RED SUN

David Rudkin

a play for two actors on the space

Characters

WANA-APU spirit-magician to a people oppressed his creation

ADÀMU

Aux Dames des Mille Roses, Villequier

Act I

Scene I

Night, dawn near. A stricken tree. Pieces of metal or shell hang tinkling, faded rags sway silently. A few poor possessions. A figure enters in rage. He wears garb of a tribal sorcerer or magician-priest. WANA-APU.

WANA-APU: No! No ... This is one horror too far our masters do. My rage spills over! Gods of our people, where are you now?

Silent. Nowhere in this night.

I dare it, then. Priest of my people, I take it on myself. I dare it ...

You.

He comes before a large form lying covered on the ground:

You here ... Time to be born.

He centres himself upon some fearsome deed.

Gather my rage. Gather my people's need. Gather my power ...

His spirit, come.

His Spirit, hear me. Wake.

His Spirit, draw near. Take on your coat of clay.

From deep within himself comes a VOICE, dark, struggling to speak:

VOICE: No ... No ...

WANA-APU pauses. He hesitates. Then:

WANA-APU: You are here.

VOICE: Do – not – do – this ...

WANA-APU: I do it.

VOICE: Leave – me – sleeping ...

WANA-APU kneels, lifts his hand toward the clay thing's breast ...

WANA-APU: Thing of clay, I burn into your breast the breath of life ...

He presses upon the clay creature's breast, his breath seething.

WANA-APU: Breathe ... Wake ...

VOICE: [bleak, childlike] Not – want – this ...!

WANA-APU: [murmurs raucously into the clay creature's ear] I breathe into your head of clay ... your name of life. Adàmu ... Adàmu ...

ADÀMU lies breathing, a raucous sound as Wana-Apu's has been. WANA-APU looks Eastward.

WANA-APU: Sun, lift above the earth. Cold gong of fire. Touch this to life. Live!

He claps his hands, to summon.

WANA-APU: Adàmu?

The clay creature lies silent and still.

One touch of the light and you are gone again? I do wrong.

Desolate, he moves away. The clay form begins to raise a heavy hand ...

WANA-APU: Adàmu ...?

ADÀMU rises. The covering falls away. He looks at his hand; then at his arm. He discovers his body.

WANA-APU watches in joy. ADÀMU sways, all but falls. With almost a cry, WANA-APU would reach out to stay him; but must hold back ...

With more assurance, ADÀMU stands, breathes as Wana-Apu did in bringing him life. He claps his hands. He is reciprocating sounds and actions that gave him life and he still carries in him.

Suddenly, as though only now registering Wana-Apu's aborted movement of a moment ago, ADÀMU is aware of another presence. He looks about him. He sees WANA-APU. Their gazes meet; and hold ...

WANA-APU: [carefully] Adàmu ...

Slowly not to alarm him, WANA-APU reaches a hand. ADÀMU backs away, wary as a horse. Slowly WANA-APU reaches to caress ADÀMU's head. With the merest turn, ADÀMU shies. WANA-APU ventures a careful step toward him; ADÀMU steps back.

WANA-APU: [touching and pointing] Adàmu. Wana-Apu. Adàmu. [Touches ADÀMU's lips] 'I live'.

ADÀMU: [touches his own lips, and blankly repeats, brutish and dark] I live.

WANA-APU: [gently touches him] Adàmu. [He points Eastward] The Sun.

ADÀMU looks yonder; then at WANA-APU, searching his face for something to understand.

WANA-APU: [points about them] The world.

ADÀMU as before. Then:

ADÀMU: [touching his own lips, repeats the sounds] I live.

WANA-APU: That, you do. That, you do. I'll give you some food. You have come a long journey.

He reaches to bring him welcomingly with him, but ADÀMU is stone-still suddenly, listening keen as a beast to something very far away. Cocking his head this way then that, he utters what he hears there: soft chirrup of a forest bird; then another ... Then a sound somewhere else of a bird lifting from water. He makes these sounds not to mimic, but to reciprocate.

WANA-APU: You hear further than I can.

He looks out, among his possessions, something to eat.

Food.

Mimes eating.

ADÀMU watches his movements, alert as a dog. Into a crock or bowl WANA-APU pours water from a plastic can. Suddenly ADÀMU is hearing something else afar:

ADÀMU: Vroom ...!

WANA-APU: What? Adàmu ...?

ADÀMU: [again, not imitating, but reciprocating what he hears] Vroom ... Vroom ... [He begins to shake with fear ...]

Impulsively WANA-APU goes to hold him to assure him.

WANA-APU: Sh sh ... Easy ... What do you hear, Adàmu?

He listens. Soon a distant sound of the revving of a truck as though climbing a rough steep track.

Yes. The transports. You do right to be afraid. [He sits away, starts preparing the food.] Food.

ADÀMU sniffs at the food; then at the water, starts scoffing from it like a dog. When the crock is empty, he tips it this way then that: no water: why, he doesn't understand. WANA-APU pours him more.

WANA-APU: Wa – ter.

ADÀMU laps noisily.

WANA-APU: [considers him] What have I done? Such joy I feel. Terror too ... – Adàmu ...?

ADÀMU has paused. He listens, tense ... Soon sounds of more trucks, grinding up that track afar. ADÀMU is trembling again ...

WANA-APU: Yes. Every sunrise you'll hear that sound. Our people herded to their place of slavery.

ADÀMU is cowering, whimpering ...

WANA-APU: You feel their misery? [Aside] So much the better.

Grim within, he puts his hand about ADÀMU's shoulder to ease him. But ADÀMU, inconsequential-seeming as an animal or child, bows his head to the crock again, laps it empty.

ADÀMU: [gestures to the crock] Wa – ter.

WANA-APU: You remember well.

ADÀMU: Wa-ter!

A touch disquieted at him, WANA-APU fills the crock again. ADÀMU laps from it, hungry. He pauses. He says again what he knows; but this time he'll venture more:

ADÀMU: I live.

WANA-APU: Yes!

ADÀMU: I live yes. Adàmu.

WANA-APU: Adàmu yes!

ADÀMU bows to drink again, but pauses ...

ADÀMU: [brutish and dark, blankly repeating] Thing – of – clay ...

WANA-APU: Words I spoke as you were born ...

ADÀMU: Name – of – life ...

WANA-APU: Yes, Adàmu! Name of life.

Suddenly ADÀMU points away upward.

WANA-APU:...