One day, as I was passing through Lebanon, I came across a crowd at Swine Corners. On the NW corner, standing on a little bandwagon, stood a rather plainly dressed man. He sported a black ribbon tie, starched white shirt, black cut-away morning coat and black trousers. I assume he wore black boots, for the heads of his listeners obscured my vision. Those gathered about him in amphitheatre fashion wore checked cotton shirts and jeans or bib overalls and browned boots.
I asked one of the gathered, “Who’s that speaking?”
He looked me up and down and turned back to his listening. “That’s the preacher, Brother Ron Berptoast.”
“What’s he talking about?”
“He’s impartin’ his vision.”
“What did he envision? God?”
The man turned full around and looked unwaveringly into my face. “We don’t cotton to no ridicule in these here parts. Brother Berptoast is serious business.” And he turned away again.
I decided I would step back and observe the goings-on from the opposite corner. There was a wooden bench there and my legs ached, felt rubbery. I looked up at the sky—glaring blue. I sat, hoping a breeze would come along. My shirt was already wet and salt stained at the pits.
“And it behooved me to pass along my vision, my puissance, my revelation to you, my fellow men.” He fetched his handkerchief from his coat breast pocket and touched his mouth with it. “I say to you. . .I was stranded at the entrance to the chapel when it came upon me. Descended upon me in a bright steel blue flash like the lightning that Paul in the desert saw before his vision. I was blinded, mindless and senseless, to all but the picture put into me from above. I was touched, I say. Touched by the Holiest of Holies.” He dabbed at his upper lip with his sparkling white hanky. The ring on his little finger gleamed too. “And I am here to tell it to you all, that you, too, might know.” He paused. His voice lowered in register. “It was late in the evening. In the gloaming when the world is more than it is. A chariot appeared to me. Before me. A chariot! In this here day and age. There was no one around. It was a dark chariot. Drawn by eight milk white steeds. Driven by a tall dark stranger with fire in his eyes. Flashing from his dark black eyes. A slightly askew smile on his thin lips. I was awed. I trembled with fear and trepidation. A complexion darker—I say, darker than any man I have ever seen stared out at me from an atmosphere so hot and suffocating that I knew he was a being from another realm. And following this chariot was a host, a multitude of dark liveries mounted on dark steeds that stood a full 21 hands high. I trembled in my bones. My shoes became loose on my feet. My hair stood on end to rival the silky flowing mass of the charioteer’s black locks.” Brother Berptoast mopped his brow. “Appreciating my fear and over-awedness, he spoke to me. He spoke to me the words that make my appearance before you a reality. A necessity.” Pause. “He said, step upon my chariot, human, and I shall show you wonders beyond all calculation. And do you know? Do you know my crazed feet carried me up upon that dark chariot and stood joyous as a baby’s first steps next that raven stranger. Why in my fear and trembling had I done such a thing? Lord, lord, lord, there was a power here I did not understand. A power greater than myself. There was naught I could do but follow.” Brother Ron raised his hanky high and then pointed it directly at his audience. “I had no power to refuse! And before I was aware, I found I was in the chariot proceeding through the thick sulfurous air at a speed I dare not calculate. Onward we went. Onward and upward. Onward with the rapidity and ease of the wind until we stopped before a door in the High Street of Climax. Nary a word spoke my deep, dark companion. There was a crowd of people in the street. But no notice did they take of my caliginous caravan with its extraordinary equipage. Was I then invisible? It would have been difficult to miss the entourage and chariot from which I alighted—for I knew this was the place. The place I should get off. The place that was intended for me. Yet no one saw!” Brother Berptoast jabbed the air with each insistent word. I shifted my position. “The house at which we sopped appeared to be a shop. I do not know what kind of shop. I could see no sign. I also do not remember ever having seen a shop in this place before. When the dark stranger ushered me in, I was confronted by a vast half-ruined palace. Far in excess of what that common little shop door could have realized. I was in awe of the space. The high ceilings disappeared into the vague sky—if sky it was, for my eyes could not see so high. Intricate yet heavy columns evenly spaced about like a cathedral. Huge pillars of marble. And windows. . .windows of cut glass and pointed gothic arches from which no light emanated. But dark flashes of lightning rose up behind them illuminating the walls of intricately woven stone that went on and on. . .” Brother Berptoast let his hand and his gaze move on and on. I crossed my legs. “Room after room my mysterious mentor led me, pausing only to urge my befuddled