The Good Inn Read online

  MAN WITH THE BRIEFCASE: It is highly probable that YOU are going against the very fabric of time and space. Have you considered this? It is a practice that is not very wise.

  He pushes in closer, staring right through Soldier Boy, mere inches from his face. Soldier Boy is both entranced and frightened.

  MAN WITH THE BRIEFCASE: The elements are not fond of being abused, they can get angry and do horrible things. Men believe they have tamed light, but they will never be able to outrun it. Do you see, Soldier Boy? In the end we are all prisoners of time and light. You can travel in any direction you please, but where there is no light, there is only death.

  The man hurriedly grabs his briefcase up from where it fell, hugs it, and backs out of the train car, leaving Soldier Boy alone in the car again.

  Soldier Boy sits back down and looks out the black window. The black is replaced by a train station scene, as if a slide has changed.

  The Conductor blasts into the car and walks up to Soldier Boy, bends down, and yells into his ear.

  CONDUCTOR: We have stopped. This is your station! The next station stop isn’t for you!

  The Conductor rushes back out of the car. Soldier Boy stands up and walks out of the train car, onto the platform.

  EXTERIOR/TRAIN STATION/NIGHT

  The train hisses and steams. A soot-filled mist covers the ground.

  Soldier Boy wanders up to the engine and looks to find no one inside. In fact, there is no one anywhere. The train has stopped and the station is now dead silent.

  A whistle sounds and the train groans to life as it begins to back up out of the station. Soldier Boy walks onto the tracks and watches as it disappears backward into blackness.

  He turns and looks down the empty tracks ahead and walks forward, following them into the night.

  EXTERIOR/ALONG THE TRACKS/NIGHT

  Soldier Boy walks along the tracks, looking down and watching each plank. It’s hypnotizing, and the only thing to see.

  He watches with curiosity as the planks grow fewer and farther between. Soon there are just tracks on either side, and eventually no tracks at all. Soldier Boy stops, realizing there is nothing at all to look at, nothing to mark his path, and nothing at all but the dark.

  The sound of rushing water overwhelms Soldier Boy’s eardrums. He covers his ears to mute the crushing sound. He stumbles through the dark until he arrives at a large river that cuts through the blackness.

  In the water’s reflection is a lush forest lit by moonlight. As he looks up from it, the image of the forest in the water reflects onto the black world, replacing the black with a moonlit forest that now surrounds him on all sides.

  As Soldier Boy walks along the river, listening to its soothing sounds, the wooden mechanism of wheels on a cart comes clanking up from behind him. A horse snorts as its hot breath hits Soldier Boy’s neck from above. He turns to look up at it.

  A PEASANT is driving a horse-drawn cart alongside him.

  PEASANT: Need a lift, Soldier Boy?

  SOLDIER BOY: Where are you going?

  PEASANT: No, not a ride. A lift!

  The Peasant bangs on the side of his cart and it slides open to reveal an impressive pop-up storefront. A sign above the many bottles, cans, and oddities reads:

  Pierre’s Portable Potions and Poetry

  He hops down from his seat and presents his wares theatrically. Although dirty, dusty, and derelict, the man certainly does have showmanship.

  PEASANT: You look like you could use a pick-me-up! I have all kinds that are sure to get you where you are going. Something to put a spring in your step and a smile on your face. Protection from enemies, gifts for friends, naked women that you can carry around in your pocket! Every purchase comes with a message, words designed to inspire and elevate. [silence] Feel free to browse.

  The Peasant withdraws into the background as Soldier Boy cautiously steps forward and looks at the impressive collection of bottles in all shapes and sizes. One of the bottles stands out to Soldier Boy. Unlike all of the others, it is not dirty, dusty, fogged, or mildewed. It seems to be illuminated from within. A label on its side reads:

  Le fabricant d’ange

  (The Angel Maker)

  SOLDIER BOY (pointing to the bottle): I’ll take that one.

  As Soldier Boy ruffles through his small change purse, which is attached to his uniform, the Peasant shakes his head violently.

  PEASANT: That’s not what you need. No, no, no. How about this one? This one is sure to quicken your step and harden your head!

