ALLITERATION
(A play by T.E.Walstrom)
SETTING: At a Manor house somewhere in England. The year is 1909.
Lord Jack Clayton’s servant has finished serving and clearing away the evening meal.
Two men are engaged in what appears to be a convivial conversation.
The first man is Jack Clayton, the son of a Lord, it is his Manor house. He lives isolated from civilized society.
He is quite well known by only a few intimate friends; one of which has this very day arrived at the Clayton estate to surprise Lord Clayton with a mysterious proposition and presentation.
The second man (visitor and guest) is a world famous explorer, Roald Amundsen.
Outside a large window evening’s glow is fading slowly into night.
Lord Jack Clayton dismisses his house servants, while leading Nobile into his library.
Clayton: (To his servant) “Have the chef prepare spumoni and champagne.”
The two men enter a vast library chamber with a sunken floor and vaulted ceiling.
Their conversation is not meant to be taken as dialogue. We are establishing long friendship and camaraderie
Through informal banter (ad libbed.)
The shelves are burgeoned with 3,000 leather bound tomes.
Amundsen strolls the perimeter of the library running his hands over the spines of the books commenting on volumes he has owned and read. Clayton speaks of elephants and gorillas and an escarpment in Africa.
Presently, Amundsen turns and formally broaches his purpose just as the spumoni and champagne are served.
Amundsen: “I am mounting an expedition to the North Pole as I believe Umberto Nobile is in trouble and I must investigate. If Nobile (no-bill-ay) is alive—he’ll have military intelligence to offer absolutely vital for our side’s advantage in a possibly inevitable war.”
Jack Clayton jumps to his feet excitedly and begins pacing to and fro in front of the fireplace. His eyes flash as he speaks and he clenches his jaw purposefully.
Clayton: “I’ve intuited this war—but tell me—who is the source of this intelligence? Who is privy to war plans? And exactly which country is this inevitable enemy?”
Amundsen stands casually sipping his drink with a mischievous smirk.
Amundsen: “Now don’t laugh, the source of the warning is a Religious Pastor of pyramidology. President Roosevelt will agree, I’m sure -this dubious source is taken quite seriously.”
Clayton chuckles and then hesitates—Amundsen obviously isn’t joking.
Clayton: “Teddy Roosevelt has boot tops too high to step in that sort of muck. He wouldn’t listen to a lunatic—unless of course, you are holding something back.”
Amundsen smiles indulgently. His face seems not built for smiling.
Amundsen: “Many men in power have spiritual advisors and T.R. is no different. Teddy and Pastor Charles Russell, when they were boys, both stood deathwatch beside a mother dying of fever. They have bonded in that shared experience. But—I confess - I probably had the most influence in this matter. I’ve spoken by radio wireless with Umberto. He’s located some kind of mysterious meteorite. A storm interrupted transmission. That was three weeks ago.
All is silent--except for an S.O.S. repeated on and off for the last three days.”
Clayton listens with mounting skepticism as a pragmatist.
Clayton: “What are you shoveling in my barn, Amundsen?”
Amundsen: “Just quiet that famous practical mind of yours and hear me out. My father used to tell me, ‘Roald, believe half of what you see and nothing you hear.’ I live by that code and it has served me well.”
Clayton nods empathetically.
He relaxes and makes himself comfortable.
Amundsen studies his friend's body language and commences his presentation carefully.
Both men consume champagne and spumoni intermittently.
Amundsen: This pyramid peddling Pastor pontificates potentially potent prognostications, Jack!
Clayton laughs out loud.
Clayton: Ha! I’m well aware we share a passion for Beowulf’s 3,182 alliterations concocted by its anonymous author. So you’re saying this Pastor possesses a mysterious means of cunning communication with a mysterious minion in some- as yet- unidentified enemy nation? ”
Jack Clayton stretches out as he speaks - languishing on his leather couch, extending his long limbs and rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
Clayton: “I know you well enough to trust your instincts—but, you’re going to have to show me whatever proof there is.”
Amundsen holds up a forefinger with a gesture of “Wait!” He excuses himself exiting the library.
He returns scarcely a minute later with a thick dossier bundled under his arm. He tosses it to Clayton like a medicine ball.
Amundsen: “You and I have had occasion to visit the Magic Circle in London. I was there when you and mister down-on-his-luck had your famous confrontation.”
Clayton: “John Maskelyne—yes, I bribed him as I recall.”
Amundsen: “You did bribe him to divulge the secrets of his great illusions. He and that other magician seem to have invented all the great magic tricks—“
Clayton: “George Alfred Cooke, yes—so they claimed. What is your point, Roald?”
