A Wondering Kristmars
by
Nugwa Adaji























Cast

Mr. Owen
Mr. Turner
Nanny Godimer
Mr. Müller
Laurel
Woman
Boy
Choir /Children



















‘’ To Anthon Chekhov and Molière . My gods from machine.’’






















. Narrator: ( A man/woman who brazens it out with grandiloquence. Lines are rendered at the very last bars of music from a choir perhaps unnoticed to the audience, may I chip in that it is a Carol rendition )
Good evening gentlemen and ladies, well as to what the writer asserts. It all came about one evening on a certain Christmas Eve in the abode of Mr. Owen. Town had it that he knew his onions too well about making money but yet never gave a hoot about being a happy one or lifting the earth’s lightest thing to make another so. To him, if you had not a business proposal, you were as worse than a trunk of garbage. Owen grew old over time and truth and repercussion set in like a catwalk and this my dears, opens the play….
Mr. Owen: (to Choir) Oh get out you crocodile recipes. (Enters walks frailly across to a sofa aided by Godimer)
Godimer: Oh my dear sir. The doctor has advised you do not get excited over irrelevance. They are just some children going happy and singing about Christmas. Here ( Hands him a glass of water )
Mr. Owen: Children crusted with mad cow disease. And why did Major not bark at them? That dog has become too arrogant.
Godimer: Oh my dear sir. They artlessly want to sing you a Christmas song,… and see if you could lighten them with a penny or two from your heart.
Mr. Owen: My heart isn’t mine any longer but the devil’s. ….AND I politely asked for whiskey not water. Oh old woman, you hear less these days.
Godimer : Your health is failing Sir. The doctor warns against further liquor.
Mr. Owen: Leave me to die the way I want it woman. The holy grail is alcohol. It makes love to merriment and brooding as well. That makes it an adulterer, like every woman.
Godimer: I beg to differ Sir. I was modest and faithful to my husband entirely throughout our marriage . (solemnly ) Till death did us part.
Mr. Owen: (shrugs) Just another lie. I’m not one for stereotypes but I hear women from your town are open minded down below. And you are even a full pedigree of your native.
Godimer: How low you refer me sir.
Mr. Owen: You know too well I’m a quiet one but when I have facts on my hand, I stay not reticent.
Godimer: With your health Sir I swear.
Mr. Owen: Then apparently you wish me to fall and die.
Godimer: Then with every ounce of wealth I could ever gather I swear.
Mr. Owen : ( Thoughtful ) Then you should come as a strange one amongst them. Or otherwise you were a nag, it has to be one.
Godimer : He came in every night drunk and the children watched, I had to talk.
( Light banter about Christmas is overheard )
Mr. Owen : You do not question a man. You forget too soon that you are a weaker sex. That challenge made him think of himself as little, or a woman, and that did kill him.
Godimer: (offended but decides not to progress it ) Would you like your whiskey now Sir ?
Mr. Owen: No. For every woman who uses that tone, a whiskey is poisoned somewhere on earth.
Godimer: Then I must go do some other chores……
Mr. Owen: Wait ! Isn’t that the screeching voices of the children I hear? What the devil! Everyone has gone insane all for Christmas.
Godimer: Why do you get in a flutter? They are around the neighbor’s house. And from where I stand to see, he receives them well.
Mr. Owen: (Limps restively from sofa) Oh the devil take me. The world has decided to fall in on my house in one evening. Here old nagging woman, go tell that oval head of a neighbor that I do not join in celebrating that……whatever the name it is. And caution those little legged invertebrates to tone down their swearing. God help me.
Godimer: ( With suffering stare ) Oh sir….
Mr. Owen: I do hate children. Don’t you care to understand my plight? They are all retards! Retards! Retards!
