The Crumbling Castle, part
16
A Capricious Drama by Thorin
N. Tatge
CHARACTERS
MRS. SCRUB/MR. SCRUB: The owners of the Crumbling
Castle. Has a long speech.
HOPE/MELVIN: An innocent boy and an angry man. Must be light enough to carry.
WATCHER
HYPOCRITE/GUARD
RECORDER/EMMA
Enter PHILIP and WATCHER, walking together.
PHILIP: You mean it, Watcher? It’s really time?
WATCHER: She was very definite about it. Hope is finally ready.
PHILIP: I should hope he would be by now, but still… it’s so
important. Are we sure he’s not just
putting us on? I remember when I was a
child…the first day my father told me I could help with the flax harvest, I
went ahead and harvested all I could, and then I hid it in the cellar. I bargained with my father before I’d show
him where I hid the flax.
WATCHER: You were a little imp!
PHILIP: No, Watcher!
I’d tasted power and I wanted to savor it. I made him carry me piggyback around the
whole farm. Then I asked for a big jar
of candied plums. He didn’t want to give
it to me because it would ruin my health.
WATCHER: He was right.
PHILIP: Well I guess he was!
Especially since it showed me who had the real power. I didn’t give in and neither did he. We did eat the plums, but one at a time,
after every supper. At the end of the
year they were all gone. And when it
came time to sell our crop, we didn’t have as much as we would have liked, so
we had to keep our house cold most of the time, even in the middle of the
winter. My father never once yelled at
me, or searched the cellar for where I’d hidden the flax. But when I realized we’d all be cold together
without the money, I uncovered it and gave it to him. He smiled and sold it in the Lower Village,
and we were warm again for a few days.
WATCHER: You mean the flax was still good?
PHILIP: Oh, our flax is always good. We have a very good piece of land. Oh Watcher, I can’t wait to see it again!
WATCHER: But…but you’re not going to see it again. You’re coming with us through the Closet,
aren’t you? Or did you change your mind?
PHILIP: I haven’t changed my mind. But when I looked into the closet, that time
you helped smuggle me here into Melvin’s office… I saw the field. I saw our field, our land. You know that.
WATCHER: Oh, Philip… that’s not really your home. You can’t have thought you’d be going
home! That’s just a vision. An illusion that represents what you want.
PHILIP: What…what do you mean? How do you know? You’ve never been through the Closet door.
WATCHER: But I know it’s nothing like reality. It’s great, but it’s not reality. And so if there’s anything about reality that
you want to say goodbye to… you have to do that first.
PHILIP: Gosh. I don’t
know what to do.
Enter MR. SCRUB.
MR. SCRUB: Ah, Philip.
Time grows short, doesn’t it?
PHILIP: It really does, yes.
It feels like a new year’s party, only without the new year.
MR. SCRUB: Yes, well, no new year perhaps, but a new
life! Or perhaps no life at all, but
happiness in any case. Depends on your
belief system.
PHILIP: I’m have to admit I’m scared, Mr. Scrub. I’ve never been to Heaven before.
MR. SCRUB: Scared? (Chuckles.) What do you conceive of that scares you? What could be frightening about Heaven?
PHILIP: Well… I’m young, Mr. Scrub. I haven’t lived a full life. How will I be ready for a full reward?
MR. SCRUB: The only answer, Philip, is that these things
work themselves out. All problems
resolve themselves in Heaven. Whatever
your worries may be, however impossible the solution seems…remember that we’re
going to a place where there are no problems!
WATCHER: And hence no solutions.
MR. SCRUB: And no need for them. Philip, believe me. You’ll like it there. Now, I meant to ask you if you’d like to be
present when the child of Hope opens the Closet door. As his father, I will of course be standing
by in case of trouble, but your resourceful and unblemished mind has proven
remarkably useful on many occasions…in short, you’ve earned a place in this
great moment.
PHILIP: I suppose… I’ve stayed here all this time. I might as well see it finished.
MR. SCRUB: Good lad.
And you, Watcher, I have a job for you too, a very important one. Don’t be tardy.
WATCHER: No sir.
MR. SCRUB: We’ll begin in only a few minutes. But I need a short time alone with my
son. Watcher, go and tell all the
inhabitants of the Crumbling Castle that we are ready. Philip, go to your sister’s quarters and send
for my son.
