This is the closing episode of this five-part series, much the same as when I first shared it - though I wrote it all from scratch, as usual. It's actually the fiftieth installment of a series that starts in my The Show Must Continue blog for thirty episodes and continues here, consisting largely of rewritten, previously lost work.
The music would be appropriate for watching a sunrise, I think, and, if I said so last time, I wonder if anyone used it as a soundtrack for a video of a sunrise on YouTube.
(A park. We share a picnic table by a pond.)
Myself: Hi, everyone. We're here in the park, with the birds and the flowers-.
Smuthers: And the transients.
Myself: (Carrying on, momentarily irritated) -in the spirit of the peace talks going on at this moment on Easter Island.
Smuthers: My, how quickly things change. Two days ago, you were ready to conscript the air cadets.
Myself: Well, why not? All our engines were down and they're the best glider pilots we've got.
Smuthers: And you were just saying, yesterday, that we should prepare the civilians for house-to-house fighting.
Myself: It was a totally different time. It looked like we were in for a long fight, but I'm glad we crippled each other's infrastructures so fast.
Smuthers: Yes, they have to get together to talk because they bombed all the phone lines.
Myself: Ah, there's nothing quite so reassuring as the calm that follows a violent and bloody storm. And our first guest is a diplomat with experience in treaty negotiations, who can give us a better picture of the process. Please welcome Madison L. Mountbanks, Esquire! (Applause. Enter Mountbanks, I lead him to Smuthers' side of the picnic table.) Good of you to come and throw some light on this topic for us.
Mountbanks: Not at all. There's not much to it, really.
Myself: What do you mean? National boundaries are being redrawn. I figure our side must have an advantage on an island named after a religious celebration.
Mountbanks: The atheists have another name for it. They call it Birthday Island.
Myself: Why do they call it that?
Mountbanks: They think the towering statues studding its landscape look like birthday candles from a distance.
Myself: Well, you won't catch me calling it that. Christmas Island, maybe, but that's as far as I'll go. I imagine the discussions must get pretty heated over such passionate issues.
Mountbanks: No, they're always dull and monotonous.
Myself: And what sort of men are the delegates? Are they like yourself, for the most part?
Mountbanks: I suppose so, just ordinary gentlemen.
Myself: Do you know any of them?
Mountbanks: I bumped into the chairman, once, while he was partridge hunting.
Myself: Oh? Where was that?
Mountbanks: The roof of the Waldorf-Astoria. (I frown.) Don't worry, we're not all like that.
Myself: I hope not. At least, you seem reasonably lucid. Why don't you tell us about the cease-fire that's been declared?
Mountbanks: The cease-fire? As far as I know, forces on both sides have agreed to cease hostilities as the talks proceed.
Myself: Does that mean the troops can come home?
Mountbanks: No, they must stay frozen right where they are.
Myself: Frozen?
Mountbanks: Absolutely.
Myself: Why?
Mountbanks: To protect them from getting jumped.
Myself: You mean, by enemy units?
Mountbanks: If they get up too close.
Myself: But wouldn't coming back here move them the opposite direction?
Mountbanks: They can't do that yet.
Myself: Why the hell not?
Mountbanks: Don't you know the rules? Because they've not yet been queened, old boy!
COMMERCIAL
Myself: Now that there's a break in the human casualties, we may stop to consider the harm inflicted on innocent wildlife by our devastating weapons. One resolute animal rights activist has been keeping a close eye on the problem. Let's hear it for Nina Petiolie! (Applause. Enter Petiolie, barefoot.) You must be very acquainted with the outdoors.
Petiolie: The sky is our connection to the cosmos. I dig your location.
Myself: Well, it's the only place in town that didn't get bombed, even though we bombed all their city parks.
Petiolie: Our bombs have gone too far this time. Whole populations have been obliterated.
Myself: But weren't a record number of people saved by early warnings and modern medicine?
Petiolie: I'm talking about the animal population. They weren't able to duck in air raid shelters like us. They bore the brunt of the blast.
Myself: (Sadly) You mean, no more chipmunks?
