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  Willy: Look, Ben, that huddle over there, it’s Sonny, I’m sure. In the corner.

  Ben: For heaven’s sake, Sonny, what’re you so afraid of? We’re your friends. You can’t stay out here all night, you’ll –

  SONNY approaches BEN, and beckons to him, before exiting up L.

  Willy: Don’t follow, Ben. It’s dangerous on a night like this.

  Ben: I must follow. I’m compelled to know Sonny’s secret. I’ll get him back, don’t worry –

  Willy: Am I your friend or not? I can’t let you just wander off on your own –

  Ben: Leave me. Are we just teachers for sunny weather? I have a duty towards the boy. Stay here and wait for the others.

  BEN exits up L.

  Willy: Take care – I’ll go back for the others.

  WILLY exits up R.

  Scene 4

  Another place on the moor.

  Enter SONNY down L, followed shortly by BEN.

  Ben: Sonny, Sonny Polski, what are you doing out here? Stop. Tell me how I can help you.

  Sonny: Mr Jonson, sir, he’s back. You’re the only one I can trust.

  Ben: Who’s back, Sonny?

  Sonny: Mr Kilman. I wanted to tell you earlier. I recognised him immediately. None of us are safe.

  Ben: What’s this Mr Kilman to you?

  Sonny: Sir, I’ve never told you before; I’m not Sonny Polski. That’s a name they thought up when I came to Wildmoor. My real name’s Vlad. Vladimir Brozek.

  Ben: You’re the son of Stanislav?

  Sonny: Yes, sir. From Kosovo.

  Ben: And I never recognised you. But, tell me, what is this about Mr Kilman?

  Sonny: Sir, at the lecture tonight – you were there – he called me up in front of everybody. It must have been on purpose; he was looking so hard at me, and I knew he knew who I was.

  Ben: But why should that frighten you so much?

  Sonny: Mr Kilman’s a killer, sir. Mr Kilman murdered my father. I saw him do it. I was there.

  Ben: Then quickly, tell me everything, Sonny.

  Sonny: We were crammed into a sort of room for days. Then they lined us all up, and that man, he walked along, and there was a shot, and my father slumped. Just my father. I suppose he thought I wouldn’t remember. But I did remember.

  Ben: How many were you?

  Sonny: There were five or six altogether.

  Ben: What happened to the rest?

  Sonny: I don’t know. They let my mother and me go.

  Ben: Sonny, I’m going to ask you a question. Think very hard about the answer: Are you certain this was the same Mr Kilman?

  Sonny: I would never forget that face as long as I live, sir. I swear it was him. And there was another man too. Sir, I cannot stay at Wildmoor. He knows I know.

  Ben: Stay with me. You’ll be safe –

  Sonny: You don’t understand, sir –

  Noises off, calling.

  Ben: Wait – wait, don’t run off again. You’re safe with us –

  WILLY, SAM, LAURA enter auditorium noisily up R.

  Laura: Mr Jonson. Are you all right? Have you found Sonny?

  They descend to stage. Sonny takes fright and exits apron down R.

  Ben: Damn. He’s gone. He was here. I must go after him. You stay here –

  Laura: Mr Jonson, sir, it’s dangerous. Sonny knows every little path on the moor. He spends half his time out here. He’s weird.

  BEN hesitates.

  Ben: You may be right, Laura. One lost on the moor is better than two. Parker can get the police out tomorrow.

  Laura: We need you here, sir.

  Ben: Right, then listen all of you – the boy told me things you won’t believe. So be it. But there must be a blanket of silence on this business. Okay?

  Willy: What things?

  Ben: My instinct served me well, Willy. To lift a phrase from ‘Hamlet’: ‘the time is out of joint’. But for now, everyone, about any of these events say nothing; the Devil needs creeping up on from behind. Understood?

  Willy: Okay, Ben.

  Ben Laura? Sam? Not a word, remember?

  Laura: You can count on us, Mr Jonson.

  Ben: Then once more: Promise never to make it seem you know anything amiss about Jack Kilman.

  Laura: We’ve already agreed, sir. We’ll keep it under our hats.

  Ben: Right. Then let’s go in.

  Exit all except Ben.

