Kevin Barry - Beatlebone

Somewhere a blackbird sings.

And now, unseen by the Ranters, a thumbprint appears in the pool of hardening wax on the Dutch patterned saucer.

John speaks coldly—

JOHN I really don’t think you’re up to this. In fact I think you’re a bunch of rank fucking amateurs. I think you’re working from a manual. I don’t think there’s any way you’re gonna break through here. I mean absolutely fucking no-how. Coz my old skin? I’ve got a skin on it’s like a leather fucking hide.

A breeze moves through the bare room again; there are sighs of sea.

JOE And nothing beneath, John?

SUE Nah, he’s just a fucking…

Sue bites on her lip as she searches out the word.

SUE Vacancy.

She closes her eyes — John feels a chill, a touch — and now her words come rabidly, super-quick, in a machine-drone:

SUE There’s nothing there, John, except the fear, all the fear you got in, we can all see the fear you got in, it’s everything about you is the fear and we can smell it, the fear and…

The veins of her neck rise to pulse in blue again.

SUE …all you want is others to give, give, give and justify all you’ve fucking done and said and you want us to say oh John, John, all your choices were the right choices, John, and you didn’t want to hurt nobody never but the truth is you’re a fucking sellout, John, and you’re a liar, John, and you’re just suck-suck-suck, it’s everybody else’s energy you feed on, John…

JOHN You’ll not break through here.

SUE …you’re just suck-suck-suck and you’ve let everyone down who believed in you ever and you’re that fucking over and you’re that fucking irrelevant and what you are, John-John…

FRANK Is you’re a whinging fucking wormbag, John.

Sue lets loose a Scream that shudders her rib cage under the slim fit of brocade; Joe Director nods in grim approval.

JOE From your sex is that, Sue-child.

Joe Director starts to play a motor growl on his lips, and he builds it to a great thrumming of sound, and a new rhythm is made, and John turns his eyes in, one to meet the other, in derision of a throwback scene; it’s nineteen seventy fucking eight.

JOHN Though it passes an evening, I suppose.

Sue rises, and she weeps again as she crosses the circle — the sound of her unwellness — and she roars hard into John’s face:

SUE You’re nothing but a fucking…

but John’s face is unmoved, thin-lipped, a sark.

JOHN I know. A vacancy. You’ve said.

Sue makes as though to spit at him but she does not spit; she retreats and sits again.

JOHN And maybe you’re not wrong, love.

Joe Director rocks back and forth on his heels; he looks gently at John. Sympathy coats his words like honey:

JOE You lost your mam, didn’t you, John?

JOHN Oh here we fucking go.

JOE It must have been a very significant event in your life. You’ve talked about it a great deal.

JOHN I was playing on sentiment actually, Joe. I was taking the piss out of popular fucking sentiment. Coz it’s like fucking junk. It’s fucking sedative. It holds you back and it keeps you down.

Tiny synapse burn of a moth’s wing singed by candle flame — a protein hiss.

JOE They said she liked the blokes, your mam? That must have been very hurtful, John.

JOHN You think I give a flying fuck about the crap that gets printed in crappy fucking papers, Joe?

JOE It must be very distressing, John. The intrusion.

JOHN You think I give a flying fucking toss about the News of the fucking World ?

JOE How did it make you feel, John?

JOHN I know where I stand with them, Joe. I know who I fucking am. I know what’ll be thrown at me by fucking pigs with fucking typewriters.

Joe Director shows a palm and shushes.

JOE We’re just trying to peel that skin back, John. Relax yourself.

JOHN I’m utterly fucking relaxed. Trust me.

JOE In that case…

Joe gestures to Sue.

John’s heart beats quick and hard like a trapped bird’s.

Sue rises and crosses the circle and stands glowering at John.

Joe Director slaps the floor.

JOE Now have in, Sue!

She lays a palm softly to John’s face — he shucks free of it.

JOE Do you not like to be touched, John?

JOHN Fuck the fuck off!

FRANK Have in, Sue.

Sue strokes John’s neck with the petals of her fingers. They are that soft. A chill cuts through him again — he can feel the odd vibrations the girl is charged on; they are of the woodland places; she is elfin; in her fingers fused and pulsing the greens of England.

JOHN Actually you’re tripping me the fuck out here, love.

Wind-rasp; sea-sigh.

And Sue runs lightly a thumbnail across his lips.

JOHN I said would you please mind fucking the fuck off, love?

But she leans in closer still and aims a lover’s breath to the side of his neck — breath-of-sea — and she smells of chamomile, green youth, base cocaine.

JOE Have in, Sue.

FRANK Have in, John.

JOE Where did shy ever get you, John-kid? Fuck the little witch.

She comes closer again. She makes to kiss John — the un-shy poke of her tongue emerges — but John rises — John’s up — and he paces fast on the Amethyst boards.

JOHN I said fuck off!

But Sue follows him, walking swankily, with her palms laid on her tiny hips, all lady-like — Lady Godiva, a swagger and sway — but it’s in mockery of him.

JOHN I said behave and back the fuck off, witch!

SUE Say you don’t want to do me, John.

JOHN Oh come on, love! I could be your fucking dad!

SUE What are you scared of?

JOHN Ten types of fucking gonorrhoea!

JOE Leave him be and sit for now, Sue.

Sue pouts and blows a raspberry taunt; she retreats and sits; her neat chin juts saucily; Lady Godiva.

JOE I think we need to remember that John suffers. Let’s remember that he’s a great man is John. Let’s not forget. He’s made a big difference has John. With his little TV appearances. With his little wafty speeches and his fucking chants and…

John shakes his head and smiles. He drifts to the corner of the room where the candle burns; he looks at the flame and on the saucer of delft the hardening beads of wax — there is a thumbprint in the wax.

JOHN Here we fucking go.

John walks back to the circle and sits again; he smiles — it’s as though he can take it.

JOE …his hatred for his own self and all that he’s made of because he’s nothing now, not anymore he’s not, he’s just a fucking richman worm…

Joe closes his eyes to make the words: Joe Director is charismatic, hog-fat, dark-as-fuck.

JOE …a spawky fucking Irish peasant worm with his new money and his faggot hands and…

JOHN Oh fuck off!

SUE We’re getting closer.

JOE …his fear, all the fear he’s got in…

JOHN Oh fuck off you fat fucking goon!

FRANK Truth is cruel, John.

JOE Is that a little colour in your cheeks, John?

JOHN You don’t fucking know me!

John rises again and he moves towards Joe Director, and now Frank lets loose a Scream, and now Sue thumps the floor with her palms, and Screams.

JOHN You don’t know the first fucking thing about me! I said not the first thing! You want to remember I’ve been down this road many fucking times. I’ve spent months going at myself and bloody hard and with the fucking best of them. I’ve been harder on myself than anyone else could ever fucking be! I’ve sat with Dr. Janov him fucking self. He was my friend! In California…