The Man In The Black Veil

by Ejem Agwu Agwu

 The man in the black veil
Ejem Agwu Agwu
poetrypal2003@yahoo.com

To the Ejems. A family of consequence.

To you. The main in a black veil.

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 Copyright 2011 Ejem Agwu

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2
CHARACTERS

The man,
The young man, his son,
Boy, his adopted son
The bearded man, his friend,
The mad man (who later became the man in the black veil), his friend,
Men at the bar, Policeman, Clergy, Mourners.

***

The conventional Act–Scene style of dividing a play is here replaced by a Phase-Incident

Style - where each phase announces the introduction of a new character, while, as the
scene in the traditional style, the incident announces the change of situation or
surrounding.

This innovation is intended for the reader to try on and see if it fits him.

Note
The civil war mentioned in this play was a real incident; however, the mention of it is
purely for entertainment purposes and is by no means intended to incite emotive reactions.
As for the characters in the play, they are fictitious and bear no intentional resemblance to
any persons known to me, living or dead

Agwu A. Ejem, Jr.

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PHASE ONE: THE MAN AND THE YOUNG MAN

In recent times. Early one morning in a semi-urban African community; in an old

building that reminds passers-by of the Government Reserved Areas of the
colonial times – the only of its kind in the neighbourhood. The sweltering sun is
yet to take its course on the beautiful African sky. Men and women are seen
slogging along the dusty road close by, in their difficult hunt for daily bread. From
a distance, car horns blare few and far between.
From the main yard of the old building, a bespectacled lame man in his mid-sixties
is being wheeled rather recklessly into the frontage by a young man about half his
age.

THE MAN: (Cups his right hand over his mouth, coughs one or
two times) Gently. Gently, Son.
THE YOUNG MAN (brashly). Gently is all I hear, you know I have
a ferry to catch. I don’t suppose I’d meet up if I must keep your gentle
commandment!
THE MAN: Ferry! It takes several turns. Ferry is no train. I know
you don’t want to slay your father to catch a mere ferry.
(Blows his nose). Gently, dear.
THE YOUNG MAN: Train is rather no ferry. I know also you
don’t want to slay your only son with your wretchedness. Haven’t I been putting
up with you for too long?
THE MAN (pertinently). Alright, son. I’d love to see you become a man.
THE YOUNG MAN: Your living abhors my manhood.
(He has been sobbing) Watching you live is watching my manhood slip from my
fingers like water. How long will I remain your wretched servant? Spending my
youth babysitting you; crawling behind you day and night. May be to wake up one
morning and realize I have lived for nothing …
THE MAN. Keep quiet!
(Cuts in angrily, whirls his right hand furiously behind him. The young man
dodges to the left)
All these profanities for your poor father? I didn’t pick my disabilities in my
grandmother’s kitchen. I became invalid for defending the truth: to enable your
generation meet a better world than ours? Son, you break my poor heart. Do you
ever realize it is sacrilegious in Africa to revile ones father this way?
(Shakes his head furiously to drive home his point)
Slowly make your haste is all say, poor son.

(They leave offstage but are still heard by the neighbours and passerby).

4
THE MAN: Not even a goodbye for the old man?
THE YOUNG MAN: I’ll save that for your graveside.
THE MAN (Sings): Did he not stretch his hand, it turns to dry land?

(Some of the passers-by and neighbours invent musical instruments with their
wares and sticks, and play to the song)

Although I lost my sight

But I have seen his might
Urging my soul to stride
On the path of joy
Did he not stretch his hand
And all there was, dry land….

(He continues until end of phase)

PHASE TWO: BOY

FIRST INCIDENT
In The Foregoing Scene. The Man Is Seated In The Wheelchair.

