Characters:
STEVE: 30-ish, travelling businessman
SIMON: early thirties, academic
KATHRYN: university student on holiday
LISA: university student on holiday
HOSTESS: attractive, French
A train carriage, rumbling along at night, empty except for four passengers: a pair of female university students, speaking to each other quietly; a professional-looking man in his early thirties, reading a packet of papers in the row ahead of them; and another man of about the same age, slouched in the seat facing him.
The second man, STEVE, leans into the aisle when the GIRLS giggle more loudly.
The overhead lights flicker intermittently.
A young HOSTESS passes through the carriage, counting their heads, stepping carefully around a wooden case beside the professional-looking man, SIMON. Seeing that everything is in order, she continues on, exiting other end of the car.
As she passes, STEVE turns to watch her go. The GIRLS notice and laugh. He hears them again, leans into the aisle, then stands abruptly and leaves the car in the same direction as the HOSTESS.
After a moment, the girl on the aisle, KATHRYN, leans towards SIMON, who has been reading intently.
KATHRYN.
Is that your case?
SIMON (without looking up).
I’m sorry?
KATHRYN (tapping it).
Is this yours?
SIMON.
Oh. Yes. (He goes back to reading for a moment, then stops.) Sorry. Here…
KATHRYN.
No, it’s fine. I…
He nods and continues reading. The other girl, LISA, who has been reading a magazine, nudges KATHRYN to leave him alone.
KATHRYN (ignoring her).
What is it?
SIMON.
Sorry? Oh. It’s a typewriter.
KATHRYN.
Really?
SIMON.
Yes. It’s a…
KATHRYN.
You know, she thought it-
She cuts off as the HOSTESS passes back through. She and KATHRYN exchange fake smiles.
KATHRYN (when the HOSTESS has gone).
My friend thought it was a bomb.
LISA (leaning over KATHRYN).
No, I didn’t.
KATHRYN.
Don’t listen to her. She said you were a terrorist.
SIMON.
Oh.
LISA.
I didn’t really. I was making a joke.
A moment passes in which it seems the conversation is finished. Then SIMON looks up thoughtfully.
SIMON.
Well, I guess you could say a typewriter is kind of like a bomb. In a way.
KATHRYN.
Or, you could make a bomb out of a typewriter.
SIMON.
Or…okay…
KATHRYN (suddenly excitedly).
Yeah, you could rig up a typewriter to explode like when you typed a certain letter. Or a certain word, maybe, like if you wanted to kill somebody and you knew for some reason they’d have to type a certain word at some point, like…I don’t know, ‘The End’ or something. And they’d be all alone, hunched over in their dark little flat writing their beautiful story for months and months, not having any idea that whenever they finished they were going to be blown up…along with the story.
LISA.
Please just ignore her.
KATHRYN.
That would make a wicked film!
LISA.
You’re an idiot.
SIMON (reading).
You should write it.
KATHRYN.
I should. Can I borrow your typewriter? I’m joking. (Pause.) I’d probably be too scared now anyway.
Pause. Then, suddenly:
KATHRYN.
Or, maybe I’ll write one about someone who thinks of that idea for a story-or, no! She’s writing a story about a typewriter that blows up when the writer in her story is done and so she just keeps writing and writing because she’s so freaked out it’s going to come true and if she stops, she’ll die. Oh, that’s wicked. And the ending could just be like, “And she just kept typing…”
SIMON (smiling).
Sort of a schizophrenic Scheherazade. It’s good.
KATHRYN.
What’s that? (The lights flicker.) Why do the lights keep flickering?
LISA.
I told you…
SIMON.
It must be a bad electrical connection with the rails.
LISA.
I told you that.
KATHRYN.
I can never tell when you’re just making stuff up to sound clever.
Beside the train car setup, STEVE walks out and stands facing the audience.
KATHRYN.
What did you say before?
SIMON.
Sorry?
The HOSTESS comes onstage and stands beside STEVE.
SIMON.
Oh, Scheherazade…
KATHRYN.
Yeah. I’ve heard of that.
