A Summer Playlet
SCENE: The Office of Camp Lejeune’s Commander,
General Inane Beef. Time: Circa August of 1953 through December 1987.
At rise, Marine
Private Dewy Cheatham stands before the General Beef’s desk. Beef’s hand rests
on the metal desktop. It is a cold, hard, and gleams in the in the daylight sun
from a recent spit polish. So does the desktop. Beef pulls a kid leather glove
onto his shining hand, as if embarrassed by its opulence, and clears his
throat.
Beef: (sitting
back down in his swivel chair) What do you want, Private?
Dewy: (standing
at attention) May I sit, sir?
Beef: No! My father’s
name is ‘Sit’. I work for a living. You call me ‘sir’, Private. Is that clear?
Dewy: Yes, sir.
Beef: Now, what is
it?
Dewy: May I be frank,
sir?
Beef: As long as
you call me ‘sir’.
Frank: Thank you,
sir.
Sir: Don’t mention
it. Now what do you want?
Frank: Well, sir… It’s
the water, sir?
Sir: Can’t swim?
Don’t worry. We’ll beat that out of you.
Frank: No, sir. It’s
the drinking water.
Sir: Not getting enough?
Have all you want. It’s free. Comes right out the tap. The pipe runs right over
to a lake or something, right behind the ammo dump.
Frank: Um, no, sir.
It’s the taste.
Sir: The taste?
What taste? Water doesn’t taste like anything.
Frank: Ideally,
sir, yes, but the water here has an odd taste to it.
Sir: Odd? How so?
Frank: It’s hard to
describe, sir. I’m not a medical man, but if I were to guess, I’d say it taste
like adult leukemia.
Sir: Excuse me?
Frank: The water
tastes like adult leukemia, sir.
Sir: (curtly)
I see.
Frank: Well, not
every day, sir, just –
Sir: (cutting
him off) It’s very simple, Private. Just drink the water on the days that
it doesn’t taste like adult leukemia. Problem solved.
Frank: Yes sir, it’s
just that… on the days it doesn’t taste like adult leukemia it tastes like
bladder cancer, sir.
Sir: (standing
up) Bladder cancer! Well, that’s serious.
Frank: Yes sir,
that’s why I thought I’d bring it to your attention.
Sir: Well, I’m glad
you did. (into the intercom) Corporal, get in here.
Intercom: (off
stage) Yes sir!
Sir: We’ll get to
the bottom of this, I’ll tell you what.
Frank: Thank you,
sir.
(Lance Corporal Lance Corporeal enters. He is a
stunningly beautiful man, as most men named ‘Lance’ are.)
Lance: Sir?
Sir: Corporal, this
Private tells me the water at Camp LeJeune taste like adult leukemia.
Lance:
Fiddlesticks, sir.
Sir: It taste like
Fiddlesticks?
Lance: No sir, I’m
saying the Private is full of hooey. The water here at Camp Lejeune has a bit
of a Parkinson’s disease aftertaste to it, but it’s not so bad.
Sir: Parkinson’s?
Well, that’s not so bad, is Private?
Frank: Well, sir, I
do taste the Parkinson’s, sir, but usually only on Wednesdays.
Sir: You’re saying
the taste is day specific?
Frank: Um, yes sir.
Mondays and Thursdays adult leukemia, Tuesdays bladder cancer, Parkinson’s on
Wednesday as the Corporal noted, Friday aplastic anemia and other myelodysplastic
syndromes, and Saturday is kidney cancer with a hit of non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.
Sir: Are you
forgetting something, Private?
Frank: Oh, sorry
sir. ‘Non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, sir’. Sir.
Sir: No, what does
the water taste like on Sunday?
Frank: Umm, water,
sir.
Sir: Well, there
you go. Fill your canteen on Sundays and make it last all week. Dismissed!
Frank: Thank you,
sir. I know you would have the answer.
(Frank and Lance head to the door)
Sir: And Corporal,
if anyone else bitches about the water, send them over to Viet Nam and let them
drink rainwater out of rice patty for a few months. They’ll be happy for a
little good old, all-America adult leukemia when they get home.
Lance: Yes sir.
(Frank and Lance exit as Sir removes his glove and
admires his shining hand again.)
CURTAIN
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