ACT TWO
Scene 1
Curtains open on bare stage with only CHEK discovered. He puts up sign: ‘ACT TWO OPENS WITH A BANG!’ Pause of 10 seconds. Then, with a blast of drums and trumpets, BAND ENTERS auditorium leading entire CAST in parade while playing Naked Truth March. CAST ascends stage. SALT comes downstage for introduction. He wears an impressive uniform.
SERGEANT: The Right Honorable Adam Salt! Minister of National Resources! The giver of bread!
SOLDIER: Come on, out there! Let’s hear it for The Giver of Bread!
SALT: [To audience.] Don’t be afraid! Don’t let this uniform fool you—it’s still me, still the same old Adam Salt! [Music up.] The chap who smokes cheap cigars and stamps his foot and says how solid the earth is beneath our feet—[Sings.]
THE NAKED TRUTH MARCH
Don’t be fooled by shiny boots
Don’t be fooled by velvet gloves
Down inside these boots there might be feet of clay
Underneath these gloves clenched fists of steel
Don’t be fooled by uniforms
Don’t be fooled by clean white shirts
Underneath this suit I’m just a common man
Underneath this shirt I’m wearing my skin
The naked truth is easy to discern
Just look in the mirror and see how much you learn!
The naked truth is never hard to find
Every man has a front
Every man has a behind!
The naked truth
The raw denuded truth
Is lying underneath your nose so
Don’t be fooled by shaven jowls
Don’t be fooled by French perfume
Just inside this jowl could gleam the serpent’s fang
Hidden by perfume the foul smell of death!
Don’t be fooled by braided gold
Don’t be fooled by purple cloth
Even kings and queens dirty their underwear
Even kings and queens bleed when they’re cut
The naked truth is easy to discern
Just look in the mirror and see how much you can learn
The naked truth is never hard to find
Every man has a front
Every man has a behind!
The naked truth
The raw denuded truth
Is lying beneath your nose
So please! Please! Don’t be fooled!
HECKLER: [Seated in audience.] We don’t want clever songs! We want to know why we haven’t got any bread!
SALT: That’s why I’m here; to explain about the shortage.
HECKLER: We’ve heard all your explanations! The shops are empty and the ovens are stone cold—and so will we be if we don’t get something to eat!
SALT: There is no need to panic—
HECKLER: Kop promised us bread if we supported him!
SALT: And Kop will keep his promises!
HECKLER: In Liverpool people are eating their shoes!
SALT: By suppertime tonight you will all have Official Government Ration Books!
HECKLER: What good are they? Can we eat them? [To audience.] Are you going to sit here and let them starve you?
SALT: If you will just fill out those rationing forms, we can begin to establish the appropriate priorities—
HECKLER: What do you mean, "priorities?" [To audience.] We’ve all got bellies, haven’t we? We all eat bread, don’t we? [Holds up rationing form.1 ] Why are they asking these strange questions? Are they going to starve some of us out of the picture?
SERGEANT: Who’s this "us" and "we" you keep going on about?
HECKLER: The old, the sick, the weak—
SOLDIER enters audience.
SERGEANT: [To SOLDIER.] She sounds like one of them "deviates," don’t she, Charlie?
SOLDIER: [Laying hands on HECKLER.] Pretty muscular for a girl, ain’t you?
HECKLER: [To audience.] Are you just going to sit there while they murder me!
SOLDIER: [Dragging HECKLER up aisle.] Come on, you filthy little faggot!
HECKLER: If you let them do this to me who will be next? The intellectual deviates? The religious deviates? The racial deviates? Don’t let them do it! Don’t just sit there!
EXIT SOLDIER with HECKLER. Stage goes dark or curtain.
LOUDSPEAKER: When you have filled out your form 1044, take it to the nearest Rationing Board Office where it can be exchanged for an Official State Ration Book. Attention! Attention! [Foregoing announcement is repeated.]
Scene 2
SALT, DOCTOR SIK and GENERAL, seated behind long table. CHEK puts up sign: ‘SALT’S INNATE SENSE OF FAIR PLAY IS SEVERELY TESTED.’ MAN WITH NERVOUS TICK ENTERS with ration questionnaire.
GENERAL: Form!
MAN WITH NERVOUS TICK hands GENERAL rationing questionnaire.
GENERAL: [Scanning form.] Over 40, eh?
MAN WITH NERVOUS TICK: Just barely. But I’m as strong as a man of 30. See these biceps? And I’m a member of the Law and Order Party!
GENERAL: Since when?
MAN WITH NERVOUS TICK: Well, it’s all so new, isn’t it—
GENERAL: Date of membership?
MAN WITH NERVOUS TICK: Well, the fact is—actually—I joined this morning; early this morning!
GENERAL rubberstamps form, passes it to DOCTOR SIK.
SIK: [Glances at form.] You state here you are in good health—
MAN WITH NERVOUS TICK: Fit as a fiddle, doc!
SIK: Why are your eyes twitching?
MAN WITH NERVOUS TICK: Are they twitching? Must be nerves—
SIK: Nerves?
MAN WITH NERVOUS TICK: I’m a little nervous about this ration book business. I’ve got 5 kids, and the wife is depending on me to bring home the bacon, so to speak.
SALT: There’s nothing to be nervous about. Everyone will get a ration book.
MAN WITH NERVOUS TICK: That’s a relief, sir! I told the better half we could depend on the government. There, you see? My eyes have stopped twitching!
SIK: Yes, but what’s that lump on your neck? Looks like a tumor—
MAN WITH NERVOUS TICK: Just a little mosquito bite, doc—
SIK: A mosquito bite in November? [Stamps form, passes it to SALT.]
SALT: [Studies form as MAN WITH NERVOUS TICK fidgets.] All factors considered—we’ve decided to issue you a red ration book. [Gives MAN WITH NERVOUS TICK a small red booklet.]
MAN WITH NERVOUS TICK: That’s a relief, sir. I can’t tell you how much this’ll mean to the family. Thank you, sir, thank you—Just one question, sir—
SALT: Yes?
MAN WITH NERVOUS TICK: Why is it a red book? Are there other colors?
SALT: Just red—and green.
MAN WITH NERVOUS TICK: I see—and what’s the difference between red and green?
SALT: Essentially there’s no difference at all.
MAN WITH NERVOUS TICK: In that case, can I have one of the green ones, sir? Green is my favorite color.
SALT: I’m afraid not.
MAN WITH NERVOUS TICK: But if there’s no difference—why is there a difference?
SALT: Well, actually, there is only a slight technical difference.
MAN WITH NERVOUS TICK: A slight technical difference?
SALT: The holders of red books will receive the same quantity of food as the holders of green books—
MAN WITH NERVOUS TICK: That sounds fair.
SALT: It’s just that the red book holders will have to wait a little longer to get their food, that’s all.
MAN WITH NERVOUS TICK: And that’s the "slight technical difference" you’re talking about?
SALT: Yes.
MAN WITH NERVOUS TICK: My wife and kids will have to hold on a bit longer for their crust of bread, eh? Just because I’m over the hill and have a lump on my neck. We’re the technicalities, eh? Well I don’t call that a technicality. I call it murder! Coldblooded murder!!!!
SERGEANT and SOLDIER ENTER quickly to hustle MAN WITH NERVOUS TICK off.
MAN WITH NERVOUS TICK: Murder! Murder! [EXIT with SERGEANT and SOLDIER.]
GENERAL: There are thousands of them queueing up out there—
SIK: We’ll have to speed things along. Why don’t we give the even numbers red and the odd numbers green?
GENERAL: It won’t make much difference in the end—half of them are going to starve.
SALT: You’re forgetting—these are human beings we’re dealing with! Each of them is made in the image of God. We’re deciding who lives and who dies! It’s not a casino we’re running here!
GENERAL: You’ll get used to dealing out life and death, Salt.
SIK: One learns to acclimate one’s sensitivity to matters of this kind—
SALT: Not me! Never! I will never get used to injustice!
ENTER OLD WOMAN.
OLD WOMAN: Why, hello Mr Salt! [GENERAL takes her form.]
SALT: Hello, Mrs Old.
OLD WOMAN: And how is Mrs Salt?
SALT: She’s bearing up, Mrs Old—bearing up.
GENERAL stamps form, passes it to SIK.
OLD WOMAN: And your daughter, Ava?
SALT: We haven’t heard from Ava since the war started.
OLD WOMAN: Is there a war, Mr Salt?
SALT: Just a small one, Mrs Old.
SIK stamps form, passes it to SALT.
OLD WOMAN: I’m sure everything will work out, Mr Salt. If there’s anything we can do to help—
SALT: [Stamps form, gives OLD WOMAN red book.] Here is your ration book, Mrs Old.
OLD WOMAN: Thank you, Mr Salt. I knew we could count on you to be fair.
SALT: I’m—sorry, Mrs Old—
OLD WOMAN: Sorry? What’s there to be sorry about? [SERGEANT and SOLDIER ENTER to haul her off.] Is there something wrong? What is it, Mr Salt? What’s the matter! [EXIT with SERGEANT and SOLDIER.]
SALT comes downstage. Lights fade on scene behind him as GENERAL and SIK call out ‘Red book,’ ‘Green book,’ etc.
