Payne's Gray

 

WILL:

[Under his breath.] Don't do this, Chris. Don't tell them. I've tamed my urges and reformed. I've ascended to a digital existence plane; they lurk below in the mud and ditches. If they met Christ on the road, they'd ask for a bone. I'd lift his watch! I'll share my knowledge, I'll teach you the Freemasons' Ultimate Secret and the true pattern of Lotto numbers.

CHRIS:

[Hissed.] Why'd you have to come back here, Will? We'd almost forgotten.

PETE:

What's the racket?

MEG:

The train's gone?

WILL:

[Whispering.] Just tell them I'm a salesman. A technology trader.

[Pete and Meg emerge slowly from their restrooms, keeping distant from each other, and warily checking the room for train-borne supernaturalism.]

PETE:

Who's this?

MEG:

[Attracted.] Who is this nice young man?

[Will pleads to Chris with his eyes.]

CHRIS:

He's... a salesman. A trader.

PETE:

A free-trader, I hope? Democratic and sound?

MEG:

[Sugar.] I've got things to trade...

PETE:

[Eyes flashing fire.] Meg!

MEG:

Oh, sure, get on my case. You know I have never even been suspected of anything improper. Fine person you are to shout about flirtation.

PETE:

You have to bring it up, don't you? [Pulls Will away from Meg.] Come over here, son. What kind of trader are you?

WILL:

Information, technology, the industrial fruit of the West. Cell phones. Network terminals. Universal panaceae. Arms and intelligence for rebels. [Pete looks surprised. Quickly:] Democratic rebels, of course. Fighting for... free trade.

PETE:

Our son was into your line of work. [He spits.]

MEG:

We don't have a son, Pete.

PETE:

[Continuing, approvingly.] I hear it's quite profitable, if you can shed a few scruples.

MEG:

Just a daughter. One child, Chris. No son, ever.

WILL:

I've travelled the world, selling cell phones and satellite links, installing antennas and the means to collect revenue. I sold pagers to the monks ringing the sacred Lake Tobo, and laptops to a band of intelligent apes.

PETE:

What did you say your name was?

CHRIS:

[Spitefully.] His name is Will. William Smith. Your son, my brother. You can't just come in here, Will, and pretend everything's okay and we won't recognize you and we'll accept you like the Biblical prodigal. It's not okay. You wrecked my life and ruined my career. You hurt the people who loved you most. You don't deserve to be treated well in this place. You just don't deserve it.

[Pete has dropped his arms from around Will's shoulders, and Meg's flirtatious attitude has completely vanished. Will is not a welcome name here.]

MEG:

[Neutral.] What are you doing back?

WILL:

[Can't find anything to say that's not going to make the situation worse.] I...

PETE:

[Unfriendly.] Answer your mother when she asks you a question, boy. Where's your tongue?

[Silence.]

You still got no respect for authority? Answer her! [He hits Will on the mouth, hard. Will is knocked a couple steps back. His mouth starts to bleed.]

WILL:

I just... [Disappointed and upset.] I don't know what I expected... I just...

PETE:

You thought you'd come home and all would be forgiven and we'd welcome you with open arms, huh? That you'd get off scot-free for [Wallop.] stealing our money, [Whop.] filling our house with dope, [Whack.] torching our bedroom, and [Thwack.] running off, huh? [Will has had enough, flails at Pete, who easily blocks the punches and throws the kid into the corner.] Thought eight days would fix all that, huh?

CHRIS:

[Correcting.] Years.

MEG:

[Correcting.] Weeks.

WILL:

[Soft.] Hours. Months.

[An anguished pause.] This is my home. There is no other.

MEG:

[A verbal, rather than physical, beating. No less severe.] It just doesn't work like that, W... [She avoids using his name, gropes for a replacement.] --you. You ruin my bed-covers, burn my Sunday dresses, and come back here and start hitting your father. You were an embarrassment to the family, William Smith. The ladies in the church [Pete spits.] are still giving me handbooks on child-rearing, and you know what you did to your sister. It pains me through my mother's heart to say this, but you're zilch, William Smith. A cipher, zero. A good-for-nothing who never made anything of himself and never will.