feet onward. What did these rooms look like? I no longer remember but they were numberless. Numberless as the rooms in God’s mansion. But. . .I do remember that last room. That room was more cave-like than the rest. Its walls less finished. Yet with all the dancing shadows from the firelight, great bleeding torches, I could not be sure. The tall dark stranger stopped. And gestured. And there before me sat a senate of ghosts debating on the progress of the plague. Yes! That same plague that ravishes our land today! And around the edges of this grand cavern, illuminated by garish bouts of twisted lightning, I saw gibbering and chattering skeletons running about. Running lasciviously after each other. Playing leap-frog. I shrank into myself. I did not belong here. My legs trembled and became rooted to the spot as my will strove to drive me onward. Escape! Escape! My inner voice roared at me. But I could not move. . .until the man bid me proceed beyond these squabbling ghosts into a wild, uncultivated plot of ground out of which rose up a black rock as smooth as—there is nothing so smooth.” I took a drink of water. Brother Berptoast wiped around his face, his eyes round and filled with wonder. “Down the walls of this cavern oozed and drooled water. A water that sparkled a yellow-green. This is my water, the darksome man said, pointing with a long finger. A very long finger with a very long blue-black fingernail. Vin invitae! He laughed. His lips pulled back to reveal long white fang-like teeth, the incisors creasing his lower lips. A grimace from out of which blew the mirthless laugher and a stench that only the brimstone of hell could produce. My knees went weak. I stepped back, reaching out to catch my balance. Don’t touch! he shouted at me. His voice rang off the walls. I covered my ears.” Brother Berptoast covered his ears. “The ringing bugged my eyes out.” Brother Ron did so. “I could not tolerate the tintinnabulation. I thought my mind would come squeezing out my ears. My nose. My open gaping mouth.” Brother Berptoast paused, filling the silence with his grimacing. I looked up at the sky and was immediately blinded. When I returned to Brother Berptoast’s bathos, he was a gyrating ghost in a tarnished halo. As he turned blue, he sucked in a great gasping breath and raised his hands to the sky. “Never in the world had I heard such a concatenation. I tried to plead my cause to the Lord. . .the bleating risibility ceased. I was enveloped in silence, silence that took my breath away. I looked at my Cimmerian companion—I didn’t want to! Lord help me, I did not want to! And yet I could not but look at him.” Brother Berptoast looked, handkerchief at his mouth. “His finger shot out, pointing to the ground. My gaze followed.” He followed his own trembling finger. “And. . .Lord help me! It was no longer stone but earth! The Earth. The ground beneath your feet. And that poison sucked itself into that earth. My earth. I saw it sinking into the world and polluting all the life therein. All the life upon it. And its noxious fumes rose up like highway heat mirage and choked the life out of the birds and the bees and they fell to the putrid earth and were consumed. And I saw this venomous liquid insinuate itself into the very wells and springs of the city making the water unfit to drink. By the Lord above I was struck dumb. . .the people were drinking of this polluted water. They knew not what they did. And they paid the price. I saw their walking corpses green and pus-filled bursting their humanity and falling empty to the ground.” I took a drink. “After seeing all this, the Stygian stranger showed me into yet a further room. What a marvelous, glorious chamber it was! Gilt and gold everywhere. My eyes were struck dumb from the brilliance. Piles. Piles and piles. Pile upon pile of rubies and pearls and sapphires and diamonds rose up before me. The floor was strewn with semi-precious stones. Once again his finger shot out, pointing at each and every stack of gems. These, he breathed, these are all yours, wealth beyond imagination. . .if you but do two things. I looked up into his imposing, hypnotic eyes. You must kneel to me and worship me. And you must go about the land and smear this pestiferous salve on all the doors I tell you.” Brother Ron Berptoast paused. He let the power of the moment seep into his by now bewitched spectators and I shifted my position. The preacher began again in a soft voice. “I knew then that this black spectre was Satan. And somehow. . .somehow the Lord gave me strength to refuse this primordial bribe.” Preacher Ron’s voice rent the air and I leaned forward. “Lightning flashed from his eyes! A gurgling, growling roar rose up out of him! He scowled down at me. His fingers clawed the air. And a loud clap of thunder burst over his head!” Brother Berptoast thundered, hands furiously tearing at the air. His listeners jumped. I sat up straight, grasping my water bottle. And then the preacher settled himself, wiping the spit from about his lips. Dabbing at his eyes. “And then. . .and then I found myself standing on the steps of the chapel. Alone.”