THE MAN (to himself): Two days have gone. There goes my son
into the forest of a world and has lost track of time, failed to trace his way back to
guide his disabled father. A foolish son is a grief to his father and bitterness to her
that bare him (quoting with a preacher’s exactness). Have I not nursed him these
eighteen years in my disability and here he woke up one day and discovered that
the finger that fed him deserved to be bitten off?
(Whimpering) O poor Adanma. You should have lived to see your poor son
become a poor rogue spitting on his poor father’s face. I show him all my love. He
shows me all his hate. There on your death bed you implored me to take good care
of your only son. I did. Oh God, did I not? I sent him to school to learn, and he
sends me to hell to burn.

(Sings) There goes my son, the only one I own

(The passers-by and neighbours continue in their musical improvisations).
The greatest shame is one
That regards not his father
And here my heart pounds
For my son is that shame
For my son is that shame.
There goes my son

5
The only one I own…

THE MAN (Speaks). I can hear footsteps. Who is it that comes?

Perhaps some animal.

(Continues singing) Thank God for my life

Come calm, come strife
I live in my home
And don’t lie in some tomb
Although I lack my feet
I don’t lie on the street
Although I lack my sight
I can yet judge aright
To say you are good.
There goes my son
The only one I own…

(Speaks) Who is it that I hear come? Talk to the blind man. Is that my son?
(A boy has been walking uneasily about the compound; a little bag in his left
hand)
BOY. Good day, Pa.
THE MAN. Good day, my dear. Who are you?
BOY: Please I starve to death… Please I starve to death. My mama is dead. So
also is my papa. We all go about begging help me with a little food so I don’t die.
(Clutches his left hand across his stomach; throws out the right palm towards
the man).
THE MAN. Who are we?
BOY. My siblings – six of us.
THE MAN. Young voice. Old tears. Good language. How old are you, my son?
BOY. Fourt – fifteen
THE MAN. The urgency with which you bemoan your situation is tears-
provoking. You let every word of it sink sharply into my heart. But is it not rather
too ridiculous to hear you say you starve to death? I almost laughed my teeth out at
that.
BOY. How?
THE MAN. God forbid you starve to death. There is plenty food in
my house. Even much more than all of you can eat in a lifetime. I will give you
food to eat but …..
BOY. Eh?
THE MAN. This hand has helped more stomachs than this head can remember.
Not that I am giving you a condition but I need a little favour from you …

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BOY. Uh?
THE MAN. Will you drive me?
BOY. I can’t drive a car. It was Uncle Azuka who had a car. Papa didn’t.
THE MAN. You babble a lot, boy. I am sitting on the car right now.
BOY. Is that not an iron chair fitted with tyres on either side?
THE MAN. Yes, it is; to aid my movement. My legs are as bad as
my eyes. I am lame.
BOY. (Looks closely, disappointed). Oh, I’m sorry. You are blind
and lame! I didn’t know.
THE MAN. Yes. I know you didn’t know. I got them from the
Nigerian Civil War. In the last year of the war…
BOY. (Cuts in) 1970…my father told me my grandmother – his mother, was
buried alive by the Nigerian soldiers during the war you mentioned.
THE MAN. (Cackles)That was commonplace. My two-month old baby was
buried alive before my very eyes, and that spurred me to enlist in the army
obsessed with vengeance.
BOY. What about your wife and children?
THE MAN. I’ll tell you that later. But don’t go back to the street. You shall
have more food to eat than the street can produce. Do you understand?
BOY. Yes, I do.
THE MAN. If tomorrow meets us in good health we shall visit a friend.

SECOND INCIDENT
The Following day. On a Street.

THE MAN. Number 28. Red gate.

BOY. Yes, pa.
THE MAN. Be careful, boy. Many reckless drivers spend their annoyance on
the disabled lot.
BOY. Why would they do that?
THE MAN. I should also be asking the same question. Sometimes I think some
of them are annoyed by their wives at home. Others simply drink-drive. Alcohol
sends men on errands they would have refused to run.
BOY. Papa said there is death in every cup of alcohol.
THE MAN. He was right. Who is Uncle Azuka?
BOY. Papa’s brother. He was killed with my parents by
armed robbers along the Aba – Port Harcourt expressway.
THE MAN. (Plaintively) I’m sorry.

