Next on the script shelf
Next play in my little unalphabetized pile of Samuel French plays is Lanford Wilson’s eerie The Rimers of Eldritch. It has the same kaleidoscopic style that his Balm in Gilead had – multiple scenes going on at the same time, conversations chopped up so you get two or three lines from it before you switch to the other scene – then you leap back. If it’s not done well, I imagine it could be confusing. Also, in Rimers – it’s set up backwards. We start with a trial – various people taking the witness stand – and it isn’t until the very last scene that we find out what really happened. It’s devastating when you do find out.
Rimers takes place in a small former mining town – on its way to becoming a ghost town. There is only a population of about 70 people. Needless to say, everyone knows everyone. It’s a very religious town, a very nosy town, and the script – with its multiple scenes, and dialogue from all different characters at the same time – ends up giving the impression of gossip. It feels like the entire cast is whispering in your ear insinuations about their neighbors.
A young handicapped teenage girl (Eva) has been raped. Who did it? Over the course of the play you find out.
I did this play in college. I played Lena, the not-pretty friend to the prettiest girl in the high school. It’s a small part – but this piece is what you would call an “ensemble piece” – there’s not a ‘star’ – and all of us were onstage the whole time. It was an amazing production, actually – a very challenging show, challenging material – and it was a damn fine show.
Out of all of the plays I have excerpted – this one is really difficult to find a “scene”. The whole thing is like one big cut and paste job – giving you just snippets here, snippets there … so you have to put it together.
I’ll just give the opening of the play. You have Wilma and Martha, the two nosy self-righteous old gossips, who sit on their porch and condemn everyone to hell around them. But you’ll see how the dialogue is not quiiiiite realistic. Wilson wasn’t interested in realism. At least not in this play and many of his others. Example: the first line of the play is below – it’s the Judge’s line. The next line is Wilma’s – and it appears to be answering the Judge’s question – but it is a completely different scene. The trial scene is happening on the other side of the stage – and Wilma’s casual remark on her porch has nothing to do with the trial.
From The Rimers of Eldritch by Lanford Wilson
[Wilma and Martha are seated suggesting an evening, in the spring, rocking on the porch]
JUDGE. Nelly Windrod, do you solemnly swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth so help you God.
WILMA. Well, what I heard isn’t fit for talk, but I heard that Mrs. Cora Grimes, up on the highway?
MARTHA. Yes.
WILMA. Has taken a boy, she’s old enough to be his mother on, and is keeping him up there in her cafe.
MARTHA. In her bed.
WILMA. [with true sympathy] That woman went crazy when her husband left her.
MARTHA. Oh, I know she did.
WILMA. That woman, I swear, isn’t responsible for her own actions.
MARTHA. I should say she isn’t.
WILMA. I hear he does things around the cafe, whistling around like he belonged there.
MARTHA. Have you ever heard anything like it?
WILMA. I haven’t, I swear to God.
[Lights go up on Nelly, standing in the "jury box"]
NELLY. I do.
MARTHA. Why, she called Evelyn Jackson a liar to her face, and Eva too. Swore things the devil and his angels wouldn’t believe it. She’d stand up there and swear black was white.
WILMA. And Nelly, poor woman, the life that woman leads. Only God in His Heaven knows the trials that woman has to bear.
MARTHA. That she should have to be dragged through this.
WILMA. She stood there and told the way it was; I said to Mrs. Jackson –
MARTHA. — I know –
WILMA. Cried the whole time –
MARTHA. I saw.
WILMA. — Only God in Heaven knows the trials that poor woman has had to bear.
JUDGE. Nelly Windrod, do you solemnly swear to tell the whole truth, and nothing but the truth –
NELLY. I do, yes.
JUDGE. — so help you God.
NELLY. I do.
JUDGE. [exactly as before] Nelly Windrod, do you solemnly swear to tell the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?
NELLY. I do. Yes.
MARTHA. So help me God I don’t know how we let him hang around here like he did. Not talking to nobody.
WILMA. Nobody I know of could live like that.
MARTHA. Like that time he scared young Patsy so bad.
WILMA. Bad for the whole town with someone like that.
MARTHA. Like that way he had of just standing around.
WILMA. Around here everybody knows everybody.
MARTHA. Everybody was scared of him. Everybody knew what he was.
WILMA. A fool like that.
MARTHA. Grumbling and mumbling around; standing and watching it all.
WILMA. I think people’d feel easier now. I know I swear I do.
MARTHA. I do.
NELLY. I do.
