STARSHIP TROUPERS IV: THE UNKNOWN GUEST, Chapter 14

STARSHIP TROUPERS IV: THE UNKNOWN GUEST

Chapter Fourteen: The Play of St. George

Christopher Stasheff

We all knew the medieval mummer’s piece, of course. The theater majors had enacted it—required at most universities, so that the rest of the student body could see it and gain some understanding of comedy’s beginnings in Western Europe. It was quite another matter, however, to be performing it with a troupe of seasoned professionals.

Since Cholly—uh, Charles—had originally been cast as Father Christmas, Barry assumed he would read the part—but Charles declined. “I'd prefer that my stage persona be forgotten, Barry, so that those here will know me only as the cheerful landlord of a pub.”

Thus it was decided, and thus he became known to history four centuries later.

Unable or unwilling to insist, Barry excused him and conferred the part upon Lazaro, but was pleased when Charles stayed to watch the rehearsal. Surprised but pleased to undertake the player who would lead, at least literally, Lazaro accepted, of course—he really did not wish to argue when his position with us was so tenuous, nor would he refuse so excellent a role. Besides, as Ramou would have been quick to remind us, confrontation was not really Lazaro’s strong point. Thus we rehearsed with Lazaro as Father Christmas introducing us all, then standing by and watching, though the astute observer might have seen his lips moving silently, in synchronization with whichever actor he thought was doing the part either well or poorly, as well as with covert gestures expressing those thoughts, but only to himself. At the end of the play, Lazaro gave the closing address, then led us offstage. It only remained to see who could provide a bit of music for the occasion, and Lazaro seemed to have retained enough of his skill with the zither to play it in his arms, like an autoharp, and the harpist who had performed at Cholly’s demonstrated a remarkable gift for the fiddle and was quite willing to step in. Additionally, Marty surprised us all with an oboe and the willingness to play, so it required only an Irish drum and a tambourine to provide the requisite festive touch.

We were to perform in the town hall, a large single-story building with a wide central dome. We were a bit disconcerted at our first rehearsal, when we discovered the reason for the dome—it housed a circular area enclosed by half-inch-thick metal bars.

I protested. “I say, General, I have seen cages at a circus before, but it was the lion-tamers and their beasts who were enclosed, not the performers.”

“We do have occasional martial arts competitions,” Shaklar explained, “and sometimes the spectators’ appreciation of the contestants becomes a trifle too exuberant.”

“Audience participation, eh?” Charles turned thoughtful. “There should be some way to utilize it as an instructional incentive.”

We left him to ponder the matter as we rehearsed. Grudy had provided splendid period costumes with a seasonal motif, Merlo and Ramou had set the lights so that we all looked excellent from every angle, and we had more time for rehearsal than we’d had for any production thus far. All in all, when the time for our first performance arrived, we were quite confident as Lazaro struck up the first notes and led us out, dressed as Father Christmas and singing “Here we come a-Wassailing” as he toured around the ring, only two yards from the audience.

Pride Goeth before the fall—or in this case, the parade.

As Lacey and Suzanne came in sight, a roar of appreciation swept the hall, punctuated by wolf whistles with an undertone of barely-contained lust. Disorder was enhanced by the majority of the audience being males in their teens, and I began to understand why the juvenile delinquency rate was so problematic on Old Earth. I glanced at Ramou bridling, but also grinning with that wolfish eagerness that preceded his participating in a bout of fisticuffs—or inciting it—and I noticed that all the men of the company had subtly changed the blocking to move a bit closer to the audience as the ladies shrank a foot or two back toward center. Thankfully, some of the older prisoners called the younger ones to order and they settled down, albeit with enough scarcely-restrained libidinous energy to power a full-sized factory. Lazaro, however, was accustomed to their enthusiasm, and led the parade around the circumference of the playing space with aplomb. As we finished the circuit, he stepped to center, and we all sat down, facing inwards, marking out the playing space, though the bars did that far more effectively. I must say it was the first time I had performed in a cage.

Lazaro scarcely seemed to notice. He gave his opening welcome speech with merry confidence, then gestured to Marnie and sat down. She, as the Queen of Egypt, explained the predicament the dragon’s depredations had caused and called for a champion to defend the kingdom, in return for which she would confer upon him her daughter’s hand.

The audience roared, every man-jack present volunteering even before Marnie gestured Suzanne out for a belly dance—with sudden misgivings, but it was a little late to change the blocking. To her credit, Suzanne managed to tone down the dance considerably, which was just as well, since the cheers were already threatening to bring down the house. The few women in the audience, however, took Suzanne’s performance as a challenge and wended their way through the mostly-male crowd with sultry gestures and double entendres, reminding them who was really available here—and, moreover, present every day, not only for a few brief performances. They managed to quiet the men enough for Marnie to project her lines over their howls, calling again for a champion.

