A Particle of Dread

by Sam Shepard

  OTTO: I always listen.

  ANNALEE: My kid’s marked for life.

  OTTO: Marked?

  ANNALEE: Scarred. Branded.

  OTTO: (They stop abruptly.) Oh. His ankle?

  (BLACKOUT.)

  Scene 13

  (Lights up on UNCLE DEL, seated center stage in front of steaming bucket. He’s stirring it with a long stick.)

  UNCLE DEL: (To audience as he stirs bucket.) You give advice. They ask for it, you give it. Simple. I don’t mind. Really. I don’t mind at all. I don’t expect anything out of it. Certainly not monetary compensation. It’s all free. All of it. Why they keep coming to me is a mystery, tell the truth. In droves sometimes, they come. Lines. Limping. Begging on their hands and knees for the truth. As though it were the rarest thing on earth. As though it were hidden somehow. Sequestered away. Smacks them night and day directly in the face—yet they come to me, asking for it. Why? As though belief had to come through someone else. Somewhere outside themselves. I tell them no different than what they already suspect. Things are hopeless. Futile. Obliteration. Annihilation. They cringe when they hear it, but all the while they’ve known. All the while they’ve felt it creep in their bones. That’s the part that baffles me. They know. They already know.

  Scene 14

  (Cross-fade light to ANNALEE and her father, OTTO, sitting side by side on bench, facing the audience, her arm tucked into his elbow.)

  OTTO: Jimmy still in prison?

  ANNALEE: James!

  OTTO: Right. James. Still in jail?

  (She nods, facing the audience.)

  OTTO: So he did kill the babysitter after all?

  ANNALEE: He did.

  OTTO: They convicted him?

  ANNALEE: They did.

  OTTO: The evidence must have been overwhelming.

  ANNALEE: It was.

  OTTO: Beyond a shadow of a doubt.

  ANNALEE: Uh-huh.

  OTTO: Open-and-shut case.

  ANNALEE: Something they found in the mess.

  OTTO: On the window, you mean?

  ANNALEE: On the glass—yeah.

  OTTO: What was it? Did they say?

  ANNALEE: They say…they say they found a tinge of rage in the blood.

  OTTO: Rage?

  (She nods.)

  OTTO: His blood or hers?

  ANNALEE: Rage in his. Terror in hers.

  OTTO: So they must’ve been mixed, then? The blood.

  ANNALEE: Musta been.

  OTTO: He must have been somehow cut in the killing. To have shed blood, I mean.

  ANNALEE: Musta been.

  OTTO: How was that? Did he use a weapon?

  ANNALEE: Dunno. Maybe her earrings.

  OTTO: Earrings?

  ANNALEE: She wore these big star-shaped earrings. They hung down. Like knives.

  OTTO: Sharp?

  ANNALEE: I guess.

  OTTO: Must’ve cut his hands, then? The earrings—when he was—

  ANNALEE: His face, too. There were marks on his face.

  OTTO: You saw marks on his face?

  (She nods.)

  ANNALEE: Looked as though he’d been clawed by an animal.

  OTTO: (After pause.) How’d they tell it was rage, by the blood?

  ANNALEE: Color, I guess. They have all kinds of ways of testing these days.

  OTTO: Color?

  ANNALEE: Pinkish, they said.

  OTTO: And hers? The terror?

  ANNALEE: Deep red.

  Scene 15

  LANGOS: (Entering from upstage to extreme downstage center—direct to audience.) It’s not as though I’d forgotten him entirely, put him out of my mind. That’s impossible, isn’t it? The brain remembers everything—the human brain. These “tellers of tales” never know what goes on inside a man’s feelings. They turn things to suit their own needs. Plot twists, story—inventions to make the listener think he’s onto something while all the while intestines are roiling, blood is shooting itself into the heart. (Rest.) I had him always in my mind, hanging there helpless upside down from the bough of an olive tree. I never heard him scream or whimper—just watched him twisting there in the salty air with no one around but me. I often wondered what became of him. I did. Torn apart by wolves, birds of prey. Found and cut down by some kind soul. Tortured, maybe, by she-goat chimeras. I didn’t know. So the idea came to me to visit the very same place on my way back to my ancient home. The very same tree. I reached the base of the mountain where I’d left him, but there was nothing but a man on the road, a common hitchhiker. Alone. He walked right out in front of the car, waving his arms and forcing us to stop. He had no shirt and one of his feet seemed much bigger than the other one. His eyes—I’ll never forget—his eyes were wild and it seemed he’d never seen a human being before. He couldn’t speak. His eyes were weeping and he couldn’t speak.

