January 8 Play: WEED IN THE LILLIES

# 8: WEED IN THE LILIES - by Ed Valentine
© January 8, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: A drawing room with a fire burning in a fireplace. A large group of RELATIVES of all ages, clustered around the corpse of a very old man laid out on a bier, surrounded by lilies. The relatives all wear formal black Victorian mourning clothing. One WOMAN, in a veil, leans against the mantel, drinking sherry.)

A RELATIVE: Poor dear. Finally dead.

WOMAN: I wouldn’t count on it.

A RELATIVE: Why not?

WOMAN: We’ve been wrong before.

A RELATIVE: He looks dead.

WOMAN: He was never very lifelike.

A RELATIVE: But he stinks so!

WOMAN: That, too, is no proof. In life he was often odiferous.

A RELATIVE: He’s not breathing.

WOMAN: Oh ho! He’d have you fooled, then. I understand, of course, I’ve been fooled before. There were plenty of nights I looked at him, listened, sniffed. Pressed his chest. Prayed.

A RELATIVE: And God always answered your prayers for his health!

WOMAN: (Snorts:) I wasn’t praying for his health. So many nights. So many nights. He fooled me, fooled me, always fooled me. I shan’t be fooled again.
(She takes a poker from the fireplace.)
Who’s going to do it?

A RELATIVE: It seems brutal.

WOMAN: And yet.

A RELATIVE: Unnecessary.

WOMAN: And yet.

RELATIVES, VARIOUSLY:
What if he never dies?
What if he never dies and we never get his
Money
His paintings
His fields
His gardens
His cows
His bonds
His corgis
His ships
His seeds
His golden sarcophagi
His crocks full of antique gold?

WOMAN: See? That’s just it. He’ll never die. Never. Die. And if he never dies, we can never be free. Do you see? Do you see?
(Brandishes the poker. Goes to stab the corpse. Can’t do it.)
YOU do it.
(Hands the poker to a RELATIVE… who hands it off to another… and another… and another. The last in line throws the poker to the corner.)

A RELATIVE: No! There’s a better way. Call in a doctor!

ALL RELATIVES, EXCEPT THE WOMAN: Yes, yes! Call in a doctor! Call in a doctor!

(ONE RELATIVE opens the door. The DOCTOR enters, and stethoscopes the corpse as all the relatives press in. Listens. Listens. Finally, shakes his head as he takes out of his black bag a black priestly stole. Puts the stole around his neck.)

WOMAN: At last! At last!

DOCTOR: (Intoning.) By the power vested in me by the sanctity of my profession, I hereby pronounce this gentleman –

(The CORPSE leaps up.)

CORPSE: GOTCHA! Fooled ye again!
(Dances on the bier. Flings lilies at the relatives.)
Fooled YE. And fooled YE. And fooled YE and YE and YE.
(To the WOMAN:)
And I even fooled YE. How about that?

WOMAN: Well, I suppose you can all go now. I’ll see you all tomorrow when we’ll do this all again. Thank you for coming.

(She opens the door and ushers the RELATIVES and the DOCTOR out. Shuts the door. The former CORPSE draws close to her.)

CORPSE: Ye’ll never get me in the ground. Never! Isn’t that right,
Mehitabel?

WOMAN: That’s right, Daddy. Daddy’s always right.

(He gives the WOMAN a lily. She turns the gaslamps off. The fire turns the room red and casts strange shadows. Fire noise up.)

END OF PLAY.