SALT: [To audience.] Somebody’s got to do the dirty work. It isn’t easy shouldering the responsibility for other people’s life and death. But someone’s got to make the choice. There just isn’t enough to go around. They put you in a uniform and give you a fancy title, but that doesn’t make the work any cleaner. You look a man in the face and you see his skull staring back at you. Then, after an hour or so, your brain goes numb. The faces of your friends and neighbors become just a pink smear running through the bleak color scheme of a hideous nightmare. [Holds up loaf of bread.] This is what they all want. The staff of life! The hands of the multitude are stretched out for their daily morsel. So you divide the loaf—and you divide it again and again and again—until only the smallest crumbs remain. [He has been breaking loaf and tossing morsels to audience.] But there are more hands than there are even the tiniest of crumbs—and what do you do then? Hey? What do you do then!
GENERAL & SIK: Red book—green book—red book—green book—
Blackout.
LOUDSPEAKER: Holders of red ration books attention! By order of the Ministry of Health all Red Book holders are hereby directed to remain confined to their place of residence during the period noon Friday through noon Monday. The purpose of this curfew is the conservation of calories. The less you do, the less you need to eat. It is recommended you lie quietly in bed during the 72 hours of your quarantine. Remember; every calorie you save adds 12 minutes to your life!
Scene 3
The Salt home. SALT seated. MRS SALT ENTERS. CHEK puts up sign: ‘SALT STRUGGLES TO AWAKEN FROM HIS NIGHTMARE.’
MRS SALT: Let me take those boots off, Adam—[Which she does as:] I saw you on the telly this afternoon. I couldn’t believe it was really you; my own Adam! Making speeches to the whole nation. Your picture in the papers every day. Your name on everyone’s lips! It’s like a dream—
SALT: Yes, a dream—I can’t shake the feeling this is all just a dream. When I open my mouth to make those speeches the strangest words come out. I have no idea where they’re coming from or what I’ll say next. I stand there and listen to myself talk—as if I were standing beside myself; as if I were a ghost.
MRS SALT: You’re just being modest! It’s times like these that bring out the greatness in a man. You had the greatness in you all the time but you didn’t know it. If you feel strange it’s because at last you’re fulfilling your destiny, like Kop says—
SALT: I’m just a feather being blown about by the winds of destiny—
MRS SALT: You see! Only a great man could coin a phrase like that!
SALT: What phrase? Did I say something just now?
MRS SALT: You said, "I’m just a feather being blown about by the winds of destiny."
SALT: I said that? It’s amazing what comes out of my mouth!
MRS SALT: And now, Mr Great Man, you just sit right there. I’ve got a surprise for you! [EXIT.]
SALT: A feather—a feather in the wind—I like that!
MRS SALT [Off.]: Close your eyes!
SALT: What is it? Have you heard from Ava?
MRS SALT [Off.]: [Sadly,] No—no word yet—[Brightly.] Have you got them closed?
SALT: [Wearily.] Yes.
MRS SALT ENTERS with tray which she sets on SALT’s lap.
SALT: What’s this? Real coffee? And cream? And sugar?
MRS SALT: And! Ta-da! [Produces cigar, puts it in his mouth, lights it for him.]
SALT: These used to cost five shillings in the old days! [Suspiciously.] Where did you get all these goodies?
MRS SALT: Kop sent the cigars as a token of his gratitude for your ration book scheme.
SALT: And the coffee?
MRS SALT: —and the coffee too—
SALT: You’re lying! This is all from the black market! [Slams tray to floor, crushes cigar.]
MRS SALT: [Retrieving tray.] What difference does it make where I got it!
SALT: What difference does it make? I had to give Mrs Old a red ration book today! Do you know what that means? It’s a sentence of death! When Ava was a little girl, Mrs Old used to spoil her with homemade fudge—do you remember?
MRS SALT: You can’t blame the coffee and the cream and the sugar for that! They exist and someone must consume them!
SALT: Not me! I don’t need those things anymore—[Rises, paces.] My appetites have diminished. My belly is getting hard and flat. I don’t need food any more. My strength comes from the flesh and blood of the nation I serve, just as a tree nourishes itself from the earth. My roots are sunk into the very heart of England!
ENTER SERGEANT.
SERGEANT: Orders from the Supremo! He wants to see you right away!
SALT: What’s the matter?
SERGEANT: The Red Books are rioting. Everything’s coming unglued. The toothpaste is out of the tube. Your whole scheme is collapsing, Salt!
SALT starts to exit with SERGEANT.
MRS SALT: Adam! Your boots! [SALT sits and is helped into his boots.] I’m sorry for what I said, darling. I’m just a feather in the wind myself, I guess.
EXIT SALT and SERGEANT quickly as music comes up for:
MRS SALT’S TORCH SONG
What does he see?
When he looks at me?
Does he see Gypsy campfires shouldering
in my eyes?
What does he feel?
When he touches me?
Does he feel hot blood coursing under my cool
skin?
I should just tell him
What I really am
Tropical islands drifting in northern seas
But if I tell him
It’s not the same
So I must go on playing this guessing game
But if you tell them
It’s not the same
So we must go on playing the woman’s game
What does he taste?
When he kisses me?
Does he taste juices oozing from forbidden fruit?
What does he think?
When he thinks of me?
Does he know harlots dance within my wifely breasts?
Repeat chorus and end with:
So we must go on playing the woman’s game
The woman’s game
Cha cha cha!
Scene 4
Played in front of curtain or spotlit against Blackout. SALT and SERGEANT in transit.
SERGEANT: It looks nasty out there, sir. They’ve got petrol bombs—
SALT: The fools! What will they gain by destroying London?
SERGEANT: As long as they’ve got to die, they want to take everything with them—
SALT: It doesn’t make any sense!
SERGEANT: To them it does; to them what’s got the little red books—
SALT: But we promised them all food.
SERGEANT: They saw through that little charade, didn’t they!
SALT: What charade?
SERGEANT: Well, they knew, didn’t they? Those little red books was the kiss of death!
SALT: We needed a little time to set things right—just a few days!
SERGEANT: No disrespect meant, sir, but the masses aren’t that gullible. Before Kop came along it was the same old story. "In a few days, everything will be hunkydory." Just give us a few days, a few weeks, a few years—a few centuries! The masses are thick but even their stupidity has a limit.
An object is hurled from audience, striking SALT. SERGEANT helps him off.
LOUDSPEAKER: Attention, attention! That was very naughty of you, Red Books! You have given aid and comfort to the enemy and you will have to pay for that! Commencing immediately those of you who have been receiving no rations will have them cut in half! [Pause.] Correction. That should read; those of you who have been receiving no rations will have them doubled!
Scene 5
SALT with bandaged head sits in chair as KOP paces room. CHEK puts up sign: ‘ITEM—THE EMERGENCY WHEAT SUPPLIES.’
KOP: The streets are swarming with that anarchistic rabble! Everything is a shambles!
SALT: I tried to talk to the crowd but—
KOP: Your job is to give them bread! I will give them words! It’s all your fault! That red ration book idea of yours was a disaster! Red is the wrong color! When a man is starving he becomes extremely sensitive to details like that! Well—what’s the answer? What do we do now?
SALT: I’ve been wracking my brain—
KOP: And?
SALT: Only one solution keeps popping up—
KOP: Well, out with it! Let’s have a look at this mental jack-in-the-box of yours!
SALT: The emergency wheat supplies.
KOP: What about the emergency wheat supplies?
SALT: There are some 3 million tons of grain in the government elevators. Enough to last until the next harvest—
KOP: Are you mad?
SALT: Turning all that emergency wheat into bread would stabilize the situation and solve all of our food shortage problems.
KOP: It would solve all our food shortage problems except one! If we use the emergency wheat supplies now, what will we use if we have a real emergency! Eh? What do we do then, Salt? I’m asking you! What do we do then!
SALT has been opening his mouth but no sound emerges from it.
KOP: I’m giving you 3 minutes to come up with the answer, Salt. [Gives SALT revolver.] The answer Salt—or your corpse to show the crowd! [EXIT.]
SALT: [To audience.] You saw what happened just then. I kept opening my mouth but nothing came out. The magic has stopped working. I’m waiting for an idea to pop into my head but so far my brain is a total blank. It’s a tough problem. If we cut the bread ration and give everybody just a crumb, we’ll all starve. If we give bread only to the Greens, the Reds will plunge us into a suicidal civil war. If we use the emergency wheat supplies, we’ll have nothing left in case of a real emergency. My simple mind can’t cope with all of that. I can only keep moving my lips and hope the right words will jump out of them!
RE-ENTER KOP.
KOP: Well?
SALT opens his mouth, moves his lips.
KOP: Are you trying to tell me something?
SALT: —It—
KOP: Yes! "It" what?
SALT: —It might be—possible—to issue—a special ration—of—
KOP: A special ration of what!
SALT: Poison.
KOP: Poison?
SALT: Just for the Red Books. They’re going to die anyway. This way their death will be quick and painless.
KOP: [Paces, thinks.] They’re not that stupid, are they—to suicide themselves for the sake of our survival?
SALT: We could bake it into the bread. There is a new synthetic poison. It’s odorless, colorless and leaves no residue in the corpse—
KOP: We’d be killing off half the population of Great Britain. Do you realize that? 25 million people!
SALT: On the other hand, we’d be doubling the food supply.
KOP: Is that how you see it—as a doubling of the food supply?
SALT: It’s one way of looking at it—
KOP: [Pinching SALT’s cheek.] You little devil—you clever little rascal. Doubling the food supply!
KOP laughs. SALT joins him. Blackout.
LOUDSPEAKER: Attention! Attention! Holders of Red Ration Books. By order of the Giver of Bread, a special supplementary ration is to be issued to all holders of Red Ration Books. Red Ration Book Holders are directed to report immediately to their local Food Distribution Center for this special supplementary ration!