7
PHASE THREE: THE BEARDED MAN
FIRST INCIDENT
A house along the street: few minutes later.

BOY. This is the house. Number 28.

THE MAN. Knock at the gate.
BOY. A man is coming.
(A bearded man about the man’s age comes out almost immediately).
THE BEARDED MAN. (opening the gate) Oh, comrade you are here!
THE MAN. There is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother; a friend loveth at
all time but a brother is born for adversity….
(going in)
BOY. King Solomon!
THE MAN. Yeba, boy. Twenty Naira for you.
THE BEAREDED MAN (Stands at attention). Attention! At ease!
Attention! At ease!
(The man is hysterical with laughter; the boy gawks)
Wakiri wakiri wa wa,
Wakiri wakiri wa wa,
(Prancing about in a military fashion)
I remember when I was a soldier,
I remember when….I was a soldier
Nzogbu Nzogbu
THE MAN. Enyimba. Enyi
THE BEARDED MAN. Nzogbu
THE MAN. Enyimba. Enyi.
THE BEARDED MAN. An old soldier never dies. Once a soldier, always
a soldier.

THE MAN. He he he. If there was ever a greater soldier, let me hear it. (On top
of his voice) I fought gallantly like a wounded lion until that night – the night of
8th January, 1970, when Ojukwu and his cabinet gathered in Owerri and laid bare
the foolishness of continuing a formal military resistance against the federalists.
Some of us were disappointed. We thought the lion was cowed by the strength of
his adversary, but were we not mistaken?
THE BEARDED MAN. We were, yes.
THE MAN. It was in our interest. We were almost fighting with our
bare hands. The federal army out-armed us. Men and women went without food.
The areas from where we obtained our food were conquered by the federal army.
THE BEARDED MAN. War is bad. Very bad.
THE MAN. The younger generation who did not see the war is eager to fight one.

8
THE BEARDED MAN. But when a child eats what he has been
staying awake for, he will go to sleep.

THE MAN. Do you remember that I had barely returned from Owerri Refugee
Camp where I went to see my wife and son, before we were attacked at Nsukka,
and here am I…

THE BEARDED MAN. The war claimed so many lives.

THE MAN. So many legs; so many eyes.
THE BEARDED MAN (After a dead silence). Did you hear about the
American bomb blast?

THE MAN. Ehen! That reminds me. I heard that America is burnt, and
that the survivors will be imported into Africa.
THE BEARDED MAN. Who said America was burnt?
THE MAN. Oh. That blared in my radio the whole of yesterday. Even
when I turned off my radio set, I could still hear ‘America on Fire’

THE BEARDED MAN (Laughing on top of his voice). Comrade,

America is not on fire. They said some places, two or three were attacked by …
what’s the word? Terrorists. Mind you, some places.

THE MAN. ‘It is not the earth, it is not America who is so great, it is you … or
any one …’ You know who said that? That is a poem suggesting that America
acknowledges the individuals and components that made her up. Therefore when
one burns, all burn.

THE BEARDED MAN. That’s why I never went to school. They go

there to learn only to make noise.
THE MAN. By the way, did they kill the President?
THE BEARDED MAN. Shut up. They are listening. I was told they
are spirits; they hear everything; and they are everywhere. Therefore be careful
what you say. But if you must know, not even the President’s sole was touched.

THE MAN. Your little education makes you believe anything. You say
they are omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent, omniblablabla.

THE BEARDED MAN. Let me tell you. We illiterates have a decided

advantage over you so-called literates. We want to hear and to listen but you want
to be heard and be listened to. In so doing, we gain a lot and you lose a lot.
Meanwhile, the barman said God is an American. Little wonder he is white.

9
THE MAN. Oko..kokoo. Stop pulling my legs, even though I don’t have any.
THE BOY. And red.
THE MAN. Yeba, red. God likes colours. That’s why he created
several of them.

SECOND INCIDENT
A few day’s later. In the frontage of the Man’s house. He is seated in his wheel
chair; the boy beside him.

