STONE
Who…how did you know…where did you come from?
OSCAR
…and I shall pour out my spirit upon all flesh and your sons and daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, and your young men shall see visions. Good luck, Mike.
STONE runs out and bumps into DR. SCOTT HUDSON, who is on his way in.
HUDSON
Well, hi Father Stone! What’s wrong? Are you—?
STONE
Grabbing HUDSON’s arm
Yes! God bless you!
STONE runs out and HUDSON crosses to OSCAR’s cell. He wears a suit that was probably nice when he bought it, but he hasn’t taken good care of it. He juggles a notepad, several pieces of recording equipment, and a bag of chips. While he talks, he reads from his notepad and eats chips.
HUDSON
Oscar Telford. Approximately twenty to twenty-five years old. No ID. No verifiable date or place of birth. Arrested for killing an eight-year-old boy in the bathroom of a gas station on Telegraph Road nine days ago. Found six miles outside of town, barefoot. Dehydrated. Put on IV drip for three days. Arraigned on the charge of murder in the first degree. No bail. Remanded to the county jailhouse, awaiting trial. That you?
OSCAR
If that’s what it says on your little pad there, that must be who I am.
HUDSON
Okee-doke. Good. Nacho chip?
OSCAR doesn’t answer, so HUDSON shrugs and begins clumsily setting up his tape recorder, muttering to himself as he works.
Um…Okay. Like that. And this goes there…right? And…okay, that seems to be working.
He pats the recorder, checks once more to make sure it is working, and then sits on the stool vacated by STONE and resumes eating his chips.
Now…that’s all dandy and fine. So. I’m Dr. Hudson. Looks like your fate is in my hands, sonny, so it’s in your best interest to cooperate with me and be honest. So. Now, let’s see if we can figure out if you’re competent. Let’s talk. So. What on your mind, Oscar?
OSCAR
White Shoulders.
End of Act I
Act Two
Scene One
On one side of the stage, ADAM walks quickly through the hall toward his office, carrying a large stack of disheveled papers and files. THRINH runs after him.
THRINH
Mr. Crawford! Mr. Crawford!
ADAM spins around to face her, and in the process, one of the files slides off the pile and falls to the floor. THRINH hurries to retrieve the file and places it back on the stack.
ADAM
Thanks. Are you the temp?
THRINH
No, I’m—
ADAM
Then get out of the office. We’re really busy.
THRINH
Mr. Crawford, wait!
THRINH runs after him and grabs his arm, sending the papers and files spilling to the floor.
ADAM
Shit! You idiot!
THRINH
Omygod! I’m so sorry!
ADAM drops to the ground and begins hurriedly trying to gather up the files while THRINH attempts to help him.
ADAM
Don’t…don’t! I’ve got it. It’s okay.
THRINH
Mr. Crawford, I wanted to see you—to talk about the summer—I’m Thrinh Nguyen. I was wondering if…well, your firm is the best in town and I was hoping to…I mean, I’d be happy to fill out an application or…because I’d really like to stay here. My mother—but that’s not important—but I thought you might need—
ADAM
Uh-huh. That’s okay. We’re all set.
THRINH
Well, because I know you’re overwhelmed with the Telford case, and I—
ADAM
What makes you think that?
THRINH
Um…in the papers it said—
ADAM
Right, right. Are you a protestor? A reporter? An expert shrink for hire? What? What are you?
THRINH
I’m a law student.
ADAM
That’s your problem. Look—I’m really busy, so—
He holds his hand out to THRINH, who is holding the last file in her arms.
THRINH
ADAM
Yeah, that’s nice of you, I’m sure, but we’re good. Thanks. Can I have my file?
She holds the file to her chest, keeping it from him.
THRINH
Is this one of the files on Oscar?
ADAM
I’m afraid I can’t—look! Now just give it to me before I call—how’d you get past the front desk?
THRINH
I flirted with your reception guy.
ADAM
Very nice. I thought he was gay.
THRINH
He’s open-minded. And everyone likes to flirt.
ADAM
Well, you’ll make an excellent lawyer, but I don’t have time to—
THRINH opens the file in her hands.
THRINH
Have you found out if he’s going to stand trial yet?
ADAM
Look. Look! Hey! Don’t—you can’t—don’t do that, it’s—stop!
