Excerpts from Alegre Island by Jacob Chaos by Teatro de Repente

Scene Thirteen (The Sunset Lodge) Pru: Is that Connie MacPherson down on the road? Oh, God, he sees me. He sees me. He’s coming up here, Bull. Bull: Serves you right. Scrawnie Connie Macpherson. Sure a gust could heave him right out into the water. Molly'll have his hide for coming in here. Pru: Well, coming in here he is too. (Winds howl as Connie enters.) Connie: Evening Mrs. Brewster, Mr.Brewster. Pru and Bull: Evening Conrad/Connie. Nasty night to be out./ Fancy seeing you here. Pru: You thirsty, Connie? Mr. Brewster still has some root beer that he put down for the children’s Christmas party. You look terrible. Go get him a root beer, Bull. Bull: Put your sweater by the fire Connie. You'll get pneumonia. And call me Burt. Connie: I thought your name was Bull. Bull: You can call me Bull if you like. Connie: Is that cause your a good shot, like, Mr. . . . Bull . . . et? Bull: Ahh... Connie: Or cause you look like a bull. Pru: No, Connie. It's cause Mr. Brewster is a good shot with a dart. We used to call him Bullseye Brewster. Now, we just call him Bull. Connie: Bullseye. That's better than Bull. Bull: Yes, Connie, yes it is. Connie: Can I call you Bullseye, Mr. Brewster? Bull: Sure Connie. Have you ever played darts? Connie: No. Uhh? Let me . . . ?? No.

Bull: You come back when you got some time and I'll show you. Connie: Tomorrow? Bull: Tomorrow might be difficult. How's about a week from Sunday. Connie: Okay, Bullseye. Bull: But you have to get Molly's permission first. Connie: Oh. Bull: Not likely, eh? Connie I'll try. Bull: All-right. Two root beer. Pru? (Bull exits. Winds howl. Pru cradles Connie's sweater in her arms.) Connie: You made that. For me. Pru: I know. Connie: You made a gray one for me and a green one for Jamie. Pru: I know. Connie: Mrs. Brewster? Pru: Call me Pru, Connie. You're not a boy anymore. Connie: I can't. You're Mrs. Brewster, Jamie's mom. Pru: All-right. (Pause.) Connie: I'm sorry I don't come round. I Pru: - How's Molly?

Connie: She's learning how to knit. Pru: Is she! What's she making? Connie: Socks. For six months. Pru: Tell her - I said - socks are a devil to make the first time. It's the toe or the heel, one of the two will always give you trouble. She's better off starting with a scarf. Connie: I don't need a scarf. I need socks. Pru: Oh. Well, if she wants, I can drop down and show her how to finish the socks. Will you tell her that, that I can drop over if she wants, and we can knit something together? Will you do that for me Connie? Connie: Yup. (Pause) Mrs. Brewster Pru: - Connie, your shoes are soaked. Get them off and get closer to the fire. Connie: Nope. Pru: Conrad, you'll catch cold like that. Don't be a boy, now get Connie: - Can't! . . . Holes in my socks. Pru: Oh, my. (Bull enters.) Bull: Mother of God, I haven't seen a wind like that since 1962. Here you go Connie. There’s no alcohol in root beer, so she won't smell a thing on your breath. Drink up, my son. Pru: Connie, I just cooked up this big lunch for nobody. Maybe you and Molly can help me from throwing it out if I packed up some things for the two of you. Connie: Okay. (Pru exits.) Bull: You still doing volunteer work up at the church?

Connie: Yup. Bull: Hmmmm. Connie: Yeah. Bull: Mrs. Brewster and I would like to offer you some hours round here, part time, in the spring, if things pick up. Would you be up for something like that? I mean we'd pay you... something. Would you like to do that? And it would be good to have a young man around here. For Mrs. Brewster. So it'd be good all the way round. You know what I mean? (A knock at the door.) Connie. I . . . have . . . to go. (Bull exits and reenters with Alice.) Alice: Hello Bull. Bull: Alice Petterson. Get in here, get in here for God´s sake. Don't take your boots off. Alice: No, no need to be tracking in all that mud. Not if you don't have to. Bull: Don't be so foolish. Alice: Oh my, it's cosy in here. Bull: You've got a generator? Alice. Oh, we've got one, but Stilts prefers the oil lamp and the wood-stove, even if it means ruining his back heaving that axe. (She spies Connie.) Hello, Connie. Connie: Hello, Mrs. Pettersen. Bull: Here, sit right here. I'll get Pru. Connie: Sit here by the fire Mrs. Pettersen. I have to go now. Bull: Hang on a minute, Connie . . . Connie: Molly's waiting in the truck. Bull: In the . . . ? Why didn't you say so before?