JUDGE. Now, Miss Windrod, if you would tell the court in your own words …
[Lights up on Robert and Mary]
MARY. Now, we have to understand that Nelly is my flesh and blood.
ROBERT. I know.
MARY. Yes, love, she’s mym flesh and blood and she thinks she knows but she doesn’t know but she thinks she does.
ROBERT. I suppose she does if anybody does.
MARY. Well, she thinks she does. But I know and you know. I was at my window, watching the moon.
ROBERT. Was there a moon?
MARY. You know there was. I’ll tell it the way it was. I said to those people, all those new people in town — there isn’t much to know about Eldritch, used to be Elvin Eldritch’s pasture till it gave out I guess and they found coal. It was built on coal. Built on coal with coal money and deserted when the coal gave out and here it stands, this wicked old town. All the buildings bowing and nodding.
ROBERT. How do you know so much?
MARY. And still so little? I would puzzle that if I could. I told them none of the people here now were coal people; they are store owners and farmers and the mining people moved off. They raped the land and moved away; there used to be explosives that rattled the windows, oh my, and shook the water in a bucket, day and night.
ROBERT. How come you remember so much?
MARY. And still so little? The last time I saw you, why, you was just a little baby; you’ve grown up so.
ROBERT. You saw me yesterday, Mrs. Windrod.
MARY. You don’t know. Isn’t that sweet. The last I saw you, why, you weren’t no bigger than that high.
ROBERT. You’ve known me all my …
MARY. You’ve grown up so. I have terrible bruises on my arm there. Look at that.
[Lights up on Cora's cafe]
TRUCKER. I’ll see you, Cora.
CORA. Can’t avoid it, I guess. You watch it now on those narrow roads.
TRUCKER. It’s push-pull with the load; I’ll come back through empty day after tomorrow, you remember to tell me that again.
CORA. Stay awake now.
TRUCKER. No danger of that.
WILMA. I’ll say one thing for her. How long has it been he’s been there?
CORA. [to Walter] Boy.
MARTHA. Two or three months now nearly. Walks around the place whistling like he owned it.
WILMA. Well, he earns his keep.
CORA. Boy.
MARTHA. It’s not in the kitchen that he earns his keep, Wilma.
CORA. Boy.
WILMA. Well, I’ll say one thing –
CORA. — I’m getting ready to close up now.
WILMA. — Whatever it is she looks a darn sight better now than she did a year ago. Since I can remember.
CORA. Boy.
WALTER. [as though waking from a daydream] I’m sorry.
CORA. I’m fixin’ to close up. You sleeping?
WALTER. Thinking, I guess.
CORA. Have another cup of coffee, I got time.
MARTHA. That woman isn’t responsible for her own actions since her husband left her.
WALTER. Swell.
WILMA. It’s not for us to judge.
MARTHA. That’s all well and good but anyone who deliberately cuts herself off from everybody else in town.
WILMA. I don’t judge, but I know who I speak to on the street and who I don’t.
WALTER. Is there work here in town do you know?
CORA. Down in Eldritch? Not if you’re looking for wages. Not here.
MARTHA. It’s easy to see the devil’s work.
WALTER. I had that in mind.
CORA. You might try Centerville; Eldritch is all but a ghost town.
WALTER. You here alone?
CORA. I’ve managed for seven years; it hasn’t bothered me.
WALTER. It might not be a bad idea to take someone on yourself.
WILMA. It’s a sin to sashay through Centerville the way she does, buying that boy shirts and new clothes. Keeping him up on the highway.
MARTHA. I don’t go, but I understand he’s made a showplace out of her cafe.
WILMA. I’d be happier if it was me they made her close it down.
MARTHA. It ought to be against the law serving beer to truck drivers and them having to be on the road so much.
WILMA. The wages of sin lead to death.
CORA. Aren’t you cold in just that jacket; that’s pretty light for April.
WALTER. No, it’s not bad. [They regard each other a moment]
MARTHA. The wages of sin lead to death.
WILMA. Bless her heart, poor old thing.
[Mary Windrod passes the porch]
MARTHA. Good evening, Mary.
WILMA. Good evening, Mary Windrod.
MARY. [she stops] You two. I watch you two sometimes. [Mary talks, almost with everything she says, as though she were describing a beautiful dream to a pet canary]
WILMA. Aren’t you cold in that shawl, dear?
MARTHA. Nights are cold in this valley for June.
MARY. It’s not bad.
WILMA. You’ll be catching a chill next.
MARY. I was once a nurse and I believe that the constant proximity to sickness has given me an immunity to night air.
MARTHA. Never think that.
MARY. Us dry old women rattle like paper; we couldn’t get sick. I listen to you old women sometimes.