THE MAN. (Who seems to be lost in deep thought). A wise servant

shall rule over a son that causeth shame (usually, with a preacher’s exactness).

BOY. That’s King Solomon. (loosing his attention from the old car supported
with logs of wood, parked beside the house).
THE MAN. Yeba. Twenty Naira.
BOY. Whose car is that?
THE MAN. I bought it in the good old times. The war wrecked it. Son!
(Calling emphatically).
BOY. Pa (answers tentatively)
THE MAN. (a slight pause; appears to be rehearsing what to say)
Few days before I found you - or you found me, I lost my only son. I am yet to
find him. He left me to suffer and die in this lonely place. God sent you my way;
for my rescue. If I am to be found wanting in this realm, I’ll want you to take good
care of this house; it is yours.

BOY. That was what papa said in the hospital before he died. Pa. You are not
dying.
THE MAN (with a slight grin) No. I am not dying. Our fathers say that if you

BOY. I shall be going.

End of phase

PHASE FOUR: THE MAD MAN

The same few minutes later. The man is yet seated in his wheel chair.

THE MAN (Sings) God made man: white and black

He gave them day and dark.

10
 In the former to work;
The later to rest
God made man; white and black

(There comes the musical improvisations again from the passers-by and
neighbours whom we are yet to see).
God sends his daily rain
To cool the hearts of men
Day by day he lights my way.
(At this point a mad man who appears to be passing by the major road hears the
song and enters with stealth; nodding to the music).
Though the storms may come
My heart will feel at home.
Day by day he lights my way….

(Speaks) What is keeping my boy? God guide him back to care for the
old man.
THE MAD MAN. (Wailing) Old man, more songs for the mad man.
THE MAN (Stunned, raising his face towards the direction of the
voice). Who is it that speaks like the splash of a large wood thrown into an ocean;
like the sound of a loud thunder cracking the cloud of the dry season?

THE MAD MAN. Sound of thunder indeed. It makes me wonder how

that God should speak and his words send the cloud cracking and the earth
trembling. Does he want to disown the earth? The devil will grab it in a dash.
Everyone disowns everything. Me my house; you your legs.

THE MAN. Ha ha ha (listening with gusto)

THE MAD MAN. Even though I have been dull of hearing lately, the melody of

THE MAN. Who is he that calls himself mad but has a good wit and a good
THE MAD MAN. My wit and my language are as good as your feet and your
THE MAN. But I have bad feet. Like a foundered horse and bad eyes like black

THE MAD MAN (Triumphantly) Ehen! That settles it. Bad is to bad.
Men of disabilities like you prey on their gods with worries. Here you are
screaming yourself hoarse with angelic tones. Didn’t you see the way your chair
jangled to the rhythm of music? Pata patata pa pa ta! Those instrumentations were
coming from God – knows – where. (Hesitates) Old man!

THE MAN. Yes (delightfully)

11
THE MAD MAN. More songs for the mad man.
THE MAN. Truly a merry heart doeth good like medicine.

(Sings) They that rejoice …

Do not muffle their voice
But give it expression
Dum dum … Dum dum …
The man whose storms are calmed
Does not muffle his voice
But sing psalms;
Unfold his palms
And let them cham cham … cham cham

(The mad man who has been gyrating – pinning his toes to the ground with the
accuracy of a ballerina, abruptly stops and fixes his qaze searchingly on the man
and starts sobbing).

THE MAN (Speaks). Are you there?

THE MAD MAN (Turning to go). The mad man is going.

(End of Phase)

PHASE FIVE: THE BEGGAR

FIRST INCIDENT
Two weeks later. The gate of a church, worshippers walk into the church in their
numbers. At the foot of the gate a beggar is seated like an oriental Buddhist on a
hide, and chimes some coins in his plate.

THE BEGGAR. Help. Help. Help. I am an orphan. I don’t have parents. Help.
Help. Help. God will bless you.
(He cries with a renewed vigour each time a car moves into the church. Passers-
by throw some notes into his plate. A man throws in a Five Naira note and he
scowls at him contemptuously).

