The Great

Presenting:

The Great

in 3 acts

Cast of Characters (pro forma):

Memory, a psychiatric

Maithe, rhymes with lathe

Doc Serpentyne, worldy small seacraft captain

Potus, the lighthouse keeper

Stern Brady, the Mayor

Constable Murphy, the Law

Deputy Magnus

the Sisters:

Joely

Wanda

Francis

the Farmers:

Mr&Mrs Munne

Campbell, a rugged youth
Old Man Gravies, drunken farmhand

Ms Dominic, the school mistress

Reverend Taylor

Zeke, passing unspecified dignitary

Miriam, his wife

Fleming, the carriageman

The Chemist
Mrs Brady, the Mayor's wife
&
The Publisher

The Setting:

 Swim, a tiny subtropical farming community overlooking the Sea of Thesbus.  Charming, agrarian, and kinky in a very practical way.  Most residents farm hemp for manufacture of specialty nautical rope.  The village proper is adjacent to a small port, which predates the settlement by over half a century.  The oldest parts of Swim--its government building, stables, and village square--were constructed on the foundations of a military labor camp.  Nobody remembers why it was there, but most the villagers are related to one or more of its escapees.

Act 1

Scene 1

Morning in Mrs Munne's flowergarden.  A muttering Mrs Munne scurries among her flowering flower blossoms, sampling the sublime aromas of first bloom.  She prunes and arranges deftly as she goes, chirping reassuredly when not inhaling deep, sensuous breaths through the nose.  It's as if she is carrying on several conversations at once:

MRS MUNNE: Yes, my my my.  Oh my my my yes.  And whatever have we here...?  There you are!  That's WONderful...  Of course!  I should like to think so, wonder of wonders.  Oh!  Precious thing...  But you'll have to wait just a squeeze longer, little one.  And I'm not sure we've met before...?  Well...  I think I might be able to shed some light on this situation...

MR MUNNE: (offstage) Mama!  Hey Mama!  Where'd you put the skillet?

MRS MUNNE: It's soaking at the beach!  I told you, I'll send Campbell for it when he gets here!

Mr Munne enters the garden, still dressed in old man's sleep pants.

MR MUNNE: That boy's been late every day this week.

MRS MUNNE: Well so haven't you, sweetheart.  Judge not and whatnot.  Remember what your Mother used to say.

Mr Munne has retreated to the farm family bungalow.

MRS MUNNE: What's that?  Crab apple.

She continues to prune and preen.  Just then Campbell crashes through the brush into the back yard, carrying the heavy skillet with difficulty.  He is tired, but proud.

MRS MUNNE: Oh, well!  Now I should've known!

CAMBELL: Sorry I'm late, Mz Munne.  I been swimmin' at the beach and I reco'nized yer skillet.

MRS MUNNE: You angelic boy.  And you saved yourself two extra trips to the beach in the balance.

CAMBELL: Yep.

MRS MUNNE: ...I spose I could let you out early today.  Do you think, Cambell?

CAMBELL: Ain't my place to say, Mz Munne.

MRS MUNNE: I spose I might.  But only if you bust some real ass today, you understand?

CAMBELL: Anything you say, Mz Munne.

They share a long, interesting pause.  Campbell is now visibly straining to keep the skillet off the ground.

MRS MUNNE: Now hurry up and run that skillet in to Papa before he cooks those eggs on his own hot head.

CAMBELL: Yes ma'am.

Campbell runs along into the farm family bungalow with the heavy skillet.

Mrs Munne can't find any more flowers ta flowa around wit.  She's probably ready for some eggs herself.  Hands on hips, she monologs:

MRS MUNNE: Lord be.  Just Lord give me just a few more days of...  This.  Alls I'm asking.  Then...  To hell with it.  To hell witt'em all.  I'll be didda what I come to'a done, and that'll be that.

She gathers all her shit and heads inside.

A wind gust disturbs the tall, aspirational grass, from which, moments later, Old Man Gravies sits up.  He is bleary-eyed and disheveled.

OLD MAN GRAVIES: ...the hell was that?  And where's that gad dang...  Skillet?!

Scene 2

Evening of the same day.  Zeke and Miriam sit opposite one another but awkwardly close, knees touching, on the edges of finely upholstered seats in a large carriage traveling fast on a moderate dirt road.  The mood is expectant.

MIRIAM: Zeke, darling...

ZEKE: Wait.  Just...  I'm sorry.  You'll have to forget the truth now.  I don't want to know anymore.  All of this and the bumping is making me so...  Ill.

MIRIAM: It's probably just the bumping.

ZEKE:  NO, it's also the violent revelations.

MIRIAM: (laughing) You are just the most dramatic...  Let's have Fleming give those horses a rest for an hour.  We'll picnic in the tall, aspirational grass.

ZEKE: We have to be in Swim Town Square by midnight, Miriam.  There literally is no time to spare.  I really do think I'm going to be sick in a moment.

Miriam rip-rap-raps on the panel separating the carriage compartment from the cockpit.  It slides open.

FLEMING: Whussaett?

MIRIAM: We'd like to have a rest, Fleming.  Master Zeke is taking badly to all these bumps.

FLEMING: Oytt!

The carriage rumbles down to a halt.  Zeke hastily exits the extravagant carriage, doubled over, and departs to the aspirational grass nearby for a zesty puke.

Miriam waits behind in the open carriage, pert, dreamily eying the lush, midsummer's evening while Fleming hops down from his perch to fritz about wit da horses.

MIRIAM: Fleming?

FLEMING: Aye?

MIRIAM: ...  I told him.  I've told him everything.  Now we can all be free again.  It was time, don't you think?  Of course it was, silly.  I don't know anything if I don't know timing.  Practically majored in it at charm school.  Oh, but those were different times, were they not, Fleming?  Dear me, but he was rather disturbed.  It's understandable.  That initial...  Shock.  But I don't think I'm being too cynical when I assume most of it was the motion sickness...

FLEMING: ...  Huh...

MIRIAM:  Anyway, just giving you a heads up.  I wouldn't worry on your end.  Technically, you are not at fault in any way.  Royal codes.  Also your caste.  That also factors.  So no worries.  Just, so you know, when it might be awkward over the next couple of days--that's why, basically.  And you know I'm still behind you one hundred percent.

Zeke slowly ambles back to the carriage, exhausted and damp.

FLEMING: ...  Huh...

MIRIAM:  Zeke, poor dear...

ZEKE:  I hope I didn't...  Linger, too long...  Miriam.  It's hard to have a sense of...  Timing, these days.    What with I never have to...  Worry.  Well.  I should think that will have to change now.  Let's go.  Fleming.  Drive these animals.  That's your job.

FLEMING:  aaAye!  Sooyiiitt-gloyee-da'KING!

ZEKE: What-EVER.

Scene 3