The Year of the Sex Olympics and other TV Plays by Nigel Kneale Page A
Authors: Nigel Kneale
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that word.
BROCK : Haunt?
EDDIE : Yes.
MAUDSLEY : It blows Eddie’s mind.
EDDIE : It gets in the way. Like the jokey talk.
MAUDSLEY : Saw a ghost eating toast
Halfway up a lamp post!
EDDIE (rounding on him) : Shut up!
The tension has thickened.
BROCK : Eddie’s right. Let’s cut out all the loaded words. Ghost . . . spook . . . apparition . . . phantom.
EDDIE : Supernatural.
BROCK : Yes, that’s a beauty. Spectre . . . wraith . . . spirit.
HARGRAVE : Like a rollcall.
BROCK : This isn’t a little shade that couldn’t get into heaven because the pearly gates were shut. It’s something else, something interesting.
A tiny silence.
JILL : You don’t want her to be alive.
EDDIE : Do you think it is?
JILL : No.
EDDIE : Well, then—
JILL : I might be wrong.
BROCK : Is anybody religious?
JILL : I don’t mean that. Just—respect. For her, I suppose.
MAUDSLEY : Old Louisa?
JILL : She wasn’t old, she was nineteen.
Brock gives her a long hard look.
BROCK : You’ve demolished her! I know you, love, I know how your mind works. You’re on the track of something that serves her up as a very dry dish indeed—and you feel funny about it. Come on. Give!
JILL (hesitantly) : It’s just the first rough model. (She flips a switch. A wide coil of paper chatters and spills from the line printer) I took the sudden coldness as basic. A temperature drop of at least three degrees or we wouldn’t notice it.
EDDIE : Fair enough.
JILL : Taking the volume of air in that room—and varying times from ten to ninety seconds—what we get is a power flow between 20 and 200 kilowatts a minute.
EDDIE : A heat pump.
STEW : A furnace in reverse!
Brock studies the print-out.
JILL : Peter you see what’s coming out there? Heat drawn rapidly from the surroundings and concentrated.
EDDIE : Ionisation?
BROCK : Hot spots forming in the air.
EDDIE : Like—fireballs.
BROCK : Converting into other forms of energy—sound waves—light . . . (doubtfully) It’d be quite a process. Crude energy forming itself into regular, recognisable patterns. I don’t know . . .
EDDIE : Let’s make a practical start. Search for these—hot spots, see if they exist.
STEW (amused) : Hot spots.
MAUDSLEY : Ay, ay, Eddie.
DOW : Dirty old man.
EDDIE (eagerly) : We’ve got heat sensors—we can do it. Two stages—a wide scan, then home in. It’s the crossover stage—we can improvise there— (Already on the move, he turns impatiently) Come on, then!
DOW (as he follows) : Hot spots.
MAUDSLEY : Carry me to the Kasbah.
Jill watches them go.
JILL : Well, Eddie buys it . . .
INSIDE THE STORAGE ROOM – DAY
A thermograph detector is being slowly panned on a tripod by Maudsley. Eddie and the others are setting up black boxes improvised out of used canteen containers, with trailing wire and small lamps sprouting. Eddie places one on the top step.
EDDIE : Early warning. Any quick temperature change—this lamp comes on. Half a dozen altogether, that should cover the—
Turning to point the others out to Brock, standing below, he nearly slips off the worn steps.
BROCK : Watch it!
EDDIE (steadying himself) : Following in Louisa’s footsteps!
BROCK : One’s enough . . .
INSIDE THE LABORATORY
Stew and Jill are working slowly through a data routine.
STEW : I don’t buy it either. I’ve never felt cold in there.
Jill breaks off and swivels to face him.
JILL : Never once?
STEW : Not a goose-pimple.
JILL : But—you’re skinny. You’re a natural shiverer.
STEW : Yeah. Wrap up warm, Stew, me mum always says. (He frowns at his work) Struck another bug.
JILL : Okay. Re-run.
Stew presses keys. The teleprinter starts typing out its data so far. Brock comes in.
BROCK : How’s it going? Trying more variables?
JILL : There are some we missed.
BROCK : Such as?
JILL : The strength of people’s reactions.
BROCK : To it?
JILL : Everybody’s is different. One hears hardly at all. Why?
