The Iris Murder

1. In the Wood.

Semi-darkness, twilight, menacing. A kind of dysfunctional Midsummer Night’s Dream. An

unpleasant moon.

Iris, a woman, with a yellow hat/headdress/gigantic collar, rooted in the dimness, on a slight mound.

Other mounds suggested.

Iris :

The woods are dark and drear tonight.

In gutterings of silver light

The moon begins her cold-eyed climb.

Sleep and Silence take their time.

Green Man (a voice behind stage, or suspended somewhere) :

Oak and nettle Toad and petal

Hooded birds upon the bough.

Rest now … Rest now.

Moss and spider Nut and mallow.

Iris :

Yellow … yellow … yellow … yellow.

Green Man :

Moss and hawthorn Drupe and acorn

Oozy leaves upon the bough.

Hush now … Hush now.

Ash and briar Nut and mallow.

Iris :

Yellow … yellow … yellow … yellow

(She folds up/retracts her headgear, becoming almost invisible in the gloom).

2. The Gloating Visit

Beaunes, an ‘ambitious’, brisk man in his early 40s, with a vicious walking-stick. Carrying a selection

of cheap plastic flowers, and making his way without emotion towards the mound(s)/grave(s))

Beaunes:

Another year.

Hidden here.

All my flowers, all my flowers.

Hushed in their obedient bowers.

Little cages … little beds …

all my quiet sleepyheads.

(casting a flower here and there, with negligent madness)

This for Rose, who fell upon

the rocks of life. So faintly gone.

And this for Lily, pale and worn ;

so swiftly stopped, so lightly torn.

And Daisy, delicate as lace,

Heather, and her fading face,

Poppy, broken in the dark,

And Fern, my –

(He reaches the Iris grave)

Ah, poor Iris. So perfectly, so dimly mine …

Who stood so briefly in the way of time.

(with apparent innocence) And me.

So brittle. So flimsy. So easily crushed. So softly hushed.

So contrary.

Iris (faintly in the gloom) :

Another year … hidden here …

(Beaunes senses her, and approaches : but a puddle of rotten leaves stands in his way)

Aha. Nasty. Inconvenient. Annoying. Unhealthy.

(he picks his way angrily around the puddle)

How soon your perfume failed.

How early your petals paled,

and fell.

(not greatly moved) Ah, well.

(now he comes to briars across his way)

Aha. Vicious. Dangerous. Spiteful. In-fu-ri-a-ting.

(he slashes at them with his stick, and reaches Iris’s mound. He regards it with careless interest, and

does not quite see the looming Iris).

This is for you. (He negligently tosses flowers onto the earth at Iris’s ‘feet’)

Poor stalk. Dug so deep in earth and silence.

(Throws) My little oversight …

Enjoy your endless night.

(at the landing of the second flower, Iris unfolds terrifyingly with towering yellowness)

Iris : (amongst the following)

Buried here … another year

Yellow … yellow … yellow … yellow

Beaunes :

Ah ! Ha ! Oh !

(rallying, advancing his stick) Get out of my way ! You dreadful dream !

Get out of my way !

Iris (doing it, terrifyingly) :

Screeeeeam !

Beaunes (slashing with his stick)

Brief as a butterfly.

Sick as the moon.

Pale little flutterby …

Dead so soon !

(He slashes at Iris’s head with his stick, and decapitates her in an explosion of yellow)

(Silence. Beaunes peers at the ‘stalk’)

Ha. A little damage.

Never hurt anyone.

Even you.

(He briskly passes on, with a mixture of triumph and terror) Man coming through.

Man coming through !

(he exits)

(a creepy moment, in which Iris flaps and wilts)

Green Man :

Blood … and sap … upon the bough,

Hush now … Hush now.

3. Turning 42.

(Beaunes’s bedroom. He is at a small desk, with a pen and a notebook. Unpleasant pyjamas. A clock

strikes midnight. The window rattles in the wind)

Beaunes :

Midnight. And the wind is high.

Where am I ? Where am I ?

(more rattling ; he draws the yellow curtain at the window, but not quite completely)

What shall I do ? What shall I do ?

(after these signs of (mental) disturbance, Beaunes sits at his little desk)

Aha. Let’s see. I’m forty two.

So how have we done,

since forty one ?

(raises and sucks his pen, not without self-satisfaction, and peers into his Birthday Book. The curtains

part, unseen by Beaunes, slowly)

Money :

Mm. Cross out ‘enough’. Recent success at Hatchet & Broome. Soaring shares. General upswing.

Shall we say (writing it in) ‘ample’.

Good.