  I’m as a father to this sad boy, a beacon on a foggy night. I would take him in, but he’s not safe in this vicinity. Sonny is resourceful and will find his own way till we have tossed this snake, Kilman, upon the dunghill. What a story’s here: a killing, nicely camouflaged in time of war, the doer exonerated from all sense of guilt, but brutish murder nonetheless. This then is Kilman’s legacy. If Sonny’s tale is true, the slippery fiend has first despatched the father of the boy, then hurried to join my mother in adulterous sheets. Oh, vile, deceitful, lustful villain. I have long suspected these dire events but shoved them idly by to fester. The way now though is clear and I am called to act. Henceforth my thoughts be nothing if not vengeful.

  Exit. Lights dim slowly and there’s a distinct tinkling sound as Delia comes forward from upstage to downstage C.

  Delia: To coin another phrase:

  ’It’s down to Ben to find a way to turn dark night to happy day.’

  The CURTAIN falls.

  Scene 5

  School hall.

  As the curtain opens, DELIA is still standing in the spotlight, stage C, as school actors begin to enter up L and R.

  Delia: Hi. Welcome to the play. I’m Cordelia. Cordelia Josephs, Delia for short and ‘Deels’ for even shorter. I’m a pupil here at Wildmoor. As you can see, our school production’s about to get underway. I’m in it. Stage manager. Not the part I really wanted, which was Ophelia. Willy Wagstaff – that’s our Director over there – somehow didn’t ‘see me in the role’. Whatever he did see. So I got general dogsbody. Anyway, I’d better go. First main rehearsal.

  Willy: Deels, could you try and make sure we get through this ordeal as smoothly as possible? Cues, that sort of thing.

  Delia: I’ll do my best, Mr Wagstaff.

  Willy: Your best, Deels, is as best as it gets.

  WILLY, followed by DELIA, attend to the rehearsal, but DELIA

  returns.

  Delia: Oh yes, I nearly forgot. I’ve got another role as well. Narrator – something happened to me, you see, something bad, but it left me free to wear two hats, sort of come and go. So please don’t be surprised if you find me both in the play and outside it too. All will be revealed.

  A tinkling sound is heard.

  I’m here, I’m there,

  I’m everywhere,

  A sentient spirit of the air.

  Actors arrange themselves to rehearse Act 1 Sc 2 of ‘Hamlet’. DELIA watches and generally makes herself useful.

  Willy: Right, everyone. I’m still not convinced about this play; so convince me. Dennis, you’ve got first speech and the rest of the court awaits your words of wisdom with bated breath. Take it away.

  Delia: (aside) Dennis Thugley, school Jock –

  Dennis: Take what away, Mr Wagstaff?

  Willy: The play. I mean start!

  Dennis: (declaiming ridiculously) ‘Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother’s death the memory be green’ –

  Willy: Stop! Dennis, stop right there! Now, tell me what you’ve just said.

  Dennis: ’Though yet of Hamlet’ –

  Willy: No. Tell me, tell Mr Josephs here, tell Laura, tell us all, what you think you’ve just stated.

  Dennis: Don’t ask me, Mr Wagstaff.

  Willy: I am asking you. If you don’t know, how do you expect your audience to know?

  Dennis: That’s up to them. Never could understand this Shakespeare anyway.

  Willy: Okay, anyone tell me what Dennis just declaimed? Henry, can you?

  Delia: (aside) School swat –

  Henry: Certainly can, sir: ‘A
lthough my dear brother, Hamlet, has only recently died’ –

  Willy: That it?

  Henry: Sure is, sir.

  Willy: Okay, Dennis, just say now to your audience what Henry’s just paraphrased.

  Dennis: Uhh, say it again, Henry.

  Henry: ‘Although my dear brother, Hamlet, has only recently died’ –

  Dennis: (resuming a normal voice) ’Although my dear brother, Hamlet, has only recently died’ –

  Willy: Now say the first one and a half lines of the Shakespeare version in the same manner.

  Dennis: (holding up the play copy) You mean –

  Willy: Yes, I do.

  Dennis: (speaking in a natural voice) ’Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother’s death the memory be green’ –

  Willy: Wonderful! Got the picture, Dennis?

  Dennis: Yes, Mr Wagstaff. Why didn’t you tell me you just wanted me to plain talk the lines?

