The Plays
The Rules [sample]
by Charles L. Mee
(Overture. A long loud crashing wonderful piece followed by silence.
Darkness. The sound of water, as of a trickling stream or little fountain,
and the occasional sound of a plucked string or other beautiful musical
sound. A scrim fills the back of the stage. The scrim is a delicate pink
at
the moment. A stuffed deer stands upstage. Through the scrim are
projected such rules of civility as these: THE POLITE
DINNER GUEST
ALWAYS SPEAKS WITH RESTRAINT; THE REFINED SMOKER
ASKS PERMISSION BEFORE HE LIGHTS UP; THE GENTLEMAN
DANCER IS CONSIDERATE OF HIS PARTNER; THE LADY WHO
RIDES SIDE-SADDLE MAY WEAR GREEN IN-FORMALLY; THE
WELL-REARED CHILD APPRECIATES THE VALUE OF
PROPERTY.
The occasional sound of a croquet match. A Louis XVI chair rises slowly
from beneath the stage. Arthur sits on it. Over a loudspeaker, we hear
several different voices narrating these stories, speaking very quietly,
and
very slowly, with very long silences between each sentence:)
I don't know myself whether it was true or not, but Denys always said
that Vera had eaten human flesh when she was in Borneo.
I wouldn't know.
No.
(The shriek of a hyrax, the sound of hoopoes and nightjars.)
But I do remember when the Prince of Wales came down for the
weekend, and we were having dinner at the Muthaiga Club, and Vera
began to bombard him from across the table with big pieces of bread. I
remember it quite clearly in fact, because I was sitting right beside him
and one of them caught me in the eye and gave me a black eye, and after
the meat course she got up and rushed around to our side of the table and
overturned his chair and rolled him around on the floor--not in the least
amusing, I thought, and stupid to do at the club.
Yes.
But that was the evening they pitched the records out of the window.
No, that wasn't Vera. That was Alice.
Have I got this all wrong?
Broke all the windows.
And all the records.
Yes, that was Alice. Always bathed in front of her guests.
In that vast bathroom.
Yes.
No, that was Idina. Bathed and dressed while the guests arrived, and then
handed out the keys to the rooms, two keys to each room, handing them
out at random, mixing up the couples in all which ways. That was Idina.
Oh, but it was fun, though. I've never had such fun.
(Continuing birdsong. The sound of the musical tapping of ground
hornbills.)
Of course the staff had to stay up all night, but Joss was extraordinary,
I
thought, the way he could swear at the servants in Swahili. And of course
he was wonderful at telling them about such things, you know, as spitting.
You know, it is very ill-mannered, he would say to them, to swallow
what should be spat. This can nauseate others, and so you shouldn't
abstain entirely from spitting. Nevertheless, you should not become
accustomed to spitting too often, and without need. This is not only
unmannerly, but disgusts and annoys everyone.
When you are with well-born people, and when you are in places that are
kept clean, it is polite to spit into your handkerchief while turning slightly
aside. It is even good manners for everyone to get used to spitting into
a
handkerchief when in the houses of the great and in all places with waxed
or parquet floors. But it is far more necessary to acquire the habit of
doing so when in church.
VOICEOVER
After spitting into your handkerchief, you should fold it at once, without
looking at it, and put it into your pocket. You should take great care
never to spit on your clothes, or those of others. If you notice saliva
on
the ground, you should immediately put your foot adroitly on it. If you
notice any on someone's coat, it is not polite to make it known; you
should attempt to remove it without being noticed. For good breeding
consists in not bringing to people's attention anything that might offend
or confuse them.
