The Gift
A play
By
David William Kirby
© The Dogbreaths Publishing 2011
All rights reserved
The Gift
From the original Apr 86-87
SCENE ONE INT DAY
We find ourselves looking into the glazed eyes of our subject.
Narration
I’m quite normal, really. A shy man yes, a man with few friends, no local relatives, no-one close. I could be your neighbour, the man across the street. In this big city of little people, where lives come and go to an end un-noticed; people like me are invisible. We may walk past you in the street, sit next to you on the train, serve you in a shop; then we are gone. We are almost faceless shadows; nobodies. I am just an ordinary guy; except, I have the gift…
Born in a normal family, with normal everyday parents everything was sweet until dad died. I was seven. Good old Mum, I miss her so much, she didn’t cope so well after he went.
She came to me and said he’d gone to a place called heaven; as if I knew where heaven was. I knew this was might not be true because I could still see him.
He was on the table, in a box; surrounded by sweet smelling flowers, he looked so relaxed there; the best he’d ever looked. I peered into his face and remember thinking that he’d never looked so peaceful; and there was that smell.
A faint musky odour that clung to the air in memory of him. A smell that hung about the room a long time after he had gone to remind us of his peacefulness. Reminding us that he was still there.
Laid out in his Sunday best, looking like he’d just won the races; whenever I smelt that smell in the future I knew he was there with me.
Schooldays were shit. I hated the boys in my year and they hated me. As my parents were older I was always dressed in a style that they thought appropriate; this made me an outcast with my peers and left me lonely and isolated.
What a lonely world that child lived in. The only contact I got was on the rugby field when their boots would scrape down my shins and cold fists would smash into my face; they’d laugh at my bloody nose, my reddened ears; spit into my sullen face and enjoy my tears.
I’d lay in bed at night thinking of ways to get back at them, how I could hang them up on a cobweb and tie them with spider silk; pulling their arms and legs off; make them suffer.
My thoughts were of boiling vats of oil and hot pokers; how I’d like that. Their muffled screams ringing out in the night, their terrified faces. Back then I hadn’t realized the gift.
That lonely child grew into this lonely adult; boring life and boring job. I have a hatch in the wall and file suffixes and prefixes all day. A messenger comes with a list and I have to find the files, then they return the files and I file them away.
It’s a job and as Mum would say, that’s the important thing.
Working alone in my little room suits me. People disgust me really. It’s their smell. Most women smell of cheep scent or worse and men smell of stale cigarettes or rotting armpits; both make me feel sick.
There’s a man in the building who operates the lift. A grey haired old man with a craggy face and bad teeth who has a most unpleasant smell. It reminds me of dry rot; mum always told me that cleanliness is next to godliness and she was right.
I try to make an effort especially now; now that I have the gift; she was always good like that; my mum…
SCENE 2 INT DAY
We find Simon at a small desk beside the hatch, he is dressed in a smart suit, white shirt and tie. Sober, he’d call it. He is reading a book. A bell rings and Simon puts his book down, straightens his tie and opens the hatch.
Simon
Yes?
(A woman leans into the hatch and inspects the room)
Mrs Boggin
Just making sure you’re still with us Simon.
Simon
Oh, yes Mrs Boggin, I arrive before everyone else and I’m generally the last to leave. You never know when a file is needed and, well, I don’t like the idea of anyone else coming in and possibly misfiling something.
Mrs Boggin
Yes, we were in a terrible mess before you came. Now, let me see, oh yes, could you get me the Harris file. I think it’s ‘H.a.r’… something.
Simon
The suffix is ‘H.a’ actually, prefix, Hmm let me see; yes ‘002’. The Harris file.
(He pulls out a file and hands it over)
Mrs Boggin
Very good, what would we do with out you. Still, don’t you get bored? I’d be ever so lonely down here all day with no one to talk to.
Simon
I like it that way. I have a book when things a re slow.
Mrs Boggin
How interesting. Oh well; must go, haven’t got all day. Thank you Simon. I’ll have it back before 5.
Simon
That’s the rules; all files back before the end of the day’s business.
Narration continued…
That’s it, till I leave work each day around five thirty. It used to take me so long to get home to Mum that I decided to take the big step of moving out. We found a room in Hammersmith that I could rent and off I went. That was twenty months ago and she died shortly after. I think she missed Dad so much that after we were both gone she had nothing to hang around for.
I miss her so much that sometimes I find myself talking to her. Particularly when at weekends I go and visit them in the cemetery; see I wasn’t there when she went and never got the chance to say goodbye. It wasn’t long after she went that I discovered that I had the gift.