WATCHER: Yes sir!
PHILIP: Very well.
Exit WATCHER and PHILIP.
MR. SCRUB: Now then…for the very last time, I give up my
hold on this world, in faithful trust that it will be returned. Penelope, awaken! Awaken and finish our life’s great work! (MR. SCRUB undergoes transformation into
MRS. SCRUB, an effect at the actor’s discretion.)
MRS. SCRUB: Oh, there’s no need to shout, Randolph. I’m here, of course; I was waiting for you to
call me. This is such an exciting
day! Just think of it! All the dear, wondrous things we’ve imagined
together over the years…twenty-six years’ worth of fantasies, all about to come
to life! Oh, I hope they don’t all come
to life at once. I’d really prefer to
savor them one at a time. But I’m sure
that will be taken care of, isn’t that right, Randolph? Everything that ever made us feel larger than
ourselves, all the great things we longed for, all the glories and magical
journeys and luscious fruits and rolling dales…and we mustn’t forget the
pastries, must we, Randolph? You kept
the baker’s touch and always did imagine the most incredible pastries. I dare say you could imagine a mint croissant
far more gigantic than the former Wishmaster could ever have dreamed. I love you for your dreams, Randolph. We’re about to see how just great our
collective dreams are.
Enter HOPE.
HOPE: Mother?
MRS. SCRUB: Hope, my precious, precious child! It’s your greatest hour, your very greatest,
but then you know that already, don’t you.
Come and let me hug you.
HOPE and MRS. SCRUB embrace fondly.
HOPE: I’m ready to climb in, Mother!
MRS. SCRUB: I know you are, Hope. I just want to make certain, make absolutely
certain, of a few things. So please pay
attention.
HOPE: Certainly, Mother!
MRS. SCRUB: Certainly!
Oh, you’re such a well-behaved child.
You make me so proud, Hope. I
want to make certain, Hope, that you understand how important this task
is. It’s the entire reason that you
exist, Hope, and the entire reason this castle even exists. What we’ve talked about… is something that
everyone you’ve ever met is trusting you with.
The reason I say this is that sometimes, children at your age are
difficult. Sometimes they don’t
understand the difference between a game and reality, or they decide to do
something they oughtn’t simply because they feel like playing a joke. You understand that this is no time for
jokes, don’t you, Hope?
HOPE: Of course. I
mean, that’s why you kept teaching me about how it’s important to obey, even if
I don’t feel like it.
MRS. SCRUB: Exactly.
And you will obey, won’t you?
Because if you do as I’ve instructed you, you will be happy forever,
Hope, as will all of us. Our dreams will
all come true, thanks to you. You won’t
let us down, will you?
HOPE: No, mother.
MRS. SCRUB: That’s my wonderful boy! All right, Hope, it’s time to let everyone
know we’re ready!
HOPE: Should I run and tell them?
MRS. SCRUB: I wouldn’t want to sap your strength, dear. I’ll ring the bell.
MRS. SCRUB goes to the wall and pulls a bellcord. A resounding chime is heard. Enter RECORDER.
RECORDER: Owner! You
rang?
MRS. SCRUB: Hope is ready to do his part, Recorder. I expect you will wish to take careful note?
RECORDER: I will.
MRS. SCRUB: Then remain, and you will be rewarded.
Enter PHILIP, WATCHER and HYPOCRITE, chatting.
WATCHER: You know, Philip, I’ve sat so many hours in this
wretched room just watching the blobs on the wall. I’ve come to hate this place, I really have.
PHILIP: And now?
WATCHER: Now it’s as if all that watching actually paid off
somehow, and we get to reap the rewards together. The fact that this great thing is happening
in my room makes me feel responsible.
HYPOCRITE: Indeed, responsibility, or the image thereof, is
something to be sought and coveted wherever it is to be found.
MRS. SCRUB: Ah, welcome, good Hypocrite. I trust you will proffer us some words of
implausible wisdom before this ceremony begins?
HYPOCRITE: Implausible?
Hummmph! The only purpose of
wisdom, my fine Mrs. Scrub, is in order that greater things should be aspired
to by all. There is no wisdom so lofty
that it is implausible in the end, by any person, be they tall or small. If it is wisdom, then you had best make wise
by it, or be trampled over in the dust.
