stop staring at me!

MALE HALF OF COUPLE: Hey, pal. We aren’t staring.

PIERSON: Just leave me. Alone.

FEMALE HALF OF COUPLE: Weirdo.

SOUND: Footsteps as the couple walks away. Pierson is breathing heavily. Seems to almost sound like a man gone mad. He starts as a voice calls out, nearby.

CLIVE: See them ladies and gents. The strangest marvels of evolutionary accidentation. Come one, come all to the Midnight Sideshow and Freak Theatre! (BEAT) See Bertha! The world’s fee-attest lady! Twelve hunnert pounds of pure, all woman beauty. (BEAT) Or Gargy! Father a bayou man from Lose-ee-ana. Mama the biggest crocagator in the nee-aye-bore-hood. (BEAT) Think you have problems? Be thee-ankful you aren’t Staples! A walking pretzel, whose body is more twisted than should be humanly possible. His brain IS between his legs. Come in and see! (BEAT) A hairy specimine, the one and only, the pettable Maury-Mice, who has a very pronounced animal side. His body is one big old