I took to following Preacher Ron Berptoast as he toured the country. He repeated his vision day after day. Without variation. Word for word. And all the populace became firm believers in his truth—that the scourge upon the land was due to the devil. As everyone wished to root out the devil, people searched high and low for his mysterious house. The police became involved. The Reserves. The military. Yet the demon of the pestilence could not be found. Nor the hall of ghosts. Nor the poisonous fountain. But the minds of the people were so imbued with Brother Berptoast’s idea that scores of witnesses, half-crazed by disease, came forward to swear that they too had seen the diabolical stranger, heard his chariot clattering down the street at the head of eight milk white steeds and a teeming dark multitude of liveries, dancing skeletons and arguing ghosts. Some even heard the thunder of his accursed laughter. And they’d point out this house or that, this person or that.
Then one day, Brother Ron Berptoast stepped up on his little bandwagon and told of another vision he had had.
The Making of Wu Youming
November 2, 2009As promised, here is the first article about the educational world in China. As you will see, it has nothing to do with education per se; but it does have something to do with the kind of people who work in that bizarre little world: narrow-minded, petty, racist. This is my rendering of a particular vicious incidence of character assassination. It is in film (TV) format, though I also wrote it for theatre.
You will see that the characters are “letters”: there are no names but for the woman who was persecuted and ruined via rumor. Her name is Wu Youming吴有名, which could be read as Nobody Famous or The Famous Nobody (Wu being a family name that is homonomous with “nobody,” and youming meaning “famous”). It is pure and simple revenge on the part of L, M, G and C (though C is just a toady).
The irony is that by running her to ground, these character assassins actually made her famous, she wasn’t important enough to make a big deal over. The play/film was written about a year ago. I spent alot of time writing social satire, first in theatre 40 years ago, then in prose. I love Absurdism. I pull no punches.
Any filmmaker who would like to film this and show it, please do so. Anyone who wants the play script, please ask. So…The Making of Wu Youming.
The Making of 吴有名
Blank screen.
White noise.
Titles:
The Making of吴有名
Written by: James L. Secor
Directed by:
PLACE: A copse of trees. Idyllic.
TIME: Dusk.
ANGLE: From the side and behind 吴有名. Still camera.
Silence.
The only noise is that accompanying the action.
A dirty street person (woman) shuffles into the scene. This is 吴有名.
Ruffles her rags. Scratches her ass.
As she makes her way into the trees. . .
Voice Over: A formal, serious Master of Ceremonies voice telling the TV audience a secret. If he speaks too loudly, the old woman might hear him.
Voice Over
This is 吴有名. That is not her real name. That has long been forgotten. 吴有名 is how she is known. During the bad times, everyone suffered. Perhaps the richer sorts more than the others. My father knew the man who ran the local tavern so I went to work. Workers came here and the out-of-sorts due to the bad times, the better sort and the pretenders. And吴有名. No one really knew who she was. She never said. Always, it was, “I’m just nobody. A figment of your imagination. Don’t even pay attention to me.” But everyone did.
“Hey, look! Nobody’s here!” would be the inevitable shout when 吴 showed up at the door.
Sometimes, she would growl back, “If I’m nobody, how can I be here?”
And everyone laughed.
吴有名 was the local joke. Downing her was a way to make everyone else feel better. The times, they were not good.
吴 never came into the tavern. She would sit on the jamb and call for her wine. It was my job to take her her wine. She had no job that anyone knew of. It was rumored, though, she’d once been a teacher. But she gave that up. No one knew why. Some of the patrons called her “professor” on account of her past life and because she would often talk about things no one understood. When she began, everyone would egg her on and tease her and laugh at her outpourings of gibberish– gibberish to them and to a 13-year old as well. Though I laughed with the others and did not understand much at all of what 吴 said, I nevertheless felt she was somehow–different. Under my skin, I knew she knew something the rest of us didn’t. Her eyes were more intense, less dry. They should have been empty because of her situation. She was more real to me than everybody else. How can I explain that?