Connie: She don't like to bother no-one. Bye Mrs. Petterson. Alice: Bye Connie. Best to Molly. Connie: Yup. (Connie leaves.) Alice: I worry about that boy, leaving Molly to freeze in the truck. I started cleaning the rectory today and here's Molly sitting in a cold truck while I steal her only livelihood. Bull: Ahhh, they're young. Have to learn the hard way like the rest of us. Molly and Connie were just kicked out of the nest a little early, but they'll find their wings. I'll get Pru. She wasn't expecting you, you know. She's real . . . Alice: Yup. Bull: Real . . . Alice: Fragile. Bull: Yeah. And with this weather . . . I dunno . . . I was gonna take her over to town - you know - on the weekend – you know - surprise her. But likelihood of that is . . . so . . . Alice: I know. Bull: You have everything you need for the memorial? Alice: Almost everything; we'd have everything if Pru would come. Bull: I see. That's real nice what you're doing. Alice: Jamie was a marvellous boy. Bull: All right. I'll go find Pru. Alice: Okay, Bull. (Bull exits. Pru enters.) Pru: Alice Petterson.

Alice: Prudence Brewster. Pru: I was meaning to call you. How's Stilts? Alice: Contrary as ever. How's Bull? Pru: Haven't left him yet. You look good. Alice: I need to wash and set my hair. Pru: You got power? Alice: Out since this morning. Phone's still working. I can't keep it in Pru: What? Alice: Pru, my love, I think you should come with us to the service on Sunday night. It'll do your heart good. Pru: With that devil. Alice: Gosse? Reverend Gosse is not the devil, Pru. Pru: Tell me, Alice, don't you feel something, something strange. Alice: How do you mean? Pru: You know how I mean. Alice: Stilts calls it queer weather for February. Mother would call it torment in the air. Pru: I can smell them, the faeries. Every yeart his time, round the time they took my Jamie. Alice: Oh, go on. Pru: Violets, pansies. Alice: Oh, Pru. Pru: I know you think I'm cracked.

Alice: I don't . . . We had horses when I was small, six small work horses. Bright, lively creatures, with ears that would prick at the littlest noise, and eyes wide awake showing they knew you, trusted you, and would always bring you home safe. Maisie, she was my favorite cause she'd take me anywhere; sweet, affectionate Maisie. But she wouldn't take me up the hill behind the town. Mother said that was where the faeries lived and she called it Green Gardens. It was way up behind the town, so we never really went up there as kids. And it's the only time Maisie bucked when I tried to take her up a path. Mother said the faeries didn't like to be bothered, under any circumstances. I never went against mother's word, but I did go in the barn one morning. . . . and all the horses' manes were braided. Pru: Braided! Alice: Like a dolls. Just like you'd braid your own hair. All six of them. “The faeries come down from Green Gardens lookin' for children in the night,” mother said, “and they braided the horses' manes jus' to pass the time.” It was so pretty and I was scared to death. Pru: I wish I could have seen it. Alice: Ahh, tuberculosis was still big back then. Green Gardens was mother's way of explaining away the kids who were took to the sanitarium and never come back. Pru: There could be a Green Gardens on Alegre, don't you think? Jamie spent so much time in the woods and he was so good with all the animals. Maybe he found Green Gardens and we just don't know how to see it. We don't know how to help him. I think he's trying to tell me something . . . about Reverend Gosse. Alice: Oh! Pru: What? Alice: Nothing. Pru: Alice? Alice: Oh. I started cleaning the rectory today, since he let Molly go . . . Pru: He let Molly go? Alice: Yes! And he was there the whole time just staring out the window. Finally he went out . . . well, I could tell it hadn't had a really good clean in some time. I'm not telling tales if I say Molly's not the cleanest girl on Alegre. So I straightened out a few things on his bookshelf, and there was a box, a basket really . . . Pru: Yeah. Alice: . . . and it was full of money. Pru: Money?