Larry as Saint George, of course, responded, stepping before the Queen to be dubbed her defender. Then he marched boldly around the circle, drawing jeers and challenges from the younger members of the audience, but they quieted amazingly as the Chinese-style Dragon stepped up behind St. George, Winston shaking its huge head and unrolling more and more of its length as his fellow actors fell in behind him to lend bulk and additional legs to the monster. Finishing the circle behind St. George and gathering up the end of its tail, the dragon tapped him on the shoulder. Larry turned in surprise and the dragon bopped him on the head with its tail.

St. George fell—a far longer and more comical act than it could truly have been—and the Queen of Egypt called for the Doctor to heal her champion. Marty came out with his medicine bottle high, poured an imaginary elixir into his tankard, and sampled it himself to make sure it was correctly brewed. He hooted his approval, then held the tankard to St. George’s lips. Larry took a swallow, then leaped to his feet with a whoop of delight and ran to square off against the dragon.

Winston led his fellows in a sinuous dance, distracting St. George enough so that he scarcely saw the blow coming. “Scarcely,” however, meant that he managed to parry it at the last moment, duck under the two-yard-long tongue of paper flame that unrolled from the dragon’s mouth, and come up swordpoint-first, sticking out a foot to trip the front pair of legs, which caused a chain reaction, each pair of legs tumbling over the one before it. St. George raised his sword high and stabbed down, but the dragon opened its huge mouth and engulfed him. As Larry went down with a frightful wail, the dragon did a victory dance, legs kicking out straight, first on the left side, then on the right, so delighted with its own prowess that it didn’t notice St. George rolling out between the middle pair of legs. The audience saw, though, and shouted encouragement to the champion to stand up and fight back, but Larry stayed down, and the cheers began to turn to booing—until the dragon’s head passed over him, and he leaped up to chop it off with a single stroke of his flexible sword. The dragon let out a steam-whistle shriek (Merlo had built a compressed-air horn into its nose) and crumpled right in front of the knight—then gobbled him up with one huge bite before it rolled over onto its back, and all its “legs” ran off to sit around the inside of the ring again, pulling off the dragon-skin trouser legs to reveal their regular costumes, while the Queen lamented loud and long the fall of her champion and summoned the Doctor to revive him again.

The doctor tested his potion once more with a gulp or two and a shout of delight, then held the tankard to the lips of St. George, who also hooted approval and snapped upright in a movement known as a kip-up. George turned back to the princess to claim his reward. Suzanne ran toward him, arms out—then put on the brakes, skidding to a stop as Ogden rose in the persona of Blunderbore the Giant, attended by his faithful sidekick Little Jackie, who promptly darted in to lash a kick in at George's shin, then hurried back to hide behind her master, who told the audience that there was no need for him to fight the knight, since he could send his girl to do the job. The younger generation of “convicts” hooted derision as Lacey proceeded to do just that, leading St. George on a merry chase until he finally collided with Blunderbore, who swung his club with a roundhouse wind-up that gave St. George just time enough to dart in, sword first, to prick the giant in the bottom. Blunderbore bellowed with rage and swung at the knight, who danced away in a circle, causing the giant to swing around and around, winding him until he tripped over his own feet and fell, knocking George down with one last swing of his club—but on the rebound, the club bounced out of Ogden'shand, up into the air, and disappeared. The astute observer could see it stuck among the lights.

We were all a bit concerned, since the blocking called for Blunderbore to knock himself out with his own cudgel. Fortunately, Ogden had several minutes to think up a substitute bit while Jackie dashed in to shore him up. He managed to stay stiff as a board while she set her shoulder to his back and pushed with all her might until he was vertical again—then tilted forward, and Jackie dashed around to brace him from the front, shoving him upright… whereupon he started to tilt backward again, and Jackie had to run around to brace him once more. They milked it for all it was worth, Ogden teetering to and fro, Lacey racing madly, until the laughter had just passed its crest, whereupon Jackie put two fingers to her lips and blew a whistle-blast that rivaled the dragon’s and beckoned the rest of the company to come help.

Unfortunately, Suzanne was the quickest to respond in her harem-girl costume, and fifty or sixty young convicts leaped out of their seats and over those in front, piling up against the bars with shouts of lust and rage—until Marnie stepped in front of Suzanne and swung both arms wide, using the long drapes of her robe to hide her “daughter.” Mind you, that could have led to an even heavier assault of the bars, but Marnie did it with such perfect timing, and so hilarious a twist as she folded her arms about the “daughter,” mugging with precision, that the delinquents surrounding us started laughing, so heartily that they let the older prisoners herd them back into their seats. Suzanne told us later that she knew she should have been angry with Marnie for stealing the scene, but our grande dame had done it such panace that Suzanne was hard-put to stop laughing herself—not to mention that the delinquents had, after all, been rather frightening.