It was an awful night during winter. Rain was lashing down and the wind was blowing hard. The streets were almost empty. I’d left work a little late and had missed my bus so I decided to walk; what a bad mistake that was…
SCENE 3 EXT NIGHT
Simon is walking down an empty street. The houses on either side of the road are dark and the street lamps appear dim as the sheets of rain block their illumination. There is a group of teenagers approaching him blocking the pavement; he pulls the umbrella down hard and tries to pass.
Teen 1
Watch it mate..
Teen 2
Fucking queer cunt; look at that stupid carrier bag.
Teen 3
Look at the woolly hat; what a dick head.
Teen 1#
He’s a fucking nonce case.
Teen 3
Yha think so, eh. A nonce case, really?
Teen 2#
I hate nonces man. Those fucking hush puppies; if he’s not a nonce then I’m a pussyman.
Teen 1
My dad says all nonces should be shot.
Teen 4
Or stabbed up; they need to be fucked up man. Fucked up good and proper.
Teen 1
I got my blade. You got yours?
Teen 4
Don’t need a blade man, just watch.
Simon hears footfalls approaching him from behind. He starts to turn as a fist pushes into his face. He sways a little as a foot connects with his groin and he bends forwards dropping his umbrella.
Simon
You got the wrong person boys, I was only…
Teen 2
(Mocking him) You got the wrong person; what a fucking nonce case.
Simon falls on the floor as feet start to kick him all over. He cries out but to no avail.
Teen 3
Fucking batty boy; quick see if he got a wallet.
The other boys go through Simon’s pockets and one strips the watch from his wrist then they run off as quickly as they came; leaving a crumpled man crying in the gutter for his mother.
SCENE 4 INT NIGHT
Simon rents two rooms at the top of a house which he now enters, blood on his face his clothes wet a
nd crumpled. He climbs a flight of narrow stairs towards the attic, past other flats on the way in this suburban conversion. At the very top of the stairs are two doors facing one another, his flat is on the left.
Simon puts his key in the lock and enters; the room is furnished with ill matched furniture, a table, an old sofa and easy chair, a television and hi-fi unit. In the corner is a sink, stove and small refrigerator. The threadbare carpet leads to a small bathroom/toilet and the only other room, a bedroom. He removes his coat and walks to the wall mirror with a tissue in his shaking hand.
Simon
Look what those boys have done to me; I’m dirty, cold and, my oh my, blood; they’ve made me bleed. This has got to stop, I can’t carry on like this, being the one who gets hurt all the time. It’s not fair. Daddy, what would you do? That’s right, in the war you saw blood, you saw death, you saw people get it, he even cut the head off a snake that was choking someone.
Dad always told me to stand up for myself and the time has come to do it. It’s me or it’s them. I mean who are they after all, what are they? Is it that I’m small, tall, thin, fat, white, plain, balding, god, I am balding. I’d not noticed that before.
Is it the way I walk, the way I hold my head. The way I smile, snarl, smell or talk? Just what makes them hate me like this?
Perhaps that’s why. All of the above. Well, it’s not going to be me anymore; no, today was the last time I get spat on, shat on, kicked and punched. The last time I eat dirt from someone’s boot. I am going to do something to make them respect me for once and for all.
Look at you, Blood on your top lip; lost in this agony of rejection, fucking rejection. I can’t face this shit anymore.
Those fucking shit, cunt, fucking bastards; what do they want from me. Mother; please mummy, mummy, please. What do they want from me?
Stand up for yourself boy. Okay Dad. I will. I’ll wipe my eyes, the tears. I’ll clear the blood from my lip and throw my shoulders back. For a change they are going to know the agony of me; the agony of being me; the agony of being.
The pain of knowing me; the pain of knowing, the pain of me. Now, where can I buy boiling oil?
In a world that’s gone sad, mad and bad. I’ve got to be sad, bad and mad. If the world isn’t going to change I am going to have to. That reflection in the mirror? Who is that. I don’t recognize that person. The eyes look similar but not the same. It’s not the same person. Oh, the silly smile, the yellow teeth, the eyes are similar but it’s not the same; it’s different. I’m different and unless you knew you’d never had known.
It’s there in the brain. It’s there; it’s there and it’s never going to leave. Hardness.
I can smell them on my clothes and that smell is making angry. I’m angry as hell and I’m not taking this shit anymore.
SCENE 5 EXT NIGHT
Narration
The next few days I was in my room, watching the hatch for file requests as usual. No-one noticed or commented on my bruises or black eye. No one cared. I carried on until a few nights later when I was on my way home. I saw one of them.