  Willy: Well you know now. Okay, enough of this. We’ll leave that whole speech. Let’s jump a page. Dennis, Laertes, Ophelia, Line 42. And remember, don’t declaim – by the way, where’s Ophelia?

  Henry: We haven’t got an Ophelia, sir. You haven’t cast her yet.

  Laura: Sir, why not let Delia play her? She’d make a great Ophelia.

  Willy: Ah – well, she’s my stage manager. I can’t manage without a manager.

  Delia: (aside) See?

  Interruption as a JOURNALIST and his photographer wander on backstage. Photo flashes.

  Willy: Hello. Can we help you?

  Journalist: Hi, are you the director?

  Willy: Yes.

  Journalist: We’re from the Citizens’ Gazette in town. Word’s got out you’re putting on a big play out here. Shakespeare in modern dress –

  Willy: How did you hear about that?

  Journalist: I think it was one of your governors, but we never reveal our sources. Don’t worry; I ran this visit by your headmistress; she okayed it. Maybe we could just take a photo of your team here, and perhaps I could ask you a few questions about the production.

  Willy: Well, I suppose it’s good publicity. Everyone in the cast, get in a group. We need a photo.

  Group arrange themselves. JOURNALIST takes the photo.

  Journalist: Thanks chaps. Now, maybe I could get a few moments of your time, Mr –?

  Willy: Willy Wagstaff. Right, cast, let’s call it a day, people. A great first rehearsal! To be followed by a series of wonderful rehearsals, leading ultimately to the performance of the century. You’re dismissed.

  Actors leave slowly. DELIA remains on stage down R, watching.

  Journalist: ‘Performance of the century’. Sure sounds intriguing, Mr Wagstaff. Seems like you’ve got quite a job on your hands.

  Willy: You’re right. Chaos at times. Anyway, I’ve got a busy schedule. You’re from Citizens’ Gazette you say. What would you like to know?

  Journalist: Can you perhaps fill us in on the educational angle for this production –?

  Willy: Educational angle?

  Journalist: You know, something for my readers about how it might help your students educationally. Old-fashioned language and fancy costumes are hardly going to prepare your kids for real life.

  Willy: What d’you reckon ‘real life’ is then, Mr –?

  Journalist: – Call me Mike. Mike Hacker.

  Willy: Okay, Mike, then what’s ‘real life’ mean to you?

  Journalist: Earning a crust. If you ever got me in a school play, it’d be as a lights man, stage manager, something useful. Sure as hell not spouting words most normal people don’t understand –

  Willy: Okay, look Mike, you’re a practical man, but not everyone is, and even practical kids can get something out of a production like this; it widens their experience, their skills, their vocabulary – tell your readers a Shakespeare production is as educational as it gets.

  Journalist: Hold on. Let me note that – as educational as it gets – wow, Mr Wagstaff, that sure is a big statement.

  Willy: It’s a big play. Tell you what, why don’t you come on out and see it for yourself once we’ve got it ready.

  Journalist: Some of my readers might do just that, but I’m not strong on what you might call ‘the grand literature’. In my trade we keep words simple, tell stories about real people, real human beings: murders, traffic accidents, larceny, trials, executions –

  Willy: I get your point, Mike, but we’ve got plots a plenty too. You see, we ‘hold the mirror up to nature’, in the words of the poet –

  WILLY thumbs hastily through his play copy.

  – Suicides, adultery, assassinations, fratricide –

  Journalist: Fratri – what?

  Willy: Brother murder.

  Journalist: Why not say so then?

  Willy: Brother murder’s two words, fratricide’s one. Thought you people were always trying to save on words, save costs.

  Journalist: You may be right. Anyway, not enough minutes in the day. Got to rush. Appointment at a crime scene. Lady rams her old man over the head with a meat cleaver ’cos he wouldn’t take her to the movies. That’s real life.

  Willy: Sounds pretty unreal life to me. More like the stuff of fiction. Anyway, please give the next of kin my commiserations.

  Journalist: There you go again. Long words – hey, old friend, Just kidding. Listen, I appreciate you letting me get a photo. Good luck with the production.

  Exit.

  Willy: What is it about these journalists, with their dire events and drab language? A tarnished mirror indeed – where does that ‘mirror’ line come from anyway?

  Exit.