  (Exits with light shift.)

  Scene 16

  (Lights up to discover TRAVELER—played by same actor as UNCLE DEL—an old man seated cross-legged center stage—head down, eyes on the ground in front of him, blind. He holds a cane out, sketching circles. ANNALEE enters at a run with infant wrapped in a yellow blanket. She stops when she sees TRAVELER, bounces baby softly on her hip, hums an unidentifiable tune. Pause.)

  ANNALEE: Sir? Sir, could I speak to you for a second?

  TRAVELER: (Slowly raising his head.) You are.

  ANNALEE: I— I didn’t expect to find anyone up here, so far from…I mean, what is it you do way out here? Are you just by yourself?

  TRAVELER: I have my—goats and sheep.

  ANNALEE: Oh, I see. You live out here, then?

  TRAVELER: I have my trailer.

  ANNALEE: Right. And you—do you go to town much?

  TRAVELER: Never.

  ANNALEE: Oh. Good. I mean, I was—do you think you could do me a big favor?

  TRAVELER: What?

  ANNALEE: My child, my son. He’s—he’s seen something terrible that…I think it’s going to take him awhile to get over it. I mean, I’m not sure he’ll ever get over this, but I need to leave him for a while. Do you understand?

  TRAVELER: No.

  ANNALEE: I need to leave him and come back.

  TRAVELER: When?

  ANNALEE: Well…

  TRAVELER: You want to abandon him, is that it?

  ANNALEE: No!

  TRAVELER: You want to leave him in a dumpster, but there’s no dumpster up here, is there? No convenient trash cans.

  ANNALEE: No! That’s not—I do not want to abandon him! That’s not what I want to do.

  TRAVELER: But that’s what you’re going to do.

  ANNALEE: No! (Turns away from him.)

  TRAVELER: Can I sell him?

  ANNALEE: Absolutely not!

  TRAVELER: Give him away?

  ANNALEE: Never mind!

  TRAVELER: Why do you pretend to care what happens to him?

  (She stops, turns.)

  ANNALEE: There’s no pretending. I’m not pretending! I’m his mother.

  TRAVELER: Then what is it?

  ANNALEE: I’m looking for a home for him!

  TRAVELER: You’re his only home.

  ANNALEE: Look, mister, I’m sorry. I thought—

  TRAVELER: It’s too late to be sorry for anything. It’s always too late.

  ANNALEE: (Stares at him.) Are you blind?

  TRAVELER: All I see is wreckage.

  ANNALEE: I’m—

  TRAVELER: What is it he saw? The boy. Something horrible, you say?

  ANNALEE: Yes.

  TRAVELER: Something so horrible he can’t live with it in his mind? He can’t go on through life without being tormented by this vision?

  ANNALEE: I think—

  TRAVELER: What could be so horrible as that?

  ANNALEE: His father.

  TRAVELER: Ah.

  ANNALEE: His father raped someone in front of him. While the baby was crawling around on the floor.

  TRAVELER: Ah. And who was that?

&nbs
p; ANNALEE: What?

  TRAVELER: That his father raped.

  ANNALEE: The babysitter.

  TRAVELER: Ah. That is horrible.

  ANNALEE: I think he might have killed her.

  TRAVELER: Really?

  ANNALEE: He’s going to jail.

  TRAVELER: For killing or rape?

  ANNALEE: Both, I think.

  TRAVELER: And you think the child is going to carry that experience with him for the rest of his life?

  ANNALEE: I don’t know.

  TRAVELER: What if he forgets the whole thing?

  ANNALEE: How could he?

  TRAVELER: He’s very young yet. There’s no way you can know, is there?

  ANNALEE: No. I guess not, but—

  TRAVELER: So what good is it going to do if you abandon him here?

  ANNALEE: I’m not abandoning him, goddamnit!!

  TRAVELER: You’re trying to kill him? Is that it?

  ANNALEE: Oh, fuck you!

  (She storms off. He stops her with his voice.)

  TRAVELER: I’ll kill him for you. (She stops cold, her back to him.) How much have you got?

  ANNALEE: (Turning slowly toward him.) Not much.

