Lydia's e-mail is still down, and she wasn't able to read the play yesterday, so I am re-posting it per her request. This time I will leave it up.
However, while I highly value constructive criticism, because this is the rough (very rough) draft, the raw material for the finished play, it does contain errors, and also the characters haven't truly been fleshed out yet--nor have I finished fiddling with the plot. So, please refrain from posting comments about mis-spellings or other grammatical errors--they call these 'rough drafts' for a reason.
I'm nearly at the half-way point to the play, have the plot down--sort of, but not all of the dialog/action, and again, haven't really dug deep with the character's yet, so they are still a bit one-dimentional...I think.
I wrote in a few more lines last night. So it's a teensy bit longer than the last post. For some reason, the italics in my Word programme won't copy and paste, I've noticed, but I'm not about to waste time going re-doing all the italics just for a blog post, so will leave it as it stands.
Ten-minute Play
The Colors of Life
by N. B. G.
SETTING: An old New England farm, in the hills of Vermont. The year is 1917. It is early November, at dusk, the end of a long day of laborious farm chores. The sun is setting, painting its orange and rose-tinted colors over the silvery-gray boards of the old barn. There is a bench outside the barn, and some bits of harness that have been left there, in the process of being mended.
CAST:
JACOB…………….about 75 years old, stooped from years of hard toil
MARY……………..JACOB’S wife, a severe woman and staunch Christian
SUSAN…………….JACOB’S daughter
GEORGE…………..a slow-witted itinerant farm hand--they refer to him as a “boy, even tho’ he’s a grown man.
AT RISE: JACOB enters from stage right. He limps to the bench in front of the barn, carrying a leather sewing awl in his hand. He sits slowly, taking a moment to admire the sunset.
JACOB: “What a beautiful evenin’! The sun glowing on the smoky gray hills, like it was shinin’ through stained glass. Just beautiful! After a hard day of cuttin’ firewood, moments like this are a real treat--yessiree bob, it’s a real pleasure, to just set here and admire God’s handiwork. (He looks upward.) You painted a genuine masterpiece tonight, Lord, and I give you thanks for that. Nothin’ like a November sunset, it’s the best thing about this time a’ year, I reckon.” (He sighs contentedly, and bends to the task of fixing the harness.)
(MARY calls from off of stage right)
MARY: “Jacob? Jacob? Where are you?”
JACOB: “I’m out by the barn, Mary, mendin’ some harness”.
MARY: (Enters stage right, standing just in sight of the audience, as if standing in a door yard.) “Well don’t forget to tell George to bring me some more kindling for the stove. I want to bake some bread tomorrow, and the kindling’s near gone--and you know what an addle-brain that boy is!”
JACOB: “Wife, don’t be sayin’ such things about George! I won’t have it. He’s a good boy.”
MARY: “Just you tell him, Jacob, you hear?” (Without waiting for a response she exits).
JACOB: (Sighing heavily) “Yes, Mary, I’ll remind him when I see him.” (Frowning, he bends to the task of mending the harness again--but then his hand slips and he winces and flexes his hand.) “Darn hands don’t want to work right any longer. Like the rest of me, I suppose. Slowing down, like a clock that life has forgotten to re-wind. (Suddenly, he gasps and clutches his heart. JACOB bends over for a minute, then, slowly relaxes and straightens up again, breathing slowly. He looks up at the sky again, pensively.) "Well Lord, I feel the steely touch of darkness gathering itself into my wounded heart. The rushing of the moon-cold wind, a tumultuous feathery trembling inside my cobalt-tinged soul. It scares me, sometimes. This ebony-colored space that hides in the violet-edged gloom of my life." (He looks sadly at the fading sun). “I’m just slowly fading away now, like the night shadows, slowly creeping oer’ the hills.”
(GEORGE enters, shambling along, carrying an empty water bucket. He nods to JACOB.)
GEORGE: Hello, Jacob.
JACOB: Evenin’ George.
(George stands next to Jacob, and they stare appreciatively at the sunset.)
GEORGE: “Pretty, ain’t it?”
JACOB: Ey’yah.
GEORGE: I got the stock watered, what you want me to do now, Jacob?
JACOB: “Mary’s doin’ her bakin’ tomorrah’. She asked me to remind you to bring her a stack of kindlin’ for the stove.
GEORGE: (Unenthusiastically.) Oh. (He dithers, looking down at the ground and scraping his toe in the dirt.) Okay, Jacob.
JACOB: (Kindly) I know she’s a bit stern with you, sometimes. She wasn’t blessed with the patience of men, like you or I, George. But, she’s a good woman, in her way, and she don’t mean nothin’ by it. Why only yesterday, she told me you were one of the hardest working hands we’d ever hired. (Smiling gently) You just go along now, and in a little while, we’ll all of us set down to a nice supper, ey?
GEORGE: (Returning the smile.) Okay, Jacob. (He sets the bucket down and shambles offstage. JACOB sighs, and intently resumes his repair of the harness.)
(There is a commotion from offstage: MARY AND SUSAN are arguing, but the words are indistinct. After a moment’s pause, SUSAN runs out from stage right, over to where JACOB is sitting.)