Status :

Hmm. (last year) ‘Encouraging.’ No no. The critically shaken hand. The strategic message. The well-

timed favour. Oh yes. Plans for that. Plans for me. Being … (ahem) free.

(the head/hat of Iris rises in the window, unseen by Beaunes. She hums (?) the ‘yellow’ theme.

Beauness looks up with some trepidation, but continues with his Birthday Book, being most

interested in himself. The curtain remains open, with Iris swaying there)

Travel : Hmm. Three weeks’ Wind Surfing in Patagonia. With the vonSchimmels. And Myrtle

Fortesque. Be … comes … (writing) ‘one whole, bright July, the white schooner, the foaming yacht,

the blue Pacific Ocean, tour of, in large, glittering company … and Pansy deWitt. Good … Good.

(looks into the middle distance, remembering)

Moonlight on the sea.

The banyan tree.

The golden shallows.

Iris :

Yellow … yellow …

Beaunes :

Re-la-tion-ships : Ha. Much improvement here. Last year … twenty seven. This year … forty two.

(Writes)

Forty … two.

(a heavy rattle of wind shakes the window. Beaunes looks up).

(advancing to the window, and drawing the curtains) Get out of my way. (softly) Get out of my way.

(He sits down, and is soon in a happy reverie, as the curtains slowly slide open again)

The vet with honey hair.

The headmistress from Delaware.

The quiet wife in Holyhead.

The riding nun. The quiet dead.

(remembering himself after this slip)

The gardeners of Istanbul.

The heavy Belle. The little fool.

The ghostly girl in Eliat.

Where is my heart ! Where is my heart !

(Beaunes stares into space, his gaze coming slowly round to Iris in the window)

Iris :

Buried here … another year …

Beaunes :

Leave me, leave me !

He leaps to his feet and makes for the window, but is interrupted by –

4. The Arrest

(a mighty knock on the door, heartbeat-like. The clock then strikes one.)

Beaunes :

Who is it ?

O my heart. (Calls crossly) Who is it ?

Green Man (outside) :

The Watch.

Beaunes :

The what ?

Green Man :

The Watch.

Beauness (disconcerted) :

The what ?

Green Man & Iris, from outside (tremendously) :

THE WATCH.

(Beaunes opens the door. The Green Man enters with a large handkerchief and a rope, followed by

Iris)

Beaunes :

And what in the world –

Green Man :

Where were you at eight o’clock ?

Iris :

Tick tock, tick tock.

Beauness (alarmed) :

W-w-walking in W-Witham W-w-wood.

Green Man :

Did you encounter there a rotten puddle ?

Iris :

Hindrance and muddle. Hindrance and muddle.

Beaunes (attempting a rally, and getting bravely sarcastic) :

I did. Y-yes. Ha. Did I stamp it to watery death ?

Did I break its little back ?

(a silence. The Green Man is unimpressed)

Green Man :

And a snag of obstacular briars ?

Iris :

Prickle and thorn. Messes and mires.

Beaunes :

Yes, yes, yes. Did I cut its botanical throat, haha ?

Did I shred its little limbs ?

(silence)

Green Man :

And a woman standing quite near in a yellow hat ?

Iris :

Remember that ? Remember that ?

Beaunes :

A woman ? No no. There were flowers. Dead flowers.

Dead flowers all round. And a bird perhaps. And something stood –

Green Man (imperious) :

Rawley Bones, you are under arrest for the murder of Iris Wood.

(separate parts to sing here. During this ensemble, Iris blindfolds Beaunes with the handkerchief, and

the Green Man applies the rope to his neck, or hands)

Beaunes :

But what have I done ? But what did I do ?

I just went for a walk. I’m forty two.

It was dim. It was dark. There was nothing there.

I struck at some shadow. I lashed at the air.

O what have I done ? O what did I do ?

I just went for a walk ! This cannot be true !

Iris :

He came in a fury. He went without care.

He struck at the briars. He lashed at my hair.

He trampled the spider. He flattened the mallow.

Blindly, unthinkingly … yellow … yellow.

He came in a fury. He went without care.

The branches are broken. The hawthorn is bare.

Green Man :

Swiftly you came to it. Swiftly you struck.

Bad manners, bad timing, bad habit, bad luck.

A trial. A sentence. Confusion. Despair.

You just went for a walk ? You lashed at the air ?

Swiftly you came to it. Blindly you struck.

Nothing is nothing. Bad manners. Bad luck.

(They take him away.)

5. Trial : defiance and sentence.

(a high, green place.Perhaps stars and the moon above. Green Man as Judge, Iris as Witness,

Beaunes as Accused.)

Green Man :

Rawley Beaunes, you are charged with the wilful murder of Iris Wood.

What do you have to say ?

