Southern Gothic Novel © by Frank Blocker …
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[LIGHTS
up, ACTOR enters carrying large book “The Reigns of Aberdeen”, opens it, and
begins to recite]
NARRATOR
“The Reigns of Aberdeen”, a novel in the
Southern gothic tradition.
Chapter One. “Viola's Orchestration”
Viola Haygood
stood shadowed behind the pillars of the Charles B. Evans Memorial Library, …
(looks
around, then throws the book aside and then himself up against the wall, as
VIOLA. From here out, he IS everyone)
Viola stood shadowed behind the pillars of the Charles B. Evans
Memorial Library, as she did every night for the past three weeks. The town square’s clock would soon strike
11:00 p.m. Bong! Bong!
Bong! She waited. Bong!
Bong!
Each night it happened: Bong!
The clock would chime.
(very
fast)
Bong! Bong! Bong!
Bong! Bong! .
Then? Footsteps. She peered around the white, marble columns
to see his silhouette – his dark hair reflecting a shadow on the Aberdeen
Baptist Church steeple in the moonlight.
VIOLA
Who is he? Who is this man who works
so late? ... Who stops off for a cool
one every Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday night at Big Otis’s Saloon?
NARRATOR
Viola struggled with the visions she had conjured.
VIOLA
He looks serious and handsome …
NARRATOR
She thought.
VIOLA
… but unassuming. Safely dangerous, yet spontaneous in a
quiet, lonely way. He must be shy. He must be everything that any girl would
ever want!! Ungh!
You’re 23 years old, Viola Haygood, for Pete’s sake, take a risk!
NARRATOR
She said aloud, but to no one, as she darted down the stairs to the
front door of Big Otis’s saloon. In safe distance, Viola’s footsteps followed
his.
She reached for the door
VIOLA
… the door he
touched just moments ago ...
NARRATOR
… but it snapped
back and hit her shoulder.
Thrown to the
sidewalk, she yelled out a noise that reflected her pain.
VIOLA
Shit!
NARRATOR
A silhouette appeared in the now open saloon door.
She knew the shape of this body, the hair blowing from
smoky air billowing out of the bar. But
his steel-gray eyes were all … brand … new to her.
VIOLA
It’s you!
MARK JULIUS
What?
VIOLA
Nothing! … I can’t believe I said that. So it was you in that doorway a moment ago?
MARK JULIUS
Not
exactly. It was him.
NARRATOR
He pointed to another man laying close on the sidewalk.
MARK JULIUS
Needed
flying lessons. Givin’ Big Otis
trash. Causin’ trouble.
VIOLA
And you ..., you threw out the trash?
MARK JULIUS
Big
Otis doesn’t deserve that. She’s a lady.
NARRATOR
According to town gossip, Big Otis grew up on the coast of Southern
Mississippi, working the docks to feed four brothers.
BIG OTIS
You all right out
here?
NARRATOR
Viola nodded.
BIG OTIS
Well, I’m big and I’m black, but I don’t
bite. C’mon in and set down over t’
here. I’ll gitcha somethin’ take the
pain right out that joint.
NARRATOR
Viola felt something on her scraped elbow. No longer pain, but a warm cloth, … a touch -- a sensation unlike
anything ever experienced before.
MARK JULIUS
Hope that helps. This
handkerchief’s all I got. Hold tight.
NARRATOR
He pressed her hand over the cloth.
Viola felt the chair shaking.
BIG OTIS
Here’s you somethin’ fo the pain.
(arms out holding liquor/glass)
NARRATOR
Viola snatched the scotch bottle with one hand, then threw the shot
into her mouth with the other.
BIG OTIS
I guess you all right, then.
Whoo! Sometimes people thinks
they jus’ do anythang, say anythang, act a fool comin’ into my place. But my family around here, they make sure
I’s treated with respect.
VIOLA
Uh-huh.