WILL:

[Moaning.] Mom.

MEG:

Don't call me mother. You are not my son. I never bore you. I wish you had never set foot near me again. [She spins on her heel, and turns her back to her son, then self-consciously primps her hair.]

CHRIS:

Mother!

WILL:

I'm not a stranger. I'm kith, kin...

PETE:

You're an evolutionary mistake. You should be helping your Dad, encouraging the spread of our DNA, ensuring the survival of our fittest genes. We are Americans: hybridized, cross-bred, carefully superior. We do not pour gasoline on the floor and play with matches.

MEG:

After all we did for you. All we bought for you.

WILL:

But...

PETE:

You couldn't even wait a decent amount of time before waltzing back in here, expecting everything to be forgive-and-forgotten. It's not that easy, Willy boy.

WILL:

I...

MEG:

You're not supposed to leave your mother. You're supposed to help her--respect her, like Tobo says. Especially when I've got to deal with your father's shenanigans and filips on top of everything else.

PETE:

Will you stop bringing that up!

MEG:

It's not like people don't know, Pete. Everyone down at the egg farm is talking, laughing behind my back at the Olympics Pete's staging. I know. I can tell.

PETE:

I'm not doing anything. Nothing. I screwed up once!

MEG:

I only caught you once.

CHRIS:

I don't believe you guys.

WILL:

Shut up! Shut up! Will you just listen to me?

PETE:

[Turning on him.] Little Willie runs away with all my egg money, just so someone will listen to him. To Indonesia! Where the Elvis is that? I had to tell the boys down at the egg farm you ran to Mahogany. Good American sounding place. Instead of admitting my son was cavorting in some unpronounceable foreign republic. Don't you know what xenophobia is, son?

WILL:

I know xerography. I have dark replicas there, innately self-same.

MEG:

Why come back?

PETE:

Can't you read? I spent money on those signs. Phosphorescent paint, night lighting, 5 foot letters. Didn't you see one?

WILL:

I didn't see nothing!

PETE:

Not the sign of the flaming hippopotamus?

WILL:

I saw black night, red eyes, a wind. A counterfeit promise. Another home.

PETE:

Your fancy computer gear, and you saw nothing? Cell-phone, info-tracker, nothing?

MEG:

I said you should've hired more space on the info-tracker. I told you.

PETE:

[To Meg.] It's worthless. I told you it can't be trusted. [To Will.] You didn't see the signs outside here, on the walls, in the lawn, on the roof? The one with glitter and naked ladies?

WILL:

I saw nothing.

PETE:

They all say one thing, Will. Go away.

WILL:

I'm here now. I saw no signs. I'm staying.

PETE:

[Beginning to chase Will.] Not in my station you're not.

CHRIS:

Your station?

WILL:

I've circled the world to end at my beginning.

MEG:

Help your father, Chris.

PETE:

Not with my family you're not.

WILL:

I've unveiled all mystery and am still empty.

PETE:

[Chris has caught Will.] Not under the same roof as my daughter.

CHRIS:

[She lets him go in involuntary repulsion.] He's my brother, Dad.

[Pete and Will on opposite ends of the room now, facing off.]

WILL:

I need a place to stay and so I'm here.

MEG:

You're not staying here? In this room?

CHRIS:

This is my room.

PETE:

You're leaving, all right.

WILL:

No, I'm not.

PETE:

You're leaving now.

CHRIS:

You can't stay, Will.

WILL:

I've abandoned my knowledge, lost my family...

CHRIS:

It's not the same.

WILL:

I've no place left.

PETE:

You're going to listen to your father, Will.

WILL:

Why should I listen to him?

PETE:

I'm your father.