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Is your God not a cheerful giver? What can Five Naira buy for a poor beggar?

Enter, the man and boy

THE BEGGAR. Help. Help. Help. I am an orphan. I don’t have parents. Help.
Help. Help. God will bless you.
THE MAN. (To the boy) Who is he that cries help, it appears he is in some kind
of trouble?
BOY (Fuming) He is a sloth of your age. Begging. What does he want to do with
THE BEGGAR. Help. Help …(getting the more frantic)
THE MAN (Handing a Twenty Naira note to the boy). Give it to him.
BOY (Alarmed). Give him? Mba nu. Never. He is not blind, but you are.
THE MAN (Chuckles). Yet he is blinder than I am.
BOY. Neither is he lame; he can walk.
THE MAN. You mean his legs, no. He is yet lamer in the heart than my legs are.
BEGGAR. Help. Help. Help …
(The boy throws willy-nilly the Twenty Naira note into the beggar’s plate and he
takes it and muddles it into the pocket of his oversized coat).
BOY. My father used to say that a favour shown to a slothful
man multiplies his sloth.
THE MAN. Yeba. Twenty Naira for your father.
BOY. But he’s dead.
THE MAN. Oh, I forgot. Don’t quote him next time.
(The church is already bubbling with religious performances as they enter).

SECOND INCIDENT
The same. Two hours later. The beggar is still seated at the foot of the gate. The
place is deserted the voice of the preacher could be heard from the church.
THE BEGGAR. (Counting his money) Ten … Twenty …. Fifty
… Hundred … Four hundred … Nine hundred … One thousand and four hundred.
Oh poor returns. This wretched church people are tight-fisted. Let me take a little
rest before I go home.
(He stuffs all the money in a little bag, places it beside him and sleeps).

THIRD INCIDENT
The same. Ten minutes later. The boy enters while the beggar sleeps.
BOY (Stealthily). This sloth is asleep. Oh. This is the day the Lord
has delivered the sloth into my hand that I do to him as I pleaseth … Kind David’s
men! Yeba. Ha. Ha. The sloth’s bag of money (he takes the money and makes for
the church).

13
FOURTH INCIDENT
The man’s frontage. The man is seated in the wheel chair. The boy sweeps the
compound.
THE MAN. Chineke m ee! That meat was tasty. Who taught you how
to prepare meat? (emitting a loud belch)
BOY. (giggling) My mother used to say that a careful man will make a good cook;
a smiling face a good look; and a fairy tale a good book.
THE MAN. Yeba … (relapsing). Oh, he and she are dead.
Boy!
BOY. Pa.
THE MAN. When a man’s life is policed by rage he acts like a beast. The man in
BOY. My father used to say a similar thing.
THE MAN (nodding his head). Good. Yesterday you were so enraged
that I was afraid you would steal the beggar’s bag of money because you think he
is sloth. Our religion encourages giving. Better still, cheerfully. That was why I
asked you to give him the money.
(There was a long pause)
BOY. I did.
THE MAN. Did what?
BOY. Stole his bag of money while he was asleep.
THE MAN. Yeba. Yeba. You see? Rob not the poor because he is poor.
That is, King Solomon.
BOY. But he is a sloth. A little folding of the hand brings poverty. That is King
Solomon too. His poverty comes by being robbed.
THE MAN. Shhh! (Placing a finger vertically on his lips). Don’t cast a
stone on King Solomon’s face. Return the money to him (more in advice than
scold).
BOY. I will. (He goes off into the main yard, as the mad man enters)
THE MAN. Is that my friend? I hear you come.
THE MAD MAN. You know what I think? God takes the blind man’s
eyes and gives him whiskers like rabbits to help his perceptions. He takes the mad
man’s wit and gives him willing legs like horses and throws the street open for his
unrestricted perusal.
THE MAN. Ha ha ha. My good friend you did well to come.
THE MAD MAN. I couldn’t do better. You give me more comfort
than the street does.
THE MAN. In the bosom of a true friend lie comfort and confidence.
THE MAD MAN. Thy own friend and thy father’s friend forsake not
… remember?
BOY (from within). King Solomon.

