NFTF: Max and the Rabbit, a short play -- Scene II

Scene II

We are on a high, rounded hilltop ringed with trees. From the now destroyed freeway and all surrounding areas, this hilltop is as bare as its neighbors. From the Compound, however, this hilltop is clearly ringed with trees. Large, old and powerful trees. Each tree has specific plants growing at its base, and each plant is as aware of its purpose in this place as it is aware of the trees and as the trees are aware of their purpose in this place on the hill, and the hill because of the trees is aware of its purpose in this place and how it is different from the other hills around it.

Across the valley from this hill a mountain spews and rages, lava pouring forth to destroy everything in its path. The air is full of smoke and ash: smoke from fires, from the mountain; ash from fires, not so much from the mountain -- but within the circle of trees all smoke and ash are lessened. Filtered. 

Down the way from this hillside entire communities burn unchecked, without intervention or assistance. A solar powered radio left on in a house as yet untouched by fire but abandoned for weeks plays the last repeated pre-recorded emergency broadcast for the night before it fades to silence. If the house has not burned by sunrise, it will resume playing this message within moments of first light. The likelihood of this radio's survival beyond the next twenty-four hours is, as of this writing, slim.

RADIO: ... state of emergency has been declared for the state of California. Citizens are asked to avoid the Sacramento area and surrounding delta. Travel to the San Francisco Bay Area is inadvisable at this time. If you are trapped and need assistance, the number to call is on the FEMA website at www.fema.gov/ca. Call this number if you are experiencing the following conditions: lack of phone service; aftershocks; power outages; home invasion; fire; lava flow; bird flu; West Nile virus; gas main explosion; hallucinations; or if your house has burned down and you are trapped inside.
     Oh ... God. This is pointless. Who the fuck wrote this copy?
     I don't care! We should tell the the truth, Phil.
     Oh, really?! You think we still have jobs?! Sacramento is UNDER WATER, asshole! The levees broke, haven't you heard anything ...?
     Oh, what, NPR is conspiring to flood Sacramento, now?! Jesus, just because this is an AM broadcast doesn't mean we have to pretend the Central Valley is still dry.
     Directive? What directive? We're supposed to help people!
     Well that's just ridiculous, Phil. I am not a part of your Prophet's Circle.
     What the fuck -- ? Is that a gun? Jesus, Phil!
     No, I'm not letting you in here.
     [muffled gunshot]
     Californians, please, we hope and pray you're still alive, just get the hell out of there and stay safe.
     [glass breaking]
     God be with you.
     [gunshot. static. beep.]
     ... Message repeating. A state of emergency has been declared for the state of California ...

This message has been playing since before the house was abandoned. Nobody is there to hear it. Even now, the one individual who can hear it lies asleep here in the Tor, snuggled into a cozy ball; the emergency broadcast from a house far down below the Compound has become part of the background noise he hears, just part of the fabric of sound to which he has grown accustomed in the night and the day and the twilight at either end. He waits. As he was told. His feet twitch. He dreams of chasing kitties. Muffled barking in his sleep as he corners the largest kitty in the world and tells it to play with him. If he wakes in the night, he will mark the trees. He senses the sigils, he does not see them. He keeps his vigil at the Northernmost edge of the circle of trees, with a clear view North and East. And though now he sleeps, still his mind is alert for the least variation in the soundscape of the night.

Presently, a thump-thumpthump is heard. His left ear raises, though he remains asleep. 

Rustling in the brush outside the Tor.

Sleeping dog eyes crack open slightly. 

Skip-rustle, skip-rustle, skip-rustle from the underbrush.

His eyes are open. He lays still, listening.

Skip-rustle, skip rustle.

He raises his head. 

Skip rustle.

Max: You?

Silence.

Then with a final skip-rustle, a small figure emerges from the tall dry summer grass at the Western edge of the Tor.

Max: Mmm, smells tasty.

He stands, stretching and yawning, nostrils working as he zeroes in on the source of the tasty smell.

Max: Tasty?

Skip-hop.

Bucephalas: Would you again seek to eat your fate? Do you remember nothing?

Max: You smell so tasty.

Bucephalas: Even if you could catch me, do you think you could eat me? Did you give Chauncey my message?

Max: Chauncey? Chauncey?! So lonely! Do you know. Do you know.

Bucephalas: Do. Not. Lick. Me.

Max: I sit. I stay.

Bucephalas: Thank you. Did you give him my message?

Max: Yes I am Maxwell. I good boy yes. I good boy say.

Bucephalas: Did he say anything in return?

Max: ...

