Bradbury, Ray - SSC 10 (2 page)

He shoves the glass across the counter, winking,
the old man
leans,
peering, toward the door.

The Old Man

Fine!
it's
dark early. Ah,
that lovely
mist
! Now, peel an eye, Young Man. There's great events preparing
themselves out in
that fog, of all
kinds and sorts even / can't tell you; right, boys?

The men assent,
the young man
drinks,
gasps.

The Young Man
{peering)
What
should I look for?

The Old Man

Let
nothing pass unquestioned!
(Turns)
Give '
em
another, Finn,
to focus his eyes.

finn
pours,
the young man
wisely lets it lie.
the old man
trots to the door, half opening same to let in a
wisp of fog, which
he fingers.

Will
you look? Why, you could wear the dainty stuff about your neck!
A fine night.
Anything
could happen!
and
always
does!

He inhales the fog, the lovely dark, smiles at the aroma, lets the
doors shimmy shut, and comes back to the bar to
sip his drink.

Mind,
now, maybe you'll have to wait for some other night—

Finn
(incensed)

Can you name one
night in
history wasn't a night of earth-
shaking consequence at
Heeber
Finn's?

The Old
Man
(scratches head)
I can't.

Finn
You can't.
(Turns)
Son, do
you
play darts?

The
Young Man
Yes.

Finn
Good! Do you lie?

The
Young Man
Lie?

Finn
Can you tell untruths, man? Big
ones, small, all
sizes?

The Young Man
(dubiously)
I'll try.

Finn
(pleased
)
I'm sure you will! We
 

Suddenly
the old man
quickens, catching
hold of elbows to
right and left.

The Old Man
Hist
!

All down
the
bar,
everyone freezes.

(Whispering)
That
was
it!

Every
head,
on a
single
string,
turns
toward
the door.

The Young
Man
What .
.
.
?

The Old Man
Ssst
!
Listen . . .

All lean. All hear
—something,
far away.
(Eyes shut)
That's it
...
yes . . . yes . . .

Everyone stares. Footsteps batter the outside step drunkenly.
The double wing doors flap wide as a bloody man in
his thirties
staggers in,
capless
, holding his
bloody head with a bloody hand.
He stops,
blinking numbly at the crowd.

the young man
stares, amazed.

AII down the bar, the men lean toward the intruder.

The intruder sways, trying to find words, eyes glazed.

the old man
moves
forward, frantically curious, gesturing
his hand as if bidding the man to speak up, speak up!

The bloody intruder finally gasps for breath.

The Intruder
Collision! Collision on the road!

Then, chopped at the knees, he falls down. The men glance at
each
other.

All
Collision!

heeber finn
vaults
the bar. His landing breaks the spell.

Finn

Kelly, Feeney, quick!

All run toward the "body."
heeber finn
is first, with
the old

MAN.

The Old Man
Easy
does it!

Finn

Quinlan,
out to the road! Mind the victim! Kilpatrick, run for
the Doc!

A
Voice
Wait!

ALL
look
Up
.

the doc
steps
out from the far end of the bar, from a little
dark cubby where he has been standing alone with his philoso
phies.

finn
is
surprised.

Finn
Doc, you're
so quiet I forgot you
was
there! Out you go!

the doctor
plunges
out the front door with half a dozen men.
The fog streams in past them.

the young man
looks
down at the "victim" on the floor. The
"victim's" lips twitch.

The Victim
(gasping,
whispering)
Collision . . .

Finn
Softly,
boys.

They lift "the victim" and carry him over to lay him on the
bar.
the
young man
comes up to stare at the
man lying there, and at his image in the mirror behind the bar . . . two dread
calamities for the price of one.

The Young Man
(puzzled)
But
...
I didn't hear any cars on the road.

the old man
is
proud to reply:

The Old Man
That
you didn't!

He beckons. With a high sense of melodrama,
THE OLD
man
escorts him to the swinging
doors, opens one for him.

A scrim has come down as they move toward the door.