Scene 6
Spotlight on seated YOUNG WOMAN knitting.
YOUNG WOMAN: Hello all you viewers out there in TV land. My name is Harold and I’m a sex deviate. I suppose you think it’s strange for me to be admitting that on the telly, but, I’m not afraid anymore to face up to what I am. No, not any more. I used to live in constant dread. Hiding in damp cellars, disguising myself as a man, prowling the alleys at night looking for food and companionship. Then I heard about the generous amnesty offered by the government. I admit I was skeptical, but I couldn’t stand being a fugitive anymore, so one day I surrendered and, well, you can see how much I’m enjoying myself now. I live in one of the camps the government has established just for us sex deviates—far from the madding crowd of war, starvation and prejudice. In the camp we’ve got hiking and swimming and lots of fun things to do—and, of course, we have each other. And see what I’ve learned to do? [Shows knitting.] We’re knitting uniforms for our brave British army lads. [Puts knitting away.] But seriously—I urge all of you, my fellow sex deviates out there, to do what I did. You can trust the government. And, if you turn yourselves in today, there are still a few vacancies at one of these marvelous camps. Just say "Harold sent me!" [Winks.]
Blackout.
LOUDSPEAKER: The Ministry of Defense announced this evening that the air war has intensified sharply during the past 24 hours. Large areas of Kent have suffered defoliation raids and pockets of radio activity still exist near the cities of Dover and Folkestone. Marine traffic throughout the Scandinavian ports continues to suggest the imminence of an invasion launched from across the North Sea—[Fading under TV Talk Show musical theme.] Meanwhile work continues on the secret weapon it is hoped will—
Scene 7
TV studio. Talk Show HOSTESS and 3 female PANELISTS. CHEK puts up sign: ‘THE RED BOOKS ARE DROPPING LIKE FLIES.’
HOSTESS: Welcome to this week’s edition of "Girl Talk!" Well, there’s not much doubt about what’s uppermost in people’s minds this week, is there girls? It’s eff-oh-oh-dee, isn’t it! [PANELISTS agree.] Our panelists have been investigating all sorts of clever little tricks to help you through this irritating little food shortage of ours. What have you come up with, Mary?
MARY: A fabulous dish called, "Rodent a la Communard."
HOSTESS: That sounds distinctly continental.
MARY: It was first cooked up by the starving Parisians during the revolution of 1870—
HOSTESS: They’re so clever with food, those Parisians!
MARY: All you need are a couple of plump rats or 2 dozen mice and a pot of boiling water. Just plunk the little beasts in a pot and add whatever’s handy—apple cores, coffee grounds, banana peels. Any old garbage will do, really. Then add salt and pepper and cook until a nice glutinous consistency is obtained. A garnish of fresh grass clippings is recommended.
HOSTESS: Sounds scrumptious! How about you, Jean?
JEAN: At our house we’ve concocted something original called "Shoe Polish Souffle!"
HOSTESS: Sounds like a pop tune!
JEAN: It’s made from pulverized tree bark, dark tan shoe polish and chicken feathers. Baked at 325 degrees for 20 minutes it fluffs up wonderfully and has a sort of piquant orange flavor, with duckish overtones.
HOSTESS: Yum, yum! And, finally, Sally.
SALLY: Believe it or not my 9-year old has invented something that tastes like licorice allsorts!
HOSTESS: I believe it! What’s it made of?
SALLY: Cockroaches, spiders, slugs, ants and flies all thoroughly blended together into a gooey greenishblack dough.
HOSTESS: Has it got a name?
SALLY: We call it the "Gruesome Chewsome!" It’s loaded with protein and won’t cause cavities. [ALL laugh.]
HOSTESS: Well, you see what can be done with just a little imagination! But here to tell us what’s going on in the scientific world is Professor Colin Trik from the National Institute of Metabolic Research.
PANELISTS applaud as TRIK ENTERS wearing white lab coat.
TRIK: At the request of the government we have been working around the clock on this nutritional shortfall problem and have already come up with some rather startling results. For example—we have discovered trace elements of protein in the very air we breathe. As a matter of fact, air contains all the elements needed to sustain life!
HOSTESS: Does that mean all we have to do to stay alive is breathe?
SALLY: I told you I’ve been getting fat on oxygen all these years!
TRIK: Actually, to subsist on a diet of air, you would have to breathe 67 trillion cubic meters of it every 24 hours. It’s obvious an air diet must be supplemented. Presently we’re looking into the nutritional value of H20.
HOSTESS: That’s just plain water, isn’t it?
TRIK: That’s very astute of you! I think you’d be amazed at all the good things water has in it—
HOSTESS: I knew we could count on British science!
MARY: An air and water diet might be suitable for us professor, but when the kids come home from school they like to sink their teeth into something solid.
TRIK: We’re aware of that. I brought along an experimental food substance I’d like you all to try.
TRIK distributes paper cups, spoons. PANELISTS sample substance.
JEAN: Mmm. It’s delicious.
SALLY: Nice and creamy—
MARY: Tastes like pruneflavored yogurt.
HOSTESS: Good to the last lick! What is it exactly, professor?
TRIK: Homogenized farmyard manure. [Reactions of shock and nausea from PANELISTS.] The average layman requires a little time to get used to the idea, but it really makes a lot of sense when you think about it. After all, what is a brussel sprout but a little green bud of processed manure? We’ve been living on manure in one form or another since the onset of agriculture. All we’ve done in the laboratory is simplify the process by direct utilization of the stuff. We’re also working on the direct utilization of dirt. Would you like to try a slice of mud pie?
HOSTESS: I’m afraid we must move along to our next guest, professor. On behalf of the panel, I’d like to—thank you. [EXIT TRIK.] Our next guest is General Stiff from the Army’s School of Psychological Warfare—[ENTER GENERAL.] General Stiff is going to tell us all about sex deviates.
GENERAL: I would like to demonstrate some of the latest Deviate Identification Techniques used by the Army’s Mobile Deviate Detection Units. These techniques can also be employed by untrained personnel when coming into contact with a suspected sex deviate.
HOSTESS: But how do we know who is a suspect?
GENERAL: That’s easy. Everyone is a suspect. People who look like women are suspect. People who act like women are suspect. People who don’t look or act like women are suspect. If I could demonstrate on one of your panelists?
HOSTESS: Mary, what about you?
GENERAL: Please stay seated. This is a very simple test. Especially effective with the newer sex deviate. The one who hasn’t mastered control of his reflex actions—[Drops swagger stick into MARY’s lap.] Notice how the subject opened her legs to receive my baton? The new sex deviate would have closed his legs—
HOSTESS: We always knew you were the real thing, Mary!
GENERAL: You can practice that technique to best advantage on a bus, or in the underground. It’s a simple matter to casually drop a lighted cigarette into a suspect’s lap. Could I have another volunteer? [Offers hand to JEAN.] If I might have the pleasure?
JEAN rises. Dance music up. (‘How Sweet It Is’). GENERAL and JEAN dance.
GENERAL: Notice how my hands are exploring the suspect’s pelvic girdle? And how my fingertips are gently probing for those subcutaneous fatty deposits characteristic of the female anatomy? But—my main objective—is—to discover—whether—or not—[Music stops.]—The suspect tries to lead!!!!
JEAN: That’s just a bad habit of mine, really, ever since college—[To PANELISTS, pleading.] You’ve got to believe me!
GENERAL: I believe you. The fact of the matter is most normal women will try to lead. The sex deviate, in his obsession to overcompensate, however, never leads. Like the criminal with a perfect alibi; it’s the perfect woman who is the one to be most suspicious of. And now, for the simplest test of all—
GENERAL crosses to SALLY and slaps her. She rises, returns his slap.
SALLY: You rotten bastard!
GENERAL: Very good!
SALLY: I’m sorry, but you provoked me.
GENERAL: Exactly! A real woman can quite easily be provoked into unfeminine behavior. She will call you a bastard and go straight for your crotch with her knee—whereas the sex deviate will turn his other cheek or just stand there whimpering.
HOSTESS: And now, for the first time on television, you are going to see and hear a newly apprehended sex deviate! [SERGEANT ENTERS with DEVIATE.]
SERGEANT: Actually we caught this one standing in the queue outside the studio not 5 minutes ago.
DEVIATE sits demurely, crosses legs. She seems extremely feminine and glamorous.
JEAN: She—he—could certainly have fooled me!
MARY: She’s—he’s—quite beautiful, isn’t she—he?
SERGEANT: Could fool a Harley Street gynecologist, this one could. Calls itself "Claire."
SALLY: And what will happen to "Claire" now?
SERGEANT: Well, we have a—we take ’em to a—
GENERAL: The government has established special rehabilitation centers—
DEVIATE: He means concentration camps.
GENERAL: The subject will undergo intensive psychological—
DEVIATE: First they torture you and then it’s the gas chamber.
SERGEANT: Shut up! [Menaces DEVIATE with back of his hand.]
GENERAL: [To audience.] Don’t be misled by this creature’s appearance. What you see before you is a monster—a dedicated enemy of the British way of life and the very survival of the human species
DEVIATE: We want to save the human species. We stand for life—
SERGEANT: I’m warning you!
MARY: But you’re neither man nor woman. The future stops with you, doesn’t it? Biologically you’re a dead end.
GENERAL: We have reason to believe some of these newer models are self-fertilizing. The fiends may actually be capable of reproducing themselves! [Gasps from PANELISTS.]