Meanwhile, the rest of the company restored Blunderbore’s balance, whereupon he solved the lack of a club by throwing his fists in the air and running a victory lap around the cage—and right into the solid-steel hatch that served as the gate. A gasp of horror ran through the company—we all knew how perilous the state of Ogden’s health was, even though he refused to believe it. We dashed out to make sure he was all right—but he just grinned at us and hissed, “Go on, go on!”

We all sighed with relief. Then Marty came out as the Doctor a few lines early, handed Ogden a stein, which he drank straight down, then made a face. The audience laughed, thinking the cup was really medicine, but we all knew it was because the vessel had held nothing but water. Then Barry and I, as the supernumeraries for the performance, entered and helped Ogden back toward his seat at the edge of the ring, and Ogden did such a perfect job of overplaying the doddering ancient that the crowd actually began to laugh again, while Suzanne tried to push herself free of Marnie’s embrace—but our leading lady held firm, murmuring, “Don’t you think you had better stay veiled, my dear, until someone thinks to bring us your robe? Those young lions are ready to tear the bars apart, and Ramou is standing up with a thunderous scowl, ready to batter any of them who try.”

Startled, Suzanne peeked out and saw her swain on his feet, brandishing his prop sword—but Ogden saw too, and managed to struggle upward just enough to fall on top of Ramou, who rolled aside in the nick of time but stilled as Ogden muttered to him, “It’s all in good fun, Ramou, and it’s up to you to keep it so. Trust the old pros to manage the audience—as Marnie is doing.”

Ramou looked up and saw Butterfly Marnie with Caterpillar Suzanne enfolded in her silks. He began to relax. Then Lacey came running with Suzanne’s robe, partly as a kindness, I’m sure, but also to prevent being upstaged. Suitably veiled, Suzanne joined her at the edge of the circle just as Marnie bewailed St. George’s latest death and called for the Doctor again. Marty came wobbling out, obviously drunk but taking yet another taste of his own medicine. He hooted his approval, then slurred through his curing verse and held the tankard to St. George’s lips.

Larry gave a hoot that almost outdid Marty’s and proclaimed himself undefeated, which brought another round of catcalls and challenges from the juvenile crowd—until Ramou stood up as the Turkish Knight and issued a challenge of his own. St. George returned the sentiments, the two of them exchanged a few insults, then crossed swords and began to see who could outdo whom in hamming up the mock swordplay, rapier against scimitar. Merlo had rehearsed the two of them in some tumbling exercises, so Larry’s first sword cut resulted in Ramou executing a diving roll that landed him flat on his back. He bounced to his feet and returned the sword cut, Larry’s cue for a back-flip. Ramou looked all about, pretending not to notice where Larry had landed, until the knight swatted him across the seat of his pants—which somehow resulted in their doing a two-man kick line. The rest of the company came out to join them, of course, but only until the laughter began to subside, whereupon the other actors sat down, giving the audience a clear view of the Turkish Knight felling St. George with a roundhouse slash—but as the English Knight tumbled to the ground, he managed one last stab at the Turk. Ramous howled with mock agony and staggered all about the ring so that everyone could see that St. George’s sword was tucked securely under the Turk’s arm, not through his chest. Thereupon the two young men competed to see who could do the most outrageous death scene—until the audience’s shouts of encouragement began to quiet down, whereupon the two warriors fell to the ground, twitched in one last spasm, and lay still.

The Queen of Egypt once again called for the Doctor, who duly responded, drunk as a skunk and staggering out with a lampshade on his head and mixing up his words delightfully. The audience’s roar of laughter nearly shook the bars, then quieted as they saw the doctor press his tankard to St. George’s lips. The hero came alive again, and Father Christmas stood up to deliver the closing verse and lead the company out, singing a centuries-old carol.

The applause rocked the building with shouts of “More! More!” We dashed back to take our bows, dashed off again, then on for another bow and off again. Excited and delighted, our younger contingent would have gone on again and again, but Marnie stopped them with a cautionary word. “Always leave them wanting more, children. Besides, we don’t want to give them time to start calling for the ladies to disrobe.”

That sobered us, and we retired to our separate dressing rooms to wait while the nominal guards/ soldiers shooed the audience out.

“They’re gone,” General Shaklar called. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

“Here we come!” Marnie trilled, and turned to give us a stroke for a downbeat. We all followed her, singing “Here We Come A-Wassailing” again, though no one was left to hear us—until we came out into the greenroom, and the song died on Marnie’s lips when she saw the three men standing there applauding: General Shaklar, the Man in Gray, and our patron—who was also Barry’s younger brother and Marnie’s erstwhile lover—Valdor Tallendar.