(Child peeping through the window): Merry Christmas Mrs. Godimer
Godimer: (Gladdened) A merry Christmas to you my darling.
Mr. Owen: Get off my premise undisclosed hybrids!
Godimer: Oh sir. Do not scare my only wisher of the night away. You know little of what that means to me. Come, rest and do not get up.
Mr. Owen: Even if I do go to bed for a hundred days, I would wake up and still hate children. Godimer: What did these God’s little angels do to you?
Mr. Owen: A lot.
Godimer: Like?
Mr. Owen: Their mere existence. You work all your life and raise them. In no time when the government knows them as adults, they tell it in your face how you’ve frittered your asset on them.
Godimer: (Aside) Dear lord. How far can Christmas go to soften the heart of an old man?
Mr. Owen: I’m not old. I’m only very ripe. I’ve warned a hundred times about this.
Godimer: Many a time have I decide to go away from you like the rest but pity sets in and I then imagine an overripe man alone to himself. You sir, are making it worthwhile to go back on my resolution.
Mr. Owen: If at all you have pity for anything, pity my business. It has crumbled over time. Heh ! What manner of misfortune I must say. I bring out three children from my inventory (Pointing at his trouser-snake ), train them at Harvard with money ought to expand my estate. One decides to go into priesthood, another detours into rehab and the third dies In New Hampshire. May the devil take the last one. Now, I’ve run into bankruptcy, nothing in the world to fall back on. ( Faces Godimer) I may be forced to relieve you of your duties as well.
Godimer: No sir. If it was for the money, I would have left seasons ago. I’ve grown to take your family as mine.
Mr. Owen: (Sternly) I do have no family. Didn’t you see how briskly my wife walked away with the next youngest man that came into the countryside? She walked as fast as an athlete on narcotics. Devil take all of them.
Godimer: You speak too ill Sir, it’s Christmas.
( Knock on door )
Mr. Owen: Here goes another Christmas folly. I swear to strike this across his forehead. But who knows. Perhaps he’s a business prospect. Go check.
(Godimer goes and observes through the peephole)
Godimer: Hah! This is too much trouble Sir.
Mr. Owen: (overwrought) Who and how?
Godimer: Mr. Turner. The main creditor.
Mr. Owen: Oh that is one hyena whom I detest his bites. Tell him I caught a flu and went to bed early . ( to audience) Oh! This chap is a lover of money. Oh heavens. My heart has been given to the devil to toss. I feel even heavy in the head and down below. The world has decided to swirl it’s waves and leave debris on my rooftop. I duly desire that whiskey now than ever…… ( Suffers to walk hurriedly into hiding in bedroom)
Mr. Turner: LET ME IN. I’m no man for good manners tonight.
Godimer: Young generation. You get too jittery and loose your marbles over concern for money. My Master is in bed.
Mr. Turner: Move or I force my way in woman.
Godimer: Be a gentleman would you.
Mr. Turner : The last time I cared to check, I was good at two things, romance and aggression. And if I may chip in , I do bite.
Godimer: And for what again I must ask. Barely awhile ago I made it crystal care that my master is ill and in bed.
Mr. Turner: Between your master and I, who seems ill the more? The cooperative has been on my neck to collect every ounce of fund that is duly theirs. As it stands, debtors around the world wouldn’t see it that I merry with my modest family this yuletide season, heh! For what. That they would slash it out from my pittance income should I fail at collecting all.
Godimer: I’m not best to listen to your grievances but my master. And quite unfortunate, he’s deep asleep.
Mr. Turner: Gather enough faith because you must wake the dead tonight.
Godimer: He detests his sleep being disrupted.
Mr. Turner: And I Ethan Thomas Anthony Turner detest being owed for months and still running.

