Tragedy: A Tragedy

Will Eno

• Verlag: Oberon Books
• Jahr: 2016
• ISBN:
  9781783198443
• Auflage: 1
• Thema: Literature
• Thema: British Drama

The sun has set over streets of houses, government buildings and American backyards everywhere. The world is dark. A news team is on the scene. Their report: someone left the lawn sprinklers on; someone's horse is loose; a seashell is lying in the grass; dogs run by. The Governor issues excited statements appealing for calm. It is night-time in the world. Everyone's afraid. Everyone doesn't know if the sun, once down, will ever rise again. But there is a witness, and the witness will speak.

The play may begin with a spotlight coming up on Frank, who begins to speak, and then lights coming up on the other characters, when they make their initial utterance.

It is night.

FRANK IN THE STUDIO

It was quite a day in America, today. The sound of traffic and industry, school bells ringing, life, family life, political life — all the outward signs of a nation’s inward vitality, glowing. All lit from above and shined down upon by our long-familiar sun. This is no longer the case. The sun, we understand, has set. Settling through the trees, over a body of water, a few low wispy clouds alit in its final excellent light, and it is gone. For more, we go to John, in the field.

JOHN IN THE FIELD

It’s the worst world in the world here tonight, Frank. People are all over, everywhere. Or, they were. Some, hopelessly involved with the grief here at the scene. Still others, passersby to the suffering, slowly passing by, looking, feeling, hoping and believing that they might learn something from these dark times, that they might find some clue about living, hidden in the dusk of the faces of those who have seen so much so fast, and such sadness.

FRANK IN THE STUDIO

The sense of tragedy must be almost palpable there.

JOHN IN THE FIELD

I’m sorry?

He checks his earphone.

FRANK IN THE STUDIO

Is the sense of tragedy palpable?

JOHN IN THE FIELD

Absolutely, Frank. You can feel it. Something is out there, or in here, and this is what we are watching. Or being watched by. One man came by a moment ago, and then, I felt, could not go on. We did all we could to keep him and his hope up until, after a time, his sister arrived, who had seen him wandering on her television, in the background behind me, in her living room at home. When she came and saw him here, she said, “There you are.” He smiled. So that was one touching moment in an evening which has been largely bereft of the nice touches normally associated with the soft nights of this season.

CONSTANCE AT THE HOME

I’m here at the home — what? Oh.

JOHN IN THE FIELD

Another thing I should say is, just, what an incredible job the animals have been doing out here tonight. You can perhaps see in my background the dogs going back and forth. They have been barking at the dark and generally doing those things they can usually be counted on to do, and these include: licking hands, yawning, circling before lying down, and making their tags and collars jingle. This, of course, all, as the hours grow more and more late out here, and we, it seems, learn less and less. That’s what we know so far. Frank?

FRANK IN THE STUDIO

Thanks, John. Well, we’ll be tossing and turning with you, staying right here on top of things, trying to get to the bottom of all this, to find some lesson learned in what has been, so far, a startling unsettling night. Constance? Can you hear me? Constance? Are you there? Well, while we’re waiting, perhaps it might make some sense for us —

CONSTANCE AT THE HOME

(Interrupting.) Yes, Frank. I’m here at the home of a family we believe may have fallen victim somehow to the event of night, down here, tonight. The scene is quiet. The lights at this simple one-story home are all off. A sprinkler, on a timer, waters the lawn in long even sprinklings of water. The scene is dark. There is, though, in the darkness, a floodlight, activated by a motion detector, periodically flooding the lawn and drive with light. What is felt most here is the mystery. The unspectacular mystery. What remains for us to feel — after having knelt down to feel the worn-out Welcome mat, looked up at the humble shape of a simple house — is, again, the mystery. The feeling that there are deep deep things in the world. Structures, vacancy, departures — and all of the strange sounding names of things, to name only a few.

She turns a quarter turn.

We just a moment ago learned that it was only so long ago that the residents of this modest off-white home gathered on the perfect lawn here, to throw horseshoes and eat food. Also, later that same day, they made a human pyramid. Which, still a little later, in laughter, collapsed. Frank?

FRANK IN THE STUDIO

Thank you, Constance. John?

MICHAEL, LEGAL ADVISOR

It’s Michael here, Frank, from the steps of the Capital building. I’ve just gotten word that we don’t know anything more, yet. We are waiting for a disclosure of some sort from someone with, we hope, a clearer understanding of the night, and of the question of liability. We await the comfort of some official language, a smoothly-delivered speech from a sun-tanned man with an easy style and a stunning gold watch. Whereupon, we might be better able to judge whether any of this was justified, and moreover, whether any of this — should it ever end — will ever happen again. And, at the risk of re-stating the obvious —

JOHN IN THE FIELD

(Interrupting.) I’m sorry, Michael, John here. Frank, I’m standing next to a man here who happened to be standing right near or somewhere around the horizon as night fell tonight at nightfall.

He turns to question THE WITNESS, using a microphone, pausing slightly between each revision of the question.

Sir, I’m sure you’re thinking of home or family or somewhere else or anything, but just let me ask you, did you see any sign to foreshadow the coming dark, anything to indicate that tonight might be unlike any other in the long and star-spangled history of night? Some omen? The famous branch against the window or some infamous wild animal howl? Did any thing at all strike you, were you struck by anything striking, anything…

He searches for the right word.

striking, as you made your way home from work today, as the world was turning away from the sun, and night was starting to settle — or, fall? A piercing scream, a change in the air, a lack of change, a sameness? Did you sense any signs like that?

WITNESS

No.

He pauses and John begins to move microphone away from...