A phosphorescent glow fills the banqueting hall.
THE UNBORN SON
Lest we witness this transgression,
we ask you to abort our birth.
For shame! Expect no intercession,
for such heroes have no worth.
Sons to fathers such as thee—
unborn may we ever be!
And so it goes, pain follows pleasure,
my father’s lust bequeathed to me
his syphilis, his earthly treasure,
I shun the villain’s company!
For this base world I will not share
with living dead to breathe foul air.
(The glow dies out.)
Total darkness. Then on the horizon a wall of flame rises towards the heavens. Distant cries of the dying.
EPILOGUE
The Final Night
Battlefield. Craters. Smoke clouds. Starless night. The horizon is a wall of flames. Corpses. Dying soldiers. Men and women in gas masks appear.
A DYING SOLDIER (crying out)
Captain, call out the firing squad!
No one can make me shed my blood
for King and Country. Go ahead, shoot!
Once I’m dead, you can’t make me salute!
When I’m up there with the Lord on High,
Kings and Emperors I’ll defy
and scorn their Orders of the Day!
Where is my home? Is my son at play?
While in the arms of our Lord I sleep,
a letter scribbled on paper cheap
will be read by a woman who starts to weep,
aware of a love so deep, so deep!
Captain, you must have lost your mind,
you’ve sent me to face a dreadful end
and turned my heart to a firebrand.
I’ll not fight for any Fatherland!
What you’ve destroyed with your iron rod
are the bonds that kept me from my God.
It’s Death that should face the firing squad!
Not for no Kaiser I’ll shed my blood!
FEMALE GAS MASK (approaches)
This man, I guess, has died at God’s behest,
but on this battlefield there is no rest,
for duty calls us all in this momentous age,
both men and women dressed for some mad masquerade.
Blood, sweat, and toil and tears all claim an equal right,
seeking new honours when both genders fight.
MALE GAS MASK (prepares to join her)
If only your face
got accustomed to mine,
we then might embrace,
for your mask is so fine.
But no features are shown
when such horrors appal.
We must stay unknown
and obey duty’s call.
While we shoulder our rifle,
we dread a reprisal
from fumes that could stifle
our will for survival.
But while flames fill the air
we still feel hale and hearty,
so let’s form a pair
and be off to the party.
Distant gunfire.
FEMALE GAS MASK
Distinguishing features
we have to surrender,
for we’re merely creatures
without face or gender.
Our life is a fight
between spectres and drones,
so we revel at night
to the sound of trombones.
BOTH (arm in arm)
Distinguishing features
we have to surrender,
for we’re merely creatures
without face or gender.
(They vanish.)
(Two generals, fleeing in a motorcar.)
GENERAL (Speech-song)
Our transport can’t save us,
the earth’s full of shell holes,
barbed wire, and barriers
plus deeper hell holes.
The fortunes of war
mean we’re facing defeat.
So we’ve begun our
strategic retreat.
Men of our years
soon run out of breath,
and nightmarish fears
scare us to death.
The troops give no quarter
while we do a bunk.
Drive on through the slaughter,
or else we are sunk!
There’s a corpse dead as mutton
and a man moans he’s hurt.
Goddammit, a button
has come off his shirt!
I’m such a stickler,
this makes me see red.
“Sew it on quick, there!
Else you are dead!”
Don’t dare make me frown,
or I’ll blow a fuse,
won’t take things lying down!
The war’s no excuse!
“Stand to attention!
Report to the Sarge!
Even if deaf and dumb,
you’re on a charge!”
It’s a scandal, such squaddies
mean all hope is lost!
Drive over the bodies
and don’t count the cost!
The generals drive off. Dawn is breaking.
Two war correspondents alight from a motorcar, wearing military-style breeches and carrying binoculars and camera.
FIRST WAR CORRESPONDENT
This place looks good
for us to pause,
capture the mood
of vibrant wars.
SECOND WAR CORRESPONDENT
Yes, I feel you’re right,
we could see an exchange,
for we may be in sight
of enemy range.
FIRST
Our soldiers fight,
the foe engage,
and what we write
will make front page.
SECOND
With words and pics
reports are filled,
a surefire mix
when men are killed.
FIRST
We love to quote
from briefing sessions
and always note
firsthand impressions.
(He approaches a dying soldier.)
SECOND
Meeting your death
should feel like rapture!
Your final breath
we wish to capture.
FIRST
While you’re alive,
the scene’s appealing,
so please describe
just what you’re feeling.
SECOND
Share your impressions,
your final thought.
Can one draw lessons
from how you fought?
FIRST
Thrills for our readers:
“His Final Breath”!
Details you feed us
give flavour to death.
SECOND
They spice our writing,
the boss applauds,
make news exciting,
earn us awards.
DYING SOLDIER
I’m barely surviving—
see how I’m writhing—
I need a helping hand—
else I’ll be dying!
I have lain here all night—
my wound’s a dreadful sight—
lacking medical care—
to set it right.
There is no time to spare—
Bleeding — I gasp for air—
give me a helping hand—
why are you standing there?
My breath — as you can see—
leaves me — gasping for air—
give me — a helping hand—
show that you really care!
FIRST WAR CORRESPONDENT
Has this guy had a drink?
He seems a dead loss.
Why should he think
I’m from the Red Cross?
SECOND
War is war — hear me cough!
Our work’s hard to bear!
If a man’s head’s shot off,
I’d just say “c’est la guerre.”
FIRST
I’ve never been taught
how to offer First Aid.
We just write a report,
and for that we’re well paid.
SECOND
Evoking a climate
is what earns our crust.
If a hero is silent,
then he’s dead as dust.
(They turn away, preparing to leave.)