THE BRAIN EATERS

The Brain Eaters


ACT ONE. Walter Murneau, a husky man in his late fifties, is gathering hay near
The open entrance of a barn. Inside the barn are visible several neatly stacked bales of
hay. Walter rakes contently, the country gentleman. Suddenly his neck arches back in
a dramatic fashion and some unseen force bends his entire body backward. A loud
and frightening sucking sound accompanies this action. Walter drops the rake. He
screams. He gyrates as if in the grip of an implacable force. This continues for a
considerable time. Then Walter falls dead on the ground.


ACT TWO. The Murneau menage. Felicia and Nicky are alone onstage
desultorily examining the decor.

FELICIA: Aren't mother's radishes astonishing, Nicky. How
on earth does she get them to grow so big?

NICKY: All your mother's produce seems to be hyperen-
larged this year. It's uncanny.

FELICIA: Funny. Dad never really cared for this place. He
said it gave him the creeps. And then he drops dead in
the back yard.

NICKY: He certainly left behind a lot of paperwork.

FELICIA: Death usually does. I wonder what Lester and his
. . . friend are doing.

NICKY: Good question.

FELICIA: I hope Clarice isn't too decked out by grief to fix
lunch.

NICKY: Where's the cook run off to?

FELICIA: Strange to tell, the cook went off on her bicycle
last week for a leg of goat and never returned. Kind of
makes you wonder.

[Enter Clem, a strapping and unusually beautiful youth. He has nothing of the fresh naivete of youth but is, all the same, irresistably comely, and the others are constantly stealing desirous glances at him, which he seems utterly unaware of.]

FELICIA: There you are, Clem.

CLEM: Just been to the village, Mrs. Pithy.

FELICIA: Now Clem there's no need to Mrs. Pithy me. Af-
ter all, we go way back.

NICKY: And how is everything in the village, Clem?

CLEM: There's been a lot of talk.

FELICIA: There's always a lot of talk.

CLEM: Vet says there's some strange cases of horse disease.

FELICIA: Doc Mapplethorpe doesn't change. He's always
finding strange cases of horse disease.

NICKY: What is horse disease, anyway?

FELICIA: Well, you've heard of equine encephalitis. Attacks
the brain.

CLEM: According to Doc Mapplethorpe things are a little
more complicated.

[Clarice enters with freshly cut flowers which she places in a vase. ]

CLARICE: Felicia, Nicky. I'm so glad you're up. Arthur
Miller's on his way by here with some astounding medi-
cal news.

FELICIA [to Nicky]: Arthur Miller's the county pathologist.
He's quite a media favorite.

CLEM: Horse disease.

FELICIA: Just did the autopsy on dad.

CLARICE: Did you say something, Clem?

CLEM: Nothing much.

CLARICE: Oh, good.

NICKY: We were just admiring your radishes, Clarice.

CLARICE: Aren't they odd? They're getting as big as pineapples.

FELICIA: They're certainly burgeoning.

NICKY: It's practically unnatural.

CLEM: Horse disease.

FELICIA: Haven't we got a one-track mind this morning.

[Enter Andy, rubbing his eyes, in terry cloth robe. ]

CLARICE: If it isn't Andy. Did you sleep well?

ANDY: Like a dream. I adore the way you've done that room.

CLARICE: It was Walter's favorite room. His pathologist will
be here any minute.

NICKY: Will Arthur Miller be staying for lunch?

FELICIA: I could help.

CLEM: Horse disease.

CLARICE: That reminds me--

FELICIA: Hungry, Andy?

NICKY [winks]: Or aren't you the morning type?

ANDY: Not especially, though I could eat.

CLARICE: Clem, why not make yourself useful.

NICKY: I need to stretch my legs.

FELICIA: Good idea. [To Andy:] Is Lester going to sleep all
day?

ANDY: You'd have to ask him that.

CLARICE: Rock Cornish game hens would suit me fine.

FELICIA: I could go for some salad myself.

CLARICE: If you could pick out a head of lettuce, Clem,
and root out some fresh dill. And three tomatoes and
some asparagus.

NICKY: Now you're talking.

ANDY: Have you ever thought about track lighting, Clarice?

CLARICE: Oh, I despair of ever doing anything.

FELICIA: Mother may very well sell the farm. She could cer-
tainly fetch more with improvements.

[Doorbell rings. ]

CLARICE: That must be Arthur Miller now.

FELICIA: Oh dear. I'm not prepared for the medical profes-
sion just this minute.

[Clarice answers the door. Mrs. Fothergill enters, a middle aged lady
in a beekeeper's full outfit. ]

CLARICE: Mrs. Fothergill what a vision of loveliness. Are
the bees still acting funny?

FOTHERGILL: That depends on your sense of humor, Clarice.

