The Good Samaritan

by Ann Fothergill-Brown

This issue’s Fiction is ideally a teleplay or cinema script, although it could be performed on stage in mime, with a narrator to speak the thoughts and speeches of all the characters.

The characters are: The Girl, The Young Man, and The Old Man. A few other people are also necessary.

The time is yours and mine; the set, a public conveyance (for simplicity’s sake, a bus). Onstage, the bus runs parallel to the proscenium. Its front end is lost somewhere in the wings off left. The seats that march in rows of two abreast are closest to the audience, and a bench-like seat is on the upstage side of the bus, so that anyone sitting there faces the audience.

A cold, indifferent light comes up on the set to reveal several passengers sitting, well-spaced apart, and staring fixedly ahead or out imaginary windows.

The Girl enters from stage left as if she has just paid her fare. She sits demurely on the bench seat, which is unoccupied. She steals small glances around her at the other passengers. The lighting gradually becomes warmer.

The Old Man follows shortly and sits in an unoccupied double seat directly across from The Girl. He is in profile to the audience.

The Girl

(thinking) ... funny the look everyone gets on their face in a bus ... (little chuckle) careful not to look anyone in the eye ... impolite ... had it drilled into them from the first time they toddled on ... wonder what would happen if I stared at one and didn’t stop when noticed ... that one there ...

(She concentrates on one woman near the very end of the bus. The woman looks up, eyes lock, but The Girl doesn’t waver. She even manages a faint grin at her diabolical intent. The woman shifts uneasily, looks away, back, away longer, back again.)

ah ha! ... couldn’t resist seeing if I was still looking ... might make a good Psych project, you know ... stare ... then interview for reactions ... might get a punch in the mouth for my trouble, too!

(sees The Old Man)

how he holds his hands ... gnarled, bent ... just like in books ... hunched, shuffling ... old, aged ... here is the man all tattered and torn ... one misty, moisty morning ... a man clothed all in leather ...

(The Old Man laboriously begins to search his pockets and one by one pulls out cigarette papers and tobacco. He begins to roll a cigarette with faltering slowness deriving from an inner need for perfection at odds with his trembling hands, which are indeed gnarled and bent. The movements are not ungraceful, only stiff. He hunches in concentration while The Girl looks on in (concealed) interest. The Young Man enters and sits beside The Girl.)

The Girl

(thinking) years ... years ... years of making the same little motions ... old ... old ... must be almost a lost art, rolling cigarettes ... how his hands tremble ... how sorry to get old, feel the delicate controls ... disappearing ... how beautiful ... what a portrait it would make ... an old man ... an old man and his lost art ... art ... beautiful ...

(Cigarette finished, The Old Man places it between his lips and again begins to pat his pockets and rummage falteringly through their contents. He seems not to be able to find what he is looking for.)

The Girl

(thinking) and now a match ... delicate motions ... which pocket are they in? ... matches ... lighter ... fire ... a light ... matches (rising crescendo) can’t you find a match ... can’t you find them ... no matches on me ... doesn’t anyone have a match ... why can’t anyone see that he needs a light ... don’t carry matches ... why doesn’t someone see him ... doesn’t anyone have eyes but me ... my god, someone must see him ... why are you all so blind ... don’t you see he wants a light ... MY GOD, DOESN’T ANYONE HAVE A MATCH? (an idea strikes) I wonder ... maybe ... should I ask ... maybe he ... I could ask for a light ... no cigarettes ... it’d look foolish ... but no one else cares ... doesn’t anyone SEE HIM ... look, for heaven’s sake, SEE, right across the aisle ... can’t you see him ... don’t you have a match ... I ... can’t ... must ... why ... won’t anyone ... isn’t anyone interested ... I can’t ... I must ... must ... (trails off)

(The Girl jabs The Young Man with her elbow and speaks for the first time.)