Alice: Bills. You just don't keep that kind of money lying around. Pru: How much? Alice: Oh, I don't know. A lot? Now, I never . . . I feel so awful. Pru: Have you told Stilts? Alice: No. Not yet. He doesn't like me snooping. Things have been so strange lately. Pru: How do you mean? Alice: Stilts says, he says, someone's been snooping round the graveyard. End of Scene Scene Fourteen

(The Vestry) Reverend: I cannot work under these conditions. I refuse to work under these conditions. (He removes his stole. Stilts tries to help him.) Leave it. Leave it. I prefer to do it myself. That way I'll know the job was done right. My fingers are blue. Stilts: There´s no oil. Reverend: I know there's no oil. You keep telling me that. I know there's no oil. I figured that much when my fingers froze to the lectern. I figured that much when I broke the ice in the chalice with a communion wafer. Stilts: The ferry hasn't run all week. Art Hinchley closed the Service Station cause he's got no supplies. If we still had the coal furnace . . . Reverend: Art Hinchley's a pagan. Red wine! Look at that. A red wine stain on my shirt. Stilts: If we still had the coal furnace . . . Reverend: Oh, shut up about your coal furnace: “If we still had the coal furnace! If we still had the wood-fire! If we still had two sticks to rub together!” Stilts: Give it to me and I'll have Alice take a look at it. She'll have it laundered and ironed in a jiff.

Reverend: Hmmph! Stilts: Certainly before the Memorial Service tonight. Reverend: Oh God, the Memorial. Molly! Stilts: You let Molly go last Reverend: - Alice! Stilts: I'll pop in the rectory and make your study all nice and toasty. Reverend: Where's my sweater? Where's my tea? Stilts: Your sweater is here on the hook under your cassock where it always is, and I've got some tea right here in my thermos. Just let me get a cup for you and all will be right. Just let me get a little cup Reverend: - Where's Alice? Stilts: Mrs. Petterson will be along shortly. Reverend: I never saw her at the service. Stilts: What cup do you want? Reverend: Is she sick? Stilts: She was in church this morning. Yup, yup, yes, she was. Here's a pretty one with polka-dots. Pretty white polkadots on a cup for a nice cup of tea. Reverend: Are you patronizing me Stanley Petterson? Stilts: Perish the thought, Reverend. Perhaps “perish” isn't the right . . . No, no, she was in church. Reverend: Where? In the rafters? Stilts: She was - drink up now before the frost gets at it - at the Catholic church. Reverend: What? Stilts: At the Catholic church.

Reverend: What is the Anglican Sexton's wife doing in the Catholic Church?! Stilts: Can't have her catching a chill, can I? Said yourself, you couldn't pry your knuckles off the pulpit. Reverend: Because there's NO OIL! What was Father Mac doing, burning the pews? Stilts: No. They've got oil. (pause) Art Hinchley's Catholic. Reverend: This is not a joke, Stanley Petterson. This may a joke to you, but I assure you it is no joke to me. Fine. They want to drive me off this island. Fine. They have succeeded. The evening service is cancelled. Stilts: No one's trying to drive you anywhere, and you're not cancelling the service. Reverend: Put a sign on the gate: “No service tonight: You want to be pampered, go to Father Mac's.” Stilts: Tonight is Jamie Brewster's memorial service. Reverend: Well maybe Art Hinchley should have been thinking about that before he pumped the last drop of furnace oil on this island into Father Mac´s tank. Stilts: In my 73 years of coming to St. John the Evangelist, 29 of them as Sexton, I have never missed a Vespers, and in all that time no Minister's ever cancelled a service. I'll be in the woodpile. Holler if you want me. Alice will be along shortly to make you dinner you damn invalid. You're getting twisted is all. Everyone gets right twisted in February. Best to leave you alone or... Reverend: Or what, Stanley Stilts Petterson? Stilts: I'll leave some paint and plywood on your porch. Make your sign and stick it up your own self. Reverend: I will. Stilts: That way you'll know the job was done right. (Stilts exits.) Reverend: I will. Don't think that I won't Stanley Petterson. Don't think that I won't! (End of scene)