Godimer: God in heaven! You sure are remaining with temper.
Mr. Tuner: Even your dog saw the redness of my eyes and thought it wise not to bark.
Godimer: What would you have done to an animal performing it’s duty?
Mr. Turner: A vicious hit would have left it yelping like a fox.
Godimer: Son, you must go away for the night. Return by dawn and my master shall keep to his words to repay you.
Mr. Turner: I see you would keep on at it. God! I talk too much. Give me water.
Godimer: Then you shall have it straightaway and leave. ( Walking away ) I’ve had it up to here with you………. (Enter Mr. Turner. Goes, sits and takes his shoes off)
Mr. Turner: ( Assertively to himself ) Let’s see if Turner would be a coward not to ask for his money like every other man. Hah! Four people decide to owe me hugely. One says he’s awaiting consignment from the harbor, another claims he had to use up all his money to outsmart a rival and win a bride, another is sewing a seed as they call it, while the last feigns illness. He can have prostrate cancer for all I care. They must think Turner is still that dimwit about town, that who knows not his left from right. I must deal ruthlessly with this one. And look how he lives in opulence. His sofa alone is worth three times that which he owes but yet they all say, I have no money. I shan’t be a fool. I would marry a wife, bear eight children in sets of twins, grow old and die. All of this would occur while I sit my bum on this sofa. Bleep! Excuse my expletives but when my right is denied me, I tend to go all profane. (Enter Godimer. Going towards the door) Bring that fucking water here bitch !
Godimer: Hah! I should have thought better not to leave you. Get up….up that’s my masters most cherished sofa. A very costly one at that shipped from Crimea.
Mr. Turner : It would take the devil and two tractors to lift me from here. So do not start a protest unsure of winning.
Godimer: God save me I’m too old. (Thundering) If it’s German, meine herr schläft! My master… is ..asleep!
(Mr. Owen dashes out thinking the worst that the house is gutted by fire. Sees Turner and immaturely runs inside )
Mr. Turner: (With precision) Hah! I see the night would be very long. Charade of a man. And there he goes carrying his weight about town.
Godimer: (Abashedly) See, poor luck that you would know of my master’s illness. He’s taken to sleepwalking. You shall tell not a soul.
Mr. Turner: (Caustic tone) Have you no shame? (Yanks the glass from her, gulps the whole of it) Get me whiskey you fucking slave girl.
Godimer: Oh that is hardly the kind of language at Christmas. God! I must give you enough of that whiskey to knock you out. (Storms out)
Mr. Turner: (To himself) God in heaven! I really do need that whiskey to take me away awhile from the absurdity of humans. I know my problem, I’m too kind, that is it. When I have a few pounds to spare, I would undergo a surgery to shred this goddamn face my mother brought upon me. No one seems to take me seriously these days. Have I no prerogative of my own to celebrate the Christmas season at the choicest restaurants. But no. I have a great fortune but alas it is in the makings that debtors detoured from Hades dictate my purchasing power. WHISKEY BITCH, WHISKEY! God save me from a heart attack. It is bad enough I know not my father. My mother sojourned at brothels in Moscow, Lisbon and New Orleans. If I grew with a father, I wouldn’t have been this soft. Heh! What curse is this? Even Clients owed my mother. VODKA!
Godimer: (Within still) The last time it was whiskey to wet your throat. (comes in view) Here, hah what a Christmas Lord. You are too crude. A gentleman should learn to tame his tongue.
Mr. Turner Bad economy kills the gentleman. (Takes it in one gulp) More!
Godimer: (Stares tiredly at him and makes to go. Two Children peep from the window )
1st Child: (Whispering) Nanny Godimer! Nanny Godimer! A merry Christmas to you. Is that him?
Godimer: Oh child, a merry Christmas to you too. Here ( hands them something off her folder) These are tickets for the ball tonight. (They happily go away)
Mr. Turner: More whiskey goddamn!
Godimer: Keep your hair on! (Goes out again)
Mr. Turner: These children only make my heart condition worse. They remind me of my dark childhood. Never did my old woman let me play on the sands with my folks. To her, it was most important I followed her to whosoever owed her money, all men. She called them clients or gentlemen. She would always pierce her stare at me and say, son, in life, whenever you want to launch attack on a debtor, be sure to go with a child. No one under strict injunction of religion would look past their innocence. …….
(Light goes dimmer. At the rare of stage, a woman and a little child walk in)
Woman: Here Ethan, bend down and peep at the threshold. See if a man’s leg is running like a rat into hiding.
Boy: Ye…yes ma’am a very hairy rat at that.
Woman: (Banging uncivilly on the door) Open this filthy door you South Saharan reptile. I would not move an inch from this premise. I brought with me breakfast and lunch. And I do not mind dinner.
Debtor: (From within) Knock like a lady!
Woman: Every moment of sweetness comes a price. That, you are to pay.
