Author: D6758--

King of Navigation and the Mermaidian Grim Reaper

THALASSA: So, Poseidon, tell us about your watery domain…

POSEIDON: Well, my two brothers and I divided up creation, no biggie. I got the sea, Zeus got the sky, and Hades got the Underworld. The sea was my second choice, actually, as I do have a soft spot for the Underworld, as you know, but I think I’ve finally come to terms with it. Well, you never know, though, one day I may rule all three.

THALASSA: Wouldn’t that be a lot of work? How could you oversee three places?

POSEIDON: I could manage it, easily, better, in fact. Zeus is a bit lazy, to be honest, and Hades, well, Hades doesn’t appreciate his position. Always wishing he were somewhere else. I mean, what else would you need in the Underworld?! They have everything. It’s amazing!

THALASSA: Have you been? I thought that once you’re in, there’s no escape?

POSEIDON: Hades was having a one off open day, just for writers, to give them inspiration. They got the opportunity to chat to ancient authors. He made a fortune. One gold ingot entry fee.

THALASSA: Fascinating. Who did you get to meet?

POSEIDON: I went straight to Tatarus and asked Sisyphus why he murdered his dinner guests, and to show me his rock collection, then a quick trip to the Elysian Fields to ask Shakespeare about his alternative ending of The Tempest

THALASSA: What did he say about The Tempest?

POSEIDON: Sorry, can’t tell you that. It’s a future idea for a sequel

THALASSA: Right, ok, so what injuries did you sustain in striking the acropolis with your prong?

POSEIDON: Ah, it was nothing really, just gouged my left eyeball and lost a couple of digits. The Greek Chronicle made a big fuss about it, so I killed them all in an earthquake

THALASSA: Ah, yes, your brothers called you the Earth Shaker. Walk us through your day as Poseidon

POSEIDON: I’m a bit like a lighthouse, really, King of Navigation, making sure sailors are safe, conjuring a storm if I’m a bit moody, killing people if they insult my new beard shape, that kinda thing.

THALASSA: Thankyou for the interview, Poseidon

POSEIDON: My pleasure. So, Thalassa, I protect sailors and you lure them to their death! Funny old world, isn’t it? What have you got against sailors?

THALASSA: I think we’re both quite dangerous, really, Poseidon. Well, quite simply, sailors are a perfectly balanced diet for us sirens. What else are we supposed to eat? Crabs? Eels. Ugh. Not a chance!

POSEIDON: But isn’t it about power? Having control over men? Luring sailors to their death is a game to you?

THALASSA: Nah, it’s just survival. I don’t enjoy it. I can’t even sing in tune, for Hades sake, but the sailors seem to like my discordancy. Oh, yeah, and I also match their souls to their celestial host, but sometimes it gets complicated, and mixed up, like a comedy of errors.

POSEIDON: Can you give us a song?

THALASSA: Erm, well, no, because I would die, wouldn’t I, if a non-sailor heard my song?

POSEIDON: Ah…moving on. So how would you describe your daily life?

THALASSA: I’m a bit like a mermaidian grim reaper, to be honest, noticing sailors who are going to die soon anyway (they always have a purple aura) ringing up their celestial host, booking them in, singing discordantly, killing them, and then feasting on their fleshy shells, before the whales get a whiff

POSEIDON: Thankyou, Thalassa

Copyright © Deborah Edgeley

Herr Kasperle (from Wilkommen Zum Rattenfanger Theater 2019)

Herr Kasperle

Every man is a Faust (Dr Zhivago)

Near the gushing Jordansprudel
and the high green hair of the ginko
is an antique shop
set in palatial grounds

Herr Kasperle sits next to the Polyphony turntable
on a black wooden box
Watches tourists pass by the score of Schubert
as cut glass tulips sparkle in the window

Layered Deutsche Mark faces, cheek to cheek
shiver with dust rain as the door creaks
Kaleidoscope hides the meaning of life in peephole spiral jewels
Encyclopedic postcards of People-Proving-Their-Joy with a rushed hand

Woman coughs as she descends the spiral staircase
Russian sickle jacket hides behind the door
The owner adjusts his pince-nez

Ghosts hear echoes of red hammer taps
Carved head tilts, stares
Herr Kasperle blinks
dreams of his string ancestors
Shadow, Tabletop, Glove
Finger, Stick, Ventriloquist
The entertaining races
Curriculum Vitae displays appearances in Faust
Street theatre in a frayed patchwork waistcoat
Glued beard en pointe
Makeshift stages conjure children’s gazes