Petiolie: No, they were safe in the parks.
Myself: Rabbits?
Petiolie: No, they were safe in their holes. But their rodent cousins weren't so lucky. They got sucked in by the firestorms.
Myself: Who are those? The hares?
Petiolie: No the poor, helpless rats.
Myself: The rats? What's so bad about getting rid of them?
Petiolie: Whoa, hey, man, like, I'm not adjusted to that frequency. You should be concerned about the disruption to our ecosystem.
Myself: What ecosystem? It's a bunch of shopping centres. I'm not going to mourn the rats. Janie, do you want to mourn the rats?
Smuthers: I can't honestly say I'll miss them.
Myself: There. What else have you got?
Petiolie: The night raids killed the nocturnal foragers.
Myself: Aw? The raccoons?
Petiolie: No, the skunks. (I show disappointment. She tears up.) Didn't even give them time to raise their tails.
Myself: Okay, so we lost the rats and the skunks. Is that it?
Petiolie: The bats, too. They all starved to death. Horrible.
Myself: The bats?
Petiolie: Yes.
Myself: Which ones?
Petiole: (Trepidatiously) Vampire? (Silence.)
Myself: Sorry, folks. We'll be right back with our next guest after this important message. (Applause.)
COMMERCIAL: Cinder Blocks of Redemption
(By helicopter, a military crew lowers the new dome on a smashed cathedral.)
With the bombing halted, and all our men overseas, the task of reconstruction has been conscientiously taken up by atheist soldiers and engineers. Forced to improvise, they have, nonetheless, restored much of the skyline to almost its original shape. (The dome is crowned by a rooster shaped weathervane.)
(The church interior.)
Though they may be naive in their approach to some of our ornamentation... (Working from a Sesame Street colouring book, an atheist applies coloured felt crayons to a would-be stained glass window.)... their alien perspective also enables ingenious solutions. (In the bell tower, soldiers drop a bowling ball into the belly of a disassembled bomb casing, screw its tail back on, and hang it, clanging, by a rope on a pulley. Pleased with their success, they congratulate each other with handshakes.)
(A kitchen. A girl sits in front of the fridge with a soldier next to her.)
To make up for classroom time lost as we rebuild our schools, atheist pilots have even offered their services as home tutors. (Using kitchen magnets, the girl is corrected when she tries to conclude her human evolution chart with a butterfly. The pilot pulls it off and puts Mr Magoo in its place.) Careful, men, we don't want our students to know more than their teachers!
(A mass.)
With their mission accomplished, the former iconoclasts have erected a new temple where we can all belong. (Atheist soldiers flee their seats in the congregation when the priest holds up the cross with both hands.)
(A rec room. A soldier, engrossed in a video game, is tapped on the shoulder from behind by a child in pyjamas and reminded of the hour.)
You can do your part in the reconstruction by putting one up in your home. (He submissively lies down on the ping-pong table and pulls a blanket over himself.) Help them help us, and lay a cinder block of redemption today!
Myself: At a time like this, those who know the enemy language play a vital role as translators. Ladies and gentlemen, having just arrived directly from the peace talks, one such person is Elgin Frazier! (Applause. Enter Frazier.) So what's the final word? Don't hold us in suspense.
Frazier: An agreement has been reached. Peace is secured. (Wild cheers all around.) Now we must embark upon the arduous task of rebuilding, and try to get a good head start on the winter.
Myself: Did we lose anything?
Frazier: We almost lost you.
Myself: How could we do that?
Frazier: We were going to trade you for a small island chain in the Southwest Pacific. You've become quite valuable.
Myself: I have?
Frazier: Yes, and that took guts, sticking your neck out for your country like that. The enemy certainly noticed you. But don't worry, it was just an idea.
Myself: That's a relief.
Frazier: And I'm sure you don't have to worry about their warrant for your arrest as a war criminal.
Myself: For doing a show?
Frazier: They didn't like it.
Myself: Well, I certainly hope I can make it up to them. Maybe they'll like the imagery of my latest music video. Anyway, Elgin Frazier, folks! (Applause.) Placating music coming right up.
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