Otherwise it in nowise wisdom be.
WATCHER: And what kind of wisdom did you ever once stick
to? Which of your maxims or rules of
thumb did you ever follow?? When have
you once practiced what you preached??
You’re a damned Hypocrite in all things, and especially about your own
Hypocrisy!
HYPOCRITE: I say!!
WATCHER: Yes you do, and you never do anything else! You just ‘say’ all day!
MRS. SCRUB: Please, end this quarrel!
HYPOCRITE: Watcher! I
feel I would be remiss in my most sacred duties if I did not correct this
misapprehension point blank! I, in fact,
take great hope and heart in every piece of advice I give. There is never any rule or maxim I deliver
without the full desire to follow it, faithfully, short and long, to the
letter! But my will, Watcher. My terrible weakness of will! Surely you must understand.
WATCHER (mimics): Your terrible weakness of
will! Your will is what made you
fat. Your will is what makes you slow
and foolish and pitiful. Your will has
shown you to be the least qualified person in this castle to give advice and to
control our diets as you do. Why, if I
had your weakness of will, I could afford to advise most anything I want,
without ever fearing I’d someday get it.
HYPOCRITE: And that is precisely the point! That is just why the Arranger is dead,
Watcher! He was like me in that he gave
advice which was, perhaps, of somewhat less than a first-class level of
quality. But unlike me, he had the
strength of will to get it. He made
trouble for himself, he got into it, and before we knew it he’d gotten himself
killed. But I—I am perfectly safe,
Watcher. My precepts may change, but
over the years my nature is constant as the sun and sky, and all who listen may
follow my advice without fear that someday I may die of it. For I have lived, Watcher. I have lived unto today, and today is the end
of all our time.
WATCHER: I too have lived.
MRS. SCRUB: Of course you have. We all have.
Now put an end to this silly feud, for there isn’t room for it on the
other side.
HYPOCRITE and WATCHER reluctantly bow to each other in
deference. As MRS. SCRUB delivers her
speech on the lower stage, the RECORDER retreats to an upper door and writes
her words in his or her notebook.
MRS. SCRUB: My friends, my very family, we stand in the
Office of the Closet, at the end of the third floor down a faded hallway in the
Crumbling Castle. Outside, the castle’s
walls continue slowly to crumble, and the Guard sits in his guardhouse,
counting the bricks as they fall. This
castle was first built many centuries ago by an order of priests devoted to a
religion whose name is no longer known.
Their greatest piece of knowledge was very simple—it was that since they
had a conception of a greatest place and greatest condition, a Heaven, that it
must exist, somewhere…and they only had to find it. Of course, by the same argument, anything
that they might have cared to conceive of must exist somewhere, including the
very opposite of Heaven. So they all
knew that they must take great care along the way to Heaven, lest they end up
in the wrong place. There was no
predestined route, nor any controller along the path, nor any rules of who
could go where and when. But Heaven’s
details, they realized, would be fuzzy and indefinite unless they had more
people to define them through the collective efforts of their imagination. Each person is capable of living the happiest
life possible in the hands and the thoughts of other considerate people… in
fact, they calculated that on average it takes six. Six people to feel thoughts into one lucky
priest’s head, six is just enough to make the world as real as real, to produce
enough surprises to keep things lively.
One fortunate heaven-goer for each six left behind. Now, they thouhgt about this problem for a
long time, and they recruited their new members by sending out the youngest
members of the order to sell cookies door to door, and impregnate the minds of
the children they found with visions of a great castle, destined to bring
happiness to all the good people of the world.
And so they came… over many years, they came, and the priests taught
themselves to go places they had found in their collective imagination. The castle filled with hundreds of
apostles. They all believed that they
had the ability to take themselves to Heaven, and that once everyone was strong
enough to support six other people, then everyone would be strong enough to go
together. But the priests deceived the
vast majority of their flock. When the
day came, and they announced that all were strong enough to carry each other to
Heaven, the ceremony was carried out…and when it was done, one sixth of the
priests were departed…just a bare sixth, no more. And the rest were deserted. Well, there was astonishment and there was
turmoil. And there was fighting, and the
kings and queens and other sorts of rulers from all around got involved, and by
the time it was over, the order of priests was destroyed. The castle was crumbling and worn, even when
it was young. And most of the followers
went back again to their own homes. But
some of them had no homes, and some of them had loved the castle so much that
they couldn’t bear to leave. So they
focused what remained of the way through to Heaven and wrapped it up to use for
later, and set the package in a forgotten closet in the back of the third
floor. And they lived for
generations. And one day, a scholar of
the old ways discovered the Closet and tried to go inside… and he was lost, for
all the supporting strength of the way through was on the inside, and it could
not be opened from the outside. And his
companion saw what had happened and reported it to the Owner of the Castle, and
thus the quest for Heaven began anew.