CLARICE: Oh, I don't have one.

FOTHERGILL: Well, dear, what you lack in joviality you
certainly make up for in wardrobe. That sundress of yours
says everything.

CLARICE: A kind remark, Mrs. Fothergill, and thoroughly
predictable as usual. Ginger tea or something stronger?

FOTHERGILL: Plain gin would whet my whistle for the up-
coming afternoon, Clarice. Why Felicia. How long has
it been?

FELICIA: A Biblical span if I'm not mistaken Mrs. Fother-
gill. You know my husband, Nicky Pithy?

CLARICE: Clem, the lettuce.

[Clem exits.]

CLARICE: Fothergill, a gimlet?

FOTHERGILL: I wouldn't say no.

[Exit Clarice in search of gin.]

NICKY: We met once in the course of a blizzard, I believe.

FELICIA: And this is Andy. Andy . . .

ANDY: Adler. Like the harmonica player.

FELICIA: Adier, of course. Lester's current friend.

FOTHERGILL: It's my pleasure all the way around.

FELICIA: What's all this about the bees behaving strangely,
Mrs. Fothergill.

FOTHERGILL: It's a long story.

NICKY: We're all ears, Mrs. Fothergill.

FOTHERGILL: Well, Nicky, bees dance, as you've probably
heard. The motion of their flight signals the location of
pollen and the whole ritual is quite intricate. They trans-
mit detailed information as to quantity, quality, and the
omnipresent predators who lurk about the flowers.

[Enter Lester, from outside. He carries several paper bags. ]

LESTER: I see we have a full house.

ANDY: We thought you were still sleeping.

LESTER: Hardly. Been up since dawn. Perambulated to the
village and bought a few necessaries. [He begins taking
things from the bags. ] Gillette disposables. Shaving cream.
A non-ozone depleting deodorant. Time magazine. Pep-
permint patties.

NICKY: Pretty enterprising, Lester.

FELICIA: Lester's a natural resource.

LESTER: Mrs. Fothergill, still busy with the bees?

FOTHERGILL: Bees are my business, Lester. Honey doesn't
grow on trees.

LESTER: Right you are, Fothergill. Who wants sap on their
rye biscuits.

ANDY: You might've asked me to join you. I'd like to take
in some of the scenery.

FELICIA: Oh, Andy, our part of the world isn't what any-
one would call scenic.

FOTHERGILL: Oh, I disagree. It's still hills and dales around
here as far as the naked eye can see.

FELICIA: Posh. People've been moving out in droves since
that meldown, and I ought to know.

ANDY: Lester tells me you're implicated in real estate, Felicia.

FOTHERGILL: As far as that goes Felicia's our local miracle
worker. She's managed to sell the old Bentham place for
a small fortune and the Bentham place has a curse on it.

FELICIA: Yes and to nice respectable people, too—that ele-
gant Dr. Tarnower and his dashing assistant. But the Ben-
tham sale was a fluke. All in all since the meltdown hardly
anyone wants to live around here.

LESTER: You're too modest, Felicia. I'm certain you could
unload a duplex in hell as part of a tropical paradise.

FELICIA: Perhaps, if the mortgage were reasonable.

NICKY: I'm due for a walk.

[Enter Clarice.]

CLARICE: Nicky, don't run off! Arthur Miller's coming up
the drive.

FOTHERGILL: Arthur Miller's coming here? But I'm not
dressed.

ANDY: Don't be silly, you look dandy.

LESTER: He's just a pathologist, I don't see why you're all
jumping out of your skins about it.

CLARICE: In our little corner of the world, Lester, Dr. Miller
has a considerable cachet.

FELICIA: Besides, Lester, he's just determined the cause of
death.

LESTER: Oh, peachy.

FOTHERGILL: Poor Lester's overwrought with grief. A mother
can tell.

CLARICE: As we all are, I'm sure. Now where's Clem with
that lettuce I wonder.

[Doorbell rings.]

CLARICE [exiting]: I'm in the kitchen!

ANDY: Lester. Be nice.

FELICIA: That would make a change.

NICKY: How fascinating your work among the bees must
be, Mrs. Fothergill.

FOTHERGILL: It does have its points.

LESTER: Is anyone going to get the door?

NICKY: I'll do the honors.

LESTER: And Andy, I honestly don't think a bathrobe is the
Most appropriate garment in which to learn the cause of death
necessarily.

FELICIA: Oh, Lester, why be formal. We're all friends. Rela-
tives, anyway.

[Nicky answers the door, ushers Arthur Miller into the room. ]

FOTHERGILL [gushing]: Dr. Miller, there you are! We've been
half giddy with expectation.

FELICIA: Ice tea. Dr. Miller?

NICKY: Let me take your coat.