DEVIATE: We will breed a new human species—a species of rational beings free from sexual warfare. A new race that will inherit your barbaric earth and rule it with kindness, love and reason. There will be no sex, no war, no—
SERGEANT stops speech with karate blow to neck. DEVIATE slumps in chair. Blackout.
LOUDSPEAKER3 : [After several bars of funeral music.] We are interrupting this program to announce the toll from the mysterious sleeping virus has reached 12 millions. A period of national mourning has been officially proclaimed. Plans for the disposal of corpses will be revealed in a future broadcast—
Funeral music up and then fade for:
Scene 8
SALT, GENERAL, DOCTOR SIK seated at conference table. CHEK puts up sign: ‘IMPROVISATIONS ON AN ANCIENT THEME BY ADAM SALT.’
GENERAL: It’s something you didn’t reckon on; getting rid of all those corpses. Admit it, old boy, you miscalculated the scale of this project.
SIK: They will start decomposing rapidly in this unseasonal heat—
GENERAL: We’ve got nearly 2 million tons of human meat on our hands!
SALT: What did you say?
GENERAL: We’ve got 2 million tons of human—
SALT rises quickly, gets file folder and rummages through it.
SIK: We should have killed them off a few hundred thousand at a time—
SALT: Ah, here it is!
GENERAL: What are you up to?
SALT: These are the figures for the capacity of our abattoirs and meat packing plants—
SIK: What are you getting at?
SALT: We can process those corpses into food a lot faster than we can bury them.
GENERAL: You’re insane!
SIK: You can’t expect the British to eat each other—
SALT: Why not? We’ll make bangers out of them!
GENERAL: It’s out-and-out cannibalism!
SALT: Steak and kidney pies! Bacon and ham!
GENERAL: It’s disgusting!
SALT: It’s a stroke of genius!
GENERAL: It’s unChristian!
SALT: It’s necessary!
GENERAL: I’ll have to resign. Killing people is one thing. But eating them? Well, I’m just not ready for that sort of thing, Salt.
SIK: It is a disgusting idea—
SALT: It’s a beautiful idea! Those who have died will not have died in vain. With their very flesh and blood—blood pudding!—they will nourish us; and through us they will continue to live! And, if there are Englishmen ten thousand years from now, they will look back on us and say, "That was our finest hour!"
Blackout.
Scene 9
ENTER BUTCHER in front of curtains with meat grinder, into which he feeds raw meat.
BUTCHER: That Salt’s a genius, isn’t he? I mean, he’s right, is he not? Does it make any sense to put all this lovely red meat into a hole in the ground? Should we starve while the worms get fat? It’s the Hindus what’s got them cows they won’t eat, isn’t it? Sacred Cows they calls ’em. Well, that’s it, isn’t it? We’ve got our own sacred cows—only they ain’t cows, is they? [Winks.] Besides, metaphysically speaking; does it matter what goes in up here when it all comes out the same at this end? [Pulling links of sausage from grinder, sings:]
THE BUTCHER’S SONG
Marrow and maw
Udder and paw
Sinew and gut
Shoulder and butt
Stuff ’em in the hopper
Force it through the chopper
Turn the crank
And mince it coarse
And mince it fine
No one wants to see the gore
No one wants to know the score
In this game called Life!
Buttock and hip
Nipple and lip
Belly and thigh
Elbow and eye
Stuff ’em in the hopper
Force it through the chopper
Turn the crank
And mince it coarse
And mince it fine
Something’s floating in the stew
Looks like one of father’s shoes
What has become of Dad?
Son and brother
Wife and mother
Aunt and grandma
Babe and grandpa
Stuff ’em in the hopper
Force it through the chopper
Turn the crank
And mince it coarse
And mince it fine
Something sizzling in the pan
Smells a little bit like Grand
Mother’s goose is cooked!
Pleasure and pain
Sunshine and rain
Concord and strife
Husband and wife
Stuff ’em in the hopper
Force it through the chopper
Turn the crank
And mince it coarse
And mince it fine
Don’t complain about your fate
Just accept what’s on your plate.
Don’t complain about your fate
Just accept what’s on your plate!
EXIT BUTCHER with meat grinder as curtains open on:
Scene 10
Kop’s bunker. A banquet has just ended. Small Christmas tree with gifts under it. A very tall package stands next to tree. Present are: GENERAL, ARCHBISHOP, SLIK, DR SIK, ECSTASY STARR, KOP and SALTS. CHEK puts up sign: ‘THE MANNA IS DEVOURED ON CHRISTMAS EVE IN KOP’S SUPREMOBUNKER.’
SLIK: [Wiping lips with napkin.] A firstrate meal, Kop.
ARCHBISHOP: I’d almost forgotten what real meat tasted like!
SIK: My compliments to the chef. One would never guess what it was we have just eaten.
ECSTASY STARR: What was it?
SIK: How droll you are my dear Ecstasy!
SLIK: After devouring each other metaphorically for all these centuries, it’s refreshingly honest it is to actually sink one’s teeth into a fellow AngloSaxon.
ARCHBISHOP: [Burping.] I can’t help but think of the transsubstantial magic occurring as the flesh of our departed brethren become one with our own!
GENERAL: Thank God we don’t know who the blighters were.
SLIK: I propose a toast—to the man who ripped away the last shred of British hypocrisy! To Adam Salt for showing us what it feels like to be utterly honest!
SIK: To Salt!
ALL drink.
GENERAL: I have to admit it, Salt; you’ve got guts of stainless steel. I’ve killed hundreds of thousands of men, women and children for England and stretched my conscience to the breaking point in the process. But you come along and make all of my "crimes against humanity" seem so trivial—
SLIK: Think of all the meat that went to waste in those wars of yours, General.
SIK: How many of us would have had the courage to barbecue their mother for the fatherland?
ECSTASY STARR: Or fricassee their father for the motherland?
ARCHBISHOP: Or saute their sister-in-law?
GENERAL: Or boil their brother?
SLIK: Where do these ideas of yours come from, Salt?
SALT: I only put 2 and 2 together and came up with 4.
Laughter from ALL.
KOP: And now my friends, it’s time for the giving of gifts! Let us start with the biggest one of all! It’s for you, Salt!
SALT goes to tall package. AVA emerges from it holding small child in her arms. SALTS are confused.
KOP: What’s the matter Salt; don’t you recognize your own daughter?
MRS SALT: Ava? Can it really be—is it really you?
SALTS embrace AVA as others applaud. Explosion and blackout. After pause OLD WOMAN and OLD SOLDIER ENTER in darkness, probe their way through scene with flashlight.
OLD WOMAN: Come on Tom—I think we’ll be safe in this hole. Tom, is that gravy I smell?
ARCHBISHOP: Who’s there?
OLD WOMAN: [Shining light on ARCHBISHOP.] Just old Tom and me.
ARCHBISHOP: I thought I was dead! A frightening experience—
OLD WOMAN: There are things worse than death—aren’t there, Tom! Life, for instance!
ECSTASY STARR: Are we really alive?
OLD WOMAN: [Putting light on ECSTASY STARR.] You can tell by the hunger pains in your gut, deary. I swear I smell roast beef, Tom!
SLIK: The General’s got his rump singed!
OLD WOMAN: General? What kind of highclass hole have we stumbled into?
SIK: This is the Supremo’s command bunker.
GENERAL: How is Kop?
KOP: Never better! It’s a miracle!
Lights flicker and stay on but remain dimmer than before.
MRS SALT: Yes, it’s a miracle we’re all safe. For just for a moment I thought our reunion with Ava would be a brief one—
SALT: [Hugging AVA.] We’re not going to let a near miss come between us, are we?
SLIK: Nothing like a brush with death to rekindle one’s lust for life.
ECSTASY STARR: I feel as if I’d been reborn! Like an old skin has been stripped away!
OLD WOMAN: These bombs have a lot of surprises in them!
GENERAL: There’s nothing like a good war. You chew each minute twice before swallowing it.
SIK: The frontiers of medical knowledge are advancing like a division of panzers!
SLIK: The ethical frontiers are advancing faster than a jet fighter!
KOP: The crime rate is down to zero!
OLD WOMAN: The eating rate is down to zero!
ARCHBISHOP: Christianity has never been so rampant!
OLD WOMAN: Not since the Black Plague at least!
GENERAL: When a man’s in a war he’s like a fish in water!
OLD WOMAN: That’s a fishy idea!
ECSTASY STARR: And when a woman’s in a war, how can she help but fall in love? [Music up.]
OLD WOMAN: [Embracing OLD SOLDIER.] Now that might be true, eh Tom?
ECSTASY STARR comes downstage for the singing of:
THERE IS NOTHING LIKE A WAR
Every morning at the station as the cameras grind away
Come the sweethearts and their lovers
Gaudy flowers strewn among the khaki and the grey
And you try to touch his fingers
Through the window of the train
As the young men shout and wave goodbye
The train pulls out of sight
The women stand and cry
Oh, there’s nothing like a war
With the drums and trumpets sounding
When there’s danger in the air
A woman’s heart can’t keep from pounding
And his smile becomes a snapshot
In the album of your mind
As he says he won’t be gone for long
His voice begins to fade
Like an old love song
And you still recall the roughness
When you touched his coarse wool coat
As he held you in that last embrace
A souvenir remained
Pressed against your face
Oh, there’s nothing like a war
With the drums and trumpets sounding
When there’s danger in the air
A woman’s heart can’t keep from pounding
OLD WOMAN: There are things the camera never shows
A young man leaves his sweetheart at the station
And walks straight into the goddamm buzzsaw of war
So before he knows what’s happening
He’s only half the man he was before
And who’s to wash his belly
And change the smelly dressing on his rot?
