| (A young couple, late teens to early twenties. They are cuddling on the sofa, just making | |
| conversation.) | |
| Tracy | That was nice… |
| Bill | Mmmmm… Heaven. |
| (Slight pause.) | |
| Tracy | Bill? |
| Bill | Yes Tracy. |
| Tracy | D'you believe in the next world? |
| Bill | I don't even believe in this one. |
| Tracy | You know Heaven? |
| Bill | Yeah. |
| Tracy | I wonder what it's like? |
| Bill | Well, it's supposed to be -- you know -- angels and all. And sitting on clouds. And harps. Loads |
| of harps. | |
| Tracy | D'you suppose they have -- you know? |
| Bill | What? |
| Tracy | Well, sex. |
| Bill | Don't think angels has no -- er -- germitalia. |
| Tracy | Not the angels! The people. |
| Bill | Nah… it would get too crowded, see. When you think of all the millions of people. Too |
| crowded. | |
| Tracy | How big is it then? |
| Bill | Heaven? 'Bout the size of Hyde Park, I'd say. Maybe bigger. |
| Tracy | That big? |
| Bill | It's all sort of, like, fields and flowers and trees. That sort of thing. |
| Tracy | Nice… but how'd the plants grow… I mean, with their roots planted in clouds and so on? |
| Bill | They're special plants, Trace. Special…cloud-growing…. plants. |
| Tracy | I s'pose it rains a lot. With all them clouds. |
| Bill | Never rains, Trace. Never rains in Heaven. Always sunny. |
| Tracy | But the clouds -- |
| Bill | They only rain downwards. Not up. You won't be needing your Pac-a-Mac in Heaven. It's |
| weather control. | |
| Tracy | But the plants'll need water. |
| Bill | They'll have some sort of irritation system, won't they? Or gardeners. Yeah, they'll have |
| gardeners. With... really big… watering cans. | |
| Tracy | How d'you get in there, then? |
| Bill | Through the Pearly Gates. |
| Tracy | No! I mean, how do they decide? |
| Bill | Decide what? |
| Tracy | Who they let in. I mean, the people who've been very, very good -- |
| Bill | Your Saints, Cliff Richard and so on, yeah… |
| Tracy | -- and the clergymen. They get straight in, right? |
| Bill | Not that randy bugger up at St Whatsit's. He's had it away with half the women in the parish. |
| Tracy | And the people who've been really, really bad -- |
| Bill | Politicians, traffic wardens, Anthea Turner, yeah. |
| Tracy | Yeah. They all go -- |
| Bill | All the way to the basement. |
| Tracy | But how do they work it out for the rest of us? The ones in-between? |
| Bill | I see what you're driving at. Well -- there's got to be some sort of marking system, ain't |
| there? | |
| Tracy | Like when our Marlene passed her driving test. |
| Bill | Not quite, no. If I remember rightly, your Marlene passed her test on the back seat of a |
| Ford Mondeo in a lay-by just off the A38. | |
| Tracy | D'you reckon they ask you questions, like? |
| Bill | Got no need to. I mean, they know it already. Got it written down in a big book. |
| Tracy | How'd they know about you, then? |
| Bill | Well that's a bloody daft question, that is. How'd they know about you then? They're watching |
| us, ain't they? | |
| Tracy | Watching us? |
| Bill | Course they are. From the moment you're born. |
| Tracy | What, all the time? |
| Bill | Yeah. |
| Tracy | Even when you go to the loo? |
| Bill | Yeah. |
| Tracy | You mean, there's no privacy? |
| Bill | Not from them up there. Remember when you nicked that compact disc from Woolies? All |
| on video, up there. | |
| Tracy | What about, like, when we nipped upstairs? And we -- you know… |
| Bill | After breakfast? |
| Tracy | And this afternoon. And this evening. |
| Bill | What about it? |
| Tracy | Were they watching then? |
| Bill | Course they were. All the time, I told you. |
| Tracy | Who does it, then? All this watching? |
| Bill | Saint Peter I suppose. He's head of Admin. |
| Tracy | He can't be watching all of us at once. |
| Bill | Good point, good point. I s'pose he delegates most of it. He'll have a staff. Bloody great |
| department, I should think. All snooping on us, every minute of the day. | |
| Tracy | A bit like next door, then. So what do they do there? In Heaven? |
| Bill | Do? |
| Tracy | I mean, if they don't have sex, and I can't play a harp -- |
| Bill | Bit of a problem for you, yes. Well, there'll be entertainment laid on, won't there? Disco's… |
| Bingo … that sort of thing. | |
| Tracy | Like Butlins. |
| Bill | Without the occasional outbreak of food-poisoning, yes. |
| Tracy | And how old are you there? |
| Bill | How d'you mean? |
| Tracy | Are you whatever age you were when you died? Or always young? Or what? |
| Bill | You're …. um … the age you were when you lost your virginity. |
| Tracy | I don't want to be fifteen again. |
| Bill | But you can choose to be any age you want to be. |
| Tracy | Oh, that's nice. (She snuggles up.) I'm glad we've had this little chat. |
| Bill | Any time you want to know anything…. Just ask. |
| Tracy | Fancy coming upstairs? |
| Bill | Don't mind, yeah. (He gets up and begins to walk off.) |
| (Tracy looks upwards.) | |
| Tracy | And you -- you turn your head away. |
| © Leonard Morley 2009 |