  He holds up an ugly little bottle full of something gray and oily.

  SOLDIER BOY: No, I am sure that I want that one. How much for it?

  PEASANT: That one’s not for sale, Soldier Boy.

  SOLDIER BOY: In that case, why is it here?

  PEASANT: It’s my peacock. It’s here to pull the customers into the shop. I can’t sell it because then I’d have no peacock! [pause] If you’re not going to buy anything, I guess I’ll be on my way.

  The Peasant turns to get back on his cart.

  But then he pauses, steps back, turns to Soldier Boy, looks him over as if he is considering if he is worth the time it would take to share the secret he is about to confide in him. The Peasant digs into his coat pocket and turns back toward Soldier Boy.

  PEASANT: Are you perhaps interested in some visual entertainment instead? It is sure to amuse, entertain, dazzle, and relieve.

  He flashes a handful of picture cards out in front of Soldier Boy. They each depict a different naked woman standing oddly, for what would seem like an otherwise normal portrait.

  PEASANT: These are authentic originals from Monsieur Pirou himself!

  Soldier Boy blushes. He can’t help but stare.

  SOLDIER BOY: What would I do with those?

  PEASANT: A silver piece for one card, or two silver pieces for three cards! It will cost you extra for instructions.

  Soldier Boy hands him a piece of silver and pulls the one he wants from the lot.

  PEASANT: For that price, you will just have to figure it out on your own.

  The Peasant grunts and hops back onto his cart, pulling on the reins of his horse.

  SOLDIER BOY: Could you at least give me a ride to the nearest town?

  PEASANT: I’m not going your way.

  SOLDIER BOY: How do you know which way I am going if I don’t?

  The Peasant clears his throat and takes a showmanly stance. His harsh peasant voice transforms into a beautifully eloquent speaking voice as he recites his prose.

  PEASANT: “All the roads lead to the city, like veins of the river Rhône lead to deepest water. This road leads to the brightest lights that could ever be, but she won’t be there. She’s like water in a desert sea.”

  And then, as if it were the period on the end of his prose, the Peasant yells, “Yaaaah!” to his horse. Just like the train, they back up into the night.

  Before disappearing into darkness, he shouts after Soldier Boy.

  PEASANT: There is an inn up ahead about five miles. Just follow the river upstream, Soldier Boy! You can’t miss it. It’s the only friendly light in the night around these parts. I promise you.

  EXTERIOR/ROAD/SAME

  Alone once again, Soldier Boy stares down at the picture he purchased. His finger covers the woman’s nakedness and he stares deeply into her face. He walks through the mud along the riverbed and notices a campfire in the distance. He approaches it carefully and finds a Gypsy camp. It seems like it was abandoned in a hurry. The fire is still smoldering.

  The brush rustles and Soldier Boy turns to see the back of a soldier dressed just like him. In fact, from behind, it could just as easily be him. Afraid, he backs up and falls over the fire and onto his back. The Soldier turns, brandishing his bayonet and sticking it into Soldier Boy’s face.

  Two other soldiers walk out of the woods and stare down at Soldier Boy. To his amazement, all three of the men look like one another. They are identical.

  SOLDIER
1: What are you doing out here creeping around in the woods, soldier? We could have accidentally caused you bodily harm.

  SOLDIER 2: We might have.

  SOLDIER 3: We still could.

  SOLDIER 2: What’s your name?

  SOLDIER 3: What’s your rank?

  SOLDIER 2: Yeah, what’s your rank and your name?

  SOLDIER BOY: My name is Soldier Boy.

  SOLDIER 2: Are you making a joke at us?

  SOLDIER 1: Why don’t you wear your rank on your arm, boy?

  Soldier Boy stands silent, looking them over, not quite sure what to say.

  SOLDIER BOY: I’m on a special mission.

  SOLDIER 1: Special mission? What special mission?

  SOLDIER 2: Maybe he’s a spy?

  SOLDIER 1: Are you a spy?

  SOLDIER 3: If he’s a spy, we can rough him up.

  SOLDIER 2: How would we tell?

  SOLDIER 3: We probably won’t be able to tell until after we rough him up.