Somebody’s got to do up his flies
Or if he’s got no eyes lead his fingers to the spot!
OLD WOMAN puts OLD SOLDIER’s hand on her breast and they kiss.
There are things the camera never shows
A sweetheart leaves her soldier at the station
And sees the goddamm buzzsaw of war
Dripping with his blood
So before she knows what’s happening
Her girlish dreams are nipped in the bud
And who’s to wash his belly
And change the smelly dressing on his rot?
Somebody’s got to do up his flies
Or if he’s got no eyes lead his fingers to the spot!
OLD WOMAN puts OLD SOLDIER’s hand to her hip and they kiss.
There are things the camera never shows
An old woman stands and listens
As the roar of the goddamm buzzsaw increases
She stays when the cameras have gone
Waiting to pick up the pieces
And who’s to wash his belly
And change the smelly dressing on his rot?
Somebody’s got to do up his flies
Or if he’s got no eyes lead his fingers to the spot!
OLD WOMAN lifts skirt, puts OLD SOLDIER’s hand under it as she sings with ECSTASY STARR:
ECSTACY STARR & OLD WOMAN:
And his smile becomes a snapshot
In the album of your mind
As he says he won’t be gone for long
His voice begins to fade
Like an old love song
Blackout.
LOUDSPEAKER: The Air Ministry reports that at the rate enemy bombers are presently destroying our cities they will have run out of targets by the middle of May. The Office of Price Stabilization announces that for the third week running, prices on nonexistent or unavailable goods have remained stable. The only area where inflation remains unchecked is that segment of the economy where goods are actually being bought and sold—
Scene 11
SALT enters bare stage with CHILD on shoulders. CHEK puts up sign: ‘SALT STANDS WITH HIS GRANDSON ON A HILL OVERLOOKING ENGLAND’S WARTORN LANDSCAPE.’
SALT: Well, we made it! The old man is not in such bad shape after all, is he? Look how high up we are! As high as the sky! You’re not frightened, are you? Feel how tightly I’m holding you? Nothing can tear you from my iron grip! See how tiny the river seems down there. Everything is like a toy! For you the world is a vast toy shop, my grandson! Yes, life is a wonderful thing—and do you know who we have to thank for it all? [Puts ear to child’s lips.] That’s right! God, our heavenly father! He is always up there watching over us Salts. Do you realize our roots go all the way back to Adam and Eve? In your veins flows the blood of Abraham and Moses—and Shakespeare—and me! One continuous river of blood all those thousands of years. Through all the wars and floods and plagues, nothing has stopped that river of blood. And someday your blood will flow in the veins of your children. And so it goes. On and on and on—and don’t ask me where it will all end!
ENTER AVA breathless from the climb. She sits.
AVA: I had to stop for a rest—I don’t know how you do it, papa—
SALT: I do it a step at a time. You can climb the highest mountains by just taking one step at a time.
AVA: I’m always looking ahead, to see how far I must travel. Sometimes that can be discouraging—[Looking down.] How ugly our beloved London has become!
SALT: You get used to it; like the disfigured face of a hero wounded in the fight for a noble cause You come to love it the way it is for what it represents.
AVA: How can you love something whose beauty has been so foully desecrated?
SALT: Maybe I can see in its ashes the new city that will rise—
AVA: That’s one of Kop’s slogans.
SALT: Kop has a model of the new London. It’s going to be a city of monumental skyscrapers—
AVA: [Rising.] Damn Kop!
SALT: If it weren’t for Kop—
AVA: If it weren’t for Kop, this war would never have started!
SALT: The enemy started the war.
AVA: The enemy? Who is the enemy!
SALT: The ones who drop the bombs on us!
AVA: It isn’t bombs that are destroying us. We are destroying ourselves. Those bombs are only the manifestation of our own evil—
SALT: I came up here to get away from all of that!
AVA: You can’t escape it! The stench of our guilt is in the air!
SALT: I don’t smell it. I can only smell the first fragrance of spring in the air!
AVA: I’m talking to you like this because I know you are still a decent man papa. Deep down you haven’t changed—
SALT: Yes. It isn’t I who have changed, Ava!
AVA: You can’t avoid the responsibility for what is happening. The power is in your hands to—
SALT: Power? What power have I got? I’m just an ordinary man acting out a dream. A feather in the wind. A puppet on a string. See how I move when my strings are pulled? Even now I don’t know what I’m saying! Words just tumble from my—
AVA: You must kill him! You must kill Kop! Deep down you know you should—you know you must—kill Kop.
SALT moves his lips speechlessly. SERGEANT ENTERS with pistol drawn.
SERGEANT: I’ve got orders for your arrest, Salt.
SALT gives CHILD to AVA, EXITS with SERGEANT.
AVA: [Hugging CHILD.] How absurd!
Blackout.
LOUDSPEAKER: The state police in Derbyshire have taken into custody what is believed to be the youngest sex deviate on record. A 3-year old named Marie Robert Owens was found loitering outside a public toilet distributing antiwar propaganda and begging for sweets.
Scene 12
SALT in prison garb doing calisthenics. SOLDIER in greatcoat and helmet stands guard. CHEK puts up sign: ‘THE FIRST GREEN BUDS OF SPRING EMERGE FROM THE ENGLISH RUBBLE.’
SALT: 1—2—3—4—What’s it to be? 5—6—7—8—The firing squad? 9—10—The hangman’s rope? [Lies on bunk or floor.] No, don’t tell me. It doesn’t pay to look too far ahead. Take things a step at a time. Live your life minute by minute. You can live a whole lifetime in a quarter of an hour if you have to! It’s all relative, isn’t it? Whether a man lives 60 years or 60 minutes? Still, you can’t help thinking about death when it’s breathing down the back of your neck. I remember reading once that when a man dies it’s as if the entire world dies with him; because the world exists only inside his head. Think of all the things that are inside a man’s head! Mountain ranges, rivers, cities—even the stars! What’s going on inside your head, soldier? Thinking about a beautiful girl? [SOLDIER removes helmet.] Kop! What are you doing here?
KOP: [Removing coat.] Isn’t it obvious? I was hoping you might make an incriminating statement!
SALT: I’m sorry—
KOP: You can’t fool me anymore Salt! Inside that simple mind of yours conspiracies writhe like snakes in a pit! Admit it! [Takes pistol from pocket or holster, aims it at SALT.]
SALT: —I admit it—
KOP: You admit what?
SALT: Whatever you want me to admit.
KOP: That you despise me? That you’ve always despised me? Since that first day we met?
SALT: —Yes—
KOP: Then say it!
SALT: I—despise you—
KOP: With conviction!
SALT: I despise you!
KOP: [Strutting, exultant.] I knew it! I can breathe easier now that I know how you really feel about me! Somehow I always feel more comfortable when I know I’m despised by everyone—
SALT: Surely not everyone hates you.
KOP: Oh?
SALT: Why should they?
KOP: Because they’re jealous! Jealous of my talent, my intellect—my rugged individualism! It infuriates them that I scorn their very hatred of me! It is their hatred that ennobles me. Just as Christ had his crown of thorns!
SALT: It wasn’t right—
KOP: What wasn’t?
SALT: What they did to Christ—
KOP: Right? What has right got to do with it? Can’t you see how beautifully perfect it is when the whole world despises you!
SALT: What about those schoolgirls?
KOP: What schoolgirls?
SALT: The ones at your inauguration as Supremo—the ones who presented you with those wild flowers they gathered with their own hands and made into a bouquet.
KOP: Ah, the virgins with their floral tribute to the man sworn to protect their chastity! How wide their eyes were as they approached my throne—I thought it was their awe for my majesty! But then they flung their gifts at my feet—flung them and ran away in fear and panic—as if I were a dirty old man!
SALT: They were just nervous
KOP: They hated me!
SALT: Why would innocent creatures like that hate you?
KOP: Because—they knew.
SALT: Knew what?
KOP: That I’m obscene! That I’m a bedbug! That I’m ugly, ugly, ugly! [Buries face in hands.]
SALT: That isn’t true, Kop. You’re not ugly. No uglier than any other human being—
KOP: I even hate myself. I hate my eyes, my feet—I hate my chin—
SALT: Your chin?
KOP: [Uncovers face.] It’s a weak chin—
SALT: No weaker than my own. In fact, I’d say it’s a strongerlooking chin than mine.
KOP: Yes, but you’ve got those high cheekbones to compensate for your weak chin. My cheeks are on the puffy side; you can’t deny it! These are not the cheeks one expects to find on a detective, let alone a dictator. But is that any reason to despise me? Is it my fault I have flabby cheeks and bad breath?
SALT: Bad breath?
KOP: Smell! [Exhales near SALT’s nose.]
SALT: Your breath smells like licorice!
KOP: Only because I am constantly sucking on a lozenge. Despite what they say in the ads, halitosis is incurable. Believe me, my natural breath would have left you in a state of pulmonary paralysis. On the other hand I have managed to conquer my dandruff. [Shows SALT his scalp.]
SALT: That’s an admirable scalp alright—
KOP: And my fingernails!
SALT: Immaculate—
KOP: I change my underwear three times a day and there isn’t a trace of wax in my ears!
SALT: Clean as a whistle!
KOP: Then why does everyone treat me as if I were covered in excrement! Even you—all this time we’ve known each other—have you ever reached out—and touched me?
SALT: Touched you?
KOP: Does that idea make your flesh crawl?
SALT reaches tentatively toward KOP, who grasps his hand and brings it to his cheek.