NARRATOR
But Viola wasn’t listening. The
handkerchief surmounted her pain.
VIOLA
(pressing handkerchief to elbow)
It smells like him. (turns to look for
him) Thank yo - … Where is he?
NARRATOR
She thought.
VIOLA
So shy! Is he thinking about
me? Am I going too fast?
(she starts to fall asleep, bumps elbow, Ow! More thoughts …)
What is this woman saying?
NARRATOR
Big Otis continued weaving homespun stories as the whiskey weighed heavy
in Viola’s eyes.
…
Chapter Two. “June Bug.”
A hush had settled on the streets of Aberdeen.
Bzzzz. Tink!
A June bug landed on the metal steps of the City’s water tower,
scratching its legs. Catching itself on
a patch of rust, it began to crawl upward.
Popping sounds of rubber tires on gravel filled the air as the Deputy
Sheriff’s patrol car rolled from the City Hall parking lot. Turning toward East Aberdeen on Highway 45,
the engine shifted and kicked into high gear.
A small, short screech - and the car sped onward through the flashing,
yellow traffic lights.
The June bug scrambled from one rusty patch to the next higher rusty
patch. It took flight, heading first
away from the banister, then back to it, landing a little higher each time
until the rooftops below looked the size of baseball cards.
Another set of headlights flickered off the chain-link fence and onto
the tower’s legs and belly. The passing
18-wheeler caused lights to swim across blue-green metal: a mirage of waves
shimmering across the belly of the tank.
…
As the sun broke through
her curtains, Viola’s eyes slowly opened to the morning. There was a smell of
bacon and the sound of crackling grease in the air.
DONNA
Viola! For the umpteenth time,
your breakfast is ready.
Her mother called from the kitchen.
Viola turned toward the windowsill where a June bug lay lifeless.
Attracted in by the lamp, then wanting back out to a moonlight beyond the
screen.
She reached under the blanket, searching for her memento, the one that
smelled of him. It had fallen from her
elbow. Gone.
DONNA
Come set yourself a place or I’ll throw all my hard work right into the
trash!
Viola flung open the door to her room, slamming the wall so hard that
her mother’s knick-knacks rocked back and forth in their case. She circled the kitchen then flew out the
door, into the yard, screaming.
VIOLA
MO-THER!
DONNA
(opening screen door)
What the heck’s got into you? Get in this house and leave the neighbors
some peace!
VIOLA
Where is it!?
DONNA
Where’s what, honey? What are you talkin’ about?
VIOLA
The handkerchief! My
handkerchief. Where is it? It was on my
arm when I went to sleep.
DONNA
Get a hold of yourself, Viola. It was disgusting and all full of blood
so I ‘bout threw it away.
VIOLA
Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhh! How could you
do that? It was mine!
DONNA
Let go of me. I didn’t throw it
away, I washed it. It’s in there right now with Jimmy’s overalls. You can hear
that dryer just a banging from out here, can’t you?
The screen door slammed opened.
Viola stumbled back into the yard.
VIOLA
(muffled)
It doesn’t smell like him anymore.
DONNA
What are you saying?
VIOLA
It doesn’t smell like him anymore.
Smells like . . ., like Jimmy’s overalls! Oh, Mama, what have you done?!
DONNA
I don’t know. What did I do?
VIOLA
You killed it. It doesn’t smell
like him!
DONNA
Killed what?
(studies her face, it dawns on her)
Is it because we live in a mobile home? Is that why you wanna be trash? I told you a thousand times if you let a man
have it he’s gonna keep on takin’ it till he gets you pregnant. Then he’ll just skip the hell out of town
‘cause you’s damaged goods.
Please do not tell me I have to deal with the
consequences. The next 20 years are
mine.
(squatting into an unladylike position by the end of this:)
Her mother stomped back into the house. Viola ignored the slamming of dishes as she fondled the stained
handkerchief. She brought it once again
to her nose, checking for traces.