Amundsen: “Patience, my friend; you demanded he debunk his own illusions. You were seeking facts to fit your preconceptions. That is confirmation bias. I need to point this out to you so you don’t make a mistake looking this material over. Be neutral, this time. Be open. Let the evidence take you where it will.”
Clayton: “Roald—did you know John Maskelyne invented the pay toilet? My point being this: for money—any clever fellow can make shit appear and disappear.”
Amundsen: “I thought you Brits said shite; it’s Americans who say it that other way.”
Clayton: “I’m a man of many contradictions. Now leave me a quiet study of this evidence that I might flush the turds out of this dossier full of dung.”
Amundsen: “Very well, my good fellow, but—one last thing; I know Maskelyne was a skeptic who made it his mission debunking fraudulent Spiritualists, con men, card sharps and flim-flam. He was no different than you in detesting imposters.”
Clayton: “On the contrary—I admire the cleverness of a poseur. Think about it without your own bias, Roald. People want to believe there is something beyond living and dying. A masterful magician and a cunning clergyman eagerly exploit witless wankers willing to buy bullshit by the barrel.”
Amundsen: “More alliterations! I should never have loaned you my copy of Beowulf.”
Clayton: (Suddenly sitting up quite portentously) “I have my own autographed copy on my library shelf, Roald.”
Amundsen (Aghast) “Why didn’t you tell me? It must be worth a fortune!
Clayton (triumphant) “I’m lying. But see how readily I was able to exploit credulity?”
Amundsen’s hands go up to his cheeks with embarrassment. He chuckles good-naturedly.
Amundsen: “It is that easy, is it? Well, point taken.”
Clayton snatches up the file in hand and leans back on the couch.
Clayton: “Now, good-night; I have work to do reading this without my sorry bias for fact.”
Amundsen: “I’m quite surprised you haven’t pressed me on the matter of identifying who this enemy is, Jack. Are you that sanguine?”
Clayton: “I’m toying with you. I’ve observed your demeanor all evening - you’re bursting at the seams to blurt it out. So -- go ahead - see if you can surprise me. It’s the Germans, is it not?”
Amundsen: (Relishing the moment) “Tsk tsk tsk. Way off the mark, Jack. You disappoint me. Try again.”
Clayton: “The Turks?”
Amundsen: “Not even close. You’re so far off you’re not even wrong.”
Clayton: “Bloody hell. You’re having your fun, aren’t you? I give up -- surprise me. Go ahead, who is about to declare war - and against whom?”
Amundsen: (Soberly) MARS and against EARTH!
Clayton sits up abruptly and opens his mouth to speak - but freezes. He is stifling impetuous urges.
Clayton: “Begin at the beginning, Roald. How did you get involved in this - this -- affair?”
Amundsen pulls up a chair across from Clayton and sits.
Amundsen: “I was summoned to the Oval Office of the President of the United States. I imagined it was a commendation award for my exploits. I was wrong. This is what happened.”
LIGHTS DIM
(What now commences is a play within a play. The flashback to a one on one meeting between Theodore Roosevelt and Roald Amundsen.)
SETTING: the Oval Office of President Teddy Roosevelt
Amundsen (Standing in front of the President’s desk) "I am convinced a light supper, a good night's sleep, and a fine morning have sometimes made a hero of the same man who - by an indigestion, a restless night, and rainy morning-- would have proved himself a coward."
Roosevelt listens with his boots up on the desk as he flashes his best smile.
Teddy: "Well, Bully for you! What do you make of this Mars situation—? Give me your best appraisal. I sent you my files. Everything we know or surmise was in it. I won't ask you if you've cracked it, of course you did!"
Amundsen leans forward and hoists his Gladstone bag off the floor; rummages through it, and extracts a notepad. He thumbs a page or two and assumes the demeanor of a lecturing professor.
Amundsen: “Mr. President - "One fact jumps out at me—Tesla and Edison; men of opposite temperaments are collaborating to create something bizarre: a so-called electric bridge to Mars!”
T.R. removes his legs from the desktop. Walking over to a small table he pours himself and his guest three fingers of Russian vodka. They salute and tossed back the drink. The President sits again facing Amundsen. The two men resembl boys hunkered down in a tree house, hatching secret plans.
Teddy: “Isn’t it obvious--? If they achieve the impossible they become rich and famous.”
Amundsen: "Sir, they’re both those things already. I suspect something more sinister is in play; something connected to your religious mentor, Pastor Russell. ”
Teddy: “Edison and Tesla are egomaniacs, not followers of any religious movement. I don’t see what you’re driving at.”
Amundsen: “What about a coup d’état? Russell says Christ returned invisibly. He’s rallying citizens of a new kind of heavenly government opposed to regimes like yours, sir.”