14
THE MAD MAN. (Seated on the ground like a British aristocrat).
A story from the mad man… You remind me of the sane days. When I wasn’t yet
mad. When I used to lend a hand to a musical band. Jazzing and jiving. Rocking
and rolling. Drumming and dancing. In Carpe Verde, South Africa …Apartheid,
Apartheid, Oh Oh … remember? We came home with crowns, we called it
medallions. When I used to reason aright, I could tell my left from my right. How I
missed my house, even though I do not dislike the street (sighs). A song for the
mad man (rising).

THE MAN. But where have you been this few days?
THE MAD MAN. The street has been lengthy and my legs willing, what keeps
me from roaming? The new houses are unrented and the bushes warm, what keeps
me from hiding? Thieves don’t seek me and politicians don’t rule me, what keeps
my liberty? They say the deepest despair is homelessness. I think they lied because
that, to me, is the greatest repair. I should think that the deepest despair is man.
Man! Man is an iniquity committed by God …

THE MAN (Laughing loudly). Oh how I badly missed your company!

THE MAD MAN. You speak madness. How did you badly miss a good
thing? You goodly missed a good friend! How awful shall be the product of good
and bad? The coitus between good and bad shall revive the battle between God and
Devil.
A song for the mad man (sitting down, on the ground).

THE MAN (Sings) Look at a faithful friend

His gladness knows no end
Look at his countenance
Like the glow of a furnace.
(The mad man has stood up dancing as the musical improvisations come from
the unseen passers-by and neighours: the boy hides the bag of money at a corner
of the pathway leading to the major road).
Look at a flattery foe
There’s no end to his woe
His face is filled with rage
Like Laertes with vengeance.
Joy, Joy, Joy put on the robe of Joy.

(The instrumentations get higher, and the mad man gets wilder in his dance –
the throwing his hand up and down).
The world we live in is mad
The world, I say, is mad

15
How could a man be glad
When he lacks effective recourse?
When he has no source
From which to feed kids and wife
With precious juice of life.
The world, that is to say, is mad
Mad and sad;
Sad and bad
Joy. Joy. Joy … the robe of joy.

THE MAD MAN (stops dancing, abruptly). Stop! Old man. Stop. (It appears the
passers-by and neighbours heard the command and ended their
instrumentation).
You were right when you say that the poor lacks effective recourse. The rich has
him between his clenched teeth. He cries like a starving dog. But who can save
him? I have seen a poor man build a house and his rich neighbour wrecked it.
What can he do? A street in the city was named after a poor man and his rich
neighbour strangled him. The poor man goes about the town looking for a piece of
meat to revive his atrophied stomach; the rich man runs him down with his car and
sues his corpse for obstruction. Perchance someone else takes the rich man to love
court … I mean, law court; the rich man goes home with a judgment in his favour.
They call it self-defense or accidental discharge – playing corrupt semantic game
to give evil the carriage of innocence. The poor man becomes a victim of the man
whose conscience is under his shoes.

(The man is listening with profound interest).

Old man! I get to go, I go to come. Could right songs right wrongs, this song
should tell on the world. The world is mad. The song is right.

THE MAN (Hooting). A wise man writes songs. A wise world rights wrongs.
(The mad man goes out. Stumbles on the bag of money placed at the corner of
the pathway and picks it).
THE MAD MAN. (To himself). The good gods are not tired placing treasures at
the mad man’s feet. What is it, this time?

16
FIFTH INCIDENT
Evening of same day. At the gate of a church. The beggar is seated at the foot,
bellowing his usual frantic call for help. Passers-by occasionally drop notes into
his plate.
THE BEGGAR. Help. Help. Help. I am an orphan – my parents are dead.
Help. Help. God will bless you abundantly.
(The mad man passes by, the bag of money still in his hand. He stops at the sight
of the beggar and listens to him. He laughs spasmodically).
THE MAD MAN. This able beggar ably begs. He has abundant talent in the art of

(The beggar continues crying; passers-by drop money few and far between into
his plate).
THE MAD MAN. See how he pulls the world along in his madness. A piece of
money fuels his insanity. Indeed he out-mads the mad man, and ought to be
rewarded (He hands the bag of money to him)
(To the beggar) Aren’t you lucky?