BROCK : It’s what you’d expect.
BROCK : Haunt?
EDDIE : Yes.
MAUDSLEY : It blows Eddie’s mind.
EDDIE : It gets in the way. Like the jokey talk.
MAUDSLEY : Saw a ghost eating toast
Halfway up a lamp post!
EDDIE (rounding on him) : Shut up!
The tension has thickened.
BROCK : Eddie’s right. Let’s cut out all the loaded words. Ghost . . . spook . . . apparition . . . phantom.
EDDIE : Supernatural.
BROCK : Yes, that’s a beauty. Spectre . . . wraith . . . spirit.
HARGRAVE : Like a rollcall.
BROCK : This isn’t a little shade that couldn’t get into heaven because the pearly gates were shut. It’s something else, something interesting.
A tiny silence.
JILL : You don’t want her to be alive.
EDDIE : Do you think it is?
JILL : No.
EDDIE : Well, then—
JILL : I might be wrong.
BROCK : Is anybody religious?
JILL : I don’t mean that. Just—respect. For her, I suppose.
MAUDSLEY : Old Louisa?
JILL : She wasn’t old, she was nineteen.
Brock gives her a long hard look.
BROCK : You’ve demolished her! I know you, love, I know how your mind works. You’re on the track of something that serves her up as a very dry dish indeed—and you feel funny about it. Come on. Give!
JILL (hesitantly) : It’s just the first rough model. (She flips a switch. A wide coil of paper chatters and spills from the line printer) I took the sudden coldness as basic. A temperature drop of at least three degrees or we wouldn’t notice it.
EDDIE : Fair enough.
JILL : Taking the volume of air in that room—and varying times from ten to ninety seconds—what we get is a power flow between 20 and 200 kilowatts a minute.
EDDIE : A heat pump.
STEW : A furnace in reverse!
Brock studies the print-out.
JILL : Peter you see what’s coming out there? Heat drawn rapidly from the surroundings and concentrated.
EDDIE : Ionisation?
BROCK : Hot spots forming in the air.
EDDIE : Like—fireballs.
BROCK : Converting into other forms of energy—sound waves—light . . . (doubtfully) It’d be quite a process. Crude energy forming itself into regular, recognisable patterns. I don’t know . . .
EDDIE : Let’s make a practical start. Search for these—hot spots, see if they exist.
STEW (amused) : Hot spots.
MAUDSLEY : Ay, ay, Eddie.
DOW : Dirty old man.
EDDIE (eagerly) : We’ve got heat sensors—we can do it. Two stages—a wide scan, then home in. It’s the crossover stage—we can improvise there— (Already on the move, he turns impatiently) Come on, then!
DOW (as he follows) : Hot spots.
MAUDSLEY : Carry me to the Kasbah.
Jill watches them go.
JILL : Well, Eddie buys it . . .
INSIDE THE STORAGE ROOM – DAY
A thermograph detector is being slowly panned on a tripod by Maudsley. Eddie and the others are setting up black boxes improvised out of used canteen containers, with trailing wire and small lamps sprouting. Eddie places one on the top step.
EDDIE : Early warning. Any quick temperature change—this lamp comes on. Half a dozen altogether, that should cover the—
Turning to point the others out to Brock, standing below, he nearly slips off the worn steps.
BROCK : Watch it!
EDDIE (steadying himself) : Following in Louisa’s footsteps!
BROCK : One’s enough . . .
INSIDE THE LABORATORY
Stew and Jill are working slowly through a data routine.
STEW : I don’t buy it either. I’ve never felt cold in there.
Jill breaks off and swivels to face him.
JILL : Never once?
STEW : Not a goose-pimple.
JILL : But—you’re skinny. You’re a natural shiverer.
STEW : Yeah. Wrap up warm, Stew, me mum always says. (He frowns at his work) Struck another bug.
JILL : Okay. Re-run.
Stew presses keys. The teleprinter starts typing out its data so far. Brock comes in.
BROCK : How’s it going? Trying more variables?
JILL : There are some we missed.
BROCK : Such as?
JILL : The strength of people’s reactions.
BROCK : To it?
JILL : Everybody’s is different. One hears hardly at all. Why?
BROCK : It’s what you’d expect.
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