He was near the place they had jumped me, a tall thin boy casually smoking a cigarette. The clothes were the same, the afro hair, tied tightly in cornrows. I’m sure it was him, this was certainly the place; is it him.
Yes, of course it is, I recognize that smell.
Boy
What you looking at?
Simon
I thought I knew you, sorry.
Boy
I don’t think so, mate. Although I’m often here, I sleep in the doorway over there. If I stand here sometimes I can beg some food from passers by.
Simon
Beg? What, you have to beg, are you homeless?
Boy
Yha.
Simon
I am sorry to hear the. I mean, this country is so rich and yet there are still young people like you sleeping on the streets. It’s horrible, especially when the weather’s cold like tonight. Don’t you have family you could go to?
Boy
No man; no one gives a shit.
Simon
I give a shit actually. Can I buy you some food or something?
Boy
Beer or fags, you could buy me some beer; if that’s alright?
Simon
Okay, come with me and let me buy you a dinner; then you can have a beer with some food.
Boy
What, you want me to go with you?
Simon
Well we can’t eat here; for one thing it’s far too cold.
Boy
Okay (Hesitantly) I ain’t queer though. Let’s get that straight from the start. I may be hungry but I’m not going to suck your dick for a sandwich; okay?
Simon
Sure. Whatever gave you that idea?
Boy
Well you have to be careful when you’re on the streets. It can be dangerous.
Simon
Well you are perfectly safe with me.
SCENE 6 INT NIGHT
Simon leads the boy up the flight of stairs towards his flat at the top. The boy smirks seeing the Simon has the key to his front door attached to a string around his neck. As he opens the front door the opposite door opens slightly and an old lady looks out briefly at them both before closing the door again.
Simon shrugs at the boy and allows him to enter.
Boy
So this is your gaff, man?
Simon
My mum found it for me; it’s closer to where I work see.
Boy
Yha, they’re good like that, mums.
(Simon takes off his coat and then takes the bag he was carrying to the kitchenette part of the room and unpacks.)
Simon
Beer? (He offers a can) I’ll cook something in a bit.
Boy
Great, yha. Thanks. So, the old girl opposite, do you see a lot of her?
Simon
Not really, she emerges from her hovel sometimes but I really haven’t got time for people like her. The smell you know. It’s awful.
Boy
She’s a bit soapy is she? I could do with a bath myself. Can I put the telly on?
Simon
Go ahead. It’s only a black and white. I don’t watch it personally. Mum said I should have one because of the news; so I can see what’s going on in the world but I seldom watch it. The news is always so depressing.
Boy
Yha, I suppose it is. What’s your name man? I’m Paul.
Simon
My name’s Simon, Paul.
Paul
Cool, are you named after Simon Templar, you know, The Saint?
Simon
I don’t know. Tell me Paul, how come you are homeless?
Paul
You know how it is?
Simon
(Putting on the kettle) No, how is it?
Paul
Well, I come from a large family and we were all encouraged to leave home quickly. I was brought up in Leeds, thought I’d come to the big smoke to see if I could make my fortune. Like a lot of kids in the country, I fell through the net, like.
Simon
That’s sad. I’m going to do some chips; fancy that do you, some chips?
Paul
Great, yah. Tell me, how did you get the black eye and fat lip?
Simon
You mean you don’t know?
Paul
No, how would I know about that?
Simon
Oh it doesn’t matter. Let’s just say I fell down those stairs outside.
Paul
(Awkwardly) Yha, they look dangerous. Steep. Are you not having a beer yourself?
Simon
No, I’ll just have a cup of tea. You help yourself, I bought it for you. Have some Vodka if you like. That’s here as well.
Paul
You’ll have some with the food?
Simon
No, I’m okay with my tea, I’ll just watch
you drink.
Paul
Okay then. So you’re not one for pubs and the like?
Simon
No, not me. My dad used to go to the pub occasionally. Me and mum would prefer to be at home, it’s the smell.
Paul
Beer and fags, yha, I know what you mean. What with that and the stale piss, it’s gross.
Simon
No, I mean the smell of the people. People smells, I can’t stand it.
Paul
People smells eh? (He looks at Simon strangely) Can I turn the telly over, see what’s on, like?
Simon
You go ahead, I’ve got to watch these chips frying. Here, have another beer.
Paul
Are you trying to get me pissed or what?
Simon
If you want.
Paul
Great then; if you give me a glass I’ll show you how to drink vodka. I love Vodka, I do.