LISA (without looking up from her magazine).
You are such a liar.
The HOSTESS and STEVE sit on the floor, perhaps on cushions.
SIMON (teacherly).
It’s a woman. She was a peasant’s daughter who told stories to the king to keep him from killing her.
The HOSTESS and STEVE are now Sheherazade and the king, Shahryar, solemnly pantomiming the story as SIMON describes it:
KATHRYN.
Why would he kill her?
SIMON.
Well…it’s a sort of… Every night he’d take a new wife, a virgin, but then have them killed the following day.
STEVE slits the HOSTESS’ throat with his finger and pushes her aside as she collapses.
KATHRYN.
Wow! What a waste!
SIMON smiles.
KATHRYN.
That’s a good reason to get rid of your virginity, I guess.
The HOSTESS rises and walks back offstage.
SIMON can’t help laugh. The lights flicker. The HOSTESS walks through, briskly.
KATHRYN (stopping her).
Excuse me, why do the lights keep flickering?
HOSTESS (a bit flustered, with a French accent).
Yes?
KATHRYN.
Why do the lights keep flickering?
HOSTESS.
Pardon?
KATHRYN.
The lights. (She points.) The lights. Flicker. Blinking.
She shows blinking with her hands, quite condescendingly.
HOSTESS.
Ah – ze lights. I am sorry. Ze leck…trick?
She demonstrates bad electrical connections with her own hand gestures.
HOSTESS.
Electric?
KATHRYN.
Oh. Thanks.
The HOSTESS smiles and hurries along, out of the carriage.
LISA.
You’re just mean.
Beyond the carriage, the HOSTESS suddenly pauses, faces the audience, and lies back down at STEVE’s feet, as before.
KATHRYN (ignoring LISA).
So, she dies?
SIMON.
Actually, no…
The HOSTESS sits up.
KATHRYN.
Ooh!
The HOSTESS and STEVE pantomime and pose for the following:
SIMON (laughs).
She tells him a story every night for one thousand and one nights, and so, finally, he marries her.
KATHRYN.
Oh, what a sweetie. But didn’t he have her bumped off the next day?
SIMON.
No, no. She became the queen.
KATHRYN.
But she was still a virgin?
SIMON.
I assume so.
KATHRYN (thinking aloud).
How long is a thousand days? Like three years?
LISA (reading).
Less than three years.
KATHRYN.
But it’s still a long time. (Leaning forward.) How old was she when she started?
SIMON.
Oh, I don’t know. Fairly young, I’d think.
KATHRYN.
Young like my age or young like twelve?
SIMON.
I don’t know. Probably closer to your age, I’d guess.
The HOSTESS walks offstage again.
KATHRYN.
How old you do think I am?
SIMON.
Oh. I don’t know…
KATHRYN.
Guess.
LISA.
Don’t be annoying.
KATHRYN.
Guess.
SIMON.
Twenty?
KATHRYN.
Ta da!
LISA.
You’re not twenty!
KATHRYN.
In February I am!
The HOSTESS passes through.
HOSTESS.
Billets. Tickets, please…
She makes a point of saying ‘tickets’ to KATHRYN. All fumble for and display their tickets. STEVE walks offstage.
HOSTESS (ad lib).
Merci, merci.
KATHRYN leans forward again.
LISA.
Cut it out!
KATHRYN (swatting her off).
Where was she from?
SIMON, who is back reading, looks up and back down where the HOSTESS has exited.
SIMON.
Who?
KATHRYN.
Sheera…
SIMON.
Oh.
LISA (back with the magazine).
It’s not She-Ra…
SIMON.
Persia.
KATHRYN.
Persia like where the rugs are from? (He laughs.) Where is that?
LISA.
Leave him alone!
SIMON.
Iran.
KATHRYN.
Iran? Really? Hmm…
LISA.
Please don’t say anything racist.
KATHRYN.
I’m not! (To SIMON.) And when did it happen?
SIMON.
When? Oh, it’s just a myth. Old. A thousand years maybe.
KATHRYN.
