"Papa's Coming Home!"

A short play by Scott McCarrey

A one-room shack in the dead of winter. MORDECHAI and BARNABY sit at a table playing cards. GERTRUDE lies in bed reading.

MOREDCHAI: Barnaby? Do you have any... sevens?
BARNABY: No! Go fish!

The boys throw their hands in the air with glee.

MORDECHAI & BARNABY: Yaaaay!

MORDECHAI takes a card from the deck.

BARNABY: Do you have any... kings?
MORDECHAI: I do not! Go fish!

The boys throw their hands in the air with glee.

MORDECHAI & BARNABY: Yaaaay!

BARNABY takes a card from the deck.

MORDECHAI: Do you have any... threes?

GERTRUDE sits up in bed.

GERTRUDE: Mordechai! You know we sold all the threes last winter to pay for Alluicious’ tuberculosis medicine.


MORDECHAI: (sadly) Oh yeah...


The boys look down solemnly for a few moments.

BARNABY: So... go fish!

Instantly happy again, the boys throw their hands in the air with glee.

MORDECHAI & BARNABY: Yaaaay!

MARIETTA bursts in, breathless.

MARIETTA: Mordechai! Barnaby! Gertrude! You’ll never guess what I’ve just seen!
MORDECHAI: A bear!
BARNABY: A dancing bear!
GERTRUDE: A chimney!
MARIETTA: Even better! I was stalking a squirrel of moderate size with the hope of killing, skinning, and broiling it for dinner...
BARNABY: It would be nice to eat this month!
MARIETTA: ...when I noticed a tall, dark figure ambling down the dirt road
that leads out of town.
GERTRUDE: Who was it, Marietta?
MORDECHAI & BARNABY: (bouncing up and down) Who was it? Who was it?
MARIETTA: Well... I couldn’t quite tell. So I squinted really hard... and I noticed the gentleman’s unmistakably inebriated gait. Which can only mean one thing... Papa is coming home!
MORDECHAI & BARNABY: (bouncing up and down) Papa! Papa!
GERTRUDE: Oh no! This is place is a mess! You know how Papa detests poverty! We’ve got to clean up or it will be years before he comes back!
MARIETTA: I’ll get the broom!
GERTRUDE: I’ll put away my book!
MORDECHAI: I’ll put away the cards!
BARNABY: I’ll help put away the cards!

The children scurry into simultaneous movement. GERTRUDE slides her book under the bed. MARIETTA grabs a broom next to the door and sweeps back and forth. MORDECHAI and BARNABY both carry the stack of cards to the cabinet and put them away. The whole thing takes, maybe, ten seconds.

MARIETTA: (looking out the window) Papa’s here!
GERTRUDE: Phew! Just in the nick of time.

PAPA bursts through the door. He is a mustachioed man who wears a top hat, coat, and scarf, and leans heavily on a can due to his staggering drunkenness.

CHILDREN: PAPA!
PAPA: (sniffing the air) Smells like broiled squirrel in here.

The children look off, as if envisioning their wildest dreams.

MARIETTA: If only...
PAPA: Hey there, gang! How’re my favorite illegitimate children?
MORDECHAI: Well... we’re all very hungry. And some of us are quite sick.
PAPA: (laughs heartily) You crack my shit up, Jimmy.
MORDECHAI: Mordechai.
PAPA: (confidential aside to MARIETTA) Gay name. (to everyone) Hang on a sec... didn’t there used to be more of you?
MORDECHAI: Yes, quite a few more.
PAPA: Well, where are they?
GERTRUDE: (launching into oft-recited list) Alfred died of tuberculosis, Naomi died of measles, Alluicious died of tuberculosis, Oliver died of smallpox, Jeremiah died of tuberculosis, Friedrich died of tuberculosis, Muriel died of tuberculosis, Elijah and Willhelm were eaten by wolves, Loudon was placed in a state work camp, and Nikita was adopted by a kindly stranger...
PAPA: Really?
GERTRUDE: ...with whom she lived for a week before dying of tuberculosis.
PAPA: Damn, ain’t that always the way?
GERTRUDE: Increasingly, yes.
BARNABY: Papa! To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?
MARIETTA: Are you taking us to see our Mama?
PAPA: Your Mama? HA! Well, Sally, that would mean a trip to at least three brothels and--I think--one haberdashery.
BARNABY: (looking to MORDECHAI) Ha-buh...?
PAPA: They make shoes, Billy.
MORDECHAI: I used to have shoes. Then I sold them for some gruel.
MARIETTA: That was really good gruel, Mordechai.
BARNABY: Really good.
MORDECHAI: Thanks, you guys.
PAPA: (snapping fingers) Hey. Heads in the game, folks. Here’s the skinny: how would you like to do Papa a solid?
GERTRUDE: A what?
PAPA: As you know your Mama... Mamas... and I made a conscious decision, which was in no way influenced by bourbon or methamphetamine, to have a big family. Now, could I have used protection? Of course. But you see children, (pointing upward) God has a plan.
MARIETTA: What plan is that?
PAPA: It’s not for me to say. Apparently it involves tuberculosis and a lack of footwear, so far. But here’s the thing: you kids are here for a reason. And, sure, it’s taken me a decade or so to figure out what the reason is, but today it dawned on me. How would you kids like to be in show business?
MORDECHAI: Wow!
MARIETTA: Show business?
GERTRUDE: Really?
BARNABY: I don’t know what that means!
PAPA: That’s the spirit! Turns out, your Papa owes a lot of money to some not-so-nice gentlemen who (laughing) somehow seem to find him no matter where he moves or how many times he changes his name. So it looks like the only way to get around this is to pony up some money and pay off Papa’s debts.
MORDECHAI: How, Papa?
PAPA: That’s actually why I’ve come here. (a beat) You kids don’t maybe have a little coin stashed away somewhere, do you? Little rainy-day pan-handling scratch?
BARNABY: (confused) We... haven’t eaten in a month...
PAPA: Ah! I’m just yankin’ your chain, Smitty! I can’t believe you actually fell for that! (a beat) Seriously though, not even a few bucks?