Beaunes (rises, and, after a pause, in defiance) :

Worm and seedling, weed and eye,

Nature’s dying. Let it die.

Breath by bell, and rime by root,

Egg and berry, paw and shoot.

(a silence)

The Green Man :

Call the first Witness !

(Iris, in full-blown yellow hugeness, approaches Beaunes)

Iris :

Vicious, arrogant and cruel.

Man’s disgrace, and Nature’s fool.

Beaunes (terrified) :

Plum and pollen, cell and sky,

Nature’s dying. Let it die.

Leaf by larva, dill and dock,

Wing and prickle, stalk and stock.

The Green Man :

Ah ! Call them all !

(in a procession, Rose, Lily, Poppy, Fern, and all the others rise up/appear/pass by)

Iris :

The life of man is mown like grass.

All things shall pass, all things shall pass.

Beaunes (with increasing bravado, at the passing parade) :

And when at last we’re left alone

With just the things we’ve made :

When every branch and every stone

Has dustily decayed :

When all our bright synthetics lie

Like noon on Witham Hill,

When nothing shakes the perfect sky

From here to Witham Mill :

And when we’re left alone at last

With just the things we need ;

When Eden’s fruitless hour has passed –

Then we are Men indeed !

Iris :

The boasts of Men are no defence ;

Their trampling, harsh indifference,

Their concrete miles, their selfish smiles,

Their preening pride and ignorance

Are all condemned. (softly) Vengeance. Vengeance.

Green Man :

Rawley Beaunes, man of earth, there is only one Sentence that this Court allows for all this Death :

You shall be taken from this place

to a house of Deep Despair,

And you will face

your own pale, passing shadow there,

and in your ghastliness, be shown

This earth is not yours alone.

Take him down.

Take him away.

Take him there.

Iris :

Come, and see your dark despair.

6. The vision of Hell & Despair

(from their high position, they see a white landscape/room/cube devoid of any Nature, where a few

scuttling figures move pointlessly, hands to their heads, chattering into phones, self-obsessed with

business and sterile vanities, bobbing and rocking)

Iris :

Upon this greenless plain you see a mighty multitude of men in silent swarm.

Each holds in his transparent arms his black, transparent skull, and rocks like an idea of grief.

Each glass jaw with gums like indian ink, and teeth acrack with fear.

You will not know, because you cannot feel, that they are on the very brim of death,

Always and knowing, in their white company, that they teeter there.

One heartbeat more, they will be gone. That heartbeat never comes.

It is not bearable, and yet they bear it always. It is the very dissolution of existence.

The mind all gone, but nearly gone, balancing in terror on the last rip and flood

that drags extinction down upon a little light into forever’s nothing.

On and on and on and on. A sad, immortal, mortal end. For here is man alone,

And naught but what he has made, and nothing now made for him.

No home. No rest. No passing quiet. No other. And no mercy.

(Beaunes, boud with the rope, and the handkerchief gagging him, is forced to watch and listen)

Beaunes :

And will it come to this ?

Iris & Green Man (variously) :

flowerless … powerless … hourless …

Go … go … go.

(together)

Go, and live, less bold, less blind,

Less cruel, more courteous, and kind.

(Beaunes bows his head, and leaves the high place).

7. Nightmare

(Beaunes, in his bed).

Beaunes (waking) :

My eyes are white. My feet in chains.

Letters vomit from my teeth.

Vines of violent colours twist around my throat.

And something rains

About my understanding, and a wreath

of shredded flowers floats

upon a riddled sea,

and sings to me.

Well. My stick is here. And they are gone.

Merry Christmas. Life goes on.

(Christmas interlude)

8. Merry Christmas

Beaunes rises, and hurries about, increasingly merrily, believing he has ‘paid’, and looking forward to

his Christmas date) :

Beaunes :

Ring out the old, Ring in the new,

Ring out the marigold, ring in the barbecue !

Mercy Wilkins and an Extensive Reservation await !

(he preens in a mirror)

One fine man’s face. One impeccable tie. (looks at himself approvingly) Oh my. And the darkest suit.

The shiniest shoes. The Christmas coat. The commendable cane.(He swishes it) Again. (Swish) Again !

(swish). One bottle of white Champagne. One three-layer box of Lavender Chocs. And a gorgeous

bloom and a green perfume for sweet sweet Mercy. Yellow as custard. Green as neon. Sweet as

civet.

(playing a little politeness game to get himself out the door)

Shall we go ? How courteous. How kind. Delighted. After you, haha. No, after you. I insist.

9. The Punishment.

(the same wood, and track as before, Beaunes walking the same way, in all his finery, and the

moonlight, swishing his cane).