SUSAN: Papa!
JACOB: Now, just wait one moment, Susan. (He works industriously at finishing his sewing of the piece of leather.)
SUSAN: Papa!
JACOB: Can’t rush some things, my pet--not if you want the job done right, anyhow. Whatever it is, I’m sure it can wait another minute or two. Why don’t you just take a breath, and enjoy the nice sunset, ey?
SUSAN: (Gives a scornful glance in the direction of the setting sun, and stamps her foot impatiently.) A person would think you are more fond of some rotten old piece of leather, than you are of your own daughter!
JACOB: (Sewing the last stitch, he puts the little piece of leather on the bench beside him. He looks up into his daughter’s face with a serious expression.) Now, Susan, you know that isn’t true, dear. Here, see this old piece of harness?
SUSAN: Of course I can see it, papa! I’m not addled ya’know!
JACOB: But, you see Susan, if I’d not have gone to the trouble of repairing it, it would have become utterly useless-why, I’d have to go out and buy a whole new set of harness--just for the failure of one little piece that I’d allowed to fall into neglect.
SUSAN: So, your savin’ money is more important than talkin’ to your own daughter, is that it?
JACOB: Not at all, sweetheart. What I mean is, dear, that if we neglect the little things that go wrong--then those things can worsen, and get out of hand. Why, suppos’n I didn’t repair that little bit o’ harness, and it broke while I was drivin’ you and your mother to town in the buggy? Well, then we’d have a rather serious problem on our hands, wouldn’t we? Now, I’m listening. Tell me, what is it that has you in such a tither tonight, Susan?
SUSAN: It’s George, papa.
JACOB: What about him, Susan?
SUSAN: He keeps staring at me, every time we sit down at the table for a meal.
JACOB: Waal, maybe that’s because he thinks you’re pretty.
SUSAN: But I don’t like it, papa! That idiot staring at me, it’s just not right.
JACOB: Whoa, now hold on there, gal. You know I don’t hold with petty name-calling.
SUSAN: Sorry, papa. But, I still don’t like him. He gives me the shudders.
JACOB: What are you saying? What’s he done to make you so afraid of him? Is it because he’s different? Or, is it something else? Something you’re not tellin’ me?
SUSAN: No, he hasn’t made a move towards me.
JACOB: Do you want him to?
SUSAN: (Genuinely shocked) No! Papa, how could you even suggest such a thing? I-I don’t need a beau, I’m happy just as I am, with you and mama.
(All of a sudden, JACOB leans in and gently places his hand on SUSAN’S thigh)
JACOB: You like being with me, here, don’t you Susan? We make a good team, you and I. Like my ol’ plow horses, Andy and Arrow, pullin’ together, (Absently sliding his hand down her dress and squeezing her knee.) sharin’ the work and helping things to grow.
(Without seeming to realize she’s even doing it, Susan squirms at her father’s touch. For a moment, there is an uncomfortable silence. It is broken by the banging of a door, and a few seconds later, MARY comes stalking over. SUSAN hurriedly stands up and stands, guiltily looking at her mother.)
Uh-oh. (To himself.) By the looks a’things, I’d say the storm clouds are approachin’, to rain upon our tranquility. (He heaves an audible, martyred sigh.)
MARY: Susan? What are you doing out here? I thought I asked you to finish the ironing, and here you are, jawin’ the evening away with papa. Honestly girl! I don’t know what’s getting into you these days. I swear you’re getting more daft in the head than George is!
JACOB: Now, Mary…
MARY: Don’t you make excuses to me, Jacob! Well you know, that the only way we can keep this farm going, is by all of us workin’ together. And if one of us isn’t holding up our end, the whole thing falls apart, like a barn whose beams have rotted from the inside. What was so important Susan, for you had to come all the way out here to see papa?
(Unseen by the three of them, GEORGE comes walking up, with an armload of kindling wood. He stands a short distance off, hesitant, but with an innocent curiosity over what has brought the three family members together. Meanwhile, there is a brief, awkward silence, as JACOB studiously returns to repairing the harness, and SUSAN dithers between looking to her father for guidance, and the stern gaze of her mother.)
SUSAN: It’s..it’s nothing mama.
JACOB: She’s upset about George, mother.
(GEORGE, on hearing this, quietly sets down the wood he’s holding. Still unseen by the others, GEORGE draws slightly closer, his face suddenly anxious.)
SUSAN: Papa!
JACOB: It’s alright girl, I think your mother will understand.
MARY: Understand what? What’s George done?
JACOB: Calm yourself, Mary, ‘tis nothing at all.
SUSAN: Papa, no!
JACOB: Susan, your mother has a right to know what’s going on under her own roof.
(MARY is suddenly alarmed at hearing this.)
MARY: Jacob, what has George done? What has he done? My God, don’t tell me he…
JACOB: He hasn’t done anything wrong, mother, calm yourself. Susan’s just upset ‘cause she doesn’t like George lookin’ at her at the dinner table.
MARY: How d’ya mean, Jacob? Lookin’ at her like what? Just exactly where are his eyes roamin, husband?