Oh.
LISA.
See? You’re stupid.
KATHRYN (to herself).
A thousand and one years…
SIMON (smiling as he reads).
Maybe.
KATHRYN (suddenly).
Where did your friend go?
SIMON.
Sorry?
KATHRYN.
The other guy. Wasn’t he your friend?
SIMON.
Oh. No. I don’t know him.
KATHRYN.
He’s probably in the toilet. (Pause.) Lisa isn’t really my friend either.
LISA.
What?
KATHRYN.
We just met.
LISA.
She’s lying.
KATHRYN.
No, I’m not. We just happened to sit next to each other…
LISA.
Stop.
KATHRYN.
I’m not bothering him. (To SIMON.) I’m not bothering you, am I?
SIMON.
No. It’s fine.
LISA.
He was working.
KATHRYN.
He said it’s fine. (To SIMON.) The guy next to you was looking at us, you know.
LISA.
Not at me.
KATHRYN.
All right!
LISA.
Well, you’re the one-
KATHRYN (to SIMON).
Do you know if he just went to the toilet?
SIMON.
I don’t have any idea. I think he might’ve gotten off, to be honest.
KATHRYN.
Nope. Those are his bags.
SIMON.
Oh.
KATHRYN (to Lisa.)
He’s probably having a wank.
SIMON.
Sorry?
KATHRYN (incredulous).
What?
LISA (sniggering).
Can you do that on a moving train?
KATHRYN.
Heck if I know. (Aloud, to SIMON.) Hey, do you know if it’s possible-
As LISA grabs her and pulls her back, STEVE re-enters the carriage and takes his seat across from SIMON. The girls laugh.
STEVE.
Ah… Always nice to have a bit of a stretch, isn’t it?
SIMON smiles politely. STEVE leans forward.
STEVE (discreetly).
You spot them young birds sat behind you?
SIMON.
Sorry?
Pause. STEVE looks around. The girls act like they’re reading and laugh again after STEVE looks away.
STEVE.
What’s in that case there?
SIMON.
Oh. A ty-
KATHRYN (interrupting loudly).
It’s a bomb!
She immediately cowers back into Lisa.
KATHRYN.
Sorry!
She laughs, but LISA smacks her in the shoulder.
STEVE.
I don’t think that’s a funny thing to be yelling out on a train, do you?
KATHRYN (chastened).
Sorry.
STEVE.
You oughtn’t to be listening to our conversation anyway.
KATHRYN (cheeky).
Well, you shouldn’t be looking over here.
STEVE (starting to stand).
What’s that then?
LISA puts her hand over KATHRYN’s mouth. STEVE sits again.
STEVE (quietly, shaking his head for SIMON’s sake).
Need to learn to mind their own business…
KATHRYN (yanking away LISA’s hand).
Mind yourself.
STEVE (immediately on his feet).
What’s that then?
KATHRYN starts to jump up, too. LISA grabs her. SIMON half-stands between them.
KATHRYN.
I said ‘mind yourself’!
SIMON (calmly, to STEVE).
Okay. (To KATHRYN.) Okay now.
STEVE (still huffing).
All right now, mate.
LISA.
Sorry. She’s sorry.
KATHRYN (pushing LISA off her).
Stop!
The lights flicker.
STEVE.
Let’s just calm down there, girls.
SIMON.
Okay now. It’s okay.
STEVE.
Just calm there.
All sit again, however begrudgingly.
KATHRYN (after a moment, not quietly).
Perv.
As STEVE jumps up, suddenly the lights go out completely. STEVE and KATHRYN shout throughout. (Ad lib. as necessary.)
STEVE.
You fucking slut! (etc.)
LISA screams. The sound of a tussle.
KATHRYN.
Let go!
STEVE.
Mate, you get the fuck off me!
The lights flick on for half a second and SIMON seems to be holding STEVE back. Then darkness again.
STEVE.
Let go, you son of a bitch!
KATHRYN.
Let me the fuck alone!
STEVE.
You stupid slut.
Someone is slapped or punched and one of the girls is screaming again.
