Waiting on the Landlord

Waiting on the Landlord

Scene One

Characters:          Man (thin, pale)
                          Landlord (obese, bed-ridden)

Setting:                 Third floor of a lighthouse. Landlord’s bedroom. Circular room. Bed, chair, window.

Time:                   Morning.

         Man: May I serve you? (Backs into the room, bent from the weight of the tray he carries, which is heaping with breads, sweet rolls, fruits, fried eggs, bacon, ham, vegetables and salmon). It’s nearly dawn. Did you sleep well? (There is no response from the extremely obese landlord lying in the bed). I’ve shut down the lamps, left the shutters open; paper says there’s a storm coming. I know, I know, don’t believe everything you read. I know, but ‘red sky at morning…’ May have to fire up if it gets bad. (Places the platter beside the landlord on the bed, and proceeds to straighten the blankets and fluff the pillows). We could sure use the rain. Been so dry. If you asked me, it’s about damn time we got a gully washer big enough to wash away them dams. I know. I know, no cursing. (He moves to the window). Just ain’t the same since the bay dried up. I can see the lights from the village. Remember how they’d scatter across the waves, making the town seem so much bigger, so much closer then. Now it’s as if we’ve been cast out into a big, flat, chunk of nothing. Nothing grows. Nothing to catch the light. (Opens window). Listen. Strange how quietly morning comes now. I miss the gulls. After all these years I can still smell the bay, but it’s stale now. Useless now. (He sighs). ‘Red sky at morning…’ (Turns back to the landlord). Doctor says you should be eating more fruits and vegetables, and the coffee pot is broken again. Can I get you anything else? (No response. Sits in the chair). Why do we even bother? Firing up the lights I mean. Don’t think me disrespectful, but we must be too far out of range to do anyone any good. Besides, with all the new fangled technology it just seems kinda silly, useless. I know, you’ve said two thousand times, ‘the light saves lives’, but, well… (sighs). Never mind. (Landlord pulls loaves of bread off the tray into the bed. The man moves back to the window).

         Nothing’s wrong. Nothing’s changed. Nothing. There is something. Something I’d like to know. I’ll understand if you don’t want to talk about it, but, I mean, where did I come from? Before you took me in. I just don’t remember a time before you. Where did I come from? Who am I? You said you would tell me when I was old enough. I think I’m old enough. (No response). I remember swimming. Did you teach me to swim? (No response). I suppose you got your reasons, and don’t think me ungrateful, but… oh well, never mind. I’ll go get started on lunch. Anything special ya want? No? Good morning then. (Exits carrying the tray).

Scene Two

Setting:          Third floor of a lighthouse.
Time:             Noon.

         Man: Shall I serve you? (Backs into the room bent from the weight of the tray he carries which is heaping with breads, morels, truffles, red grapes, smoked oysters, capons, boiled shrimp, crab, lobster, salmon, smoked turkey and fried chicken). It’s just noon, though you couldn’t tell it from the sky. Rolling in high and thick from the west. Did you sleep well? (No response). Anton stopped by with the mail. Nothing. Ads. Said lines are down all over the county. I know. I know. Can’t believe everything you hear. I know, but ‘red sky at morning’. (Places the platter beside the landlord on the bed, and straightens the blankets). How’s your leg? Any better? (Moves to open the window). I can smell the rain. Can’t ya just smell it coming? When I close my eyes I can see it rolling across the landscape like a wave. Remember? Remember how you wouldn’t notice the swell till the sun burned an emerald streak along its crest? Boiling foam rose higher and higher, and just when you thought it would swallow you whole, the wave broke, washing the shore, washing your feet. Remember? (No response). It’s gonna come wash all this stagnation right out to sea. Deep enough to dive. Chimney smoke is blowing straight east. (Turns back to the landlord who is gorging himself). Have you given any thought to what I asked you this morning? I don’t know why it’s important to me. It’s as though I have a big, fat, chunk of nothing right here in my chest. Seems I’m always looking for something to fill it up. I felt full once. Whole once. A long time ago. (He turns back to the window lost in thought).

         My first memory is of the light. Did you know that? Do you remember the first time you let me fire them up? I felt like I was swallowed by that light, and yet, like it was somehow coming straight outta me. A part of me was stretching out, cutting across the darkness. The rush of the wind, the spray of the surf, that sensation of speed. I felt whole, then. Connected. You did teach me to swim, didn’t you? (No response). Nothing’s wrong. Nothing’s changed. It’s getting awfully dark out there. Just might have to fire them up after all. I know. I know. You don’t like to fire up during the day, but a storm, now that’s an event. (No response). Guess I’ll get started on supper. Anything special ya want? No? Good afternoon then. (Exits with tray).

