Gun Plays Repository Meta Data Form

Title: Genre:
Clochettes d'Argent
Short 1-Act Drama

Synopsis (100 words max):

In an Idaho silver mining town, at the very beginning of the previous century, the elderly widow of the town's founder calls the deputy sheriff into her parlor for a long over-due and very frank discussion of how best to address the business of governing their community.

Author: Authors Home Town:

Paul Mullin Seattle, WA

Author Bio (100 words max):

Paul Mullin's plays include Louis Slotin Sonata, The Sequence, The Ten Thousand Things, and An American Book of the Dead - The Game show. His latest, Ballard House Duet, world premiered in Seattle in 2012. He conceived, co-wrote and co-produced NewsWrights United's series of Living Newspapers, and is a regularly contributor to Sandbox Radio Live! Born in Baltimore, Maryland, he now makes his home in Seattle with his wife and two sons. He is currently developing a play about human consciousness tentatively titled Philosophical Zombie Killers. Mullin was Character Breakdown: with a Genius Award for achievement in theatre. recognized by The Stranger

# of Characters:

# of Actors required: 2 Word Count: Estimated Duration*:

2,238
20 min

Why is this a gun play? (100 words max):

The only significant prop in this short play is a six-shot revolver of deep significance to Mr. Fortnightly. It's a gunfighter's weapon, now resting on the hip of a lawman: a fact that Mrs. Primrose decides to dig on a bit.

Production History (if any)

The play was once produced as part of THE BETTY PLAYS at Theater Schmeater in Seattle, 2012.
Special instructions:

(character count {including spaces} divided by 950, equals average duration in minutes)

Clochettes d'Argent
By Paul Mullin (Lights up on Mrs. Primgarten sitting in the parlor of her mansion overlooking the Idaho mining town of Clochettes d'Argent. Her attire is that of a fashionably conservative widow, circa 1910. Mr. Fortnightly, the towns deputy sheriff, stands respectfully before her.) MRS. PRIMGARTEN: How is it, Mr. Fortnightly, that in seven long years you have never had occasion to visit my parlor? MR. FORTNIGHTLY: Maam. Im confident I dont rightly know. MRS. P: Where is your gun, Mr. Fortnightly? MR. F: Maam? MRS. P: Your gun, Sir. Your sidearm? I had come to presume it never left your person. MR. F: Maam, I gave it to your coolie upon my arrival in your vestibule. I thought to wear my pistol-rig in your parlor would be uncouth. MRS. P: Nonsense, Mr. Fortnightly. Youre a gunman, are you not? That is your profession. MR. F: Maam. Im deputy of the law. MRS. P: Just as I say, a gunman. I insist you have your rig, as you call it, about your person, sir. I will have Cheek Eye Chin retrieve it to you at once. (She rings a bell. A long moment passes. She rings the bell again. A long moment passes.) MRS. P: Oh. How egregious. I cannot doubt he is smoking one of his cigarillos behind the privy. He believes I cannot see the blue plume, or worse he does not care. Hes completely irredeemable. A horrible Chinaman, with no notion of his station. Unlike you, Mr. Fortnightly. Would you indulge a poor old woman and retrieve yourself your gun and accoutrements from the antechamber? MR. F: Maam. If you insist.

2012 Paul Mullin

February 13, 2013

2 Clochettes d'Argent By Paul Mullin

MRS. P: I do, sir. I most emphatically insist. MR. F: Very well. hands.) (Fortnightly exits, returning with his gun belt in his

MRS. P: Do strap it on, sir. I see no point to your holding it there all aslew like a dead copper head. (Fortnightly straps on his gunbelt.) What a soothing spectacle it is to behold a man bedeck himself in such a scrupulous manner. MR. F: Maam. MRS. P: You dress arms to the sinister, sir. MR. F: Maam? MRS. P: You are a left-handed gun, Mr. Fortnightly. MR. F: Yes, maam. MRS. P: I wonder if that affords you any advantage on the draw. MR. F: Some. Not much. And of course, none at all when confronting another wronghanded man. MRS. P: I wager theres a story in that piece of personal artillery. Maybe more than one. (Fortnightly says nothing.) But you, Mr. Fortnightly, are shy, sir. And you will not tell tales. I discern that clearly. I do. MR. F: Maam. MRS. P: Where does one acquire an appellation such as Fortnightly?
2012 Paul Mullin February 13, 2013