By this time, 吴有名 has disappeared into the woods.
ANGLE: Hold still-camera and. . .
IRIS IN TO SEPIA.
IRIS OUT.
PLACE: The bedroom of a house. Everything is white. Sparsely furnished. No windows.
TIME: Mid-day, bright and sunny.
ANGLE: From above and slightly off centre.
Voice Over
This is a bedroom.
ANGLE: Camera pans around the room.
Stops at a clothes closet.
Voice Over
This is a closet. It is dark in there. A small little room. Confining. It is a place for storing things. Usually clothes. But sometimes people live in closets.
Suddenly, the closet door flies open.
ANGLE: Close-up of a multitude of masks crowded together in the closet.
Voice Over
And on the inside of the door is written. . .
ANGLE: Slow pan around to sign on door. Fills TV screen.
SIGN READS: No Exit.
Pause.
ANGLE: Camera pulls away for a long shot of the closet with open door.
But now there are only three men crushed into the closet, their masks staring out at the camera.
ANGLE: Hold.
Voice Over
It is a very narrow world in there. But it is all the world they’ve got. Centred on themselves, they like to impose their worldview on everyone outside, anyone who doesn’t fit with their closed belief of how things are. Anyone they think threatens them is ripe for a revaluing.
The closet door slowly closes and latches itself shut.
Banging around in the closet.
SLOW FADE TO SEPIA AS. . .
Voice Over
When the door’s closed too long, it begins to smell in there.
BLACKOUT.
LIGHTS UP.
PLACE: An office. Typical office. But the desk is over-sized, as is the other furniture. The room is stark white. The furniture is brown, resembling piles of shit.
TIME: Late afternoon.
A short man sits behind the desk. He is almost lost. He wears a mask. The mask is of a well-groomed, debonnaire businessman. It is slightly too big for his head. This is Mr. L.
Sitting on the sofa is a somewhat less formally dressed man, also in a mask that is too large for his head. He is taller than Mr. L. This man is smoking. When one cigarette is finished, he lights another. This is Mr. M.
Mr. L
We have a problem.
Mr. M
We do?
L
We do.
M
What is it?
L
One of our staff is misbehaving.
M
Oh, no! Not again!
L
Different one.
M
Oh? Who?
L
Miss吴.
M
Nice Miss吴?
L
A wolf in sheep’s clothing.
M
I knew it. I just knew it.
L
Me too.
M
They’re all really too much alike.
L
So! (Stands) We must do something about it.
Mr. L goes to the chair near the sofa and sits.
L
Before things get out of hand.
Mr. L lights a cigarette. L & M smoke awhile.
As the scene progresses, the smoke haze grows thicker and thicker. They adjust by raising their voices til they are shouting at each other because they cannot see each other.
M
What do you suggest we do?
L
Find corroborating evidence.
M
You mean dig up more dirt?
L
No, no. Digging up what’s been left behind. She’s obviously hiding something.
M
Or she wouldn’t be here.
L
Exactly. If she’s really who she says she is, she wouldn’t be in this backwater.
M
Yes. Of course. It’s the way of the world.
L & M smoke for a bit, contrapuntally.
M
Why do they think we are so stupid we won’t see this?
L
Racial prejudice.
M
Ah. Yes. Always right.
L
Superior.
M
But we are not so stupid.
L
No indeed not. We are very intelligent and insightful.
M
We have a long history of intelligence and. . .stuff. Stuff like that.
L
And so we find things out.
Smoking continues.
M
How do we do it?
L
We’re missing something.
M
Yes! We are!
L
Let us take another look at her resume.
M
Yes. Let’s.
Mr. L retrieves several sheets of paper from his desk, returns to chair, hands one piece of paper to Mr. M.
They peruse the pages, holding them up against their noses. They grunt like pigs.
They switch pages and repeat.
They switch pages several times.
M
I find nothing.
L
Me neither.
M
This must not be all.
L
Hiding something.
M
As you say.