As they emerge into the "outside," the "world," the
lights go
off behind the scrim and
come on in front of it. This particular
scrim is a mist, a fog, a gray background across which they may
wander, looking out over the apron at the night,
the weather,
and the men foraging
beyond. There are wisps of fog or mist
moving
in from either side, from the wings, and from below in
the pit.

the old man
stands
next to the young one, on the steps of
the
pub, sniffing the weather appreciatively.

You'd
almost think that
Ireland
was gone. Oh, but it's there,
all
right.

the young man
stares
into the fog, continuing his thought.

The Young Man
.
. . nor did I hear a collision.

The Old Man
{shouting
beyond)

Try
the crossroad, boys! That's where it most often does!
{Quieter, he turns to
the young man)
Ah, we don't be great
ones for commotion, nor great crashing sounds. But
collision
you'll see if you step on
out there.
{Points stage left)

the young man
moves
stage left, probing into the fog, groping.

Walk now, don't
run! It's the Devil's own night. You might
head-on into Feeney, too drunk to find any road, no
matter
what's on it. You got a match?

The Young Man
A
match?

The Old Man
Blind you'll be, but try it!

the young man
strikes
a match, holds it out in front of him.

That's
pitiful poor, but on you go, and me behind you. Careful
now,
walk!

Both move in a great circle about the stage.
Hist
, now!

They listen to a rally of voices
approaching.
Here they come!

A
Voice
(hidden
in jog)
Easy now.
Don't jiggle him!

Another Voice
Ah,
the shameful blight!

Suddenly from the fog, stage
left, a steaming lump of
men ap
pear
bearing atop themselves a crumpled object.

the young man
stares
up, holding the match. We glimpse
a
bloodstained and livid face high up there.

Someone brushes the lit match, which snuffs out.

The catafalque rushes on.

A
Voice
Where's
Heeber
Finn's?

Another Voice
Bear
left, left, I say!

The crowd vanishes,
the young man
peers
after. He hears a
chilling insect
rattle approach in the fog. He strikes another
match.

The Young Man
Who's
there?

A
Voice
        
;

It's
us!
  
!

Another Voice
With the vehicles!

the young man
blinks
at the old, who nods sagely.

A
Voice
You
might say we got—the collision!

Two men trot out of the fog, bringing with them under their
arms two ancient black bicycles, minus head and
taillights.

the young
MAN
stares
at them. The two men with the bikes
smile, proud of their task, give the bikes a heft, tip their caps,
and trot off away again, vanishing in mist, toward
Finn's, just as
the last match dies
forever,
the
young man,
stunned with the simple
facts, hangs his mouth open, turning to
the old
MAN.

The Young Man
What?

The Old Man
(winks)
What
? What, indeed! Ah, the delightful
mysteries!

And he runs off into fog.
the young man,
musing,
follows.

The Young Man
Men
. . .
bicycles . . .
collision? Old Man, wait for
me!

the young man
runs,
finds the front door to Finn's, and
plunges
in. The lights come on inside Finn's, the fog-scrim
vanishes.

Inside Finn's,
the old man
turns
to welcome the arrival of
the young man.

The Old Man

Ah,
there you are!
(
lowers
voice to a whisper)
We
got the
"bodies" on the
bar.

the young man
peers
over the crowd at the two "bodies" laid
out in pale ruin on the long bar,
the doc
moving fretfully be
tween the two, shouldering the crowd aside.
the old man
whispers:

One's Pat Nolan.
Not under employment at the moment.
the old man
peers and nods at the
next.

The other's Mr.
Peevey
from
Meynooth
.
In candy and ciga
rettes,
mostly.

the old man
raises
his voice.

Are
they long for this world, now, Doc?

the
doc
mutters, swabbing a marbled face.

The Doc
Ah, be
still, won't
ya
! Here, let's put one victim on the
floor.

the doc
moves,
finn
stops
him.

Finn

The
floor's a tomb. He'll catch his death down there. Best leave him up where the
warm air gathers from our talk.

the doc
shrugs
and continues working,
the young man
whis
pers in
the old man's
hairy ear.