ACT II
...
...
In a bathtub, with ornamental radishes delicately hung from the shower head. The walls are a sanguine color, a pasty texture. The father is sitting in the tub, his gloves still bone dry in the living room off-stage. The father begins to wriggle with a discomfiting thought.
DAD
(Calling from the tub) Son! Oh my Son Boy, come here!
SON
(One of the radishes becomes the boy) Yes, Pip?
DAD
Why my son boy, steady boy, young boy! What were you doing gallivanting about in the radishes again?
SON
Well, gee, there's a terrible storm out there, Pipsy.
DAD
Son.
SON
Yes Pip?
DAD
Son boy.
SON
(Perturbed, slightly peckish too) What, Pipsy Father?
DAD
(In a burst of fury) What did I tell you - about playing - IN THE rrrrRRADISHES??!
The father begins to flog Son Boy with the radishes. They squeak against his body. He is not visibly harmed, but the squeaks make Son Boy cry.
SON
Pipsy, no!
DAD
(Each word intermittent with moist anger-belches) Learn you! This will learn you!
SON
But, Pipsy, the storm! I had to hide!
Pipsy Pants becomes red in the face. His eyes ball even more than usual and begin to shrink. His spit becomes creamcolored and bubbly.
SON
Pip! Your heart! She is weak and full of crust, Pip!
Pip's teeth elongate, symbolizing his death. He no longer moves. The bathwater begins to turn to sludge. Suddenly, while crying, Son Boy hears a thunderous burp from the storm outside.
SON
(Sobbing, periodically burping) The real storm was in here, Diddy Pips!
End of Act II.
(ACT III coming soon.)
(ACT III coming soon.)