The Chief Executive rubs his belly and belches, then pardons himself.
Teddy: "I don’t mind competing with invisible insurgencies or invisible rivals."
Amundsen cracks a smile and flips a couple of pages in his notebook.
Amundsen: "There’s more to it than religious delusion, Mister President.”
Teddy: "Call me Teddy, please!"
Amundsen: (Embarrassed) "Thank you, Sir—let’s explore this. What if a Christian leader could produce a theocracy with an invisible Christ and actually convince people he himself was speaking on Christ’s behalf? The Pope won world dominion as the substitute for Christ—his Vicar. A convincing proxy-Christ could misdirect misled Christians; condition them to do as they were commanded—even turn them against you.”
Teddy: "High treason can get you shot in time of war.”
Amundsen: "Martyrdom breeds zealots and it’s seen as proof their faith is real. Besides—if you die a martyr you get an expenses paid vacation on the streets of gold.”
Teddy: "You wrote to me about this Trojan horse idea of yours—how does it work?"
Amundsen: "A true believer’s mind welcomes a certain thing and accepts it loyally on faith. Such a mind is very receptive to control. Think of Bible prophecy as you would a Trojan horse—it contains an unseen power ready to defeat the unwary.”
Teddy: "I'm confused here, Roald. Which power is leading this overthrow and takeover?”
Amundsen: “A Christian figurehead who is a proxy for Christ could convince millions of true believers to refuse to fight for their country and to obey their own substitute theocratic Governing Body instead.”
The President stands up motionless, turning thoughts over in his mind; listening and weighing them.
Teddy: “I’m a quick study, but the more you explain your theory, the more I want to take a snooze! How can one poor misguided man like Russell be harmful to anybody?”
The Norwegian explorer rubs his chin and shifts gears wearily.
Amundsen: “Your good friend, this Pastor Russell is being controlled somehow. His role is to convince others. He thinks god is whispering to him and the man has enough money to spread his ideas. The most dangerous men who have ever lived have thought they were doing god’s bidding. He predicts 1914 is The End. That’s five years away. Thousands of people believe him, you see?”
Teddy: (Rising and pacing) "Tell me in plain and simple English—are Martians coming to Earth with weapons as an invasion force? Convince me and I’m going to give you whatever you need to investigate this theory of yours and get to the bottom of it.”
Amundsen has been waiting for the right question and this one is the key.
Amundsen: (Smacking his palm with his fist) “Mars will leverage surrender through an invasion of susceptible religious minds. When the army of Mars appears—these non-combatant dupes will welcome it! It will be seen as the beginning of the Great Tribulation. Such world events are only considered a bad thing if you are on the losing side—the Teddy Roosevelt side. If my theory holds true—you and all world governments will go down in defeat.”
Roosevelt’s eyes now widen with understanding. He has grasped it!
Teddy: “Voltaire said it best. What can you say to a man who tells you he prefers obeying god rather than men, and he thinks he'll go to heaven if he cuts your throat? I know enough about human nature to know I am going to act on this immediately.”
The lighting dims as we switch the attention to our Manor library with Clayton and Amundsen.
Lights up.
Clayton: “I’ve no idea what to make of any of this -- except for the fact it strikes me as irrational nonsense.
How did Umberto Nobile get involved?”
Amundsen: “Umberto had interviewed survivors of a meteor shower who told him contact with those stones from the sky caused hallucinations, voices in the mind, and -- visions of apocalypse. They confessed to feeling a recruitment of treasonous humanity was taking place. Umberto wanted to find these stones. And apparently -- he succeeded. But -- that was the last time he was in contact. I am his friend - and so are you. We need to find him. I need financing - if you’ll excuse my flagrant begging. This situation may be bizarre - but we cannot afford to sit idle - just in case it proves prophetic.”
Clayton: “Of course - any amount required is yours for the asking. I’ll contact my banker first thing in the morning. Do you want me to accompany you to the North Pole?”
Amundsen: “Thank you my friend. No. I will go by dirigible to Umberto’s camp with my crew. I need you to travel by rail to meet my friend, a writer named Wells, Herbert Wells, who lives in Woking, Surrey. He contacted me this morning. Some meteors have landed near him at Horsell Common. Can you do that? Can you confirm or possibly refute this bizarre scenario?”
Lord Clayton: “I’m up for it - although - to be perfectly candid with you…
I am 100% certain this will add up to nothing but hallucinations and fantasy.
Trust me, this is no War of Worlds.”
End Scene.
Curtain.
_____________________Copyright 2020 ___________________________
(Word count: 2,509)