Debtor: (opens lazily) Is that much reason you get in a flutter?
Boy: Good morning sir.
Debtor: (Chuckles) He’s as a result of one of your openness hehn?
Woman: Whatever, trade is trade. My money!
Debtor: You forget so soon I was a one minute man. So do not expect me to pay in full.
Woman: Indeed! That’s your cross to bear.
Debtor: I would only honor you because I see your love child seems hungry enough to be pitied. (Hands her some notes cheaply)
Woman: (To departed debtor) Your serpent needs a doctor.
Boy: Ma’am. Is that it for the day? Can I go play with Jimmy now?
Woman: (Smitten by recollection) Son! Take me to Jimmy’s father………
(light returns in full and in the previous scenery )
Mr. Turner To think that was Christmas. Phew! And when I became of age, she eloped with a Frenchman leaving me with a thousand pound. I did profit and thrive not until DEBTORS! Turned about my foothold. MORE WHISKEY! (Slowly he begins to sleeps off on sofa. Godimer enters with the whiskey, sees what is left of him and stares dumbfounded. Light goes out)
(Before the scene opens, Children gather about and render a Carol song. As if they sniff Mr. Owens’s presence, they dash. Enter Mr. Owen)
Mr. Owen: (Musingly) How did it ever come to this that I would one day run around like a mouse in my own abode from a fellow I owe money. Hah! I thought misfortune only existed in novels and soaps. Look. I owe him too much so he thinks he can brazen his gluttony for liquor in my house and SIT on my most priced sofa. Heh! But truly I would have done same if not way worse. Tell me, shan’t I pull a trigger at my throat and end the ruins? First of all, I grow old and quickly begin to loose my steps, my lawful wife deserts me, my estate winds-up….the devil….all three children I had for my lawful wife have all gone haywire, children screech some bloody Christmas song and the goddamn wind blows it well across my window. All that is left is what covers my unclothedness; the house is at risk of being taken in collateral. Oh the devil. What did he call that again yes….. Bleep! Whatever that means, I like the word. (enter Godimer)
Godimer: Are you complete to face him sir?
Mr. Owen: Do I have a choice Godimer? Hand me a glass of water. (Exit Godimer. Mr. Owen attempts to wake Mr. Turner. Suddenly, as if overran by a demon, Mr. Turner awakes and goes wild with panic unobserved of his environment. Mr. Owen is left horrified yelling for Godimer)
Mr. Turner: Oh just when I was about unveiling the face of my father, a weight sits over me, everything becomes so blur. Ai! My head and my heart then aches, my feet weigh a thousand tones, I’m unsteady and seem to fall soon like a sack of potato. This couldn’t be the doing of whiskey. I then hear a voice I remember to be my mother’s. She says …eh.. rather incoherent…..
Mr. Owen: Godimer leave that fucking water. Come save an old man.
Mr. Turner: Oh, I hear it now but makes no sense to me. The scales would fall from my eyes and I would see that who is my father….
Mr. Owen: Dead man walking. Godimer!
Godimer: (Enters) Sir. I cannot do two things can i……. (aghast) Jesus wept! I swear on my fortune I did not lace his whiskey sir….. Oh what a Christmas to forget!
(Mr. Turner grips own neck as if struggling to breather, then faints)
Mr. Owen: Oh he faints! In one day, in one day trouble creates sores in my heart. I don’t know about you Godimer but I’m set to take my own life. Poor luck to you, you would have two cases of death to prove innocence.
Godimer: Oh! Look how low you talk sir….Eh that….I see his fingertips moving.
Mr. Owen: (Hysterical) Heh! Heavens my eyes don’t deceive me. Go! Water! Go sprinkle some water.
(Godimer does as instructed. Slowly, Mr. Turner is brought to life. He’s observably calmer now)
Mr. Turner: This is all mystifying.
Godimer: He speaks, merry Christmas!
Mr. Turner: I must beg the answers for the asking to all these dreams. It is the words of the seer I must sort for. It is time I must know who my father is. (Gets up) I’m still here?
Godimer:Yes Sir. You drank too much and it is ill mannered.
Mr. Turner: (Checks himself briefly) Can I confide in you woman….you know, never mind. (Turns round slowly and makes to go out more slouched than ever. Suddenly he’s smitten by recollection, he searches his breast and trouser pockets apprehensively) My money. I did come for my money you swindler!
Mr. Owen: ( Sincerely) It is in your best interest my dear Ethan Turner that you go and return better. You are unwell.
Mr. Turner: (Candidly) I can’t say you are wrong. It is my father I must find for now. (Reaches for the door. Turns. Sternly) But when I return for my money, I shan’t come with a spirit of Christmas but that of a pit-bull. (Exit)
Godimer: (kindly) It would be just alright sir. Ordeals exist to make us stronger. Here, sit.
Mr. Owen: I wonder what led to it all going down the drain. And therein, my hands are too small to hide my face from shame.
Godimer: Just like I said, Christmas is……
Mr. Owen: Oh enough Godimer! Do not sweeten it, be true to me. Tell me I’m ruined already. I tolerate everything but lies. You do keep on at it that there are wonders of Christmas to turn around my plight. That is all Disney.