KOP: There. Feel how soft it is? [SALT pulls hand away.] So! You think I’m obscene too! Say it! You think I’m queer. It’s written in your eyes! You might as well say the filthy, stinking word out loud! Say it! Say it! Queer! Queer! Queer!!!!
SALT: Queer!
KOP breaks down, collapses into SALT’s lap. SALT cradles him as he would a child.
SALT: The thing is, Kop; you’re a great man—and great men are not so easy to judge. They don’t live by the same rules as we common folk. I remember reading once that Napoleon’s sex life was on the peculiar side too. Seems he got his satisfaction from conquering whole nations instead of women. Used his mind and body as a kind of gigantic sex organ. Maybe that’s the way it is with all great men. Their ideologies are like sperm flung into the womb of history; and from that "superspunk" springs up entire tribes and civilizations, vast social movements, revolutions—those are the offspring of great men—
During speech KOP’s head has been rising from SALT’s lap.
KOP: Yes! That’s how it is with me! That’s exactly how I feel! Flinging my seed into the womb of history! Bruising my lips on the death head’s grinning mouth! Pressing my thumbs into the bellies of nations! Lashing the naked haunch of the masses with my tongue! Drawing freshets of blood from the bare backs of whole civilizations with my fingernails!
KOP is standing at end of speech. SALT picks up pistol KOP has left on floor. KOP turns and sees SALT, who seems to be aiming pistol at him. Dramatic pause before SALT hands weapon to KOP.
KOP: You could have shot me just now.
SALT: No. I couldn’t. Don’t you see? In the final analysis I’m not the type who makes history—
KOP: Salt! You sublime idiot! You divine fool! Do you know what you really are? You’re a man’s best friend, Salt. You have all the qualities one expects to find in a dog—[Puts pistol against SALT’s head.] You’d even let your master put his gun against your head and pull the trigger without a whimper of protest, wouldn’t you? [Puts pistol away.] You don’t even mind being compared to a dog, do you?
SALT: Personally, I’ve never understood why people think so poorly of dogs.
KOP: Of dogs—and of great men! Come, my faithful companion! Destiny beckons us with its horny finger—and who are we to refuse such an invitation!
Blackout.
LOUDSPEAKER: Attention! Attention! The next voice you hear will be that of our glorious Supremo, Kop!
KOP: My fellow Englishmen—and Englishwomen! We have suffered much. Our ranks have been decimated—and decimated again—and again! Our struggle has been long and hard. But now the moment of triumph is at hand. Victory is within our grasp. The secret weapon we have been praying for has materialized! It exists! And who has placed this weapon in our hands? None other than the man you call the Giver Of Bread and the man I call my strong right arm. Salt! He is here at my side now, this man whose name is Salt but whose soul is made of iron. He will explain.
SALT: For the past two days a chemical has been added to the nation’s drinking water. In the heterosexual citizen this chemical will produce no effects whatsoever. But in the deviate it produces a vivid blue skin rash. In the next few hours this blue rash will begin to appear on the thousands of sex deviates who have eluded our dragnets. Persons exhibiting the telltale rash must be reported to the police no matter who they are. The chemical does not lie!
KOP: Remember! Once this enemy in our midst has been exterminated, we can smash the enemy threatening our sacred shoreline!
Scene 13
The Salt apartment. MRS SALT in ‘kitchen’ preparing food, humming torch song to herself happily. CHEK puts up sign: ‘MRS SALT PLANS A SURPRISE PARTY FOR HER HEROIC HUSBAND.’ SALT ENTERS removes hat and coat, collapses into chair.
MRS SALT: Adam? Is that you?
SALT: —Yes—
MRS SALT: [Crossing to SALT, drying hands.] Well? Is it working? Are they turning blue?
SALT: It’s working.
MRS SALT: You don’t seem very happy about it. But I suppose you have had a hard day. Would you like some fake sherry? [Pours him glass.] Those scientists of yours are so clever, Adam. When the war is over we won’t want to go back to real sherry, will we? And now the war will be over soon! You’re not drinking. What’s wrong?
SALT: Something—happened—on the way home. I was driving along the embankment, where Westminster used to be. There was a crowd of people. Something told me it was trouble so I stopped the car and got out—
MRS SALT: [Sipping sherry.] Oh, Adam, you shouldn’t take such chances!
SALT: There were about 50 people forming a circle—
MRS SALT: Any sizable group means trouble nowadays—
SALT: In the middle of the circle there was a deviate. The blue rash was on its face and arms—
MRS SALT: They can’t hide from the chemical, can they! You said it would finish them—
SALT: The crowd had already knocked most of is teeth out, and one of its eyes—
MRS SALT: We’ve suffered a lot because of them!
SALT: One of the children in the crowd had made a spear from a piece of green wood and pressed it against the deviate’s chest but the child wasn’t heavy enough to drive the point of the spear into the deviate’s heart. It’s mouth opened to say something but only a gurgling noise came out. Then that single remaining eye turned to me—it seemed to recognize me—seemed to accuse me—that one eye. Or was it asking me to save it? Or to kill it? To finish off what I had begun ?
MRS SALT: It was asking to be killed—to be put out of a misery you had nothing to do with creating!
SALT: I opened my lips to shout at the child to stop! But before the word came out, a man leant against the spear with the child and together they drove it through the deviate’s heart. A great spurt of blood leapt from that pierced heart straight to my lips!
MRS SALT: Thank God you didn’t interfere. That mob might have killed you, too!
SALT: The way the blood leapt up from that heart—straight to my lips!
MRS SALT: I have something to make you forget all that! [Goes to ‘kitchen’ and returns with bowl.] Look! Strawberries!
SALT: Strawberries? We haven’t synthesized strawberries yet—
MRS SALT: They’re not fake; they’re real!
SALT: I don’t believe you—
MRS SALT: A man came to the door selling them—
SALT: You’re lying!
MRS SALT: You’re making me feel like a criminal!
SALT: You are a criminal!
MRS SALT: Just smell them, Adam. Just close your eyes and breathe in their fragrance—[Brings bowl to SALT.] If we close our eyes we can escape the horror. Remember the first strawberries of the season? You used to come home with masses and masses of them. And you would say: even if you were a king or the richest man on earth or the most powerful, you couldn’t have a finer treat than fresh strawberries. "All the cunning of science," you would say, "couldn’t produce a single strawberry. Only God could do that—"
SALT: That was so long ago—
MRS SALT: Tonight it will be just like the old times. We’re going to have a party, Adam! A summertime party! A strawberry party! [Leads SALT to table, calls.] Ava! We’re having a party! [Goes to ‘kitchen,’ brings party items to table.] That’s all we have to do; close our eyes and then open them again and everything will be as it once was! And why not? Why shouldn’t life be as it once was? [Sits at table.] Ava! We’re waiting for you and Adam Junior!
AVA ENTERS holding child, her face and arms manifesting the blue rash. MRS SALT sees this, but SALT must turn in his chair before he can.
SALT: Your mother has persuaded—[Reacts to sight of rash.] What? How?
MRS SALT: Oh—oh—oh!
AVA: I thought about going underground—but there isn’t any place to hide anymore, is there?
MRS SALT: I don’t understand this! [To SALT.] Explain it Adam! Somebody explain it!
SALT: Can’t you see? This isn’t Ava! We fooled ourselves into believing—we blinded ourselves to the truth. There isn’t even a resemblance between this creature and our daughter!
MRS SALT: Then where is Ava?
AVA: She’s dead. Killed in an air raid. She gave me the child for safekeeping.
SALT: So the child is ours!
AVA: Yes—the child is yours. But are you sure you want it? [Reveals child’s face—it also shows blue rash.]
MRS SALT: Oh, my God—my God!
SALT: It’s a lie, a trick!
SALT takes child, tries to wipe rash off with saliva. Enraged, he smashes child against table, destroying it. DEVIATE SOLDIERS ENTER, all manifesting blue rash, wearing combat uniforms and carrying submachine guns.
DEVIATE OFFICER: In the name of the Revolutionary Government, you are under arrest Salt!
CHEK puts up sign: ‘A NEW DAY IS DAWNING.’ SALT is led off by SOLDIERS. MRS SALT sits at table inhaling fragrance of strawberries. AVA picks up destroyed child.
AVA: So, my little one, the war is over. A new day is dawning. The war is over and some of us have actually survived—
Music up for singing of:
AVA’S LAMENT
Where do they lead?
These barren days of mine
What do they mean?
These fruitless seasons of my years?
Barren days
Fruitless years
Wasted life
Useless tears
When will they end?
These deep and dreamless nights
Why do they come?
These false and resurrecting dawns
Stop my breath
Close my eyes
Clench my heart
Let me die
What does it bring?
This newest day of all?
Why should I hear these voices
Singing songs of praise?
Rising sun
Newborn days
Words of hope
Songs of praise
What does it mean?
Blackout.
LOUDSPEAKER: [Female voice.] Good morning, Great Britain. It’s a lovely summer day, isn’t it? On the Embankment dahlias are blossoming. 27 babies were born in London yesterday. The season’s first strawberries are being sold in Covent Garden. Former "Supremo" Kop hanged himself in his cell last night. A performance of Thornton Wilder’s The Skin of Our Teeth will be given tonight at 7:30 in the ruins of Her Majesty’s Theater. And, if anyone’s interested, our former deputy "Supremo," Mr Adam Salt, remains in custody at the Old Bailey awaiting his trial for high crimes against the human race. Meanwhile, The National Institute of Nutrition revealed today that recent studies indicate the eating of ice cream contributes to longevity—
Scene 14
SALT lying on prison cot. He rises, splashes face with water. CHEK puts up sign: ‘COFFEE PRICES IN SHARP DECLINE!’