THE BEGGAR (pouting). Why did you take money yesterday? This is my bag.
This is my money. Why did you take my money? Are you mad? (he slaps the mad
man).
THE MAD MAN (holding his cheek sorrowfully) More goodwill, more
madness. Madness is a religion. And every man is becoming a worshipper. (he
goes into the street while the beggar fumes).
End of phase
PHASE SIX: MEN AT THE BAR
A moment later. In an open bar, men and women are seen on a monumental
alcoholic binge. A musical band positioned at a corner of the bar plays a number
from ORIENTAL BROTHERS.
The mad man enters unnoticed and sits on a dirty bench a little distant from the
band. He watches the drinking lots with interest. A man got drunk and is being
stuffed into his car; the mad man stamped his feet in scorn.
THE MAD MAN. Pleasure is man’s greatest challenge. The love of it is his
greatest woe. Ignorance breeds the lust for pleasure. This is the devil’s first sin.
These little devils will never learn the mistake of their grandfather. This is all they
do. Mad men. Killing time in a killing place. Hunting for pleasure. Dying happily.
(watching another man closely) Oh thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou has no
name to be known by, let us call thee devil … Shakespeare was right – or Cassio
was right … Whichever is correct. One was god, the other was gored.

MEN AT THE BAR (severally). Bar man! Star here! Over here! Ten bottles!
One carton! Six plates!

17
THE MAD MAN. Thieves. Idiots. Nincompoops. Dying with wine. Wining

MEN AT THE BAR (severally). Over here! Two more bottles! Two more
plates! One bottle!
THE MAD MAN (carefully observing a young man in a bar)
That young man. Oh, that young man (mournfully). Why does he crucify himself?
Why did he join these old sloths? He is rather too young for this battle. If he
spends his youth in the butcher’s house, he shall loose his head before he ever gets
old. Can he survive this battle of bottles? A large feast he is to a large beast! A
beautiful rose among bountiful thorns! Bastard!

A MAN AT THE BAR (looking at the mad man; pointing at him)

Bar man! A bottle of beer for that mad man. Ha ha ha.

THE MAD MAN (acrimoniously). You are a besotted, bestial, bibulous

befouled and blatant bastard. A piece of death for the mad man is what you mean.
(The man roar in laughter). Who told you I want to perish? I came to watch you
perish. A sluggard hiding in a white linen. Dying in a little bar. Wasting wine and
wasting with wine. Dining death and dining with death. I leave you. You all stink
like the fag end of a hag. (The man roar harder in laughter).

(Rising to go) The element that called itself life left you the moment you crossed
that manger gate. You are all beasts. A human beast does more harm than the devil
will do in a century. I will leave. You all are beasts abundantly blessed with the
wisdom to know which whore makes the better impression on his client, without
knowing how many cups will suffice your greedy eye. You and your stupid
women. Woman is the murder of a foolish man. (He leaves them chattering above
their heads).

End of phase

PHASE SEVEN: POLICEMAN

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(Two weeks later. In a man’s frontage. He is seated in his wheelchair telling the
boy a story; the death of his wife).

THE MAN. You can read the letter.

BOY (reads). Right now in your hands, my dear, Rest a fort.. forti..
THE MAN. (Cuts in) That’s fortitude
BOY : Fortitude… to bear my lost. Go through it; bearing in mind that there is no
sad event that time does not assuage. The reverie in a lover’s eye is unsure;
therefore we should accept whatever comes to us. Do not wake your neighbours
with the cries of my death lest you pluck their sweet dreams. Do not allow your
old and feeble heart to break lest you lose your health. You do not have a good
reason to mourn, knowing that I do not own myself. We are all creatures of fate.
Everyone shall die. How, when or where does not make it any less a death. Look
after our only surviving son. I leave him to your thrust. May these …

THE MAN. You can see how the letter came to an abrupt end. You could tell she
died on it. (Tears are beginning to run down his cheeks; the boy notices that and
drops his head mournfully).