Godimer: Oh dear sir, I never once imagined you to be a doubter. You were always full of spirit.
Mr. Owen: (Sigh) And you. I suppose you are in haste to rejoin your modest family for the festive season.
Godimer: Not likely sir. I must stay by you.
Mr. Owen: No. Not on my account Godimer. Take the day off. And come with the carpenter tomorrow.
Godimer: Why the carpenter sir.
Mr. Owen: For the perfect casket for my size obviously.
Godimer: (With withering contempt) Here you go again sir. If only you show a little belief in the wonders of Christmas.
Mr. Owen: Oh that Christmas thing again from you….that word…..that word….. Bleep! It usually lightens my chest.
Godimer: Now you begin to sound just like Ethan Turner the creditor.
Mr. Owen: Go. Go into the bedroom, get me the softer headrest. I’m to sleep on the sofa as from now on.
Godimer: Why’s that sir.
Mr. Owen: It’s because….phew! Never mind.
Godimer: (Teasingly) Any urban legend about Bigfoot you aren’t telling sir?
Mr. Owen: (Rendered surly) I’m not one for frivolous talks tonight woman!
Godimer: (Sincerely) Help me out here sir. I’m only trying to break the ice.
Mr. Owen: Pour philosophy into my ears. Comedy is for the poor and the done for. Though I’m one now.
Godimer: (Resignedly) I may get you that pillow now………
Mr. Owen: (Remorsefully) I regret releasing my venom Godimer. Nothing seems to worth to a dead man walking. You wouldn’t understand even if I confess why I would never pass the night there again. Oh! That face you give Godimer. The devil.. ( His speech increases in speed and intensity ) I would tell it. That room, that very bed where I loved my wife haunts me….it fucking haunts me…..God bless the word. I slept there a fooled man for thirty years. I thought I had won her love over. Only to grow old with her and one morning, she leaves with her head unturned like a zoo’s monkey unleashed into the wild.
Godimer: Oh my dear sir, you do not understand a lot of things.
Mr. Owen: (Truculently) Say no more. What in the world is left to understand? All women are the same. Adulterous nasty dirty kitchen rags. Oh! It is hot here despite winter, I loose my temper….(To audience) What is that word again………….?
Godimer: You would sleep now sir. By dawn, there would be much I have to tell you about Mrs. Laurel your estranged wife. (Goes into bedroom)
Mr. Owen: (Barks at departed Godimer) I do not wish to know a thing about the she-devil. (Godimer returns with Pillow-
She sets him comfortably and kisses his forehead)
Godimer: Goodnight Bleep!
Mr. Owen: God bless you! (Lights go out.)
(Light reveals children Sing a carol song then exchange banters elatedly when colorful narrator takes a stance)
Narrator: It was morning, the day of Christmas. The town wore itself a ceremonious outlook. Kitchens busy, beggars a dollar richer, teenage boys holding hands about with their heartthrob, children thrusting balloons to levitate high in the air, wishes of Christmas pleased but for poor Mr. Owen………….
Child: Tell me dear storyteller, would he ever be a happy man?
Child: Even it being perhaps his last days?
Narrator: Oh If I do tell now, it wouldn’t do the ending justice.
Child: Well, poor luck to him. I do care less.
Child: Why so?
Child: You forget so soon how he detests and treats us like a poultry napkin. Yuck! I hope he eats crabs beneath the mire.
Narrator: Oh that is not for the good hearted to say.
Child: And why’s that so?
Narrator: Christmas is a time for recollection, a time for merry, a time for empathy, and most of all, a time for forgiveness.
Child: I’m pleased Storyteller. I would put this to heart.
Narrator: And to all you come across. Tell them about the good of Christmas.
Child: So, who’s next to raise a carol?
Narrator: Wait! Not so fast. The next carol for the night would be in the house of Mr. Owen.
All: Huh! When he sees children his gun goes off at any –
time!
Narrator: (Chuckles in spite of himself) Be rest assured I manipulate every story-------- (Lights go out)
(Light comes on Mr. Owen as he wakes up wearily. Enter Godimer.)
Godimer: (Full of spirit) Morning and a merry Christmas to you Sir.
Mr. Owen: Irony hehn! A quick try at sarcasm.
Godimer: Oh sir do not be such a spoiler. Hope you did sleep well?
Mr. Owen: My neck is squashed but I would get accustomed to it.
Godimer: You put yourself through too much when you have such a comfy bed.
Mr. Owen: He truly died of your nagging. The devil--- ! Is this how you keep on so?
Godimer: Sir----- (he sneezes) See, caught in the winter cold.
Mr. Owen: It is much better than a warmth of lies I had ever gotten on that bed. Tell the fellers to come take the wood, you have the mattress.
Godimer: You do hate her unfairly.
Mr. Owen: So am I sickened---- hold on! Unfairly? – (Advancing on Godimer) You old illiterate crab. I give her land, children, prestige, and what there is to die for. She absconds and you say unfairly?
Godimer: (Shrinking) Pardon sir. But it is in the word of the wife that innocence from guilt is justified.
Mr. Owen: Your loyalty is fickle!--- Another woman.
Godimer: It is a twist sir. And she waited ages to take her pound of flesh.
Mr. Owen: Stuff and nonsense! I could have had my choice of them but I loved and stayed faithful to her.
Godimer: But in naked truth sir, you hurt And she lived for this moment.
Mr. Owen: Certain she did. Every woman would do so. Wait while you wax in manly strength till you grow feeble and kiss the dust. She mourns a month, seldom two then goes into another’s warmth.