Someone with a flashlight enters the carriage, amidst continuous shouting.
HOSTESS.
Please! Excuse me! Please!
A large crash. The typewriter dings.
HOSTESS.
Please! Attencion!
The tussling falls silent fairly quickly. When her flashlight passes over them briefly, the men are hunched over one another in the aisle.
The girls are back in their seats. The HOSTESS holds the light on the LISA’s face. Her nose or lip is bloody.
HOSTESS.
Miss… Miss…
She steps over the men to the girls, keeping the flashlight on LISA’s face.
HOSTESS.
Can I help you?
KATHRYN helps LISA to her feet.
LISA (crying).
No. I’m okay.
HOSTESS (to KATHRYN).
Sit. Okay? Sit. I will get help.
The HOSTESS hurries out with the flashlight, leaving the car in darkness again.
KATHRYN.
Come on.
LISA.
Stop it! Let me go! (Pause. Then more quietly.) Let me go.
KATHRYN (angrily).
I’m sorry!
LISA.
Well, just fuck off.
SIMON (from the floor).
Girls!
They shut up. He grunts, trying to getting up.
KATHRYN.
Are you okay?
SIMON.
I’m fine.
Pause.
KATHRYN.
Her lip is bleeding.
SIMON.
I’m coming. Just a second.
KATHRYN.
Where is he?
SIMON.
Just one second.
The HOSTESS returns with the flashlight. SIMON immediately takes it from her.
SIMON.
Here.
He turns it on LISA, who is sitting, leaning against the window again.
SIMON (inspecting her).
Are you all right?
LISA.
Yeah.
KATHRYN.
You’re bleeding.
LISA.
I know!
SIMON.
It’s okay. (To the HOSTESS.) Okay, we need some bandages. (She holds up something.) No, bandages….uh… (Gesturing.) Les bandages…et…l’alcool. L’alcool?
HOSTESS.
Yes.
SIMON.
Here. (He hands her back the flashlight.) Hurry.
The HOSTESS exits, leaving them in complete darkness once again.
SIMON (wasting no time, authoritative).
Okay, what’s your name?
KATHRYN.
Who?
SIMON.
You.
KATHRYN.
Katie…
SIMON.
Okay, Katie, I need you to help me.
KATHRYN.
What?
LISA.
What are you doing?
SIMON.
You just sit there. Katie, come here.
KATHRYN.
Where are you?
SIMON.
I’m here. Watch your step.
LISA.
Katie, stop it. Come here.
KATHRYN.
Just a second, Lise.
LISA.
No, come here.
SIMON.
Lisa, right? Lisa, I need you to just sit still for a minute. Okay?
LISA.
No!
SIMON.
Katie, come here, please.
LISA.
Katie, stop!
SIMON (firmly).
Be quiet, Lisa.
Pause. Silence.
SIMON.
Katie. Come here.
She does, carefully, starting to cry.
SIMON.
Okay, now, can you lift his feet?
LISA (quietly).
Katie?
SIMON.
Okay. Good girl. Now, back up that way. Okay. Good. Good girl.
LISA.
Katie?
SIMON.
Let’s go. Step by step. Okay. Easy now. Okay. Good. That’s a good girl, Katie. That’s a good girl.
They shuffle out the end of the car opposite that which the HOSTESS went out.
SIMON (off).
Okay, now, help here. Okay. Shh…
At the sound of the HOSTESS’s footsteps, beyond the other end of the car, KATHRYN starts to cry out, but it sounds as if her mouth is quickly covered.
The HOSTESS returns. Her flashlight glances for half a second off the typewriter in the aisle, before she gets to LISA, bolted upright in her seat, staring toward the dark end of the car. She’s crying.
HOSTESS.
Miss? I have bandages…
The flashlight is extinguished.
END.
J. T. Welsch is a Berklee alum. This play was written and produced at the Martin Harris Centre for Music and Drama in Manchester, England, on November 18th, 2007, as part of the 24-Hour Plays project, sponsored by the London Old Vic theatre.