Beaunes (singing, very pleased with himself, and the evening’s prospect):

The Woods of Witham sleep and shine ;

Their dark-green, dappled boughs entwine

In canopies of guttered light.

The sky is still. The moon is bright.

Flowers droop. A misty haze

Hangs along the bosky ways.

Underneath an ancient oak,

Mice in waistcoats sit and smoke.

Bless this house ! Communal bees

flitter in the darkling trees.

Bless this night ! The greenwood cools.

Water-boatmen ply the pools.

Darkness runs its Rolls around

The earth, and parks without a sound !

Ha.

(he reaches the puddle, which he negotiates with a knowing confidence)

Ha ! Ha ! Have at you ! Snicker-snack !

(he encounters, and removes the briars, in a satirical Fencing manner)

HA !

(as he reaches the grave mound, in a bllnding white spotlight ,Iris unfolds and stands towering before

him, again strangely rooted to the spot)

You.

(with satirical flair and confidence, bowing)

O, Mercy ! Mercy !

(he displays all the goodies)

Candy from Kathmandu,

Tinsel from Timaru,

Turkeys from Timbuktu,

All for you ! All for you !

Iris/Mercy :

Good evening, Rawley Beaunes. (Coyly) And where shall you take me tonight ? Oh, where are we

going, and what shall we do ? (creepily coy, and chucking him under the chin) I think I know ! Oh, I

think I do !

(with apparently girlish excitement, she takes his arm/cane, which he might be tickling her with –

which could be ominous)

Beaunes :

We are off to the Green Man, Mercy Wilkins. To the Green Man. Our table is booked. The turkey is

cooked. Best in the house. We are beside the fire. Directly beside the fire ! With the heavenly choir.

Ha. A little influence. A little this (he rubs his fingers in a cash indication). A little that. A little chat.

And after (a horrible suggestiveness) …

Iris/Mercy :

Oh, Rawley Beaunes, and you look like a man, you really do, with your glassy cheek, and your

glimmering suit. And your Christmas coat ! And your cock-a-doodle do.Oh ! Oh, and Presents !

Presents for me !

(she holds him a little closer, and presses near)

Beaunes (merrily) :

The Taxi is waiting. (with mock awe) The Big Black Car !

Come Mercy Wilkins, it isn’t far.

Iris/Mercy (clinging more) :

Oh, Rawley, Rawley, hold me tight.

I want to be near to you, dear to you.

Beaunes :

Come on then. Come on then. A lovelong night !

Ring out the old Ring in the new

Ring out the manifold Ring in the cockatoo !

(he tugs at Iris/Mercy, but she does not move)

Iris/Mercy :

Feed with you, bleed with you,

Sigh with you, die with you.

Beaunes :

Ring in the centrefold Ring out the feverfew

Iris/Mercy :

Sleep with you, keep with you,

Drink with you, sink with you.

Beauness (wildly optimistic and encouraged) :

Ring in the strangehold Ring out the kangaroo !

Come on then ! (tugging) Come on then. A lovelong night !

Iris/Mercy :

Our table is set.

Beaunes (being pulled down) :

Oh, let me just get –

Iris/Mercy :

Our bed is all ready.

Beaunes :

Ah, steady now, steady !

Iris/Mercy :

And you shall be mine.

Beaunes :

How the stars shine !

Iris/Mercy :

Forever and ever.

Beaunes :

Together ! Together !

(they might do this like aTristan-ecstasy several times, and intertwine)

(Beaunes gives a last, furious tug)

Iris/Mercy (terrifying) :

So.

Let us GO.

(she drags him down into the earth beneath)

Beauness (disappearing below ground) :

Taxi ! Taxi !

Iris : (just a voice)

yellow … yellow … yellow … yellow

(silence. The moon rises/or comes out dazzlingly from behind a cloud)

The Green Man :

The woods are dark and dumb tonight.

In gutterings of silver light

The moon begins her cold-eyed climb.

Sleep and Silence take their time.

Oak and nettle Toad and petal

Hooded birds upon the bough.

Rest now … Rest now.

Hush now ……. hush now …….

10. The Moral (a possible added ending ?)

(The Green Man comes before the curtain).

Green Man (looking rather less than nice) :

A little Moral does no harm,

So we may leave content and calm.

The wicked Mr E shall be

Encoffined here eternally.

Which does not bother you or I,

who are not Bad, and shall not die

for any little angry sin

that lets the naughty Devil in.

How sweet is goodness, milk and light.

How comforting. How warm. How bright.

(pause : surveys the audience with devilish enquiry)

I beg a little kind applause :

(clapping the audience)

As yours is mine, so mine is yours.

*