Pyrite

 

[The Preacher climbs into the station through the window Will jumped from. The lights glimmer eerily when he arrives, but the station does not brighten. The Preacher carries a bag on his shoulder.]

PREACHER:

[As he enters.] Hey there.

CHRIS:

Who are you?

PREACHER:

I'll handle the introductions. [His eyes scan the station quickly.] You're Chris.

CHRIS:

[Slowly.] You're the telephone preacher.

PREACHER:

Right you are. Salvation in an hour, or hell-fire forever. Licensed in sixteen states.

[Again, his eyes dart, looking for something he doesn't find.]

CHRIS:

What are you doing here?

PREACHER:

You called.

CHRIS:

I didn't.

PREACHER:

You should have. I am your pass to eternal bliss. Your guarantee of recognition. Your guide on the path of good works and heterosexuality.

CHRIS:

You're my Dad.

PREACHER:

I'm the Reverend Wright.

[The Preacher starts to search in the room when he sees Will's yellow testament on the ground where it was dropped. He goes to grab it, but realizes Chris is watching him.]

CHRIS:

You're Peter. Peter Smith.

PREACHER:

Check the box next to ``Request pastoral visit'' on your welcome card; I'm sure we can clear this up. I'll get you a welcome card.

[He rummages through his bag for a card; gives it to Chris.]

Don't forget to fill out the ``annual income'' blank; we try not to spend time on the overly needy.

[As Chris bends to examine the card, the Preacher tries to stoop discreetly to recover the yellow testament. He is interrupted by Chris, and covers by re-tying his shoe.]

CHRIS:

[Pointing to the card.] What's a ``kyat''?

PREACHER:

A Burmese currency unit. Don't worry if you don't know the exchange rate.

CHRIS:

Don't step on Will's book.

PREACHER:

[As if he hadn't seen it.] Oh. This? [He picks up the book.]

CHRIS:

You look like my Dad.

PREACHER:

Do you want this?

CHRIS:

Mom says your razor's on the washbasin.

PREACHER:

These things are awfully inconvenient. Never say what you want.

[He drops the testament in his bag with studied casualness.]

CHRIS:

Where did you come from?

[The Preacher begins to move around the room, looking for things he can resell.]

PREACHER:

Outside. I met a man yesterday just off the road. A blue man of means. I converted him. Twenty-seven minutes flat. I wonder where he is.

[The Preacher is standing by a closed windowshade.]

CHRIS:

Don't open the window.

PREACHER:

He was bringing the baggage. He should be here.

CHRIS:

Someone's out there. Don't open it.

PREACHER:

I've got boxes, see? Filled with holy relics. He should be bringing them.

CHRIS:

Something's out there. I can feel it.

[The Preacher opens the windowshade to look for his lackey. Meg stares in. Unmoving. Pale. Chris stifles a scream.]

[The Preacher sees nothing. Turns from the window in disappointment.]

CHRIS:

She looks like me.

PREACHER:

He should be here.

CHRIS:

I'm seeing myself.

PREACHER:

He's got my boxes.

CHRIS:

I'm just like her.

PREACHER:

Not all of them, though. I've got the three true tears of Christ in my bag. In a vial.

CHRIS:

She's not alone out there.

PREACHER:

I've got the flames of Moses' burning bush. I've got the infant and adult skulls of Columbus.

CHRIS:

Will said...

PREACHER:

There's more, too. A Veronica. Books. All the answers. Everything your brother never found.

CHRIS:

How...

PREACHER:

He didn't know what he was looking for.

CHRIS:

What do you mean?

PREACHER:

He was looking for what he wanted. He thought a Veronica would look like a velvet Elvis. He wouldn't recognize what I've got in this sack if it came up to him and sang, ``Don't be Cruel.''

CHRIS:

Do you really have those things in your bag?

[The Preacher lifts an object in his search for valuables and discovers a yellow testament. He looks in his bag, and fails to find the book he pocketed earlier. He slips the rediscovered testament back into his bag.]

Show me.

PREACHER:

For a price.

CHRIS:

How much?

PREACHER:

Seven kyats.

CHRIS:

I don't have any.

PREACHER:

You must have some. How much do you have?

[He finds another testament, and again finds nothing in his bag. He puts the testament in his bag again.]

CHRIS:

I don't believe you have any relics at all. I don't think you've got anything but newspaper and sawdust in your bag.

[A windowshade clatters and falls. The blue man stares in, joining Meg.]

PREACHER:

You must have a few kyats somewhere.

CHRIS:

The blue relic-seller.

PREACHER:

[Trying a different story.] I'll let you in on a secret, honey.

CHRIS:

Why are you watching me?

PREACHER:

I'm a gay man. My lover died in December.

CHRIS:

What do you want?

PREACHER:

Of AIDS. My parents died in March.

CHRIS:

You're a preacher.

PREACHER:

In a car crash. It's hard to deal with.

CHRIS:

I don't understand.

PREACHER:

[Leaning uncomfortably close to Chris.] You know, this is the first time I've been here alone. Since my lover died.

[He finds another yellow testament behind Chris. He doesn't even need to check his bag this time: he knows it will be empty. He snatches the testament back into his bag without missing a beat.]

The first time I've made this trip alone.

I'm HIV-positive.

CHRIS:

What do you want?

PREACHER:

Are you Italian?

CHRIS:

No. I'm not.

PREACHER:

You look like a friend of mine. That's why I came over here. He was Italian.

He was shot dead on the street.

On his way to confession.

[Magil joins the two at the window. Ghastly. She stares unmoving, like the others.]

CHRIS:

What do you want?

PREACHER:

You had baggage problems, didn't you?

CHRIS:

Leave me alone.

PREACHER:

At least it wasn't your car.

CHRIS:

I thought you were a preacher.

PREACHER:

[Pressing his point.] You had bad luck. But you had good luck, too.

CHRIS:

What do you mean?

PREACHER:

That's why I came to you. Why I'm talking to you. I knew you'd understand bad luck. My medicine was in the car. It was stolen.

CHRIS:

I don't understand.

PREACHER:

I need money to get home. Six kyats.

CHRIS:

Kyats.

PREACHER:

Burmese currency. Five will do. I need money to leave.

CHRIS:

I don't have any money.

PREACHER:

You know how it is. To buy a ticket.

CHRIS:

I don't have any.

PREACHER:

I'm on AZT. It was in my car. I woke up and it was gone. It was one of my lovers, I bet. It would figure. I need to get to a doctor.

CHRIS:

What do you all want from me?

PREACHER:

You owe me. I told you about my relics.

CHRIS:

What?

PREACHER:

I told you about my relics. That costs three kyats.

CHRIS:

You took my brother's Bible. You owe me.

PREACHER:

I need it.

CHRIS:

Why?

PREACHER:

I'm HIV-positive. I'm heading to the Outer Dark. I get scared. I've had bad luck, I get scared. That's why I wanted it. I thought I could carry it.

[A moment of pathos.]

CHRIS:

I don't believe you.

PREACHER:

They won't let me live without it.

[Chris finds she's sitting on something. She gets up. It's the yellow testament. The Preacher grabs it quickly, throws it in his bag.]

CHRIS:

I know who you are.

PREACHER:

I've got to go. I need my...medicine. I need money. For a ticket.

CHRIS:

You're...

PREACHER:

Your necklace. That will do.

[He pulls sharply at her necklace, breaking it cleanly. He pockets the necklace and moves quickly to the door before Chris can react. He has trouble getting his bag through the door, although it's small enough to fit easily: something holds it back. Suddenly it is released and the Preacher disappears into the outer dark. The door is ajar.]