WILMA. How’s your daughter?
MARY. Yes, indeed.
MARTHA. I beg your pardon?
MARY. The proximity to all that sickness.
WILMA. Yes, love.
MARY. Immunity to death itself. My number passed Gabrile right on by. It came up and passed right on by and here I am a forgotten child.
WILMA. You better get inside, love.
MARY. Rusting away, flaking away.
MARTHA. You get in, now.
MARY. This wicked town. God hear a dried up woman’s prayer and do not forgive this wicked town!
[Lights come up on the congregation. The congregation bursts into "Shall We Gather at the River" - only a few bars, the song fades. The congregation disperses. Lights brighten and focus on "court". All focus on Nelly]
NELLY. [over the last of the song] And mama came running downstairs and said a man had attacked young Eva Jackson.
JUDGE. Would you point out Eva …
NELLY. There, poor lamb, can’t hardly speak two words since this thing happened and I don’t wonder –
[Lights fade out on court and focus on Martha and Wilma]
WILMA. Well, I know I swear I don’t know what he sees in her.
[Eva crosses by the porch]
MARTHA. It’s nice of him though.
WILMA. Well, I know but Driver Junior’s old enough to be taking girls out; he shouldn’t be wandering around with her. [Robert begins to cross to get to Eva]
MARTHA. It’s nice to have somebody to keep her company. Still and all it doesn’t seem natural, I know what you mean.
WILMA. I don’t know what he sees in her.
MARTHA. Poor thing.
ROBERT. Eva!
EVA. Are you glad to be out of school?
ROBERT. I liked it all right.
EVA. What are you going to be?
ROBERT. Who knows?
EVA. I bet I know what you won’t be, don’t I?
ROBERT. What’s that?
EVA. A race car driver.
ROBERT. Why do you want to say that? You think I couldn’t do that if I wanted to?
EVA. You don’t want to get yourself killed.
ROBERT. Driver didn’t want it; he just had an accident.
EVA. You want to be like him?
ROBERT. People don’t want to do the same thing their brother did; I couldn’t see any sense in it.
EVA. I knew you didn’t. You aren’t going to get yourself killed.
ROBERT. Killed doesn’t have anything to do with it. Eva, good lord, I don’t want people carrying on like that; honking their horns, coming into town every week like a parade. I never even went to see Driver.
EVA. You decided what you want to be?
ROBERT. I don’t have to decide this minute, do I?
EVA. I just wondered.
ROBERT. Do you know? You don’t know what you want.
EVA. Of course I know; you know, I told you. So do you know, everybody knows what they want it’s what they think they really can do that they don’t know.
ROBERT. Well, I don’t have to decide yet.
EVA. When’s it gonna be autumn? I love autumn so much I could hug it. I want it to be autumn. That’s what I want right now. Now. Autumn. Now. [This last as though conjuring]
ROBERT. Good luck, I don’t see it.
EVA. [in a burst] Don’t you be derisive to me, Driver Junior!
ROBERT. Don’t call me that.
EVA. Well, don’t you go on Robert Conklin or I’ll call you anything I like.
ROBERT. You’ll be talking to yourself.
EVA. Everybody else calls you that. Don’t go away; I won’t, I promise. Don’t you wish it was autumn? Don’t you? Don’t you love autumn? And the wind and rime and pumpkins and gourds and corn shocks? I won’t again. Don’t you love autumn? Don’t you Robert? I won’t call you that. Everybody else does but I won’t.
ROBERT. I haven’t thought about it.
EVA. Well, think about it, right now. Think about how it smells.
ROBERT. How does it smell?
EVA. Like dry, windy, cold, frosty rime and chaff and leaf smoke and corn husks.
ROBERT. It does, huh?
EVA. Pretend. Close your eyes. Are your eyes closed? Don’t you wish it was here? Like apples and cider. You go.
ROBERT. And rain.
EVA. Sometimes. And potatoes and flower seeds and honey.
ROBERT. And popcorn and butter.
EVA. Yes. Oh, it does not! You’re not playing at all. There’s hay and clover and alfalfa and all that. [Hitting him really quite hard, slapping]
ROBERT. [laughing] Come on, it’s different for everybody.
EVA. Well, that’s not right, it doesn’t at all. Are you making fun?
ROBERT. Come on, don’t be rough.
EVA. I will too; you’re not the least bit funny, Driver Junior! [Robert starts to walk away] Come back here, Robert! Robert Conklin. Driver Junior! Little brother. Your brother was a man, anyway. Coward. Robert? Bobby?