MEG:

No, you're not. You have no son.

WILL:

I never listened to him before.

PETE:

You will this time.

CHRIS:

There's no train.

WILL:

What's going to make me?

PETE:

I'll make you. [He lunges for Will.]

WILL:

I have no father. I'm above authority. I left you all long ago.

[Pete catches Will. Holds him by the collar.]

PETE:

Above authority, huh? [Hits him in the stomach.]

[Will just looks at Pete. Pete punches again.] Go on. Get out of here. [Pete shoves Will, who refuses to move his feet, crumpling to the ground.]

WILL:

[Defiantly.] I'm staying.

[Pete hauls Will to his feet, throws him towards the door.]

PETE:

You're not staying here. Not with us. You're leaving.

WILL:

You can't make me.

PETE:

[Pulling a pistol.] I can. [Beat.] I was saving this for Meg. It works on wire-heads, too.

WILL:

You wouldn't use it. You couldn't. I'm your son.^* What would your egg-farm buddies say?

MEG:

He has no son!

PETE:

They've seen me strangle chickens. Twist their heads off. They've helped me do it. For the good of the farm. They'd be proud of me for fixing my son.

MEG:

He's not our son!

WILL:

Do it then. Dad. Blow me away.

PETE:

I will if you don't leave.

WILL:

Take me out of this hell I call family.

PETE:

Now.

WILL:

[Glaring defiantly.] There's no train.

PETE:

You're not taking a train. [Beat.]

The door, Will. Open the door.

WILL:

I'm not leaving.

PETE:

I'll shoot.

WILL:

Do it.

PETE:

You know I will.

WILL:

I don't want to live with this family. I don't want this life.

PETE:

Leave, Will.

WILL:

Do it!

Come on, do it! Shoot me!

I left here empty, returned vacant, there's nothing left. Do it!

[Pete is impotent.] Do I have to do it myself?

[Will grabs the gun, puts it to his head. Smiles at his family.]

MEG:

Not inside!

CHRIS:

Will!

[He fires. A bang, but nothing happens. A few pieces of confetti drizzle from the muzzle, perhaps.]

WILL:

Nothing. [Beat.] What's wrong. Why didn't it work?

PETE:

[Defeated.] They're blanks. From my days as the bearded lady with the Kielly-Zee. [A sad pause.] I've got crates of them in my room.

Bullets are hard to come by in the outer dark.

[The bats flutter overhead. The roof creaks.]

CHRIS:

[Quietly.] But--the rat-gun...

PETE:

Salt. Dust and pebbles. Small feathers.

[A moment of indecision.]

WILL:

I guess I'm staying, then. I don't have a choice.

MEG:

[Coming to life.] No, you're not. No he's not, Pete.

[She drags him towards the door, but shies short, unable to draw nearer to the door.]

You do it, Pete. You're the father. Throw him out. Open the door.

PETE:

I can't.

WILL:

None of you can. You're scared of the outside. Scared of the Rat. I've come from Sumatra! I know the Rat. [Not triumphant. Will can't open the door, either.]

MEG:

Pete, do something!

[A powerless pause.]

CHRIS:

Dad?

Dad, did you do that? [Pointing to the ``Call Will'' sign, by the ticket-booth.]

PETE:

[An idea.] The ticket-booth.

MEG:

The ticket-booth!

PETE:

We'll leave him for the ticket-master.

MEG:

Chris, help your father.

[Pete and Meg attempt to drag a surprised Will to the ticket-booth. He struggles, Pete knocks him out with a blow to the head. They lift Will and lock him in the ticket-booth. Chris watches it passively, as an inevitability. Unfortunate, but necessary.]

MEG:

[Scolding.] You should have helped your father, Chris. A woman's work is with the family, that's what I've always said.

[Pete pockets his pistol, preoccupied.]

Relations are so wearisome. [Catches herself.] Strangers are more bother still. I feel faint. [She disappears into her restroom.]