Although L & M have been lighting up before, it is necessary that they light up now, filling the air with great beginning puffs of smoke.
L
Ask for a complete resume.
M
Isn’t this it?
L
She’s obviously hiding something.
M
Ahhhh. . .yes.
L
Then we will jump on her.
M
How do you know she’ll do it?
L
They’re all the same. What do they know about subtlety and cunning? We have a long history of language ambiguity and hiding our minds behind smiling eyes and gentle winning ways.
M
Stupid to the point of ridiculousness. Easy pickings.
L
In the meantime, I’ll investigate her house.
M
How will you do that?
L
I have connections.
M
Oh. Those guys.
L
Yes. Those guys.
M
We’re bound to find something, then.
L
It’s inevitable.
FADE OUT.
FADE UP.
PLACE: A different office with the same furniture rearranged.
TIME: Late afternoon. A slant of sunlight slices through the room.
Mr. G sits at his computer. He is doing nothing. He is about the same age as Mr. M.
Mr. M appears at the open door and knocks.
Mr. G turns in his chair. He is wearing a mask. Too big for him. A dapper, superior-looking mask as befits his nattily dressed figure. He is a smooth, controlled talker.
Mr. G
Yes? Come in.
M
I’m Mr. M.
G
Ahh! Mr. M. Welcome. Welcome. Come in. Come in.
Mr. G goes to Mr. M and shakes his hand, guides him to the chair.
Mr. G stands a moment looking down on Mr. M. Mr. M looks up to Mr. G
Mr. G sits on sofa, far from Mr. M.
G
I’m glad you could come.
M
I’ve come about Miss吴.
G
Yes. Yes. I remember her well. Caused quite a stir here. Upset the smooth running of everything. Even questioned me, of all people. Can you imagine?
M
Yes. She is a problem.
G
Yes. I mean. . .who does she think she is? I’m the internationally known translator and Bible expert.
M
And Dean. G
Yes, yes. Indeed. I am that. (Pause. Claps hands together) So! What can I do for you?
M
It’s Miss吴.
G
So you said.
M
We want to know if she did anything similar down here to what she’s done up there. With us.
G
And what might that be?
M
It seems–(Coughs)–she likes little boys.
G
Is that so? Well. . .oh, yes! I do recall something like that. Seduced– sexually abused a young boy student. Yes. Very terrible, sad thing. (Pause) Is that the kind of thing you’re looking for?
M
Yes. Exactly.
G
Glad to be of help. Will there be anything else?
M
Could we see the boy?
G
Ah, no. I’m afraid not. He’s. . .not here, you know. So traumatized we had to send him home. We can’t have you disturbing the poor innocent.
M
No, no. Of course not. We would like you to come up and talk with Mr. L, my superior. And perhaps sign a statement.
G
Ahhh. No. No. I can’t do that. No, no. Too many responsibilities down here. I’m the dean, you know. People rely on me. And there’s a great school event we’re involved in carrying off. Perhaps you saw the banners. . .
M
No. I saw no banners.
G
Well. . .perhaps they’ve not gotten them up–as they should. (Goes to window and looks out) You know how some workers are. Let me see. . .I’ll just make a note of that. . . (Scribbles on a scrap of paper) Anything else
M
We are willing to make it worth your while.
G
Well, now. . .let me check my calendar. . .
Mr. G goes to computer and messes around a bit.
Turns in chair.
G
It looks like I could manage to sneak away for a day or two. I find I’m really not needed right away after all. My secretary can take care of things. Delightfully competent young lady. And quite alluring, too.
Mr. G rubs his hands together. Licks his lips.
BLACKOUT.
G
(Voice in blackout) I’ll show you to best me! I’ll ruin you! I’ll stomp you into the ground. You. . .you. . .
LIGHTS UP.
PLACE: Mr. L’s office.
TIME: Evening. Full moon visible out the window.
Mr. L and Mr. M at door, having just seen Mr. G out.
They look at each other.
They offer each other a cigarette.
They shake hands.
Mr. L. and Mr. M go to sofa and chair and light up.
M
Imagine. . .finding the filthy, dirty proof so easily.
L
Yes. We are good. But you know. . .
M
What?
L
She is so stupid to leave it lying around for all to see.
M
They are all so stupid.