This time it was no matter for priests.
The Owners studied it carefully, and the office of Wishmaster was
created in order to feel out what people want, and thus to scrye a way into our
desired paradise. The castle had long
been blocked off to outsiders because of all the strange things that happened
within it, but in the interest of keeping thoughts and hopes fresh, they set it
to open itself every ten years, in hopes of drawing adventuresome travelers,
hungry for treasure and other glories.
And this worked, but no one ever succeeded in finding a way to satisfy
the Closet’s hunger for details and open the way…until Melvin. Wishmaster Melvin was the greatest Wishmaster
the castle ever saw in terms of research, although his other serious failings
are known to all of us. He not only
found a way to satisfy the Closet, but he planned to use the power it granted
him to satisfy all of our desires in perverse and deadly ways and then to pass
through alone to Heaven. We have Philip
to thank for the fact that he failed.
WATCHER AND HYPOCRITE: Thank you, Philip.
MRS. SCRUB: After Melvin was imprisoned, we could use his
work to satisfy the need for details, but we still had the problem of getting
into the Closet in the first place to open it from the inside. But I had the fortune to think of…the top
shelf. Well, it is a very small shelf,
after all, and it used to be cluttered with old magazines, so it’s no wonder no
one ever thought of it before. All we
needed to do was go over the top shelf and we’d be in position to open the gate
from the inside. The problem, of course,
was that there really is very little space between the shelf and the ceiling,
and none of us would be able to fit. A
child, however, not yet more than five years grown, would have little trouble
squeezing in and climbing down on the other side. And that is why my husband and I decided to
have a baby.
PHILIP: With all due respect, that’s the weirdest reason for
having a baby I’ve ever heard of.
MRS. SCRUB: Yes, but certainly not the worst one, I dare
say. And now, the time is come. Young Hope is practiced in climbing and knows
exactly what he must do. Are you ready
to climb over the Closet shelf and open the way for the rest of us, Hope?
HOPE: I am, mother.
MRS. SCRUB: Then with your help, Watcher, I pledge to lift
him up!
WATCHER: Sure thing.
WATCHER and MRS. SCRUB lift HOPE onto the upper stage.
HOPE: Okay, I’m up, Wow, it’s dusty up here!
MRS. SCRUB: Don’t let it bother you. The dust won’t matter in a minute, love!
HOPE: I see the ladder!
Okay, I’m setting it up.
MRS. SCRUB: Good lad!
Remember, be careful with the ladder, or you might knock it off the
shelf!
HYPOCRITE: The tension is thick.
HOPE (pretending to fiddle with a ladder): It’s no
problem, I’ve got it. There. All set.
MRS. SCRUB: Take it slow, Hope! Don’t trip!
WATCHER: And I thought my parents were
overprotective.
HOPE: Okay! I’m at
the bottom! And I see the package!
MRS. SCRUB: Unwrap it then, lad!
HOPE walks down the ladder and comes to the package. He sits down and takes it in his arms.
HOPE: It feels… grand!
Oh… oh my… that’s all I ever wanted.
I’m happy now. I don’t even know
why I’m talking still… it must be a habit or something.
MRS. SCRUB: What do you mean, Hope? Open the package!
HOPE: I don’t need to.
I’m inside it. I’m here on the
inside. (Looks away from everyone
else.) This is what Heaven feels
like! Mother! Oh, hello, mother. You’re here too!
MRS. SCRUB: Oh dear.
Hope, who are you talking to?
You’re alone in there!
HOPE: I don’t know why you keep talking from two directions,
mother. I like this one of you
better. Can you tell the other one to
stop talking?
HYPOCRITE: My stars, he’s enraptured! He entered into Heaven and he’s forgotten
about us!
