ACT 1SCENE ONE(The street. CLIENT is 'asleep' on stage — under the Belltower. TOURISTS enter to music.) TOUR LEADER: Welcome all to Smith Street
Now, stick together, please
Here we have a monument
CLIENT: A priapic pile of phallic pride
(TOURISTS and CLIENT freeze. All others enter running and take up positions. They freeze and then move slowly like automatons. NARRATOR enters. MR CLIPBOARD traverses stage during the following.)NARRATOR: Dawn birds taken for police radio outside her window skin no longer a delimiter they tread their beat in her dreams and in the real Mr Clipboard does his rounds old man chafes at his sagging pants not even shopping or baggage
they are two sides of the one appetite
"you waiting for a lift miss?
Smith Street: John Citizen, Jane Citizen
(ALL exit, except ANGEL and NARRATOR.)NARRATOR: Starting early today, Angel? ANGEL: You gotta get them before work.
NARRATOR: I've always meant to ask you
ANGEL: Where do I come from? Who am I? Why am I here?
NARRATOR: Not what I've heard. ANGEL: They're only barricading in the evenings.
NARRATOR: I'm off to get some coffee.
ANGEL: Yeah, later. (ANGEL wanders back and forth between hell and heaven, as if waiting for something. After a couple of turns, she leans up against the belltower and begins to chant the following lines.)ANGEL: Though so many people live on this street it is rich in trees, grass, and birds; there is always a light shining through the night in the window of a flat — somewhere someone is awake. You are never alone, it's good to feel safe. Early morning movers come past throwing papers, making deliveries of legal and illicit substances. All cast an eye over me, some checking me out. I've blown men from all walks of life. Each has a technique they think especially cool. NARRATOR: Tell me about it! ANGEL: Sidling up and taking control
(JACK enters.)JACK (sung): I'm the noted name in the robber's game I shoot my mouth I take no blame I scream my pride my mouth struck wide I stream the street I ply my trade I sell your meat I deal high grade I cut the stash I hawk your gash I split the deal the punters squeal I strut your stuff I call their bluff I fight to show my bluff's not blow I strip the park I haunt the dark I split their heads I wear cut threads I'm the monster mobster macho man the street's my gift the sky's my span I lunch at dusk I spit the husk to livid spies behind privet eyes my name is Jack my name is Jack I spin the name of the oldest game
(Spoken)
ANGEL: Okay. JACK: Whatever you do, don't carry any gear.
ANGEL: I couldn't give a fuck. JACK: Oh, you will, bitch.
(ANGEL exits.)I've seen some weird shit over the years — people melt into pools on the floor, and then people forgetting they ever were. You know, not even obituaries. I've seen the bad air come out of the neat gardens and swallow houses. I've seen trees transform into people darker than the night, sucking everything in like gravity. (sung)
(JACK exits. Light onto MRS WALPURGIS and MR CLIPBOARD.)MRS WALPURGIS (sung): There's a body inside this shell A heart beats behind the armour Flesh moves beneath the crust The carapace that shields my ardour MR CLIPBOARD: Not my fault MRS WALPURGIS: Crusts cut off MR CLIPBOARD: Not my fault MRS WALPURGIS: Ironed pleats MR CLIPBOARD: Not my fault MRS WALPURGIS: Best-dressed girl MR CLIPBOARD: Not my fault MRS WALPURGIS: Polished feet! I had a friend... did she know me?
(STREETPEOPLE enter.)STREET PEOPLE: Not my fault MRS WALPURGIS: Pull the shutters down STREET PEOPLE: Not my fault MRS WALPURGIS: Support a closing down STREET PEOPLE: Not my fault MRS WALPURGIS: Drive them off the street STREET PEOPLE: Not my fault MRS WALPURGIS: The running feet (STREETPEOPLE exit.)MRS WALPURGIS (sung): There's a body inside this shell A heart beats behind the armour Flesh moves beneath the crust The carapace that shields my ardour MR CLIPBOARD: Not my fault MRS WALPURGIS: Despise the deviant MR CLIPBOARD: Not my fault MRS WALPURGIS: A political expedient (Blackout.)
Smith Street | Mudlark No. 19 Contents | Act 1, Scene Two |