  SOLDIER BOY: I’m not a spy.

  SOLDIER 1: No, if he were a spy, he’d do a better job of blending in. He’d wear his rank on his arm.

  Soldier 1 menacingly approaches Soldier Boy and they stand nose to nose.

  SOLDIER 1: He’s been thrown to the wolves. Something happened, something big, and they sent you as far away from it as they could.

  Soldier 3 steps up and stands just behind Soldier 1’s shoulder.

  SOLDIER 1: So now you’re here.

  SOLDIER 3: Thrown to the wolves.

  Soldier 3 swings back and his fist meets Soldier Boy’s face.

  THE WORLD GOES COMPLETELY WHITE, LIKE A PROJECTOR LOSING HOLD OF ITS FILM REEL, WHITE, SCRATCHY, and then BLACK.

  EXTERIOR/GYPSY CAMP/HOURS LATER

  It could have been days, for all Soldier Boy knows, but it was really just hours, not that it matters either way. What matters is that he is alive, it seems. He can feel his body, but he can’t see anything.

  THE BLACKNESS IS AGAIN REPLACED BY THAT SAME PROJECTOR WHITE. SCRATCHES AND A FILM REEL’S EDGE PUSH BACK INTO POSITION. BLACKNESS.

  Soldier Boy opens his blood-encrusted eyes and a young GYPSY BOY is standing over him.

  GYPSY BOY: Don’t move or it will hurt more. They were going to kill you like they kill my people, but I stopped them.

  Soldier Boy glances down to see the three soldiers. They are dead. It appears that this boy has brutally gutted them. He blacks out.

  CUT TO BLACK

  THE BLACKNESS IS AGAIN REPLACED BY THAT SAME BLINDING WHITE PROJECTOR LIGHT. SCRATCHES AND A FILM REEL’S EDGE PUSH THEMSELVES BACK INTO POSITION.

  EXTERIOR/DIRT ROAD/NIGHT

  Soldier Boy opens his eyes once again, but this time to a moving sky lined with trees.

  He is lying flat out on a cart filled to the brim with hay. The young Gypsy is pulling a horse in front of it.

  GYPSY BOY (talking with his back to Soldier Boy): In the Americas your people, the people in uniform, have this saying when they refer to their natives. They say that they are going the way of the Gypsies. We are now the old reference for a whole new bloody conquest. I feel sorry for them. We can just move on, those of us who were not murdered. That is what we do, and why we do. We used to fill these woods. There were camps all along the Rhône. No more. Now we join the circus, or we join the dead. You are like us in a way. This is why I saved you from those savages. You are not a savage, but you haven’t decided whether you still want to live amongst them. They can smell this. They are just animals, like everything else in these woods. Some animals’ journeys are longer than others’.

  The horse and cart stop.

  GYPSY BOY: Can you walk?

  SOLDIER BOY: I think so.

  GYPSY BOY: I can’t take you any farther. This is as far as I can go. There is a light up ahead and this is now a friendly road.

  The young Gypsy helps Soldier Boy stand up and Soldier Boy examines himself. Aside from the damage to his face, he seems to be okay. He looks inside his pouch and finds his coins still there, along with his picture card. As he turns to thank the boy, he sees him pushing the horse backward into the night, strangely reversing down the same road, as the others did.

  They are gone. He is alone again save for a warm glowing light in the distance. He follows it through some brush and comes upon a quaint and inviting-looking inn. A warm fire crackles inside. For the first time, Soldier Boy realizes how cold he is.

  He steps into the light and sees his reflection in the window. His face is caked with blood and dirt. He walks over to the horse’s trough. A tired and despondent horse stands over it and snorts as Soldier Boy approaches.

  SOLDIER BOY: May I join you?

  The horse appears to agree and backs up.

  Soldier Boy ducks his head into the dirty water and throws his head back, choking from the cold shock. He goes back to the window, smooths his hair against his skull, and wipes away the remaining dirt and blood from his face with his coattail. Better. Presentable. It will do.

  He is about to turn and head for the door when he catches a glimpse of her. She suddenly looks up and right at Soldier Boy, through the window. The window, as if on cue, fogs up and the front door BURSTS OPEN.