Bucephalas: Did he give you a message for me?

Max: Chauncey good boy also say.

Bucephalas: And?

Max: He good boy yes. He good bunny. He good boy go, good boy stay, good boy all the time.

Bucephalas relaxes, tucking his feet under him and breathing a little sigh.

Bucephalas: Finally. All we have worked for may come to pass. Are you ready, Maxwell?

Max: I am good! I sit stay!

Bucephalas: Yes. Good.

The ground shakes and fire rips into the night, an explosion so loud that both animals freeze for a moment, internally registering and evaluating fight-or-flight. 

When it is clear that the explosion is some miles to the North and that they are in no direct danger, Bucephalas skip-hop, skip-hops to the Northern edge of the Tor. Max follows.

Bucephalas: Do you remember what I told you?

Max: Yes. I am Max. I good boy go.

Bucephalas: Not just yet. Be ready. The signal comes soon.

Max: Max good boy ready, Busfloss.

Bucephalas: Ah, you remembered. How nice.

Max and Bucephalas sit in companionable silence for a time, both animals' ears twitching at the sounds of fire and gunshots and screaming that come from closer to that giant of fire raging East of that hill far to the North. There are roaring sounds, keening screech sounds. Sounds that say, 'We will eat the people you love if you do not stop us! Only a Good Boy can save the people you love!' Max shifts, licks his chops. His legs twitch. He is itching to run. 

Bucephalas tucks his feet under him and begins to speak:

Bucephalas: Do you remember Raider, Maxwell?

Max sighs.

Max: Raider good boy Gone. Sleep now forever.

Max lies down, crossing his paws, and rests his head on them. Bucephalas skip-hop, skip-hops closer, right next to him.

Bucephalas: Raider is always with you. Whenever you are a Good Boy, Raider is there. Did you know that?

Max sighs.

Max: I am Max. I love Raider. I love Alpha. I love Pack.

Max turns and touches his nose to that of Bucephalas.

Max: Where is Raider? Where is Pack?

Bucephalas: Your pack is scattered to the winds of time, Maxwell. You are possibly their only hope. But we must wait. For the moment, I suppose we can just wait together. Is that alright with you?

Max: I do my best. I good boy sit stay. I wait. I wait. I wait with Busfloss.

Bucephalas: Well, that's something, then.

Max: Busfloss good boy stay. I love Busfloss. Busfloss good boy. Busfloss Pack.

Bucephalas cocks his ears slightly.

Bucephalas: Yes, I -- ... Thank you.

Bucephalas stands on his hind legs, listening to the North. Max shifts, moving his left front leg.

Bucephalas: Don't put your paw on me. I want to live.

Max smiles, panting.

Max: Busfloss Pack.

Max knocks Bucephalas over.

Bucephalas: Damn you, Maxwell.

Max smiles, panting.

A howl sounds, now, far to the North, close to the fire giant.

Max sits up.

Max: I know that voice.

Bucephalas: That is the signal. It is time. Do you remember, when you were a puppy, how I promised to let you chase me?

Bucephalas stands to his full height, ears erect.

Max: I am Max. I remember. I love to chase.

Bucephalas: Tonight is the night, Maxwell. I shall lead you on the merriest of chases. I dare you to catch me, snap my legs; I dare you to kill me, snap my neck; I dare you to eat me: rend my flesh!

Max howls. Both animals feel that howl fly North. They feel it affect other small animals in the brush. They sense its movement over hills and dales and trees, toward the fire. They feel it land among creatures to whom it gives pause. They sense friends to the West of the fire. Friends in danger. Max senses other friends who cannot find the people they seek. 'I will help them,' he thinks.

The howl from the North is repeated. 

Max: Mommy.

Bucephalas: Fly, Maxwell! Now is the hour! Fly in the shadow and form of Malop-Fenrir-Kerberos! Catch me if you can!

Bucephalas shoots off down the hillside as only a ghost rabbit can, and Max leaps from within the circle of trees, bounding after Bucephalas and howling a second and greater howl -- a howl that stills the heart of flame for a moment, calling it to crackle, tame, in the hearth; a howl that draws the attention of three travelers above an abandoned dairy farm as they are surrounded by creatures intent on devouring them; a howl that causes those same creatures to wonder, however briefly, if they will not get their dinner after all.

And even as those are some of the effects of the howl on most who hear it, the words of his howl are so simple, so clear, that they pierce right to the heart of the one for whom it is intended:

Max: I hear You! I'm coming! You good stay! You good stay! I am Max! I come when you call!