3 Clochettes d'Argent By Paul Mullin

MR. F: Maam, the Oklahoma territories. MRS. P: Yet I have come to know that you were born and baptized in Baton Rouge. MR. F: Yes, maam. MRS. P: Surname LeBeau. MR. F: Maam. MRS. P: I postulate that one must have discharged a duty on a fairly regular period of two weeks to be bestowed the appellation Fortnightly. MR. F: Maam. MRS. P: The mind does run and reel at the possibilities of what that duty might be. MR. F: Not everything a man does is duty. Maam. MRS. P: Oh my yes. Your point is conceded, Mr. Fortnightly. I imagine modesty precludes your elaboration, sir. MR. F: Maam. MRS. P: May I see it? MR. F: Maam? MRS. P: Your weapon, sir. May I behold it. MR. F: Maam. (Fortnightly draws the pistol by its butt, careful not to touch either trigger or hammer. He presents it in profile to the older lady, the barrel balanced on his pointed right index finger.) MRS. P: Such beauty and such power in such compacted form. MR. F: Maam. MRS. P: Is it loaded?
2012 Paul Mullin February 13, 2013

4 Clochettes d'Argent By Paul Mullin

MR. F: Maam. Theres nothing more useless than an unloaded gun. MRS. P: Really, Mr. Fortnightly? Nothing at all? What about a pen with no nib? Seems to me such a pen would be more worthless than an unloaded gun. You could always beat me to death with that chunk of metal, whether or not it contained bullets, whereas I would likely be stymied to produce a single written word with an nibless pen. MR. F: Maam. MRS. P: May I hold it. MR. F: No, maam. MRS. P: I see. Yes, I suppose a rational man couldnt blame you for being cautious. I can see you discount me as a lady to be feared only for a fool, incapable of properly handling an Army Colt .45 six-shot revolver, even though with its single-action works, there is no possibility of my firing it unless I first pull back the hammer. MR. F: You appreciate my Colts qualities uncommon well for a lady. MRS. P: I have eyes, do I not, Mr. Fortnightly. I have some small familiarity with firearms, lady though I may have come to be. Enough familiarity to understand your reticence in allowing me to enjoy a closer inspection of your beautiful piece. MR. F: No man but myself has ever handled my Colt since I procured her. MRS. P: I am no man, Mr. Fortnightly. You have made particular note of that yourself just now. But let us let this moment pass, chagrining as it is for both of us. MR. F: Maam. first.) (Fortnightly steps forward and hands her the gun, butt

MRS. P: Oh my, yes, indeed. (Mrs. Primgarten inspects the pistol with great reverence, exploring its heft and balance, but also carefully avoiding the trigger and hammer.)

2012 Paul Mullin

February 13, 2013

5 Clochettes d'Argent By Paul Mullin

You do me much honor, Mr. Fortnightly. MR. F: Maam. MRS. P: I too am from the South, sir. Georgia my place of birth. My people, however, were miserably impoverished dirt-farming white trash. Does that surprise you? MR. F: Maam, should it? MRS. P: Indeed not. Betterment is the individual and collective cause of this, our fine Republic, is it not, Mr. Fortnightly. MR. F: Maam, Im sure I do not know. MRS. P: Surely you have known betterment in your life. Since the Oklahoma territories. MR. F: Reconcilliation, Maam. Maybe even redemption, or some piece of it, maam. But of betterment I cannot say. MRS. P: Reconcilliation. Redemption. Thse are not the words of an ignorant unlettered man, Mr. Fortnightly. MR. F: I was learnt my ABCs, Maam. And my churching. MRS. P: Indeed. Until I was nineteen years old, already married and the mother of three children, one dead, I had no notion of my alphabet. I began my education as a fully fruited woman. It was not an easy embarkation, I can assure you. As I say, I came into this world impoverished, but with the will of a provident God, I shall not leave it so. MR. F: Maam. MRS. P: My father farmed tobacco on 20 sharecroppers acres. I was the eldest daughter. My mother dead, I tended to the household, tumbledown shack though it was. My father left me his shotgun for protection. His most prized possession sacrificed from his person in defense of his second most prized possession, his brood. I was honored. I loved that gun. It felt so strong. I would taste the metal. Clean bright tang of steel. My young unproven palate knew no other flavor so singing. You know that taste, Im sure. I would even explore