L
Especially to think that we are so stupid.
M
That we would not find it.
L
Luckily Mr. G was around and had a story to tell.
M
Very convincing story, too.
L
Can you imagine even thinking you could get away with something so disgusting.
M
I would never think of such a thing. Even with Miss C.
L
Oh, yes. She is very. . .
M
Delicious.
L
Yes. Delicious.
Phone rings.
Mr. L goes to desk to answer it.
L
Yah? . . . Oh? . . . Right out in the open? . . . How disgusting. . . . Eh? You’re kidding! . . . Oh. Thank you for keeping me posted, Miss C. (Hangs up. To Mr. M) That was Miss C.
M
Ah. She is a good spy.
L
Yes, she is. And Miss吴 does not know. She tells her everything and Miss C sifts through it for the truth she knows lies hidden in there.
Mr. L and Mr. M laugh and puff their cigarettes.
Mr. L returns to his chair, carrying his phone with him.
M
What did Miss C say?
L
Miss吴 hugs the boys in public.
M
Oh. That is disgusting.
L
In the school yard where everyone can see.
M
I mean!
L
She doesn’t even try to hide it.
M
Miss C tells me they visit her house often on the weekends.
L
Oh? She tells me it is only one boy.
M
One boy?
L
The public displays of affection are only cover for what happens in her house. Of course.
M
How sneaky.
L
Devious.
Mr. L and Mr. M smoke.
L
We found spots on the bed clothes.
M
Really? Stiff white ones?
L
Of course. I don’t think she washes her sheets.
M
Likes to revel in the deed
L
Yes. Disgusting.
M
Who is the boy?
L
Little N.
M
How interesting.
L
Yes. Isn’t it.
M
You’d think he would know better.
L
Oh, you know. . .boys today. It’s the only thing they think of. She just takes advantage of the situation.
M
It must be the only thing she thinks of, too.
L
Doubtless.
M
Not like our day.
L
Certainly not.
Mr. L and Mr. M smoke.
The phone rings.
L
Yah? . . .Oh. Hi, sweet thing. . . . Hmm? . . .You must go away for another meeting? . . . I was so hoping you’d be around this weekend, I’m feeling particularly randy. . . . Yes, yes. I know. . . . Yes. I can fend for myself. I’m a big boy, you know. . . . Alright. ‘Bye, dear. (To Mr. M) That was my wife.
M
Ah. Off on another business trip?
L
Yes. So very many.
M
There is a nice young girl at the massage parlor.
L
Yes?
M
Yes. Must be all of 14 or 15. Nice pert little breasts. No stretch marks.
L
Yes?
M
Yes. Cherry red nipples that stand right up.
L
White skin?
M
Like milk.
L
Hair?
M
Shaved.
L
Ooh! How nice.
M
She’ll do anything you ask.
L
Really?
M
Yes. And not so very expensive, all things considering.
L
Pity she’s not a virgin.
M
There are no more of them at that age.
L
Not like the old days.
M
Not like our wives.
L
Yes. . .what has happened to the world? No more purity.
Phone rings.
L
Yah? . . . What?! (Jumps up) What? . . . What? . . . You’re kidding. . . . Damn! . . . Alright. You know who to talk to. (To Mr. M) She’s slipping through the net.
M
What? How could she.
L
I don’t know. We didn’t do anything to tip her off.
M
No, no, no. But she’s so disgusting, it’s hard to talk to her.
L
Yes. Or even be pleasant.
Pause.
M
How do you know?
L
Miss C’s with her now. At the train depot.
M
Damn!
L
She was going to leave without telling us.
M
That’s breaking the contract.
L
She can’t do that.
M
We can sue her.
L
Yes. . .if we can keep track of her.
M
What are you going to do?
L
Plan B.
M
Plan B?
L
Always have a contingency plan, Mr. M. You must keep in mind that things do occasionally go wrong. So. . .Miss C is going to leak the truth to a few key people. We must do the same.
M
But she might get away.
L
I can take care of that.
Mr. L and Mr. M stub out their cigarettes. Mr. M immediately lights another.
Mr. M leaves.
Mr. L picks up his phone.
SLOW SAD FADE TO BLACK.
IRIS OUT.