SALT: Every morning I wake up expecting to find this has all been a bad dream. Am I dreaming now, or am I wide awake? When I was lying there just now I had a wonderful dream. I was at the old petrochemical plant sorting out some production snags—just routine problems, but how sweet they seem now! And when the whistle blew, I came home to find a nice supper waiting for me. And after supper I strolled down to the tobacconist’s for my evening cigar; just a cheap tuppenny stogie but to me it tasted like the finest Havana. I watched the blue smoke curl into the summer air. Then I met a neighbor walking his dog. We had a brief, meaningless, conversation about the weather—but to me it wasn’t meaningless! I wanted that conversation to go on forever! Later, while watching some blissfully boring television program, I dozed off in my favorite chair—and, when I awoke, I was here, in this prison cell! Or am I dreaming now? Am I still in that favorite chair of mine dreaming all this? Which is the dream life and which the real life? Maybe, when they execute me, I’ll find out once and for all—
ENTER SLIK in top hat, pinstriped pants, morning coat, carrying briefcase.
SLIK: Good morning, Salt! I’ve got wonderful news for you! Your trial begins today!
SALT: Thank God!
SLIK: The government is worried.
SALT: The government is worried!
SLIK: The heterosexuals are getting restless. Your stature is growing to heroic proportions with each passing hour. Our strategy must be to drag the trial out and wait for the storm to gather—
SALT: No! I want to get this nightmare behind me!
SLIK: The war isn’t over yet, Salt! The decisive battle is just beginning!
SALT: I’m tired of fighting—tired of crusades and history and destiny. Find someone else to play the hero.
SLIK: There is no one else. When Kop bit the dust you became the symbol of what we all believe. The fate of our civilization rests in your hands. The deviates may control the government but the battle for the hearts and minds of the people still rages on. Whether you want to or not, Salt, you must lead us into this, the decisive battle!
Lights fade on SALT. SLIK comes downstage bringing chair with him; sits, lights cigar and addresses audience:
SLIK: Well, what have we got here? One day a man is sitting on a sunlit patio enjoying a cup of coffee while his wife writes a postcard and the next thing he knows, he’s accused of being a mass murderer! One moment a man is just a small cog in a vast machine, and the next he’s a minister in the government! Obviously when one gets out of bed in the morning, one must be prepared for anything! Still, not to worry. Things aren’t as black as they might seem for Adam Salt. The prosecution will paint him in the lurid colors of England’s archest villain—the man who butchered millions of Britons! A massmurdering monster! The leering architect of genocide! But we know differently! We will have our hour in court and we have done our homework! [Taps briefcase.] Oh yes, we have done our homework!
Lights rise behind SLIK. SALT has left the stage. Characters for trial scene enter and establish set.
SLIK: Salt is not alone as he stands before the bar of English justice! We have in this briefcase legal precedents and jurisprudential arguments of irresistible force. We will unleash an arsenal of rhetorical fireworks! We will hurl sticks of moral dynamite! And more, my friends, much more than that, we have you—the people! It isn’t Salt who is really on trial here; it’s us! You and me and all we hold dear and precious: those ancient dreams of our AngloSaxon ancestors and the future dreams of our descendants! Remember Kop’s dream—his England of sunlight and clean air? His England of proud and decent folk? His England of rockhard moral values and rockbottom prices? Those are the issues at stake in this momentous trial. What you believe versus what they believe. But maybe it’s even simpler than that. Perhaps it’s just—Salt. Salt is us and we are Salt. [Rises.] Yes, just think of it like that. Salt is us and we are Salt!
CHIEF JUSTICE: Let the trial of Adam Salt begin!
Scene 15
3 FEMALE JURISTS reclining on elevated platform, smoking pot, wearing trendy attire with traditional judicial wigs. PROSECUTRIX is similarly dressed, scores on coke. Incense is burning. SLIK takes chair to table at which SALT is seated. CHEK puts up sign: ‘THE END IS NEAR. WATCH. LISTEN.’
CHIEF JUSTICE: This is the case of the Human Race versus Adam Salt.
ENTER PAK. He is an old man wearing prison or concentration camp pajamas. He is led to witness chair by PROSECUTRIX.
PROSECUTRIX: Are you comfortable?
PAK shields eyes from spotlights.
PROSECUTRIX: Can we have those lights dimmed? [Lights are dimmed.] Would you like a joint to calm your nerves? [Offers PAK lighted joint—he takes puff, coughs.] Would you tell the Court your name, please?
PAK: 554872!
PROSECUTRIX: That is the number they gave you in prison. What was your name before they put you in prison?
PAK: Before—?
PROSECUTRIX: Your name was Pak, wasn’t it? You had a son named Chek?
PAK looks at CHEK.
PAK: Chek—!
PROSECUTRIX: How old are you Mr Pak?
PAK thinks, shakes his head.
PROSECUTRIX: You are 43, Mr Pak. 43 years old, are you not? Can you tell us something about your childhood, Mr Pak? [Pause.] Did you have a childhood, Mr Pak?
PAK: I remember—children—playing with—a ball—a red ball!
PROSECUTRIX: Were you playing with the children?
PAK: No!
PROSECUTRIX: They wouldn’t let you play with them?
PAK: [In a reverie.] Children with bright golden hair—their skin as white as milk—or alabaster!
PROSECUTRIX: What do you remember about your father?
PAK: Kicked by a horse! Ruptured spleen! Dead! Just like that! [Snaps fingers.]
PROSECUTRIX: And your mother?
PAK: No mother—
PROSECUTRIX: You had a dog though, didn’t you, Mr Pak?
PAK: Lik! Lik was my dog! A yellow dog with black spots!
SLIK: How long must we tolerate this melodrama—this smalltalk about children and balls and yellow dogs with black spots? Is the prosecution trying to diminish the great issues at trial here? In the name of the millions who died, I protest! We have come here to talk of mass murder—to give answers to those who lie in their graves demanding to know why they had to die!
PROSECUTRIX: We are not concerned with the dead. We are concerned with the living.
CHIEF JUSTICE: [Having taken drag on joint.] Is this line of questioning relevant?
PROSECUTRIX: As relevant as a single blade of grass is to every green thing growing on this planet, your honoress!
CHIEF JUSTICE: Alright. Proceed. [Drags on joint.]
PROSECUTRIX: Do you recognize these? [Shows PAK small bundle of letters.]
PAK: No!
PROSECUTRIX: They were written by you in your own hand. You wrote about many things. About your father and your mother, about the dog and the stars and the children with golden hair. You wrote about your wife—[Reads from letter.] "You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. More beautiful than food to a starving man. How silky your hair is and how smooth your skin is. Beneath your milkwhite skin I can see the blue veins of your circulatory system. Beneath your skin there is such endless complexity. Your bones and blood and organs. Mysterious things. Complex things. I love them all."
SLIK: This is insufferable! I’m warning the Court—the British people won’t tolerate this mockery!
SALT: [Rises.] I didn’t know!!! [Sitting.] I didn’t know—he could—write—such things. How could I—have known?
PAK: Is that you, Mr Salt?
PROSECUTRIX: Do you recognize that man?
PAK: Yes. That Is Mr Salt. Mr Adam Salt.
PROSECUTRIX: How long have you known him?
PAK: He has been coming to my hotel for 20 years.
PROSECUTRIX: You were friends then?
PAK: To him I was—just his waiter.
PROSECUTRIX: In all those years he never called you by your name?
PAK: He called me "waiter."
SLIK: Is it a crime to call a waiter a "waiter?"
PROSECUTRIX: It is a small fact; a piece in the puzzle.
SLIK: A piece in the puzzle! Constructing a courtroom drama, are we? Well, to help this little farce along, the Defense stipulates that the Right Honorable Adam Salt did, for 20 years, call this waiter—a "waiter."
PROSECUTRIX: Thank you. I will concentrate now on the events leading to Mr Pak’s bankruptcy and imprisonment.
SLIK: This should be fascinating!
PROSECUTRIX: This is a bill made out by you, dated July 1, to Mr Salt, in the amount of 3 shillings, is that right?
PAK: It was breakfast for two.
PROSECUTRIX: Was this the sort of bill you gave him every morning?
PAK: Yes; except that this time the amount was 3 shillings instead of 2 and 6.
PROSECUTRIX: Why was that?
PAK: The price of coffee had gone up.
SLIK: The price of coffee had gone up!
PAK: Because of what was happening in the jungles of Guatemala I had to double the price of a pot. It went from sixpence to one shilling.
PROSECUTRIX: And you posted this sign to that effect? [Shows sign.]
PAK: Yes.
PROSECUTRIX: And what happened when you came to collect the money?
PAK: Mr Salt had gone. There was only 2 and 6 on the table. I called after him. I combed the town looking for him. And then, we met on the lake—
PROSECUTRIX: And what happened on the lake?
PAK: I asked him for the money and he threw it into the water. I dove in and searched for the coin but I could not find it.
PROSECUTRIX: You risked your life for that sixpence?
PAK: The butcher wouldn’t accept any excuses. He refused to leave any more meat because payment for the previous day’s bill was short by sixpence. So there was no meat for supper that night. The guests began leaving. The greengrocer notified me my credit with him had dried up and the bank called to say the balance of their mortgage was due forthwith. And then the police came and arrested me for piracy on the high seas—
PROSECUTRIX: The prosecution rests.