THE MAN. It keeps haunting my memory. Even as my only surviving son

disappears from me – I feel I have not lived out the will of my lovely wife. But if
she ever sees what is going on in this realm, she should know that I have worked
hard to keep her will…
(At this moment, a policemen enters the frontage with a somber look in his face).

POLICEMAN. Goodmorning all!

THE MAN. Who are you?
BOY. A policeman.
POLICEMAN. Yes. A policeman.
THE MAN. I hope we are quite safe?
POLICEMAN. It all depends on the way you look at it.
THE MAN. Tell me; what happened?
POLICEMAN. Your son was captured with his gang on an armed
robbery operation. They were locked up in the cell for trial. This morning it was
reported that he has killed himself.
(At the moment the policeman said ‘killed himself’ the man dropped his head.
Every attempt by the policeman to get him back to attention was futile. The
policeman leaves. The boy calls out for help).

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 End of phase

PHASE EIGHT: CLERGY AND THE MAN IN A BLACK VEIL

FIRST INCIDENT

One week later. In a cemetery. A crowd of mourners is gathered around an open

grave. A casket is lowered into the grave as the choir sings ‘peace, perfect
peace’.

CLERGY (Robed in black gown. Speaks solemnly). We have come to lay to rest
a hero. A man who served god with all his might. A man who gave all he had for
the promotion of the gospel of our Lord. A man who was not dettered by his
physical challenges. Today, that man is no longer with us. He is resting in the
bosom of our Lord, gathered with the saints in heaven. Where there is no disability
but joy and strength evermore.

(Looking about the crowd) It is customary of us to allow his son cast a handful of
sand into his grave before we proceed with closing the grave
(There is a dead silence).
CLERGY. Is his son not here?

BOY. (Stepping out to the front, sobbing)

Death. Oh, death. You have blessed me with abundant sorrows. Death. Oh, death.
You move at the bank of the Niger. With the monkeys you play at the jacaranda.
You live in the dirty bag of a scavenger. You perch on the peak of Iroko. You
dance with the vultures in the dunghill. In the eyes of an owlet you live. You hide

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in the soldier’s helmet. You rest in the fist of the butcher. Then what is your
business here? Why do you oppress me, death?

(A tall form of a man comes in gently wearing a black veil on his face and stands
at the rear of the crowd).
I lost my father some years ago and went about the street, begging. The rich turned
me away and the poor rebuked me but this man that is about feeding the worm fed
me. He found me; took me in. He gave me all his love much more than my father
did. He was a father to the fatherless, a mother he was to the motherless, a helper
to the beggar and the beggarly….

THE MAN IN THE BLACK VEIL (Advancing to the front and

stands besides the boy. He cuts in). Comforter to the mad man. House to the un-
housed. He has a monopoly of sanity in an insane world. Why has death come to
steal him? Why not others? Why not drunks? Why not the robbers that disturb the
peace of the poor? Why not Pinta – the stupid politician that shrinks the purse of
the people? Oh, why not me? Why not the sloths; why not the beggar? Death, oh,
death, beat thy chest and say ‘I’m stupid’. (He goes off towards the gate of the
cemetery).

BOY. (Casting a handful of earth into the grave) Sleep well, Pa. At last
the will of your wife is honoured. You still have a surviving son. Adieu.

SECOND INCIDENT
Evening of same day. A street. Enter the man in the black veil.
THE MAN IN THE BLACK VEIL. The street has been lengthy and the
legs willing. What keeps me from roaming? The new houses are unrented and the
bushes warm. What keeps me from hiding? Thieves don’t seek me and politicians
don’t rule me. What keeps my liberty? The old man is dead, with his songs. What
keeps my madness?

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