THE MUTE’S SONG
From a series of interlocking monologues
BACK STORY: JOSHUA HAS MURDERED HIS LOVER ROSIE AND BURIED
HER WHERE THEY LAST MADE LOVE IN BUTTERCUP MEADOW. HE KILLED
ROSIE, HIS FAMILY’S HOUSE MAID, FOR HE IS GETTING MARRIED TO A
LOCAL LAND OWNER’S DAUGHTER, ELIZABETH – A UNION ROSIE
THREATENS.
MELISSA IS JOSHUA’S MOTHER AND IS MARRIED TO FARMER FENTON,
JOSHUA’S FATHER.
MELISSA HAS A SMALL BOX AND IS COVERING THE SCAR IN THE MEADOW
WITH GRASS SEED. THE SCAR IS ROSIE’S SHALLOW GRAVE.
MELISSA:
Soon, the scar will heal. The gentle undulations of Constable’s rolling skies and
fields will be restored. This meadow is my son Joshua’s folly. It’s where stupid young
lovers fornicate. Soon this wretched stain will enchant with cornflowers, cowslips and
clover.
SHE DROPS THE NOW EMPTY BOX OF SEED.
We used to call it Buttercup Meadow. It was a ritual, a rite of passage. A boy would
pick a buttercup. Hold it under a girl’s chin.
“Do you like butter?” the boy would ask. The girl would smile, the sunny butter
reflection of the daisy on her chin, down her neck…
And the boy would say “You do like butter,” his fingers lightly on her chin, half way to
a kiss, a fondle…
MELISSA SPOTS ROSIE’S DRESS, LEFT BY THE SCAR.
Oh Christ! Rosie’s Dress!
MELISSA PICKS UP THE DRESS AND FOLDS IT UP AS SMALL AS POSSIBLE –
AS IF TRYING TO MAKE IT INVISIBLE.
That stupid boy! He told us, Rosie had taken up an au pair post in London – Yes –
and left in this very dress! Rosie was homesick for the traffic! He said. Missed the
clinging air of underpasses and the underground - and the city odours! Joshua
had put her on the train at Colchester, he said. Waved away his silly love-maid. She
was wearing this dress! But, Oh, the truth of it…
Do I hide Rosie’s dress? Or destroy it?
SHE STUFFS THE DRESS INTO THE EMPTY CARDBOARD BOX.
There, I haven’t seen it!
SHE DROPS THE BOX.
Just two weeks to the wedding, Joshua and Elizabeth. They grew up together. There
were moments when I thought she was my daughter. I caught them. Horseplay in
Joshua’s bed! All innocent, yes. She went bright red. Not Joshua. His cheeks are
always red…
His fiancé knows it all, of course – I mean, the animals, the stables, the fields. She
can break, load and fire a gun faster than any man – but don’t let Joshua know I
know so! Oh yes, she’s the belle of the hunt alright and we two families will become
one property, husband says.
Oh look! Swans kissing on the river! A delight! I’m sorry I’ve no bread for you. No,
don’t hiss at me like that. You’re mute – aren’t you? Hissing? No, you’re whispering!
I know whispering! I know giggling! In the bloody kitchen, in the bedroom, under the
bloody stairs! At me, laughing, at me. Telling tales – that Rosie! What do I pay you
for, eh?
PAUSE
Why should she have all the fun?
MELISSA PICKS UP THE BOX AND SLOWLY TAKES OUT ROSIE’S DRESS. SHE
SPREADS IT OUT, THEN HUGS IT.
It smells of love…
THE SWANS ADVANCE ON HER.
Get back! I’ll break your bloody necks in two! My Joshua can. He can crack your
necks in two – like straws! I’ll not warn you again! No! Not my seed! Not my
meadow grass! For Christ’s sake!
MELISSA STEPS FORWARD, WITH THE DRESS AND ADDRESSES JOSHUA.
Joshie… My Joshie… Would you like Mummy to wear this dress? Does it suit
Mummy? You’ll have to help me… Will you, Josh? Now I know your secret, will
you Joshie?
BLACKOUT.
JOSHUA’S FATHER, MELISSA’S HUSBAND, FENTON, STANDS SURVEYING
THE SCENE WITH BINOCULARS, THE DRESS BY HIS FEET.
FENTON:
Marvellous…
FENTON LETS GO OF THE BINOCULARS, WHICH NOW HANG DOWN FROM
HIS NECK.
All humps and bumps in this bloody ol’ meadow. Hollows for hanky-panky and hide-
n-seek; and lumps a plenty for the archaeologists’ dirty days away. Not on your
Nelly! I’m waiting for a JCB to dig up all the old bodies! Going to level Butterslush
Meadow flat. Up the acreage for Joshie and his Lizzie-beth, his wife to be. Clear the
copse here and the hedges there for more of Joshie’s hogs.
It’s what he wants. Well, he did. Now he’s making excuses to leave it as it is. A
bloody Mumsie boy. Choosing a dress for mummy – for the wedding. He should be
with me, getting stuck in, muddy.
We’ll start digging here.
FENTON GESTURES TOWARDS THE SPOT WHERE MELISSA SCATTERED
HER SEEDS ON ROSIE’S SHALLOW GRAVE.
A right old hump. I think, yes, this is where we first met, me and Melissa. A kiss, a
cuddle and - rumpy-pumpy! I hit the sweet spot of the farmer’s first born! It’s where
Joshua was conceived – right here – where the pigs are going to wallow, beneath a
heaven full of swallows!
All the world’s dying or diseased but here, in beauty’s bubble, our quarantine’s
forever.
FENTON PICKS UP HIS BINOCULARS AND LOOKS AT THE HORIZON.
There it is – the JCB! It’s on its way!
FENTON RESTS HIS BINOCULARS AGAIN.
Joshie, you should be here. Come see the old dog and deer bones we find amid the
treasures and the secrets of the meadow… This is yours my boy!
FENTON NOTICES ROSIE’S DRESS ON THE GROUND.
Oh shit! Rosie’s dress? Rosie’s – yes! Though she is gone, is that scullery wench
now haunting me? How long ago did I drag her here?
I asked only for a kiss. She scorned me like a witch.
“Just a cuddle, Rosie.” She said she would tell. I told her I would sack her.
She said she would go to the police.
“What police is round here?” I said.
And her dress, it just came off, fell off – just there – but—I never touched her, never!
I wandered off to milk the cows…
ROSIE, IN A GHOSTLY SPOTLIGHT
ROSIE:
Ring around a Rosie
Pocket full of posies
Ashes, ashes
We all fall down
END