THRINH
I’ve tried cases before. When I lived in Vietnam. I tried cases for people who couldn’t afford a lawyer. A friend of a friend who had stolen a car. Another time, I defended one of my cousins who got into a bar fight.
ADAM
You could get in a lot of trouble. My file—
THRINH
They didn’t have anyone else. I won them all.
ADAM
Congratulations. This is a capital murder case.
THRINH
I know. And you’re probably going to plead incompetent, if the case even makes it to trial. I’m studying incompetent defenses. I’m in a class with Graine Goodwin and she—
ADAM
Thrinh! That’s right!
THRINH
Did she call you? Because she said she would try, but I didn’t know if—
ADAM
We talked. Okay, fine. Uh…one of the partners—Leslie Baker—she needs a file clerk, so…it’s down the hall to the left. Tell her I sent you.
THRINH
I want to work with you. On the Telford case.
ADAM
Sorry, I can’t. You’re a student, and—you’re taking Graine’s class?
THRINH
I’m really interested in incompetency defenses. She was the best.
ADAM
Alright. Look, you seem really smart, and you’re obviously interested in the case, but I’m afraid I can’t—
THRINH
I was born in Vietnam, and my family moved here when I was nine.
ADAM
What?
THRINH
I went to high school here in town and then to Georgetown, where I studied philosophy and psychology.
ADAM
What are you doing?
THRINH
I’m apply for the job. I had a four-oh up until my senior year. I’ve had two years of law school in Vietnam and almost a year here. I have an A-plus average.
ADAM
Impressive, but I can’t.
THRINH
The only reason that I didn’t have a four-oh when I graduated Georgetown was because I had to take a medical leave during my junior year, and I got behind. It’s in my records that I had mono.
ADAM
But you didn’t have mono?
THRINH
No.
ADAM
THRINH
I had a nervous breakdown.
ADAM
Oh.
THRINH
Because of something that someone else did to me. Because of him, I lost six months of college. Six months of my life.
ADAM
That’s unfortunate, but—
THRINH
It wasn’t my fault. While I was out of school, I realized that. But I still felt ashamed. Because I’d let it get to me. I’d sabotaged my own life because I wasn’t thinking straight.
ADAM
But that’s quite different from being insane. And you didn’t kill anyone.
THRINH
I wanted to. And if I had, would it have been my fault? If I had shot someone through the eye, then stood there and watched while his brains seeped out onto the carpet? Would I have been responsible?
ADAM
I…um…well, it’s hard to say without knowing the facts of the—
THRINH
No. The answer is no. Because sometimes there is nothing else you can do. Things happen to people—medical, situational, whatever. And they can’t think straight anymore. And they do things that aren’t their fault. And they should be helped, not persecuted.
ADAM
But what about the…person…who did the…crime.
THRINH
He wasn’t insane. People who commit crimes should be punished, but not if they aren’t responsible for why they did it.
ADAM
I’m sorry for…the…what happened to you.
THRINH
Professor Goodwin says not to apologize for something that you didn’t do. And to try and avoid taking the blame, even if you did.
ADAM
Sounds like her. You’re very clever. I’m not entirely sure you didn’t make all of that up just to keep me here.
THRINH
I didn’t have to. I have your file, remember?
ADAM
Graine must think a lot of you, if she’s recommending you for a job here. She might even be taking a personal interest in your career. Alright. My secretary’s out on maternity leave. You know how to be a legal secretary?
THRINH
Yes, sir.
ADAM
You type. You get files from the archives. You take dictation. You edit briefs. That’s it! You’re still not a lawyer yet, I don’t care how many cases you’ve won in Vietnam.
THRINH
Yes, sir.
ADAM
And you’re bound by privilege the same as Graine and me. I’d better not read any undercover insider stories in the papers!
THRINH
Professor Goodwin’s working on the case?
ADAM
Not yet, but maybe you can be useful there, too. But keep that to yourself as well.
THRINH
Sure. Of course. Wow! She hasn’t tried a case in over a year.
ADAM
Okay. Can I have my file back now?
THRINH puts the file back on the stack ADAM has gathered into his arms. He thinks for a moment, then hands the entire stack back to her.
Take these to my office. Third door on the right. I’m going to get some coffee.
THRINH
Okay. I take mine black.
Scene Two
FATHER STONE is exiting the jailhouse. GRAINE comes toward him from the other direction. She moves as if trying to avoid the crowd gathered in front of the building. The voices of angry town citizens are heard.