The children stare at him blankly.

PAPA: Well, no biggie. ‘Cause, fortunately, your old man has come up with a pretty sweet idea. We are going to travel the countryside putting on an old-fashioned Vaudeville show! Comedy! Singing! The whole nine yards! Whaddya think?
MARIETTA: That’s a splendid idea! I can dance the galliard, and Gertrude can recite poems by Emily Dickinson, and the boys can sing songs...

MORDECHAI and BARNABY launch into “The More We Get Together” while MARIETTA and GERTRUDE clap a beat.

MORDECHAI & BARNABY: (singing) THE MORE WE GET TOGETHER, TOGETHER, TOGETHER...
PAPA: Stop...
MORDECHAI & BARNABY: THE MORE WE GET TOGETHER, THE HAPPIER WE’LL BE...
PAPA: Stop it...
MORDECHAI & BARNABY: ‘CAUSE YOUR FRIENDS ARE MY FRIENDS AND MY FRIENDS ARE YOUR FRIENDS--
PAPA: JESUS CHRIST THAT IS AWFUL!

The children stop abruptly and stare at their father.

PAPA: Don’t... do that... anymore. Actually, you kids will not be on stage at all.
MARIETTA: But, you said--
PAPA: I said we were going to put on a vaudeville show, and when I said “we” I meant “me” because clearly when I proffered my seed to all those whores-slash-cobblers it included none of my talent genes. I will do the singing, dancing, comedy shtick while you kids roam around the audience picking the fattest pockets you can find.
MORDECHAI: That’s... not exactly show business.
PAPA: What are you talking about? Thieving is the oldest form of show business!
BARNABY: But I don’t know how to pick pockets!
PAPA: Easiest thing in the world! Come on over here, let Daddy teach ya.

BARNABY approaches PAPA tentatively.

PAPA: Now... pretend I’m an unobservant bystander, and you’re you.
BARNABY: And... what do I do?
PAPA: Just reach into my pocket and take what’s in there. Ready? Go.

PAPA whistles a tune and looks around, playing the part of the bystander. BARNABY reaches into PAPA’s side coat pocket and pulls out a half-empty bottle of liquor.

PAPA: Whoops! Forgot about that. Let’s give it another shot.

PAPA puts the bottle inside his coat. BARNABY reaches into the side pocket again and produces a leopard-print bra. He discards it, reaches his hand in again and takes out a pair of fuzzy handcuffs. He discards them, reaches in once more and pulls out a big pink dildo. BARNABY begins to cry.

MARIETTA: What is that?
BARNABY: I DON’T KNOW BUT I HATE IT.

PAPA looks down to see his son holding the marital aid.

PAPA: Hey now! This, uh... must be the wrong coat.

He gathers the various items and stuffs them back into his pockets.

MORDECHAI: We’re going to have another little brother or sister soon, aren’t we?
PAPA: I’m not ruling it out. Kids, let me level with you. I don’t have to tell you, I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. Hell, four of them are right here in this room. As it stands I’m flat broke, on the lam due to unpaid gambling debts, and possibly wanted for manslaughter.
GERTRUDE: Manslaughter?
PAPA: I have these blackouts, and when I wake up, I’m almost always operating farm equipment. Damnedest thing. The point is, even though I lack so much, there’s one thing I do have. (a beat) A family.
MARIETTA: Do you really mean that?
PAPA: I do... and that also means I have a safe-house to kind of lay low in for a few weeks. You kids don’t mind, do ya?
MORDECHAI: This is great! You can play Go Fish with Barnaby and me!
MORDECHAI & BARNABY: Yaaaay!
PAPA: Right-on, Cecil. But before we do, how’d you like to run into town and score Papa another bottle of hooch?
MORDECHAI: But... you’ve already got one in your coat.
PAPA: Oh, don’t worry. I’ll tap that bad boy before you’re halfway back, believe you me. Now gather round, my children. Come give your Papa a big hug.

The children hug PAPA closely.

PAPA: Not so close that I can smell you.

The children move their bodies as far away as possible while still hugging their arms around PAPA.

PAPA: There ya go.