MILLER: I haven't got a coat on.

FOTHERGILL: See? He's already full of surprises. I can't wait
for the denouement!

MILLER: I wish you would all sit down. Let's stop standing
on ceremony.

FELICIA: Well we would, Dr. Miller, but you see . . . there's
no chairs.

NICKY: I can fix that!

LESTER [witheringly]: Why don't you?

[Exit Nicky. Enter Clem, with vegetables.]

CLEM: Look at the size of these tomatoes.

FOTHERGILL: Someone's got a green thumb!

LESTER: Dr. Miller, about my father's death.

ANDY: Lester, don't rush things, we're all just getting com-
fortable.

CLEM: Bigger and bigger every week. Same thing with the
parsnips.

FOTHERGILL: Dr. Miller, not to change the subject—

MILLER: What subject?

[Enter Clarice, wiping her hands with a dishcloth. ]

CLARICE: Dr. Miller, you're here! Those things belong in
the kitchen, Clem.

FELICIA: I know. I'll start the salad.

ANDY: Let me help you. I have

a way with vegetables.

FELICIA: Somehow I knew that.

[Exit Felicia and Andy. Enter Nicky with several folding chairs.}

NICKY: This should alleviate things.

LESTER: Or mitigate them, anyway.

FOTHERGILL: Clarice what a bustling household you've got
here. I envy your industry!

CLARICE: Piffle, Mrs. Fothergill, this is mere entropy com-
pared with your little beehive next door.

FOTHERGILL: Dr. Miller, that reminds me.

NICKY: Well, Dr. Miller? Clarice says you've uncovered
something.

MILLER: One usually does in the course of an autopsy.

CLARICE: But what, exactly? Walter was in the peak of trim
when he passed on.

MILLER: I couldn't agree more. He had the internal organs
of an organism half his age. We certainly were suprised
when we palpated the liver. The resilience of the kidneys
alone threw everyone in the lab for a loop.

NICKY: Then what on earth could have brought about his
untimely demise?

MILLER: You'll probably find this hard to believe.

LESTER: After all the buildup I should hope so.

MILLER [gravely]: Prepare yourselves for a shock.

[Everyone sits down in the folding chairs and braces himself, literal-
ly as if for a shock — they should all look like people sitting in
electric chairs. ]

LESTER: Maybe we should wait for Felicia. She likes being
startled.

CLARICE: Go ahead, Dr. Miller. I think we all realize how
unpleasant death can be.

MILLER: The cause of Walter's death was instantly appar-
ent to us. In fact the lack of mystery was almost over-
whelming.

FOTHERGILL: Really?

MILLER: At the same time, I've never witnessed anything
quite like what we saw when we . . .

LESTER: When you what, Dr. Miller?

MILLER: There's no delicate expression to cover this sit-
uation.

CLARICE: Then plunge ahead with an indelicate one, Dr.
Miller. My Cornish game hens will be incinerated if we
concern ourselves with elocution.

MILLER: In that case, may I say that when we opened up
your late husband, Mrs. Murneau, we were confronted
with a medical phenomenon unique in my long and fairly
distinguished career. What we saw seemed impossible
by any pathological yardstick.

CLARICE: Dr. Miller, are you trying to tell us there was
something special about my husband?

MILLER: The answer to that is yes and no, Mrs. Murneau.

[Felicia enters.]

FELICIA: I've thrown together the most scrumptious salad.

LESTER: You know, Felicia, Andy's allergic to onions.

MILLER: I don't know how to express this exactly, Mrs.
Murneau.

LESTER: Please try, anyway. We're all starving.

MILLER: Walter's brain was missing, Clarice.

CLARICE [giggles]: Oh, we all knew that.

FELICIA: It's true, he was absent minded.

MILLER: I don't mean that metaphorically.

NICKY: You mean to say the brain was literally gone?

MILLER [nods]: Along with the spinal cord.

CLARICE: I don't understand. He never complained of any
discomfort.

FELICIA: Dad was such a stoic. He probably was keeping
it to himself.

NICKY: But Dr. Miller, how long was Walter running
around brainless, do you suppose?

LESTER: Would he have even noticed the absence of his
brain? I mean, how would he know about it?

FOTHERGILL: What causes the brain to go like that, Dr.
Miller?

FELICIA: Imagine, he must have lost his mind without tell-
ing us a word about it.

CLARICE: He never so much as hinted. I suppose he was
sparing me.

MILLER: From all indications Walter never knew what hit
him.

CLARICE: You mean to say someone hit him? A brainless
man with no defenses?

MILLER: Someone or some thing. We still aren't entirely cer-
tain what it could have been.

FOTHERGILL [winks]: Oh, surely death keeps no secrets from a
coroner of your caliber, Dr. Miller.