  Standing at the doorway is the INNKEEPER with a welcoming smile. He is a small man with a large gut and short, fat arms that wave Soldier Boy into the warm light of the entry room. The smells of hot food and fresh perfumed sheets rush into his frozen nose.

  INNKEEPER: A bed, yes? Food? We have them both. A little more bed than food tonight, but please, step under the Golden Shield, into my Good Inn.

  Above the Innkeeper is indeed a shield the color of gold. Its luster seems to have gone long ago.

  Soldier Boy walks into the warmth and it swallows him as the door closes behind him.

  ACT II:

  The Good Inn

  All my life I’ve been harassed by questions: Why is something this way and not another? How do you account for that? This rage to understand, to fill in the blanks, only makes life more banal. If we could only find the courage to leave our destiny to chance, to accept the fundamental mystery of our lives, then we might be closer to the sort of happiness that comes with innocence.

  —LUIS BUÑUEL

  CHAPTER 3

  Under the Golden Shield at the Good Inn

  Soldier Boy follows the Innkeeper into a sitting room. Through a doorway to his left is the inn’s tavern. A bar and doorway lead farther into the recesses of this rural setting toward a modest kitchen. To Soldier Boy’s right is a rickety staircase leading up to the rooms. Candles flicker around him as he looks down to see a short, balding man sitting in a chair with his face obscured by a newspaper. The newspaper’s front page catches Soldier Boy’s attention, and he focuses in on it. The main picture is of his ship and the aftermath of the explosion. The caption reads:

  118 dead from avoidable tragedy on Iéna

  Below it is a smaller picture of a menacing man in profile. The caption reads:

  Félix Fénéon Still at Large: Artist? Terrorist? Or Both?

  The Innkeeper notices his new guest staring at the paper and nervously turns Soldier Boy toward the door to the tavern, ushering him in.

  INTERIOR/GOOD INN TAVERN/NIGHT

  There is a warm and modest room with five tables and a small wooden bar with a row of bottles in numerous shapes and sizes and colors.

  INNKEEPER: Do not mind the professor, he does not lower news from his face for anyone.

  SOLDIER BOY: The news. “One hundred eighteen dead.”

  INNKEEPER: Yes, yes—tragic. You must be hungry?

  SOLDIER BOY: It was one hundred and seventeen, as I was told . . .

  INNKEEPER: You must be tired.

  SOLDIER BOY: I am both tired and hungry.

  The Innkeeper waddles over to a bench by a window looking out onto the black night. He pulls it out, dusts it off with his apron, and presents it to Soldier Boy, who politely sits. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a silhouett
e through the doorway of the kitchen.

  The silhouette is a woman’s figure, and her curves are framed in the doorway for a split second before the Innkeeper blots out the image with the mass of his body.

  INNKEEPER (singing to Soldier Boy a cappella): Have a meal now, Soldier Boy, our beds are warm, our beds are warm.

  SOLDIER BOY: Are you singing?

  The Innkeeper pours Soldier Boy a drink and then one for himself. He puts the glass in Soldier Boy’s hand. Then, pulling the glasses together, he toasts them.

  INNKEEPER (singing to Soldier Boy): Have a drink now, Soldier Boy, so we can sip to limbs now destroyed!

  The Innkeeper tugs at his bad leg and Soldier Boy runs his fingers over the gash on his forehead. They both empty their glasses.

  INNKEEPER (singing to Soldier Boy): Your money won’t be better spent . . .

  As Soldier Boy pulls out his pouch of coins, the Innkeeper lovingly takes the pouch from Soldier Boy and empties a portion of its contents into his hand.

  INTERIOR/KITCHEN/SAME

  A woman’s rough hands scrub the dirty kitchen floor.

  WOMAN’S VOICE (singing): Hands pay the rent, hands pay the rent.

  A large rat runs across her work and she continues scrubbing with one hand as her other scoops up the rat in one motion and shakes it so violently that its neck breaks. She continues scrubbing and humming the somber tune.

  INTERIOR/TAVERN/SAME

  INNKEEPER (singing): Have a meal now, Soldier Boy. The bird is slain, the bird is slain.