CITIZEN #1
God hates murder!
CITIZEN #2
No justice in the justice system!
CITIZEN #3
Stop persecuting our religious rights!
CITIZEN #4
More help for the mentally ill!
CITIZEN #5
Send him to hell!
GRAINE, rushing through the crowd, and STONE, rushing from the jailhouse, collide.
STONE
Graine! My God!
GRAINE
Hello, Father Stone. I’m sorry, are you all right?
STONE
All right? Oh, I’m not hurt, no. Are you?
GRAINE
No. Quite a crowd.
STONE
Yes. It looks like half of Bethany is here. How strange.
GRAINE
It’s a lot of excitement in a dull town, I guess.
STONE
I mean seeing you here now. It’s like a vision.
GRAINE
Are you sure you’re okay, Father?
STONE
Because of the evil of your doings and the abominations you have committed…
GRAINE
Excuse me?
STONE
Your father and I used to argue all the time about the Book of Revelation. He didn’t believe that part of the Bible, you know. He thought there would always be a second chance for everyone. I haven’t seen you since the funeral.
GRAINE
I’ve been busy.
STONE
You should stop by St. Mary’s sometime. We’ve had some lovely new doors put into the rectory.
GRAINE
I really don’t make it down here from campus much.
STONE
Your father loved to tease me about my renovations. He called it my Catholic vanity. God doesn’t care about what the Church looks like, he said. Only about what goes on inside.
GRAINE
He said the same to me. I was a vain child, I guess.
STONE
He was proud of you, you know. He used to drive all the way down from the capital and sneak into the courtroom when you were arguing a case. Staring down a witness. Stalking around the courtroom like a tiger, he told me. Twisting people’s words around until even they didn’t know if they were telling the truth. Then thy light rise and thy darkness be as the noonday. Do you know that verse?
GRAINE
I know them all, Father.
STONE
Yes, of course. We both know them all, don’t we? What does that make us? Are we divine because we can recite God’s words?
GRAINE
I’m not sure I know what you mean.
STONE
Darkness into light. That is what makes us divine. We are created in His image. From darkness He creates light. But where did the darkness come from?
GRAINE
I suppose that’s one of those questions you have to wait until you die to have answered. Excuse me, Father. I have an appointment.
STONE
Yes! In death. In the afterlife. I want to tell you something, Graine. Something I am ashamed of. I was jealous of your father. I was envious of his unwavering faith. He devoted his life to the study of God and the search for understanding, and I know he is one of the few for whom it will pay off in the end. He is one of the ones who will find out the truth in the next life. I was, in a way, even envious of his death. He knows now. No more struggling with doubt. He is blessed.
GRAINE
Father Stone, do you want to know why I haven’t been to Church since my father died? Because it’s crap. My father wasn’t blessed; he was stupid. So was I. He devoted his life to God and what did it do for him? It sure as hell didn’t save him from a long, painful death.
STONE
God moves in mysterious ways.
GRAINE
Bullshit! There’s nothing mysterious about God. My father struggled his whole life to hear God. He tried everything—prayer, study, good works. And then…nothing. In his moment of dire need…no one was there. No one but me. I had to watch him die. Alone. His eyes drifting further and further away, like he could see into forever. And he kept muttering how the pain would soon be over and he would see God at last. And then his eyes opened wide and he gasped. I thought that was it. That he was dead. I started to cry and pray for his soul. But then he spoke. He whispered something so quietly that I had to lean down over his mouth to hear him. He said: it’s a lie, Grainey. It’s all a lie. I’m all alone. My father gave his life to God, and all he asked for in return was for God to come to him in death and say, it’s gonna be okay. I’m here. And the ungrateful son of a bitch couldn’t even manage that much. He couldn’t do my father the favor of existing for just one second so that he didn’t have to die knowing his life had been for nothing. So don’t tell me h
ow blessed my father was.
Both are silent for a moment.
STONE
I once traveled to an earthquake site to minister to the victims. In the midst of all that carnage, there was a small brown rabbit. The rabbit was completely oblivious to the havoc. It just sat there, chewing on a bit of grass that had survived the crumbling structures. I remember thinking what a wonderful sign of hope this was. That this little creature could live on in the face of unspeakable tragedy.
GRAINE
How lovely.
STONE
And then a piece of the remaining structure collapsed and crushed the rabbit.