  TRAVELER: (Laughs.) A nickel?

  ANNALEE: Don’t laugh at me.

  TRAVELER: You want no trace left of him, I suppose? Not even a toenail.

  ANNALEE: I can’t.

  TRAVELER: What?

  ANNALEE: I can’t bear him growing up with this nightmare.

  TRAVELER: You don’t know.

  ANNALEE: What?

  TRAVELER: You don’t know what’s going to happen. He may become a legendary man. A hero. Honored and revered.

  ANNALEE: No.

  TRAVELER: You don’t know. He could become anything.

  ANNALEE: I—

  TRAVELER: Maybe it’s just you who can’t take it.

  ANNALEE: What?

  TRAVELER: The pictures in your mind. The imagery.

  ANNALEE: I’ve got no pictures.

  TRAVELER: Your husband bumping the babysitter. Maybe it’s only you. Killing your baby won’t fix that.

  ANNALEE: Look, mister—

  TRAVELER: I’ll do it for twenty bucks.

  ANNALEE: What!

  TRAVELER: Ten dollars, then.

  ANNALEE: Are you out of your mind?

  TRAVELER: Five. That’s as low as I go.

  (ANNALEE storms off.)

  ANNALEE: You goat fucker!

  TRAVELER: Where are you going?

  ANNALEE: I left my purse in the car! (She exits.)

  TRAVELER: (To himself.) There’s no rush.

  (Lights shift. TRAVELER exits in dark.)

  Scene 17

  (OEDIPUS comes charging onto extreme down center. Ferocious—direct to audience. His eyes are the same red gashes. JOCASTA follows him and watches.)

  OEDIPUS: (Direct to audience.) Until now I was a stranger to this tale. A stranger to the crime. How could this be? All this time lurking among us like the slinking dogs, from corpse to corpse. Any common day I could have brushed up against him in the marketplace. Seen him eye to eye. Not knowing. Even now he could have the audacity to be sitting right here amongst us. Inwardly sneering in our midst. Licking his chops like the green-eyed hyena. Let me tell you that if anyone here has the slightest suspicion who might have been the killer—or worse, may be harboring this demon—let him come forward and surrender with the promise that no further tribulation will come to him. Banishment will occur in utter safety. Know also that I solemnly forbid anyone to receive this man or speak to him, no matter who he pretends to be in the community. He must be driven from every house, every nesting place; shunned as you’ve shunned the plague bearers akin to you. I pray that this man’s life be consumed in evil and wretchedness. And I vouch that this curse applies no less to me, should it turn out that somehow he has conned his way into my company, sharing my family and hearth. I now take the son’s part in this revenge as though the king were my own blood father. I will see this thing through to the naked end.

  (JOCASTA and OEDIPUS exit.)

  Scene 18

  (Lights on ANNALEE by herself, leaning against wall. She seems to speak to the audience and herself at the same time.)

  ANNALEE: Sometimes I see me and Dad like an old black-and-white movie flickering outside my head. Way outside. We’re walking. Straight ahead. Me leading. He’s poking his crooked stick against stones and brush. As though searching for something—something he lost. I don’t know where we are. Some open place. Not here. His eyes are gone. Black holes. He’s very old and thin. Bent, like his walking stick. I know what he’s looking for. Even without his eyes, I can tell.

  Scene 19

  (HARRINGTON and RANDOLPH continue to gather evidence: lay out yellow tape, make measurements, etc.)

  RANDOLPH: Did you bring the water? Where’s the water?

  HARRINGTON: What water?

  RANDOLPH: (Pause, stares at him.) The water. H2O. Something wet.

  HARRINGTON: We went through the bottled stuff.

  RANDOLPH: How long have we been out here?

  HARRINGTON: Awhile.

  RANDOLPH: And we’ve already been through the bottled stuff?

  HARRINGTON: Pretty much.

  RANDOLPH: And you didn’t bring any additional water? No jug or anything?

  HARRINGTON: Well, I brought the bottled water, like I said.

  RANDOLPH: Do you realize where we are?

  HARRINGTON: Yeah, of course I realize where we are.

  RANDOLPH: We’re in the middle of the Mojave.

  HARRINGTON: I know that. Don’t you worry about that. I know where we are.

  RANDOLPH: And you didn’t bring any water? I mean, additional water?

  HARRINGTON: I can run down to Ludlow in the squad car and get some. It’s not that far.