MILLER: That's usually true, Mrs. Fothergill. But in this instance
we're dealing with the inexplicable.

CLARICE [brightly]: Even if you can't supply a satisfactory medical
analysis I do hope you'll stay for lunch, Dr. Miller. My hens will be
ready in no time.

FOTHERGILL: I think cocktails would perk us all up after
this tragic news.

CLARICE: In all the excitement I forget your gimlet, Fothergill. Anyone else for gin?

ACT THREE. The kitchen. Clem and Andy. Clem is paring carrots while Andy sprinkles dill on the already prepared salad. Andy watches Clem with obvious interest. A Verdi aria plays loudly for the first carrot or two.

ANDY: Clem…

CLEM: (to himself) Damned horse disease. Never liked horses in the
first place. Spread their spongiform prions or whatever, then go galloping off without as little as a by-your-leave.

ANDY: (more loudly and pointedly) Clem?

CLEM: I can hear you, I ain't deaf. Not yet anyway. Probably go deaf
the minute you get horse disease.

ANDY: Leaving aside the subject of horse disease for a moment, I wanted to ask you--

CLEM: (a trace of suspicion) Ask me what.

ANDY: How long have you worked for the Murneaus?

CLEM: (ruminatively) Must be going on seven years now. I was nineteen when they took me on. Went to sea at the ripe age of fourteen, passing for twenty christ only knows how.

ANDY: (with the faintest suggestion of personal interest) You must have been quite a hit with the ladies when you were a sailor.

CLEM: (nods) Yeah, I won't deny that. Some people are born with brains, some people get the beauty. (pause) Don't think people with physicality don't know it. I got very little vanity but take my word for it, you get a face like mine and nicknames like Donkey Dick all your life you'd be more vain to pretend you're in the dark about it. Fat load of good it does you in the end, either. I used to think I got the long end of the stick, but bodily allure don't buy you a loaf of bread.

ANDY: Neither does having brains necessarily.

CLEM: Yeah, some people can't play the cards they're holding no matter what hand they're dealt. In this world you've gotta push. You've gotta thrust. No matter what your assets are there's always somebody with more of them than you've got and if they have that push--

ANDY: (almost swooning for a second) That thrust--

CLEM; It's capitalism makes this human race behave like sharks smelling blood in the water. Ever see a school of sharks in a feeding frenzy?

ANDY; No but I think I take your meaning.

CLEM: They chomp down big chunks of anything while the sea churns around them, even pieces of themselves they think is a different shark.

ANDY: I take it you went to sea when you did your National Service.

CLEM: National Service my arsehole, those bloodsucking ruling class scum never snagged me in their filthy dragnet. Drank a quart of cow's blood and a ten pence squirter of iodine two hours before the physical. Did the Merchant Marine malarky for a while, worked on a cod trawler heaving buckets of chum and what have you into that freezing interminable endlessness of salt-stinking H2O. After that, five months as a lubricator on an oil rig.

Finished with their vegetable distractions, the two men fish cigarettes from their pockets. Andy lights his with a match, and moves close to Clem to hold the flame; Clem steadies the match by gripping Andy's hand. They then face each other across a wooden food preparation "island" in the center of the kitchen.

CLEM: I got a gift for lubrication. It's a skill. Never apply too much and never use too little. Oil rigs run like clockwork. Gotta keep pumping that crude with a steady rhythm, you ain't in Texas out there, last thing you want is a gusher. Get a gusher you get a spill. All the hydraulics, all the drill bits and extraction lines, it's all gotta slide in and out with the right amount of friction, when you're lubricating on one of them things you've gotta keep your eyes on the whole operation every minute.

ANDY: (alert to the double entendres embedded in Clem's discourse, nevertheless changes the subject.) Clem, I have to ask you. What do you think really happened to Walter?

CLEM: (his back to Andy as he peeks into several pots simmering on the electrical range) Walter's not the first.

ANDY: Not the first what?

CLEM: Not the first to go that way, his brain eaten and all. Not the second, either. Might be the third or the fourth hereabouts. They’ve got to keep it quiet, see. The authorities. Something’s in the woodwork and they don’t want the working class or even your group of elevated scum to look to closely at it.

ANDY: I’ve always hated that chair rail in the living room.

CLEM; Chair rail my arse, it’s got nothing to do with it. It’s these squidlike things that suck right into your neck bone and ingest the brain and spinal cord. Don’t take my word for it. Ask the Widder Milligram down Ramada Inn Road what’s what with these damned spinal suckers. She seen it, all right? Right with her own eye.

ANDY: Gosh, that’s right, she’s only got one eye.

CLEM: Yeah, and that one she can see with real sharp, like. They hold meetings down her place. The ones what know. The ones with any brains in the first place, that is.

(to be continued)