Rock and Roll Heaven: A Trio of Uncollected Stories

MISE EN SCENE

A tree, center stage, its branches bare and withered. To the right a cluster of papier-mâché boulders, their crowns touched with white paint to suggest snow. A strip of yellowed meadow grass, a wilted wildflower. To the left stage front a solitary boulder, larger than the others, large enough to conceal a standing man. The backdrop is a mountain scene: Jungfrau, Matterhorn, Dufourspitz. THE STAG hangs from the tree by its rear hoofs, a puddle of stage-blood on the floor beneath its tongue. There is the sound of wind.

THE YOUNG MAN enters from stage left, in alpine gear. His face is smooth as glass, his eyes blue as bullets. The wind has tossed his flaxen hair, and he is breathing heavily. His makeup runs with sweat. He makes as if to throw himself down on the strip of yellowed grass, but starts at a sound from offstage right. Hallooing is heard in the distance. He drops THE BABY and darts behind the boulders in the rear, crouched on all fours. THE BABY wails in two quick bursts like an automatic weapon, then cuts to a gagging mewl and begins crawling toward the STAG. THE BABY comes to rest beneath the dripping tongue. It sleeps.

THE DWARF enters from right, his back bowed beneath a mahogany table. His face is as furrowed as THE YOUNG MAN’s is smooth. His eyes are black. When he sets the table down just to the right of the tree, the legs screech. He lifts his Tyrolean hat and wipes his brow. Then hurries off stage right, like a man on an errand.

THE YOUNG MAN begins to emerge but ducks back when THE GIRL rushes in, her hair in braids. She looks wildly about her, then digs in her petticoat and produces a watch which she consults in great agitation. Then her eyes fall on THE BABY puddled in blood, and she faints, coordinating her movements so as to land behind the fringe of yellowed grass. All that remain visible are her bare legs, thrust through the vegetation. THE YOUNG MAN emerges and stares down at them. He kneels, begins to trace his finger along the legs, then his tongue.

At that moment a piping is heard. THE YOUNG MAN, flustered and ashamed, leaps to his feet and spins about, looking for a place to secrete himself as the piping grows progressively louder. Finally he rushes for the boulder, stage front. He drops THE ELECTRIC TOASTER in his excitement, but manages to conceal himself before PAN enters, piping, PAN’s hocks are shaggy and lewd, his twin horns bald and phallic. He clatters to the tree and scrambles up into the branches as THE SHEPHERD appears, leading a flock of crouching extras in woolly capes. THE SHEPHERD dodders along, trembling on his staff, the odor of sheepshit enveloping the stage, wafting out into the first rows. He pauses before THE BABY, shakes his head, tsks his tongue, and shuffles off. The wind begins to howl.

THE YOUNG MAN peers around the corner of the boulder, his back to THE AUDIENCE. He is about to step forward when THE MURDERER enters, stage left, heaving for breath. Like THE YOUNG MAN he too is dressed in alpine garb, though his shorts and blouse and lederhosen are ill-fitting — he looks like a black bear pinched into a boy scout uniform. He carries an axe in his hand, a sack of heads slung over his back. Noses, ears and chins can be seen protruding from the many rents in the sack’s fabric. He sets his burden down and sniffs about the stage until he finds THE GIRL. He raises the axe. THE YOUNG MAN hesitates, does not fly to her aid. THE MURDERER’s axe flashes like a mirror in the glare of the stage lights. His shoulders swell. But then a yodel sounds offstage right, and THE MURDERER lowers his axe with a craven sneer and slinks behind the cluster of snow-capped boulders.

THE DWARF enters from the right, THE IDIOT in tow. A mountaineer’s rope joins them. THE DWARF is balancing a stack of chairs on his back. THE IDIOT carries a tea service for five, and a highchair. They proceed to set the table, THE IDIOT periodically blundering over the rope. THE GIRL wakes, shakes the grass splinters from her skirt, and sets THE BABY in the highchair before taking a seat at the table herself. Then PAN climbs down from the tree to join her, and THE YOUNG MAN steps from behind the rock and seats himself at her right. She smiles at THE YOUNG MAN. PAN pats her knee. THE DWARF sits and THE IDIOT pours the tea.

At the rear of the stage the lacquered rocks begin to quiver — and THE MURDERER stands, massive as an avalanche. The others ignore him, busying themselves with the tea things. THE BABY slaps a spoon on its saucer and rattles its cup. THE IDIOT crouches over THE TOASTER, stage center, working the lever, slavering into the coils. THE YOUNG MAN glares at THE MURDERER, righteous indignation in his eye. THE STAG bleeds. THE GIRL looks at THE YOUNG MAN. PAN looks at THE GIRL. THE DWARD looks at PAN. THE MURDERER glares at THE YOUNG MAN and opens his mouth to speak.

THE AUDIENCE leans forward.