The Year of the Sex Olympics and other TV Plays (6 page)

A high shot of Lukey in the tree, holding both forks away from him while he shakes the coils free. He peers across at the other tree.

LUKEY
: Right, lad? Chuck ’em down!

He throws his coils down, unwinding as they fall.

Below, they watch the four coils come rustling down and Sir Timothy darts forward to grab them. He pays out the wire as he makes for a plank where six primitive Leyden Jars, and the cat-headed electroscope, have been set out in the light of a lantern. They are only a yard or so from the “Roman” oddities.

Jethro meets him, unwinding the wires from the thorn bush.

JETHRO
: Join to the electroscope?

SIR TIMOTHY
: No, those to a Leyden Jar—
(Realising he is taking the negro’s knowledge for granted)
Can you do that?

JETHRO
: Yes, sir.

They work quickly, fixing the connections.

SIR TIMOTHY
(joining a wire to the electroscope)
: I’ve made trial before with electrical discharges. During thunderstorms.

JETHRO
: With kites, like Benjamin Franklin?

SIR TIMOTHY
(pleased)
: That’s right! Flying forks up into the storm—the fluid comes down the wet line. I got a bad burn once.

JETHRO
: Shall we get burns tonight?

SIR TIMOTHY
: I’d be glad to.
(Suddenly confidential)
With so many people here, it may excite the forces. And should these things, in a sense, focus them—
(He indicates the “Roman” items. Jethro looks at them, unsure)
You understand, don’t you?

COBB’S VOICE
: Well, Jethro? Do you?

He is standing a yard away.

Jethro rises. Standing by the skull with its theatrical helmet, he looks at one man to the other as if aware of having to make a judgment between them. Then Sir Timothy scrambles up, calling.

SIR TIMOTHY
: Get the cart away now. I want it down there—

He points. Big Jeff and others seize the shaft to pull it round. Cobb takes a pinch from a heavy silver snuff box.

COBB
: Sir, a word. Before this addled attempt goes too far—

SIR TIMOTHY
(waving at the cart)
: By the rope!

COBB
: —and you’re the laughing stock of the entire county. Think of your lady there.
(This brings Sir Timothy round to face him)
You’re a singular fellow, sir—but do not set up to be an eccentric!

SIR TIMOTHY
: Sir!

COBB
(waving a hand round the clearing)
: Where did you get all this rubbish? From a bankrupt sorcerer? You don’t know what half of it is!

SIR TIMOTHY
(indignantly)
: I make serious observations.

COBB
: The best of them are so crude you can prove whatever you fancy! That mice are generated by sour cheese—that sneezing endangers the monarchy—

SIR TIMOTHY
(controlling himself)
: I’m not a fool, sir!

COBB
: Then throw away the toys.

SIR TIMOTHY
: I have an open mind.

COBB
: Close it, sir. Close it to nonsense!

SIR TIMOTHY
: Keep your voice down.

They move closer, towards Lavinia, who is drinking in every word.

COBB
: If you want proof, I can tell you how to find it.

SIR TIMOTHY
: Pray do.

COBB
: You need not seek it with quaint instruments. You have only to open your eyes—if you can—and see what is before you.

SIR TIMOTHY
: That is too easy.

COBB
(fiercely)
: It is not easy! It is so hard that only a handful in the land—or any land—have yet achieved it! They must scour their minds clean, ready for a new usage. Then turn their whole imagination right round—away from all the romantic fancies that delight it and then blur and deaden it. And bring that imagination to bear instead on the real world it has taken for granted, and see
into
it. And seek its deepest sense. The truth is all round us, but it is hard.
(He looks from one to the other)
And ordinary. And supreme.

Lavinia is enchanted simply with the sound of the words. Sam and the girl are listening nearby. Jethro sits on a box with his eyes to the ground. He has heard it before.

SIR TIMOTHY
: Have
you
achieved this—cleansing of the brain?

COBB
(confidently)
: Not wholly. But I shall.

SIR TIMOTHY
: And how many others?

COBB
: In time, a world-full. Man will change himself!

SIR TIMOTHY
: I could not.

COBB
: Then you will be left behind, sir. A mere bone in the rocks like a creature of the Great Flood. And all like you. The men of the future will be those who see things as they are.

LAVINIA
(with a laugh of exhilaration)
: Go on, Timothy—argue! Refute him!

SIR TIMOTHY
: How can I? He denounces fantasy, only to set up another one.

COBB
: I give good sense for nonsense, new lamps for old!

LAVINIA
: Bravo!

COBB
: Come, sir—try the exchange? He will not.

LAVINIA
: Let’s leave poor Timothy in his rock and go on. I want to feel history sweeping me away like a great warm tide!

COBB
: It will be the world of men—and women—with opened eyes. They’ll be strong. They’ll need no crutches of petty, trammelling morality—

LAVINIA
: Faith, is there morality
now?

COBB
(quickly)
: No, but they’ll be spared the pretence.
(She laughs, sensing how all this relates to the three of them)
They’ll see each other as they truly exist, and count each other’s needs and accept them. Even joyfully. But above all honestly. They may count our virtues vice and our vices natural wisdom. They’ll judge all things afresh, by their own enlightenment.

SIR TIMOTHY
: God will judge.

COBB
:
They
will judge! They won’t go in dread seeking heavenly marks for good behavior, like tots in dame-school. They’ll have grown up!

SIR TIMOTHY
(shaking his head)
: There must be God, and justice—

COBB
(roaring)
: Justice, sir, is a god—the god of misers! It defines the way we may snatch from each other and then guard our grabbings!
You
say justice and you exalt a golden blindfold lady.
I
see a gibbet and a thing hanging with eyes pecked out!