So it is that the hill itself sees, as Bucephalas launches from the Northern edge of the hidden Tor, that Maximilian Schnell bounds through the night, swift as a shadow, Malop imbuing every paw with certainty and grace. 

To chase the ghost rabbit.

So it is that the hill senses, as Talmadge and his two citified companions are surrounded by beastling creatures, that Max VonSitDown, blessed of Fenrir, has the scent of certainty and follows it as sure as night follows day. 

To catch the ghost rabbit.

So it is that the hill hears, as another -- and yet another -- gas main unleash giant fireballs into the night on the hills just East of the northern field in which an oaken madwoman devours every living thing with her second and splintery mouth, Kerberos unleashes his own triple-headed canine harmony, straight up through the earth and into this bounding, blessed dog. Every strength, every power, every heroic quality of every hero ever devoured by Kerberos as he guards the gates to Hades is woven into that harmony, filling, igniting and transforming this humble Labrador / Boxer mix. 

To eat the ghost rabbit.

So it is that Max The Wonderdog is born.

And Bucephalas, dashing ahead of Max in a chase he has waited lifetimes to lead, utters the words which seal, set and bind them to their task:

Bucephalas: So Mote It Be.

NFTF: Max III

>>POP<<

"Maxwell."

YOU! YOU! YOUYOUYOUYOUYOUYOUYOU!
You smell strong! I LOVE YOU!
Leap in air. Turn in air.
You smell old! I LOVE YOU!
Land, leap again. Turn again.
Stop. Look. 
Your fur: white.
Old like Raider.
I LOVE YOU!
Give kisses! Give kisses to YOU!

"Who is a good boy? Yes. Yes. You are such a good boy. Oh, kisses. Yes. Drool in my beard. Thanks so much. Some scratches? Yes? You love having Dog Loves? Yes. I love you so, Maxwell. I have been gone so long. Lifetimes within lifetimes. And my time is short. Now settle. Good, settle stay. Good."

Treat? Treat? 
Lick dog chops.
Treat?
Hands mean treat.
I love you. 
Eyes mean treat.
I love you.
So hungry. 
I am Max.
I wait.
I am good.
I wait.
I love you.
So hungry.

"I see you licking your chops. I think I have something for you. Ah-ah-ah, stay. Good boy."

More than treat! I LOVE YOU!

"I said stay!"

I stay. Yes. I love you stay.
I good boy stay. Lick dog chops stay.
Drool. Can't help it. Drool. 
Love. 
Drool.

"I'm sorry this has taken so long, Mister Jizzjowls. I -- aaaugh, wow, I'm -- much older than the last time you saw me. Right? Hold on there, Mister, I need to unfold this bowl and pour the food. Have you ... where the hell did I put the food ... ah. Here. Okay. Now. Have you been a good boy? Listening for Mommy?"

MOMMY?!
Lick chops. Wag wag wag.
I LOVE MOMMY!
Drool. Wag wag.
IS MOMMY HERE?!
Shift feet. Wag.
MOMMY?!?!
Drool. Wag-wag-wag-wag-wag!
Lick chops.

"Sorry. No, she's not here. Not close by. But soon, Max. Soon. Keep listening. When she calls, you will know. And you must go to her, no matter what she says. Okay. I'm setting your food here, you stay. Aaaugh, my knees ... okay ..."

Eyes wide. Ears up. I watch you.
Now is proof: I good boy stay.
I love you.
I earn my food.
I stay. Yes.
Now is proof.
Yes. 
Drool.
I good boy stay.
Yes. Love.
Drool.
Lick dog chops.
Drool.
Shift legs. Yes.
Drool.
I wait. I wait.
Long time.
Drool.
I wait.
Loooong tiiiiime.
Drool.

Wait.

Yes.

I am Max.

I love You.

Drool.

"Good boy, Max, get your dinner!"

Leap! To food!
Yum-so-crunchy!
Gomf gomf gomf crunchy!
Crunch crunch crunch yum yum.
Oh so tasty.
I love You.
I love food.
You bring food.
I LOOOOVE YOU!
Eat yum crunch gomf yum eating good yum ...

"Soon the fire will crest the hills to the East. Eruptions of gas mains in the last houses still standing in the hills of Danville and San Ramon. When the fireball lights the eastern sky, Max, that is when you must be ready. That is when Mommy will call."

Gomf gomf I love Mommy.
Gomf Gomf I good boy wait.
Food good. Almost gone.
Lick dog chops. 
More food?

"That's all there is. You'd better eat it up, Mister Stinks-a-lot."