MRS. SCRUB: No! You
wouldn’t forget us, Hope! Not after all
this love we’ve given you!
PHILIP: He thinks you’re safe with him. Hope!
Listen to me—all is not well!
Your friends, your real friends, are still over here! You’ve left us behind!
HOPE: It’s a strange sound, so mean… in a place that’s so
beautiful. I wish I could tune it
out. Maybe I can… maybe it’s not so hard to tune out,
Mother. In a place where everything else
is perfect… why not be able to tune out this last distraction?
MRS. SCRUB: This must not happen. Oh no, oh no…
PHILIP: We mustn’t let him get away. Quickly, lift me up to the shelf.
WATCHER: What? But
you won’t fit through!
PHILIP: Nevertheless, do as I say! Hold me up so I can see him!
WATCHER, HYPOCRITE and MRS. SCRUB run forward to left
PHILIP onto the upper stage.
PHILIP: Hope, may Heaven wilt your soul, listen to me!
HOPE: No.
MRS. SCRUB: You can’t talk to him that way!
PHILIP: We have no choice!
He’s our enemy now, we have to reach him! Recorder… give me your chisel.
RECORDER: Pardon me?
PHILIP: The chisel you’re using to record everything! Give it here!
MRS. SCRUB: What on earth do you intend to do with it?
RECORDER comes forward and gives PHILIP his/her chisel.
RECORDER: Here you are, Philip.
PHILIP: Good, it’s sharp.
MRS. SCRUB: What?
What do you mean? You aren’t
going to hurt my boy, are you!?
PHILIP: I am.
MRS. SCRUB: Don’t!
Stand down, Philip, or I shall imprison you!
PHILIP throws the chisel at HOPE. It strikes him squarely in the back.
HOPE: Aaaahh! Ouuch,
that HURTS! Help me, mother!
PHILIP: Open up that package, Hope! We need you!
HOPE (angry and hurt): Who’s out there talking to
me? What do you want??
PHILIP: Just open the package you’re in! Open the way for us and we won’t hurt you any
more! Otherwise I’ll throw another one!
HOPE: Well fine then!
Owwww…I’m bleeding like a river!
I may die!
HOPE violently rips open the package containing the way
through the Closet. He stumbles through
and pounds his fists against MRS. SCRUB.
HOPE: You’re not my mother!
My mother wouldn’t HURT ME!! (Continues
to cry.)
MRS. SCRUB: Oh, but I am your mother… I am, I truly am…
Philip!! My son is bleeding with a
chisel lodged in his back! He speaks the
truth when he says he may die. Can you
truly expect to move heavenward after doing such a thing?
PHILIP falls to the lower stage.
PHILIP: I don’t know.
Maybe not. It was the only thing
we could do… otherwise we’d have lost him.
MRS. SCRUB: My poor, poor son. You’ll never suffer like that again. Hypocrite!
Fix him, fix him up so he can go through again!
HYPOCRITE: Why my lady, the boy’s practically fit as a
fiddle as he is! The key, my lady, I now
close he stands to the gateway. Simply
draw out the offending instrument…
HYPOCRITE pulls the chisel from HOPE’s back. HOPE collapses in pain.
HYPOCRITE: And bring him on through. Shall we, Watcher?
WATCHER: Of course.
HYPOCRITE and WATCHER pick up HOPE and carry him through
the door onto the upper stage. They
stand in awe.
PHILIP: Have you made it, Hypocrite? Are you safe?
HYPOCRITE: I…. I…. I think so. And the boy is well. He will heal, no doubt… well, then this is
what we’ll do. Watcher, this is your
task. Take the boy Hope and walk with
him. Keep him safe, keep him from dying,
until you find a hospital. You’re sure
to find one eventually—after all, this is Heaven. You may have to walk for days, or weeks… I
don’t know how long. But that’s all
right, because this is Heaven. You are
no longer the Watcher. You are now… the
Walker. This is yousr final charge. Only when the boy is healed can you rest…and
rest you shall… for this is Heaven.
WATCHER: I will do as you say, Hypocrite. Come along, Hope.
HOPE (weakly): I’m coming… I’m coming.
WALKER takes HOPE and holds him as they walk. They exit from the upper stage.
MRS. SCRUB: Thank you, Hypocrite. Thank you.