Herr Kasperle repeats his line:
A man sees in the world what he carries in his heart

Desperate clutch of memento to prolong pilgrimage
I hold your wooden hand
I have to take you home

Copyright © Deborah Edgeley

Rattenfanger Theater

Folge Mir

VOICEOVER
Meine Damen, Herren und Kinde
Folge mir…

AERIAL SHOT
Under the belled tower
We wait for the clockwork Rattenfänger

ZOOM
Staccato chug
Brass feather in cap
Cold flute lips call coloured shadows of what was…

Our past has tails
that swish in the mud

Shaky Super Eight sketches of the 70s
Our Past Existed (PG, 118 minutes)

A splice of plastic eidetic
Encode, store, retain, recall
Have you got capacity?

Splice
Brain as projector to an outdoor screen
Orange flames from neurons
fire original vignettes
from a haphazard storyboard
STOP AT 5:31:
Graceful Mutti
Chiffon siren swish
Smoke screen of Uncle Georg’s cigar
Chime of the first bell
Backlight of Vater’s steady hand
Black onyx glints

SLOMO
Eyelashes flutter as manicured nail flicks ash
Pigtailed girls hold hands and look up to the belled tower
Leiderhosen with embroidered edelweiss

MASTER SHOT
of the Rattenfänger
Folge mir…

Our Present Exists (18, Infinity)

STOP AT MEMORY #85647923788…
We watch the cartoon in Hameln
Synchronised whiskered faces poke through holey käse
Choreographed ballet-pointe gallop
I like cartoons, you said. I didn’t know.
Is he a good man or a bad man?
EYELINE MATCHING ON RATTENFÄNGER
I didn’t know.
Where do all the lost neurons go?

Hypnotised kinder skipping
towards
Koppelburg mountain cave
CROSS CUT
To the crippled boy
who slings his crutches
Cartwheels to…

MONTAGE
-Candy Heaven (away from carpentry bondage)
-The Grim Reaper (rescued from plague, under his cloak, like stolen watches)
-The Teutonic Land (Landowner gathers orphans, like hay bails, legs flailing)
-The River Weser (drowned with the rats because of anger issues towards the cowboy mayor)

Is he a good man or a bad man?
Folge mir…

Now, imagine our What-Was-Vignettes as others saw
Not from your eyes, from his eyes, then her eyes, then their eyes
Aerial, behind, extreme long shot
from a bird
1974 Hameln town hall
RUMBLE THUNDERSHEET
Six family members’ vignettes of the same moment
Stretch our sketches into patchwork perspectives
Fact and fiction splices
Swishing tails in mud

Create you own theater
Clapperboard snap
That’s a wrap.

Copyright © Deborah Edgeley

Folie à Deux (a shared psychosis)

It was the rocking chair that transfixed him. That familiar wooden creak in D Major, the way it fell back to exactly the same place after a few rocks, such comfort in its predictability. On the rare occasion that he got to sit in it, Dominic pretended he was a teacher, donning Granny’s glasses, pretending to read New French Feminisms, picking out a random word with his finger, to mispronounce on page 34.

There was a loud scraping noise. Granny and Dominic looked at each other. Granny sighed and logged the time in her notebook, and what she thought the noise was this time. Entry 48. 11:07am. Large wardrobe moved to opposite side of bedroom.

Dominic watched Granny as she wrote, the complex map of blue veins on her hand, the pathway of tired blood chugging along for the umpteenth time. Dominic looked at his hands. One freckle on each hand in more or less the same place. Deux freckles. Un, deux.

Dominic dangled the apple spiral Granny chiselled from a cox pippin, as if it was a nursery mobile. He moved it over the bruise on his leg, as if it spouted magical properties. He looked at the clock. Only one hour before Dad finished work. He looked at his other leg. Blank canvas, at the moment.

‘She wants me out, it’s obvious. I hate her. I’m not going, I’ve been in this house since I married your Pop.’

‘What do you mean, Granny?’

’48 times. 48 noises. 48 rages. How many times does she need to move furniture, nextdoor?’

‘Granny, what’s the next number after deux?’

‘What?’

‘Un, deux…’

‘What’s that got to do with…?’ Granny reached out her arms and Dom made no hesitation to sit on her lap and join the chair dance.

‘Trois.’

‘Twah?’

‘Yes, trois. Good boy.’

Over Granny’s shoulder, Dom saw movement in the backyard. He leapt up and went outside. There was the back of the neighbour’s head. When she turned around to go back in, he gave the longest of stares, a suspended blink, turned on his heel, slammed the backdoor, and locked it with a flourish.