Godimer: There was everything your estate could buy but save for one sir.
Mr. Owen: (Mellower) Now your words are a bit of a puzzle.
Godimer: It is far beyond the eye of a man sir.
Mr. OwenTut-tutting) The devil…… don’t you keep me in the dark.
Godimer: (Becomes absent) She did nurse it everyday. From the springs to the summers, from autumns to winters past. Others of her kind may have spared a bullet at you way too long ago.
Mr. Owen: (Tries to feign a casualness in his tone) Now you begin to give me sorts of worries woman.
Godimer: Sir, it is this----- ( Slow fade to flashback. Laurel, wife of Owen is alone in sitting room reading a magazine. She is young, her makeup is modest as her beauty itself is template. )
Muller: (Scaling through the window) Laurel my love.
Laurel: (Startled by seeing Muller and she drops the magazine in her fright) Muller! (She surrenders to his warmth) You shouldn’t have risked it all. It could cost you your life. Owen would come soon from the ball and heavens forbid he sees you.
Muller: But it is unjust and unfair that I’m a criminal for wanting to see my woman.
Laurel: It is the folly of my father. He sold me in debt to Owen. I’m his now and I’m ruined to this fate. (Sobs)
Muller: What if I confront him, I talk man to man with him? If he’s observant enough he should know that-----
Laurel: Shh! You should go now---go!
Muller: But---
Laurel: Go!----No—no—come (She runs into his warmth)
Muller: I can’t see you in the eye of despair--- (hastily) Come, run with me to Frankfurt my darling. I’m a German citizen. I speak it fluently. We could start a modest life and raise children away from him.
Laurel: (Sigh) The thought of you gone would kill your ill mother. We have to regard her.
Muller: (Coyly) What if…. We. What if i……….
Laurel: What’s troubling you to speak?
Muller: You know. Take him on a walk and…… tell the world he hit his foot against a splinter and fell into the watercourse.
Laurel: (Aghast) Muller!
Muller: (Stutters) I do not mind his blood upon my hands. I would sleep well that you are mine. Hah ! In my head I grind him to pulp.
Laurel: It is a thing of horror and shame.
Muller: Tell me what I ought to do. Kill a lion for everyday you remain in my warmth?
Laurel: There’s just not enough respite for the poor. Men of wealth live with impunity. I’m his now. I wish you well.
Muller: Your words are acute. It does me no good. To think it swells the rush of nerve in my veins.
Laurel: But what am I to do? The corner of the earth we are, the desires of a woman is void as against the wanting of the man.
Muller: So much reason to break the jinx. Come with me to where women have a stance.
Laurel: Your mother.
Muller: (Sighs) She has lived the better part of her life. I would be with her in letters.
Laurel: It is sad but----(Muller covers the gap. Till when his lips are closely brushed against hers, Owen storms in. They disentangle.)
Laurel: (faint-hearted) Welcome home husband. Did the ball go well?
Mr. Owen: (Ordinarily) Well. Had to return quickly as I needed to shut the windows for fear of rodents.
Muller: (Failing attempt at bravery) You look good in that---that tuxedo Owen.
Mr. Owen: You. You left the ball rather early. And you danced well with that thick Irish woman--- rather closely. One would think----
Muller: It was a civil dance may I correct Sir.
Mr. Owen: (Begins taking off tie) That is by the way. Godimer is making us some dinner. I hope you are joining us at table. Well—--not to sound rude—you know it is not everyone privileged to a three-course meal. So if I were you I would jump at it.
Muller: (Curses beneath his breath) Goodbye Laurel, goodbye Owen.
Mr. Owen: Kindly use the main door out. (Exit Muller. As soon as the sound of Muller’s steps dies away and the main door creaks, Owen makes two or three rounds in the living room, he strolls to his timid wife, knock her knees with his as she falls easily)
Mr. Owen: (In low fiendish tone) If you---you filthy Farmer’s daughter bring in that crocodile ever to my premise again,----Oh the devil. Don’t I do all in my power to be a husband enough?
Laurel: I did not------
Mr. Owen: Shh! You are young---too young my darling and they all intend to prey on you. I begin to think you steal from me and hand it to them.
Laurel: I swear-----
Mr. Owen: Swearing is old fashioned. It is no yardstick. Oh the devil! You smell of his low-cost perfume. Christ! That backyard of a human. You would have to shower my dear.
Laurel: He’s clean of everything you utter.
Mr. Owen: You bring my ego before a scale and weigh it sideways with that dirty commoner. Oh how little I think of you now. My friends have civil wives, I have not.
Laurel: You took me from my gambler father against my accord. You do not assume my love do you?
Mr. Owen: (Despairingly) Not assume your love-----hah! What a woman you are. Are you so foolish to chose the impoverished over that which has promised wealth without borders?
Laurel: Till you lease me to him, I shall say no more---let me go!
Mr. Owen: In your fathers words he said, if sir my debt is unpaid within a month, would my young daughter make up for my shortcomings? I wouldn’t have been lenient if I discerned that you were a bush girl. And as the saying goes, pigs chose gilts of the same sty.
Laurel: That is all about you, self filthy obsession.
Mr. Owen: That is the kind I desire of my wife.