I always knew you would come through.
Thank you too, Walker.
HYPOCRITE: Now… I must go.
I cannot stay and chat long… not good for the bloodstream, you know,
standing in one place too long. I have
things to do…
MRS. SCRUB: Yes, of course.
Travel through Heaven… enjoy your final end.
Exit HYPOCRITE.
MRS. SCRUB: Recorder?
RECORDER: Yes, owner?
MRS. SCRUB: Your task is to watch over the castle until the
last. You are the one who chronicles its
existence and the events that take place within it, and you were never more
needed than now. You will wait behind,
won’t you, be the last one through the Closet, and turn out the lights when you
leave?
RECORDER (bowing): I will do as you have said. (Exits.)
PHILIP: And the others?
Shall we call the others?
Enter EMMA (played by the same actor as the RECORDER),
the servant of miscellaneous tasks, on the lower stage.
EMMA: I’ve already heard!
May I go through, Mrs. Scrub?
MRS. SCRUB: Of course, Emma, dear. You’ve served us very well and very
dilligently… and your reward is waiting.
EMMA: Oh boy! Good
times, here I come!
EMMA runs onto the upper stage and exits . Enter GUARD.
GUARD: Mrs. Scrub!
MRS. SCRUB: Hello, Guardsman. Are you here to leave for Heaven as well?
GUARD: I hope so, if you’ll permit it. There’s a little problem, though… one of the
Prisoners wants a word with you before you go.
MRS. SCRUB: A word with me?
Of course I’ll allow that. What
is it?
Enter MELVIN.
GUARD holds him back.
MELVIN: You, scrubber woman!
You’ve crossed every line I ever dared to draw, even in the darkest
hollow of my mind. You’ve used my work,
my livelihood to open the Closet door, and now you won’t even permit me to pass
through! This was my life!! My sole passion for thirty years, the
greatest thing I’ve ever done! And you
locked me away and won’t let me through!
MRS. SCRUB: Melvin, you murdered several of us and intended
to murder the rest of us, or at least to deny us our own reward. You made yourself a criminal in every
way. You are not fit to enjoy the fruits
of your own labor!
MELVIN: Outrage!
Outrage I say, and to say it is not half of what it would mean, if it
meant a tenth of what it should! This
outrage is beyond words, Scrub! Beyond
words! Yet I have nothing but words to
describe it!
MRS. SCRUB: Melvin, we appreciate what you did for us. We gave thanks to you before we opened the
gate. And your diligence is not
forgotten…
MELVIN: Then, for the very essence and reputation of mercy,
Let Me Through!!
MRS. SCRUB: I’ll tell you what. Philip?
You aren’t coming through, at least not right now, are you? After maiming my poor boy like that.
PHILIP: I… I guess not.
MRS. SCRUB: Well then, I make you owner of the castle once
more. The prisoners, including Melvin,
are your concern. Goodbye, Philip… I am
moving on.
PHILIP: Goodbye, Mrs. Scrub.
and Mr. Scrub… tell him goodbye as well.
MRS. SCRUB: I shall, Philip.
Thank you for all that you have done for us… and for your kind and
thoughtful nature. And may you yet do
something to warrant forgiveness.
PHILIP: I…. but I had to do it.
Exit MRS. SCRUB through the upper door.
GUARD: Well, I’ll see you around, lad. Hopefully, anyhow. It was good knowing you.
PHILIP: You too, Guard.
I wish you nothing but the best.
Exit GUARD through the upper door.
MELVIN: You will let me through, won’t you, Philip? My good old friend… my most amicable of
acquaintances… you will let me into Heaven, won’t you?
PHILIP: We’ll talk.
Recorder! Take Melvin back to his
cell, if you will.
Enter RECORDER.
RECORDER: Right away, owner.
(Grabs MELVIN and drags him offstage.)
MELVIN (offstage): You’ll never forget me, boy! You may go to Heaven, but I curse you thus
for your injustice—you’ll never forget my stinging voice, my raging features,
my wounded soul! Not in the brightest
and best of worlds! Never!!
(Pause.)
PHILIP: I can’t believe it.
I feel like I’m a child again.
Here I am with power… but I have no idea what to do with it. I wish…if only my father were here. I miss him so much. I just miss him.
Exit PHILIP.