Sepia of opening shot.
吴有名’s voice. Over the action. She has a scratchy, alto voice.
吴有名
Some people look at life through a pirate’s spy glass and at the other end they see themselves. Their coping mechanism is putting everything into this universe’s orb. Behavior is, after all, what you see. (Snorts) To everything there is a reason. These people construct reasons for whatever disconnected bits and pieces they see and want to see in their spy glass. They commit murder. Kongzi said, Clever talk, a pretentious manner and a reverence that is only of the feet–Tso Ch’iu Ming was incapable of stooping to them, and I too could never stoop to them. (Scratches her ass. Farts) I don’t know. I just don’t know. Not any more.
IRIS IN TO BLACK
LIGHTS UP.
PLACE: Mr. L’s office.
TIME: Mid-day. Sun streams in through the window. Very, very bright.
Mr. L is at his desk, on his phone.
L
Yes, that’s right. . . . Yes. Well, you know. They are all pretty stupid. . . . Yes. Easy to pull the wool over their eyes. . . . Yes. String her along. . . . That’s right. And then dump her. . . . Yes, I know. It is disgusting. But what can we do, eh? It is our job as citizens to stop crime before it happens. . . . Ah. Yes. Well. How she escaped here is a mystery. But we have her now, yes? . . . What?! . . . She’s making friends with the girls?! . . . How utterly despicable! Boys and girls. . . . Yes. Be nice and keep your distance. . . . Alright. Thank you. (Ends call) Yes! We’ve got her! The foreign devil.
Knock at door.
L
Enter!
Mr. M comes in holding newspapers.
M
We have a problem.
L
Solved.
M
No. I don’t think so. Take a look at this.
Mr. M hands papers to Mr. L.
Mr. L. reads, exasperated. Reads another and another. Exasperation grows.
M
She has made herself so public.
L
This makes our job more difficult.
Mr. L and Mr. M sit at sofa and chair and light up. They puff awhile.
L
Those kinds of people cannot not leave a trail of slime. And she has the gall to do this!
M
You mean like they are hooked? Like on drugs?
L
Exactly.
M
And when they are high, druggies do wild and crazy things. Everybody knows that.
Mr. L and Mr. M puff on their cigarettes.
L
I have spoken to the people down there.
M
You have?
L
Yes. Miss吴 is now into girls.
M
What?! Oh, that’s horrible!
L
Yes. It is. Insatiable filth.
M
Does she do both together?
L
What a. . .thought!
Pause.
M
Grime and shit.
L
Soiled and dingy.
Mr. L and Mr. M smoke in time with their epithets.
M
Musty and messy.
L
Sloppy and untidy.
M
Foul and mucky.
L
Rotten and putrid.
M
Smutty and slimy.
L
Come and juice!
M
Tongues and fingers!
L
Front door and back door!
M
Sixty-nine!
L & M
(Shout) Mouse eats little brother!
Silence at fever pitch.
M
I wouldn’t mind getting her.
L
You filthy bastard.
M
Wouldn’t you like to get her?
Mr. L stands. Straightens clothes.
M
You know what they say. .
L
I’m a man.
M
Me too.
Mr. M lights another cigarette and sucks strongly on it.
Mr. L goes to bookcases. Rummages around. Comes out with a bottle of champagne.
L
I’ve been saving this.
M
Good stuff, huh?
L
Oh, my, yes.
Mr. M gets out paper cups.
Mr. L. goes to chair.
They stand a moment.
They take off their masks.
ANGLE: Close-up of faces.
Mr. L and Mr. M are truly disgusting looking. Their faces are distorted and almost inhuman-looking and spotted with greenish mold.
ANGLE: Tight frame on Mr. L and Mr. M and champagne.
Mr. L pops the cork. Foam billows out over bottle neck and hands. They laugh suggestively.
Mr. L pours two paper cups full. They foam over. Mr. L and Mr. M laugh again.
L
Another one bites the dust.
M
Another one bites the dust.
ANGLE: Pull away as Mr. L and Mr. M drink and laugh.
MUSIC: Queen, “Another One Bites the Dust.”
SLOW FADE TO SEPIA.
Run credits.
THE END
Tags:china, hefei university of technology, racism, revenge motif, rumor, university
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