2012 Paul Mullin

February 13, 2013

6 Clochettes d'Argent By Paul Mullin

the barrel with my slender young tongue. What did I know of the dangers? I was maybe ten, eleven at the most. My father came home early one day to find me sucking on his gun. He firmly removed it from my hands, then beat my bare bottom till it was sore scarlet. My unrippened nipples rang like tiny silver bells and echoed thereafter. My softer parts were sodden. You understand my meaning? I am attempting to be truthful without being crude. I do not think I have been crude. Poetic perhaps, but . . . I was as nonplussed by my bodys odd reaction as any child might be. Do you find it strange that a woman of my age and station can recall such happenings let alone relate them to a practical stranger? MR. F: Maam. MRS. P: But you must attend many strange occurences in your line of work. MR. F: Maam. Its a small town. MRS. P: Indeed. I own most of it. Small but not cheap. And very dear to me. As much if not more than it was to my late husband. MR. F: Maam, I regret I did not have the honor of knowing Mr. Primgarten, him passing has he did prior to my arrival. MRS. P: Of course. (Silence.) I suppose you would find great cause to object it if I put my mouth on your weapon. MR. F: I would, maam. I would deplore it considerably. (Beat.) MRS. P: You see yourself as a sheepdog. MR. F: Maam. MRS. P: You see yourself as a sheepdog, sir. The townspeople your flock. Oh, we both know the sheriff does little but collect his salary. But you, I have watched you, mostly through secondary means, but I have noted your doings, your manners and mien quite closely. You see yourself as serving a calling, do you not, sir, to protect these people?
2012 Paul Mullin February 13, 2013

7 Clochettes d'Argent By Paul Mullin

MR. F: Maam, I would say its my job. I would not employ the word calling. MRS. P: Would you not? Not even in your heart. Not even at night, on your knees, at your prayers, Sweet Lord, guide me as I watch over these your people, your sheep. For they are sheep, are they not? And you watch over them as a trusted mastiff, capable of offering them grievous harm, but never doing sono only offering harm to those that would harm their fellow sheep. Such is a sheepdogs calling, is it not? And if you did view it so, as a calling, in your silent nightly interviews with your merciful God, would doing so be such a sin? (beat) Ah, I see. You shall not say. We have established you shyness on select matters. So be it. I understand your position. I consider myself in a likewise manner. Not a sheep dog, mind you, but a shepherd. A shepherd, unlike a sheepdog, will occasionally harvest a sheep. Sheer its wool if nothing else. Otherwise, what purpose do sheep hold. One does not keep sheep as pets, useless objects of baseless affection. No. Sheep are stock. Stock has value. When a shepherd does harvest from the herd, which is only natural and right, then he is inclined to share something with the trusty sheepdog. This too is only is only right and natural. (Beat.) Sheriff Stone understood this. Until he lost his way. A dog who thinks himself people is a nuisance in all circumstances but the pony show, wouldnt you agree? (Beat.) I have no wish to shock you, Mr. Fortnightly, even if I believed that were possible; but I do hold candor at a premium in my own parlor. (Beat.) Sheriff Stones service to my husband was impeccable and longstanding. Over the duration of my widowhood, however, he has never quite shown me the same respect. Sheriff Stone has lost his way. This is not news to you. (Beat.) Something terrible is going to happen. And it occurred to me that while the crime would be practically unsolvable there is one man that might be able to solve it
2012 Paul Mullin February 13, 2013

8 Clochettes d'Argent By Paul Mullin

and that man is you. Your acumen and your persistence are the hallmarks of a most excellent lawman MR. F: Maam, I appreciate your confidence. MRS. P: You understand, Mr. Fortnightly, I am asking nothing of you. A bad man will be killed and I am stating as plain fact that you shall not solve that crime. You will note, I am not asking you not to investigate the crime. You may investigate it to your stalwart hearts content. Indeed, I fondly hope you do. But you will not solve the crime. In any event, it will most likely be impossible to solve. But should a possibility, no matter how small, no matter how tenuous, arise that the perpetrators of the crime might be apprehended I state plainly that you shall not pursue that possibility. MR. F: Maam. MRS. P: So we understand each other, sir. And the deep mutual benefits of such an understanding. MR. F: Well, maam, I could tell you I know exactly what youre getting act, but I dont believe I will. (Beat.) A man most certainly has his limits. This is deeply true. Maybe the truest thing a man can come to know. But I reckon a man should find these limits, not set them for himself. Find them, or let them find him. You say something might be impossible in any case. And I agree, in any case, it might. But I reckon I owe it to myself and, sure, my God whom you so kindly mentioned, and well them people the sheep, too. I owe it to all them and you as well to say, Well, why not lets see if it is impossible, this impossible thing? (Beat.) Ill have that Colt back, now, maam, if its all the same to you. (He puts his hand out for the gun. Mrs. Primgarten regards his hand for a moment, then places the pistol, butt first, into his grip. Lights fade on Mr. Fortnightly respectfully facing Mrs. Primgarten.)

2012 Paul Mullin

February 13, 2013