Laurel: Wife indeed. Your words belie my thought.
Mr. Owen: You truly are strange and hot in the head. I know my darling that you would come around much quicker. It only takes a vacation trip or two. You shake hands and share a toast with the faces you see on the magazines. To this I swear to fall myself into the watercourse if you do not submit.
Laurel: (Shrugs) Hmm! So much for saving you from the watercourse.
Mr. Owen: So much for words. Come,, like a civil wife and kiss me—here—bush girl.
(Just then, Muller returns. A little more fidgety this time to Owens’s bewilderment)
Mr. Owen: You dare to return?
Muller: The chips are down Mr. Owen. To keep this from you is by way inhumane. You can see it, you can sniff it, it is crystal clear that her heart belongs to me. Oh Sir I utterly understand how absurd it is for one to challenge a man for his wife. But it is true that we loved till you shred us apart. I---we do not want to make a fool out of you.
Mr. Owen: (Clinically) You are steadfast. That is a virtue for every true man. You chase after what you most treasure with vigor even if it lies in the black hole. (Goes face to face with Muller) You seem decided to talk man to man.
Muller: (Trying hard to meet the moment) Yes. I have lived for this very minute.
Mr. Owen: (impassively) I belong to a world where every man has a price. I don’t know where you come from.
Muller: I’m—----I’m ill suited for literature. I understand nothing.
Mr. Owen: (Rests his arm of Muller’s shoulders) What manner of game is fit for the lion that he would keep away from the deer for always?
Muller: Your words are roundabout---
Mr. Owen: I see the whites in your eyes. I observe it and it is love, ------I want to buy it.
Laurel: (Involuntarily) Owen!
Muller: How incredulous!
Mr. Owen: Phew! So much for an auction. Forty thousand quid.
Muller: (Heated) You are rude and self-obsessed!
Mr. Owen: (With casualness) Eighty thousand quid and a plot at Osborne.
Muller: (His fickleness is noticeable) Goodness you are insane.
Mr. Owen: (Chortles) It only takes a few moment. You would give in. They always do.
Laurel: (Astounded) You have no shame Owen.
Mr. Owen: Oh! The shame is mutual to the two men you would see.
Muller: (Goes for the door) I would return for her. Your guts do me no good but squirm.
Mr. Owen: (indifferent) A Rose-Royce and a hundred. You can elope with that thick Irish lady and splash rainwater at your foes.
Muller: (He moves forth outwards doubtfully. When his pace-
stops, light descends solely on him)
Muller: (Shamefacedly) Make it two hundred. Con—consider it as a loan. (Light slowly fades. The scenery returns to Owen and Godimer. Owen is now sited penitently)
Godimer: And by that, she nursed contempt for you. She was done with love and born to betrayal.
Muller: I was remorseful. I was human. I heard he moved to Dublin so I wrote him letters. Do you know if it got to him?
Godimer: Little was heard of him afterwards. But news came a year after that he ran into a ditch with the Rose-Royce. Mrs. Laurel though done with him, she mourned him quietly.
Mr. Owen: And I suppose I’m to blame for their love mishap?
Godimer: You were too busy chasing wealth Sir. It was always there in her eyes. You were always away to even observe that her once kittenish smiles were long gone. You would have noticed much quicker.
Mr. Owen: But you wouldn’t lay all the blame on me. You see, my old man left me with too many responsibilities catering for his estate. When you leave wealth in the hands of a young man, to him, you stand a thousand feet below sea level and it tickles him when he tramples.
Godimer: But when he’s old----
Mr. Owen: And I said I’m not old but overripe. (Stands. He moves about his room in thoughts.) Be true to me Godimer. Do you know where my wife lives?
Godimer: Phew! Sir I swore not to----
Mr. Owen: (Involuntarily) Everything has a goddamn price!
Godimer: (Suffering tone) Here we go again!
Mr. Owen: (Sincerely) In one spirit of Christmas I beg you woman, tell me already.
Godimer: (Excitedly) You finally observe Christmas sir.
Mr. Owen: Do not cajole me woman.
Godimer: She lives alone in Canberra sir.
Mr. Owen: Then I must go woo her this time as a gentleman--
Wait! She lives alone you say?
Godimer: Yes sir.
Owen: Without a man?
Godimer: Without no one.
Owen: And she keeps to herself?
Godimer: (obviously bemused) She goes once in a while to see her twin.
Owen: No not that.
Godimer: Then what sir?
Owen: No man comes once in a while to—you know—clear the cobwebs?