SLIK: [Rises.] I must confess the defense has gravely underestimated the ability of its young adversary—[Bows to PROSECUTRIX.] She—or is it "he?" Or "it?" evokes visions of Saint Joan bearding the clergy—or David loading his sling against Goliath? [Holding portfolio aloft.] We came here to do battle on the loftiest of legal levels! We expected a combat of champions—a monumental contest of ideas! We came well briefed—[Takes pages from portfolio, drops them to floor one by one.] Learned commentaries on the Laws of Ancient Civilizations—Philosophic disputations—Metaphysical expositionsScholarly treatises! Were we wrong to think that this trial deserved such gravity of purpose? These are the very gravest of allegations, are they not? To charge a man with genocide? To accuse a man of cannibalism? Are there any fouler crimes? And so we came here dedicated to clear this man’s honorable name. But we are to be cheated! We came here to climb mountains only to find ourselves groveling in the gutter looking for a lost sixpence!
Don’t be fooled, my friends! Since they cannot prove Adam Salt is guilty, the State has decided to prove he is absurd! To humiliate him! To degrade him! Well, other men have been so degraded and it did not diminish them! A crown of thorns —a cup of vinegar—a plain wooden cross—these things become dignified by the martyr who bears them! And so shall we approach these proceedings; with the dignity they deserve in the name of the ghosts who inhabit this solemn courtroom! [Slowly orbits PAK, who fidgets.] Am I making you nervous?
PAK: No.
SLIK: I’m trying to find out what kind of man you are—what kind of witness you’ll make. [Face to face with PAK.] I am seeking your flaws. Like a skilled diamond cutter, I am scrutinizing the rough stone before I make the first cut. [Pause.] "Pak"—that’s a rather strange name for an Englishman, isn’t it? Sounds decidedly foreign—and that skin of yours? It’s a darker shade than most, wouldn’t you say? Are you sensitive about your name and the color of your skin? But surely, the color of your skin is a fact. You’re not afraid of facts are you? Are you angry with me for merely mentioning these facts? There is something burning in your eyes. Is that hatred I see? You do hate me, don’t you? You hate me because my skin is white and my eyes are blue and because I speak the truth. You hate me, don’t you? Don’t you? Don’t you!!!!
PAK: Yes!!!!
SLIK: Of course you hate me. And why shouldn’t you? You’re only human aren’t you? And you’ve had such a sad life! To have one’s father kicked to death by a horse! You have good cause to feel indignant. You do feel indignant at times, don’t you?
PAK: Sometimes I feel—
SLIK: Yes?
PAK: —a sense of—injustice.
SLIK: Injustice! Yes—and with good cause! You’re a sensitive man; a man of feeling! We can tell from that poem you wrote about your wife. A man who can write such things is a man who can feel the sting of prejudice, alright! Such a man is not a ordinary man, is he? Such a man deserves to be more than a mere waiter, does he not?
PAK: I am not a waiter! I am a man!
SLIK: Now the rough diamond begins to shatter! The light is refracted! The true colors begin to appear! And there is some fire in this diamond! Tell me, did you like Mr Salt?
PAK: I—he was—a client.
SLIK: A client. Did you treat him the way you treated all your clientele?
PAK: Yes.
SLIK: With respect and courtesy?
PAK: Yes.
SLIK: Outwardly perhaps, but inside; inside the storm was always raging, wasn’t it?
PAK: There was no storm.
SLIK: But you resented being a waiter!
PAK: Just a waiter? Yes!
SLIK: Come, come; let’s be candid, Pak, and admit for the record that you hated Mr Salt.
PAK: Why should I hate him?
SLIK: Because he insisted that you shine his shoes when they didn’t require shining?
PAK: No.
SLIK: Because he rang that little bell?
PAK: No.
SLIK: Because he sent you on senseless errands?
PAK: No!
SLIK: Because he deliberately refused to call you by your name?
PAK: No! No! No!!
SLIK: The truth! The truth, damn you!
PAK: Yes—Yes! I hated him! Every day I thought—I hoped—things would be different between us. But always there was a new complaint—a new humiliation—
SLIK: You wanted his friendship?
PAK: After 20 years I thought—
SLIK: What did you think: that after all that time you were entitled to Salt’s friendship?
PAK: I wanted, just once, to be called by my proper name; to be treated like a human being, a man—is that too much to ask?
SLIK: Who knows what is too much to ask? When one is a waiter one can present a bill and demand payment. But one cannot demand the respect and friendship of other men. That must be freely given! [Points to SALT, addresses court.] Certainly on this point Mr Salt is not guilty of any crime. So what remains? [Takes small silver coin from vest pocket.] We have come down to this small, shiny disc of silver, have we not? [Approaches PAK.] You claim Mr Salt threw this coin into the lake, is that right?
PAK: Yes.
SLIK: Like this? [Makes throwing motion.]
PAK: No—not quite like that—
SLIK: How then?
PAK: I was reaching out—like this—[Reaches toward coin.] And then—just as I was about to grasp it—he dropped it.
SLIK: He dropped it? He dropped it!
PAK: He let it fall before I could catch it—
SLIK: How close were your fingers to the coin? This close? This close? Closer?
PAK: [Reaching, straining.] Another inch and I would have had it!
SLIK: Then take it!!!!
He drops coin into PAK’s hand. The coin falls through his anxious fingers. In the silence that follows, PAK retrieves coin and ponders it in his palm.
SLIK: It’s such a small, thin coin, isn’t it—and how easily it slips through one’s fingers!
SALT: [Rises.] No! The coin didn’t slip through his fingers! I waited until his fingers were almost within reach and then I let go—I dropped it—deliberately—just as he said—
All those in courtroom begin to exit one by one as SALT implores each of them:
SALT: I didn’t know it would bankrupt him—I didn’t understand how extensive the consequences of my little "joke" would turn out to be—how could I?—it was such a small thing—at the time it seemed—how can one foresee all the ramifications of what one does? If I had known—If only I had known!
Scene 16
Courtroom set is struck by actors as they exit previous scene. Salt’s prison cot has been reestablished. SALT sits on cot. ENTER SLIK.
SLIK: By God that outburst of yours was a stroke of genius Salt! A brilliant tactical maneuver. Like everyone else, I’ve underestimated your ruthless cunning, haven’t I? By this time tomorrow you’ll be a free man—leading the counterrevolution.
ENTER MRS SALT.
MRS SALT: Adam! [Embraces SALT.]
SLIK: You can’t escape your destiny, Salt. The struggle will begin again and this time we shall triumph! [EXIT.]
MRS SALT: I brought you some food—
SALT: What about the pills?
MRS SALT: [Takes vial from hair.] I hid them up here. Wasn’t that clever of me! [SALT clutches vial.] What’s in that vial? It’s poison, isn’t it?
SALT: Just a precaution. I don’t want to be executed in public—
MRS SALT: They’re not going to execute you! They’re going to make you Supremo! Out in the streets people are shouting your name! What is it? What’s wrong with you, Adam?
SALT: Didn’t you see the way he looked at me?
CHEK puts up sign: ‘SALT PLAYS HIS FINAL SCENE.’
MRS SALT: Who?
SALT: Him! The waiter! Pak!
MRS SALT: That troublemaker? You heard him say how he despised us all these years—
SALT: I shouldn’t have done what I did!
MRS SALT: A little practical joke doesn’t make you a massmurderer! There’s no connection!
SALT: I don’t know—I don’t know!
MRS SALT: All that killing you did was unavoidable. There simply wasn’t enough food to go around!
SALT: We could have used the emergency wheat supplies.
MRS SALT: But they had to be saved—for a real emergency!
SALT: It all seemed so logical at the time!
MRS SALT: It was logical; it’s still logical. You didn’t destroy lives; you saved lives!
Pause. SALT looks at CHEK, seems to speak to him.
SALT: I don’t know! I’m confused! I’m tired! [With back to MRS SALT, gulps pills.]
MRS SALT: Adam! [Takes vial from SALT.] Oh, Adam—why? Why?
SALT: I have to find out the truth—[Lies on bunk.]
MRS SALT: You fool! The truth is you’re innocent! Innocent! That’s the truth!
SALT: I can’t think anymore. I don’t want to think anymore. I’m tired—very tired—
MRS SALT lies on floor beside bunk and puts SALT’s hand to her cheek.
MRS SALT: Oh, Adam, Adam—
SALT: Only God knows the truth of this thing—only He can sort it all out. That’s why I did it—I must know what He thinks—do you understand that?
MRS SALT: Yes—I understand. Would you mind if I came with you?
SALT: —no—
MRS SALT: [Takes pills.] It’s only fair that I stand there with you—holding your hand—when He tells us what you want to know—Maybe Ava and our Adam Junior will be there too—Yes, I’m sure they will be—In heaven it will be so—so perfect—won’t it?—So very, very—perfect—
Her head slumps. CHEK crosses to SALTS. He gazes at them for a while, then to audience:
CHEK: They are dead. She—[Looks back at MRS SALT.]—has a smile on her face. The smile of someone who is sleeping—and having a pleasant dream. He—has the expression of one who is listening—listening with the utmost attention. I wonder what he is hearing?
CAST ENTERS and follows CHEK through audience as he sings:
THE FOOL’S SONG
The fool goes on looking and what does he find?
The fool goes on thinking and what’s on his mind?
The fool goes on talking and what does he say?
He says I am you
He says you are me
He says I am you
He says you are me!
CAST joins singing after first chorus, wending its way with CHEK through audience to EXIT at rear of house.
End of Play