  Delia: Act 3 Sc 2 of ‘Hamlet’. How can someone so beautiful be so absent-minded? But at least he’s not a fly-by-night like that horrid journalist.

  Tinkling sound.

  Our drama then is in the offing,

  A tide most forceful, nothing stopping.

  And if intentions we can read,

  ’Tis a beauteous play indeed.

  So come, good friends, no longer stay,

  Great things indeed are underway,

  And let me then your true guide be,

  Through this eventful history.

  The CURTAIN falls.

  Act 2

  Scene 1

  Next morning. Headmaster’s Study at Wildmoor.

  PARKER sits alone at his desk, doing a crossword.

  Parker: ‘Caught in the middle’ – ‘Trapped’ – Wait, no, doesn’t fit. Let me see – 8 letters – I know, ‘squeezed’ –

  He writes it in and puts the paper down.

  Strange how pertinent a crossword clue can sometimes be to one’s own predicament. This stepson of mine, this Jonson, who so thoroughly disturbs my nights. Would I have taken Sheila on, had I known what baggage she’d bring with her?

  He picks the crossword up again and SHEILA enters.

  Ah, there you are, my dear.

  Sheila: Idle hands breed light work, Ray.

  Parker: Am I not even allowed to do a crossword on a Sunday morning?

  Sheila: I wasn’t referring to you, my love, but to our new boy, Willy Wagstaff. He clearly needs to be kept occupied and free from the – how shall I put it? – disruptive influence of my son.

  Parker: My own thoughts entirely. And now we have this crazy embryo of a play to plague us. Shakespeare’s too difficult often for professionals, let alone green kids.

  Sheila: You’re right, Ray. Not to mention the disruption to the academic life. Preps not done, rehearsals at every hour of the school day.

  Parker: Worse, my dear. The damage to the minds of those involved can be incalculable. Plays of this ilk can work strange magic on untutored minds. I trust you’ll find a way of dissuading Wagstaff from this madness.

  Sheila: How might I do that?

  Parker: If Wagstaff’s set on this play, then we must unset him.

  Sheila: I’ll go forthwith, Ray, and see what can be done. Though it pains me to see you so at odds with my son. I fea
r it’s none other than my doing.

  Parker: We must not blame ourselves, Sheila. We knew what we were taking on.

  Sheila exits.

  If we’re not vigilant, I foresee a tragedy on our campus as dark as any Shakespeare could devise.

  The CURTAIN falls.

  Scene 2

  A room in Kilman’s house. Kilman sits at a small table down R, on the apron speaking on the phone.

  Kilman: You know my interests in Wildmoor, Sheila. I don’t need to emphasize it. You and I, and the others, we’re all implicated, so we must stick together. And this fortunate new connection with the school gives me that chance. Tell me, has the boy been found? – Good. Let it be known the police are looking for him, then don’t inform the police. Trust me. I have contacts in the force. Tell people what they want to hear, but tell no one the truth, not even that husband of yours. Without parentage, the boy can easily slip under the radar, and his absence become a permanent one. Now, what of your son and this fellow, Wagstaff? What’s their status? –Fine. Two fires blazing together may extinguish each other for want of fuel. I’ll contact you shortly. Understand?

  KILMAN replaces the phone and sits thinking.

  She doesn’t suspect, nor must she. Sheila was once dear to me. I must play her carefully, knowing her sensitivity towards her son. Let me keep the son in my sights, and first dispatch the son’s old father from this burdensome world. These days, one may die upon a city street with scarcely an eyebrow raised.

  Lights.

  Scene 3

  A corridor in the school.

  WILLY enters down R, and walks across apron, copy of ‘Hamlet’ open in his hand.

  Willy: All spots completed in the casting save one: the ‘Ophelia’ question. How do I fill this enigmatic role? Hamlet’s relationship with Ophelia is, to say the least, baffling. And the character of Ophelia herself. Demure? Feisty? Or even both combined?

  COCKRELL enters front L.

  Cockrell: Ah, ‘Hamlet’ no less. What a coincidence. Deep in earnest study –

  Willy: – I’m a bit busy right now, Hugh. The Ophelia conundrum.

  Cockrell: Whatever that may be. But don’t worry; I just wanted to enquire if the play’s still going full-steam ahead.

  Willy: Good question. I’ve just had Mrs Parker suggesting it might be a bit too big a bite to chew.