Viridio Her?

Marban It’s a woman.

Viridio Oh good.

Marban Though a ghost.

Viridio Course.

Brac Er –

Marban (at Brac) Someone dead. Beyond the grave. Not in our world.

Marban takes a fling stone with a hollow ground in it. He puts a powder in the hollow. He takes another flint stone, flaked to a point to fit the hollow in the first stone. He takes a length of cloth and wraps it round his fist as he gives his patter.

Have you thought why, since we all live beyond the grave, in the sweet fields, the rich woods there – we don’t see them more often, the dead?

Brac Well –

Marban Because of the pain of dying, brother.

Which is like a wall.

Brac Ah.

Marban Solid, thick with pain.

So the cracks in the wall of death are rare. Tiny.

And the life of the dead can only flare through them, for a moment.

As they do, in the lights over a marsh.

Like this.

Marban hits the two flintstones together. A muffled report. A cloud of white smoke drifts up and away.

Viridio That was a woman?

Brac I saw her –

Viridio What was it?

Brac Lovely thighs –

Marban, unwinding the cloth from his hand.

Viridio A trick?

Brac Like silver.

Marban A ghost a trick, a trick a ghost.

If the religious shit themselves, what’s the difference

Huh? Huh?

He laughs.

Viridio They do say ‘Never look a priest in the eyes.’

Brac Like a dog! Send the dog mad –

Viridio Which one is the dog though, looker or priest? Eh?

Viridio and Brac stare at each other.

Brac Yes but –

Viridio and Marban staring at each other.

Look, don’t.

A silence.

Don’t.

A silence.

Start fucking insulting each other next.

Marban (to Viridio) I’ve been taught an insult.

Which, if it’s made to you, your eyes melt. Your tongue, tears itself out. Your head – bursts.

It’s only a few words.

Want me to say it?

To you?

They stare on. Then Viridio looks down. Marban giggles.

Viridio Now he’s taking the piss.

Brac Stories about priests, getting up each other in the woods. My father always hated ’em. Rant and rage, ’bout how the richer families send off their favorite sons to join ’em. How their visions, auguries, judgments of disputes, were always – in your favour if – (A turning gesture with his hand.) A fine animal or two, fine iron, fine wine –

Then, round they’d come. And my poor old father – he’d go religious quicker than a billy goat fucks.

Viridio looks away, then does a cat leap onto Marban.

They laugh and fight.

Marban Get off.

Viridio What, brother –

Marban Get off –

Viridio Dear oh dear.

Viridio rolls away. The three brothers lie in the sun.

Still. It’s hot. The water was good and cold.

The dogs are tearing down an enemy, somewhere in the woods.

Along with the wild pigs, and your priests, in there, doing what they do.