He snatches out his snuffbox and takes a great pinch.

LAVINIA
: Oh, you’re right—!

COBB
: Law is for cowards and blockheads. For today’s foul little world, not for theirs. They’ll have no filth and cholera and killing for theft—who will steal in a world where every man’s a prince? There’ll be neither squire nor servant then.

JETHRO
: Nor slave?

COBB
: Nor—slave. They’ll have such riches that our great King George would look like a pauper. It’s in the earth for the asking—and they’ll have learned to ask, that’s all. They’ll build a world that’s clean and ordered and swift. It’ll come. It must.

LAVINIA
: The world of machines.

COBB
: Ay, great engines that could build you a pavilion of shining metal and keep your beauty perfect for a hundred years.

The directness of it, in Timothy’s presence, is too much for her. She takes refuge in coquetry.

LAVINIA
: Is this the new realism?

COBB
: No disease, no cruelty, no want. All that man gains, man will give.

LAVINIA
: Love, too?

COBB
: Ay, that too. That most of all.

While his wife remains staring at Cobb, Sir Timothy turns away. Big Jeff and the other men have settled down on the ground or are leaning against trees. He looks at his watch and snaps it shut.

SIR TIMOTHY
: You’re not bound to stay. For those who do, there’ll be food in an hour.
(No one offers to leave. He turns)
You blind us with your Golden Age, Mr. Cobb. Tell me, do you have no doubts?

COBB
: Few.

SIR TIMOTHY
: I have doubts. I doubt everything I do.

COBB
(with a grunt of amusement)
: With reason! You’re a fool to go on.

SIR TIMOTHY
: I know that, but I must. I go slowly. I get knowledge grain by grain, as I come upon it. I go without direction, feeling my way. I test the ground and move aside if it won’t bear me, and go on again.

COBB
: Like a beetle.

SIR TIMOTHY
: No, a man.
(Cobb grunts. Sir Timothy regards him with a thin smile)
It’s the only discovery I’ve made, Mr. Cobb. Hassall’s Law: Man can never move back.

For a moment a quick retort hovers on Cobb’s lips. Then he frowns. He looks at Sir Timothy seriously for the first time, watching him as he goes to search among the ropes and boxes.

Sir Timothy rises with a gun in his hands, a wide-muzzled blunderbuss. Men turn idly to watch him. He sits on a box and prepares to load the weapon. Surprisingly, he is expert with it, his fingers deft with the powder-horn and ram-rod, caressing the gun.

He glances at Cobb, who has his eyes fixed on him. Sir Timothy’s expression has altered. All the uncertainty and gentleness seem to have gone, as if the touch of the weapon despatched them.

SIR TIMOTHY
(almost whispering)
: You will talk. And I will do.

THE ROPED TREES

It is a couple of hours later.

A low shot through the wheels of the cart. Men are moving about in the lighted area beyond. Two figures move into shot in the foreground, walking along just inside the rope barrier; Big Jeff and another man. Jeff has the pitchfork over his shoulder, and has an ale-mug in his hand.

BIG JEFF
(peering outwards)
: Not even the owl now. He’s gone to his bed.
(He finishes his ale and shakes the last drops out into the darkness, calling)
Come along, my dears—show y’selves! There’s gentry here awaitin’ for yer!

After a moment of silence, he giggles. He claps the other man on the shoulder, shaking with increasingly convulsive laughter.

THE CLEARING

Sir Timothy is looking towards the cart. Lukey Chase comes trotting back from that direction. He, too, has a mug in his hand, and a piece of bread in the other.

LUKEY
: Ay, ’tis only Big Jeff foolin’ about.

SIR TIMOTHY
(calling)
: Quiet down there!
(He turns)
Now, Lukey, back to your place.

LUKEY
: Squire, what’s the use?

SIR TIMOTHY
: Back, I said.

LUKEY
: But already? I’m still stiff—

SIR TIMOTHY
: And you, lad.
(Lukey and the lad finish their ale and start for their places in the trees. Sir Timothy catches Lukey as he climbs)
Lukey, can you see through the branches up there?

LUKEY
: Only a little.

SIR TIMOTHY
: Keep an eye on Big Jeff—I don’t trust him.

Lukey nods and climbs. Sir Timothy turns, pulling an elegant little notebook from his pocket.

The meal has been eaten. Sam closes the lid on the hamper and straps it. Tetsy is drawing the last ale from a small cask. Men are wiping their mouths, putting knives back in their pockets, stretching. The air of vague expectation has thinned to boredom.

At Sir Timothy’s signal, two of them pick up their staffs and make for another part of the rope barrier. Two more go to another section.

In the tree, Lukey settles and adjusts his toasting forks. He glances across at the other tree, catches the lad’s eye and grimaces as he points down.

Below, Tetsy brings a refilled tankard to Cobb. He is sitting on the ground by the ruined tree. Lavinia is a yard away, balanced on a trailing branch, pouring herself another small glass from a brandy flask.

COBB
: Thank you, my dear.

LAVINIA
(as Tetsy goes)
: Would you share her?

COBB
: She’s got a man. She’s satisfied.
(He takes a gulp of ale)
For the present.

She looks from him to her husband. Sir Timothy is going from plank to plank inspecting his apparatus. Thermometers and barometers have been set up alongside the jars. He is noting readings with a crayon in his book.

She looks at Cobb again. There is a compact between them now, as if he has filled his part in humiliating her husband, and has earned her promise.

LAVINIA
: You were saying just now—

COBB
: Mm?

LAVINIA
(puzzling it out)
: That immorality—is what gives us pain.
(Cobb nods)
Then—the London wives and their lovers must suffer a great deal?