  RANDOLPH: Ludlow?

  HARRINGTON: Yeah, the Quick Stop.

  RANDOLPH: The Quick Stop at Ludlow?

  HARRINGTON: Yeah. They got water.

  RANDOLPH: Expensive by the bottle.

  HARRINGTON: We can get it out of the hose, then.

  RANDOLPH: They’ve got a hose there? In Ludlow?

  HARRINGTON: They always have a hose. All those Quick Stops. Right next to the tire-pressure thing.

  RANDOLPH: I’m not drinking water out of a hose. Tastes like rubber. Sitting there, coiled in the sun.

  HARRINGTON: Then I’ll buy some more bottled water. I got change. I hate paying for water. (Fishes for change in his pockets.)

  RANDOLPH: Okay.

  HARRINGTON: I’ll get the car, then. You coming?

  RANDOLPH: Of course I’m coming. I’m not sitting out here all alone under the broiling sun while you drive around in an air-conditioned squad car.

  HARRINGTON: I’ll be right back.

  RANDOLPH: I’m coming with you. What if you get in a car wreck?

  HARRINGTON: There’s no one out here…

  (HARRINGTON exits. RANDOLPH follows.)

  Scene 20

  (OTTO enters in the wheelchair, being pushed along by JOCELYN, on the shoulder of Highway 15—scene of the crime. They both stare down at the ground, looking for something as they slowly stroll along.)

  JOCELYN: Are you sure this is the spot?

  OTTO: You can see all the yellow chalk marks, can’t you? Where they’ve measured the tire tracks, outlined the bodies? Distances. Places.

  JOCELYN: I suppose.

  OTTO: Well, this is it, then. Scene of the crime. Right in here. Has to be.

  JOCELYN: I don’t think we should be out here. What are we looking for exactly?

  OTTO: I’m not quite sure. Something in the report—

  JOCELYN: Report?

  OTTO: The story in the newspaper.

  JOCELYN: What about it?

  OTTO: Something rang a bell. I don’t know.

  JOCELYN: A bell?

  OTTO: Well, what was it you asked me before? I’m trying to remember what triggered this.

  JOC
ELYN: When?

  OTTO: Yesterday morning, when I was reading the article about the murders.

  JOCELYN: Oh, I can’t remember.

  OTTO: About the day they discovered the bodies.

  JOCELYN: What did I say?

  OTTO: You asked me if it was Sunday. Right?

  JOCELYN: Did I?

  OTTO: Yes. And then you said it could’ve happened earlier.

  JOCELYN: Oh.

  OTTO: Earlier than Sunday.

  JOCELYN: So?

  OTTO: So that’s what got me started.

  JOCELYN: About what?

  OTTO: The whole thing. As though it all could’ve happened long before this.

  JOCELYN: Before Sunday, you mean?

  OTTO: Long, long before Sunday.

  JOCELYN: I don’t get it. Why are you trying to make this so complicated, anyway? Three men were run over in a car by another man. Simple.

  OTTO: I suppose if we knew how to read all these signs, we could put the whole thing back together.

  JOCELYN: What signs?

  OTTO: All these marks on the ground. Tires and footprints and marks. You know. Broken cactus.

  JOCELYN: They must have taken photographs of everything already.

  OTTO: I suppose.

  JOCELYN: What a mess. Life is tough enough without running people over willy-nilly.

  OTTO: Willy-nilly?

  JOCELYN: Well, I mean—

  OTTO: Willy-nilly?

  JOCELYN: Just something from my past.

  OTTO: Oh.

  JOCELYN: I had a Welsh grandmother.

  OTTO: “Willy-nilly” is Welsh? I didn’t know that.

  JOCELYN: Maybe not “willy-nilly” itself—the expression—but she was Welsh and she always used to say that. Well, let’s not dwell on it.

  OTTO: Wonder where she picked it up?

  JOCELYN: Could’ve been her grandmother, I suppose.

  OTTO: It’s in the past.

  JOCELYN: Or someone from the village, maybe.

  OTTO: Village? It was that long ago?

  JOCELYN: Her little village in Cardiff or wherever it was.

  OTTO: Ah.

  JOCELYN: “Willy-nilly,” you know. As though to say—

  OTTO: “Any old whichaway.”

  JOCELYN: Exactly.

  OTTO: Higgledy-piggledy.

  JOCELYN: That’s enough!