Godimer: My madam is done with lovemaking.
Owen: (To audience) Virtuous woman. To think that men in Canberra don’t sew zips on their trousers.
Godimer: It would be so wonderful to have a full house with Madam again. Would you send words to her sir?
Owen: What better words but yes. And my Christmas would be in Canberra today.
(Knock on the door. Giddier goes for it. She returns with a letter)
Godimer: It is from Jasmine your son, the priest.
Owen: (sigh) I miss him truly. He took after his mother. No man bears a grudge with his son for too long except he doubts they were his flesh and blood. (reads briefly) He sends love and a carol band.
I never could tell what drew him to the calling As much as I tried to talk him out of it.
Godimer: To understand the whole is to know none sir.
Mr. Owen: When I return from Canberra tonight, there are a lot you would tell me about this Christmas. I mean---- queer things do happen this season. My son remembers me and sends letters for one.
(Suddenly whirlwind through, room reverberate one door opens harshly, the other shots, uncivil footsteps are heard in edgy successions, the course of it all---Mr. Turner enters never as nervous as before to the bewilderment of the duo)
Mr. Turner: Sir, my dearest sir, I have but a few questions to ask.
Mr. Owen: Oh my waist and my esophagus. I feel too ill Mr. Turner as you are good to see.
Mr. Turner: Oh Bleep! I need to speak with you---
Mr. Owen: Dearest heavens I’m all ears.
Mr. Turner: With---with the---the spirit of Christmas. I beg that you must be true to me.
Mr. Owen: In all honesty.
Mr. Turner: Did---did you have anything to do with Madeleine, a woman who lived in a brothel in the eighties?
Godimer: (Drops anything she holds in awe) Huh!
Mr. Owen: Ay Godimer! Go do other chores.
Godimer: (Stands indignant) The house is all clean sir.
Mr. Turner: Ay! The brothel just behind Kingston mall?
Mr. Owen: Did i? Ay! My memory is bad. I’m really old.
Mr. Turner: Come on old man, think. You can’t be that old.
(Mr. Owen becomes engrossed in recollection. He futilely withholds a broad smile. This is the first time he does this and the effect is immediate on Godimer)
Mr. Owen: Oh--------Madeleine!
Mr. Turner: Yes Madeleine my mother. She kept me in the dark about who my father is or where he lived. But the seer in his grand wisdom says after my birth, she sent words to my father who lived then in Crimea behind a------
Mr. Owen: (With surprise, fear and excitation altogether) A fabric factory--- tell me, a fabric factory?
Mr. Turner: Without a doubt. But he never sent words in feedback
Mr. Owen: Blessed Christmas! It means----
Mr. Turner: Illumination is the eye! (In indescribable celebration, father and son tangle in a hug. Godimer sees this all and begins to cry)
Mr. Owen: (To Godimer) Don’t just stand like a traffic light. Go---fetch my fucking son the best of the brewed wine. (Exit Godimer excitedly) Before she returns, as father and son, let’s go hunting for your debtors---
Mr. Turner: (Slyly) Then charity must begin at home.
Mr. Owen: The devil--- not when blood is thicker than water.
(As both men collapse to laughter heartedly. Just then, Narrator and the children come in view)
Celebrant: What is this I must say? Mr. Owen seems to wax in grim and paternal pride.
Mr. Owen: Truly I admit. One of the mystifications of Christmas. My heart suddenly softens.
Mr. Turner: What more is a Christmas than to join and love a father.
Mr. Owen: And to have a huge debt unburdened. Isn’t it so son-----?
Mr. Turner: You can say that again----- but on a lighter note. (They all collapse to laughter. Enter Godimer)
Godimer: (Notices the crowd) Oh sir pardon my old age. I know not how they came in.
Mr. Owen: (In jest) Who are you to chase my welcomed friends away woman? Here it is, Prepare the table for all to feed fat---- and to the fellers, not on their life should they come for my bed-wood. My wife returns tonight…. What breath of fresh air I must say
Narrator: (To audience) And with the splendor of Christmas, all became at ease. Let it be taught that Christmas spreads not the ills but of love. (Scenery of festivity progresses till lights slowly go out)

THE END

. a short version

to be staged at the Middowie theatre North London this christmas

directed by Roderick Peterson

.

..

For those who live around Ethan London, its going to be a fulfilled christmas evening

rehearsal at the theatre tonight

day 2

Boy George

Wow this was amazing