NEMESIS
(dark-grey comedy; 1m, 2f; 30 min)
A dark-grey comedy in one act by
Peter D. Wilson
Character notes
ALAN Ineffectual, unambitious and henpecked. His belated access of self-recognition is crucial, not only raising his own moral stature but triggering a gradual realignment of all the characters.
MARGARET His mistress, younger, harder, elegant, with a veneer of worldly wisdom. Genuinely fond of Alan, though impatient with his deficiencies, and using him in the hope for a happiness she has never really known since adolescence.
BARBARA His wife, an intelligent but frustrated former academic, embittered by the unmerited curtailment of her career; cloaking her resentment and impatience with Alan under a mask of ironic detachment; nevertheless the first to recognise the significance of the crisis and ready to respond.
Set
The sitting room of Alan and Barbara’s flat; a door upstage leads by way of a hall to the unseen entrance door, bedroom, bathroom and kitchen. Furniture includes the usual suite, and a drinks table with gin, whisky, mixers, glasses and a box of tissues. A telephone is beside the settee. A large picture window is probably on the "fourth wall" with a vestigial frame.
Time
The present. A Spring evening, though there is not necessarily any indication of season.
Alan bursts in from the hallway, breathless, dishevelled and shaking. He pauses to steady himself, crosses to the drinks table, pours himself a neat whisky, and takes a gulp from it, half choking himself. He moves to the settee, collapses into it, and wipes his forehead with a handkerchief. Noticing blood on the fabric, he dabs feebly at the scratches responsible. After regaining some composure, he telephones. The ring is quickly answered.
ALAN (somewhere between triumph and panic) Margaret - I’ve done it. She’s dead. (Squeaks from the receiver) Yes, after all our dithering, I’ve finally done it. (More squeaks.) All right, my dithering. (Yet more) To be honest, neither did I. No, you come round here - if you don’t mind. My nerves are shot.
He finishes his drink, still shaking, notices his state of disarray, and is about to go to the bedroom, then thinks better of it, takes a comb from his pocket and makes a rather futile attempt to tidy his hair, straighten his collar, fasten shirt buttons (finding some missing), and so on. The door bell rings, and Alan admits Margaret. They kiss, he fiercely, she with an element of reserve.
MARGARET My, you are shaking.
ALAN Sorry. I haven’t got over the shock. I’m not used to this sort of thing.
MARGARET (thinking of the embrace) You could have fooled me.
ALAN You know what I mean. Violence. Particularly ...
MARGARET What eventually drove you to it?
ALAN It’s peculiar, I can’t make much sense of what led up to it. All a blur. (They move to the settee.) We were having an argument, I remember that much. Nothing unusual, of course. She wanted me to apply for a new job. I wasn’t keen - Ah, it’s coming back a bit - apart from anything else, it would have meant moving and made things a lot more difficult for us, not just popping round the corner. But of course I had to give her other reasons. Then she must have said something extra nasty - one of her bitchy comments - and I suppose I finally saw red. I found myself shaking her, she tried to throw me off, we both fell on the bed, she was cursing me, and mocking at the same time - calling me all sorts of names - I put my hand over her mouth to shut her up, and she bit it - so I shoved a pillow over her face - she struggled - God, I’d never have believed she had such strength - then she was still. No breathing, no pulse. That was it.
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