Scene Three

Setting:          Third floor of lighthouse.
Time:             Late afternoon.

         Man: Should I serve you? (Backs into the room bent from the weight of the tray he carries which is heaping with breads, vegetables, fruits, mushrooms, leftover crustaceans, roasted lamb, sliced beef, and fried ham). Started raining about an hour ago. Wind came up suddenly. Slammed the door. Scared the shit out of me. (Places the platter beside the landlord on the bed, runs to close the window). Told ya the rain was coming, and lord is it coming down. The rain on the flats makes it look like the bay is back. I know. I know. Don’t believe everything you see. Yeah, but ya gotta ring all ya can from those pleasant thoughts. Too rare these days. Sometimes my thoughts, my memories are all I have. Don’t eat so fast, you’ll choke. (Agitated, he paces the room, keeping his attention on the window). God! I feel like I’m going to explode!  What is this? This gnawing? What am I waiting for? Sometimes I think I’m just waiting for something to talk about. Always searching the skies for a storm, a hurricane, or a meteor, something to break through. Something to fill me up. Drown this boredom. (No response). Nothing’s wrong. Nothing’s changed.

         Do you ever get scared? Last night I had a strange dream. I thought I was awake. I heard voices outside, so I opened the door to see who was there. No one. A thick fog had rolled in over the flats and the voices came from the haze. I thought it must have been the village, as though I was hearing the conversations in the pub. You know how sound carries over the flats. I called out, no answer. Not even an echo. But I could sense some sort of commotion hidden by the haze. The wind rose revealing a parade, a procession stretching off into the nothing of the fog. A clap of thunder and three women emerged, each carrying something but I could make out what. They were followed by lions, and bears, and giant lizards that looked like dragons. Then came the jugglers, acrobats and clowns, like a carnival. And the music! Oh, light, sweet music. And dancing! (Dances around the room). Colorful linens like sails in the breeze. One by one they dove into waves breaking beyond the rocks. A voice called out, “Ask and you may swim with us tonight.” Ask what? I felt hot and thirsty. I fell to my knees as the images rushed away like the receding tide. I felt ashamed, as though I had let them down by not joining in the swim. I was afraid. I didn’t know what I was supposed to ask, but it hardly mattered. I’m afraid of water. Afraid I won’t remember how to swim. Is it too late? Can I learn to swim again? The dream left me feeling anything is possible. I know. I know. It was just a dream. You can’t believe your dreams. But can you escape your nightmares? Can you hear me? (No response). Good evening. (Exits without the tray).

Scene Four

Setting:          Third floor of lighthouse.
Time:             Evening.

         Man: I can’t serve you. (Enters upright, soaking wet). Everything has changed. Getting deep enough to dive. I’ve fired up the lamps. If we can’t guide a few sailors maybe we can pull the heart of the storm right over the top. Dams aren’t gonna hold. No way this old foundation will stand a flood. Sheriff says it’s best we get out soon. (No response). I know you blame me. First thing I thought, how am I gonna get you out? I did. I honestly considered it an option. No idea how, but I figured I’d have to try. I mean, what would I do without you? Who am I without you? Then I realized, this is wrong. This isn’t real. The flood, that’s real. I can’t imagine what I’ll do when you are gone. But I like that. I like not knowing what the day will bring. I’ll probably sit in the pub and talk about the flood, and you, but those stories will pass like the storm. Stories have to end, to give way to new stories. I know that now. I imagine in time I’ll forget all about this old lighthouse. Something else will come up to talk about. That’s all I ever wanted. Something new to talk about. Not much to ask. Can you understand that? I realize what we had was important once. It’s kinda funny really, you’ve outlived your life, while I’ve been afraid to begin mine. I was afraid to leave you. Afraid to take that dive. You’re all I’ve ever known. I felt I owed you my life, and you let me. In our weakness, you willingly became a prisoner, and I your slave. Kinda like the rivers, all tied up. So now, bored shitless by our stagnation, Nature comes ripping through the valleys to tear us apart. I am ashamed. Blinded by the light, I turned my back on the womb, on the waters, on the changing conversations of life itself. Everything dried up. Nothing grew. Nothing changed. I understand now that Nature is the most powerful and forgiving of all. She let’s you start over again and again. So you see. I can’t serve you any longer. I won’t serve you. I think I’ll go for a swim. (Moves to the door). I will speak of you. (No response). (Exit).         

(1857 Words)