Gomf gomf gomf yum.
Lick bowl for morsels: one morsel. Good.
Two morsels! Yum! 
Gomf. Gomf.
Lick bowl.
Crumbs.
Lick bowl. Yum. 
Lick chops.

Thirsty.

"Here's water. Wait -- ah-ah -- let me ... there. Drink up. Good boy."

Water.
Oh.
Yes.
So delicious.

"Take your time. I have more water. Special things in water for Mister Maxwell. I just need to mark these trees. Clockwise."

Look at water. 
Smell water.
Good smell. Plant smell.
You drink?

"Keep drinking, Mister. No, no need to follow me: you stay and drink. It's all for you. Something special, something from long ago and far away. See? I'm just circling the trees. Drink up. Good boy."

Water is good!
Lick dog chops.
Drool.
Sated.

"You sure you're done?"

I love You.

"Oh, kisses. Yes. Pffaw, wow, thanks for that -- Jesus --"

Fart.

"Okay. Go potty."

You go potty?

"Go ahead. I trust you. I'm just going to sit here. It's nice to just sit, these days."

Peeing. Trees. Peeing here. Long pee. Nice.

"Yes, feed the trees. They need it. They've been here a long time. Not visible from the freeway, Max. Not that that means much to you. But this Tor, these trees. Sigils. Blocking. This Redwood, that Ash: an entire Druidic alphabet, an unintentional Entmoot, and nobody knows."

Potty now.
Was peeing there.
Now squatting here.
Glance at you.
Ahhh ...
Good.
Ahhh ...
I good boy go potty.
Bury. Bury. Potty bury.
YAY! Time to run.

"What I wouldn't give for half your energy, Mister Stinks."

I run this way!
Play?
I run that way?
PLAY?!
I give you kisses.

"Okay. Yes."

I LOVE YOU.

"What a good smoochface."

I run this way.
PLAY?!

"Shhh, Max, no no, settle. Settle. Sit. Lie down. Settle. Good. Stay."

I run that way. 
You play now.
I need play.

"I'm sorry I was gone so long, I didn't mean to just pop out like that, Max, STAY."

Yes. I stay.
I good boy stay.

"Listen to me."

Kisses.

"Listen to me: you must stay here. I have marked the trees. Do not pass that boundary. Trees are marked. Do not pass. Do not pass marked trees until I come for you, or until you hear Mommy call for you."

I love you.
Kisses.

"Now ... hold still ... [click, jingle] ... there. This will keep me tuned to you, like an anchor."

Jingle jingle I have new jingle!

"I will always, always, always come back for you, my boy."

You.
New jingle. Good.
I love You.
Good new jingle help good boy Maxwell.
I sit stay.

"I love you so. I do."

I good boy lie down stay.
You? You stay.
Head on lap.
SIGH.
You.
I love You.

"I'm sorry I have to go now, I'm so sorry I have to leave you and Mommy like this."

Eyes only: look right, look left.
SIGH.
Roll onto back.
Tummy, please. For scratching?
Ooohhh yes good I love You.

"But I promise, I will come back. I promise."

Good. 
Scratching Loves. 
You.

"Mommy has an anchor, you have an anchor, and I must set sail beyond the sunset and the baths of all the Western stars, until I ... until I can ... oh shit, here it goes -- so dizzy -- be good, Max."

SIGH.
Sleepy times.

"Be good for Mommy. Listen for her call and go to her if you hear her voice."

Mommy?
I love Mommy.
... I love You ...
Snore.

"Listen for Mommy and ask her to sing for you, she sings like an angel --"

>>POP<<

Max and the Rabbit, a short play

Max and the Rabbit

Scene 1

We are in the garage of an architecturally unremarkable house in Livermore. It is August of 2010. Two black Labrador Retrievers are sleeping in the cool half-light of the garage. One dog is older, quite a bit of white around the muzzle. The younger dog is a puppy, perhaps three months old, with a face that says more than Labrador waits within him.  In a side yard through the open side door nearby, unseen, the engine of a Barracuda is being tinkered with.

Presently, a quiet skip-rasp, skip-rasp of smaller claws is heard.

Skip-rasp, skip-rasp, skip-rasp. Pause again. 

Skip-rasp, skip rasp: in the doorway to the very hot side yard there appears a rabbit. White with dark grey spots, a Lop-eared bunny to delight the eye and heart of any eight-year-old.

The older dog opens an eye, pink sliding back from pupils turning milky.

Raider: You. Busfloss.

Two thumps of the tail.
Sigh.

Bucephalas: Raider. Hot outside, no water. Do you have water here?

Raider: Water cool.

One lick of chops.

Raider: You play? I play gentle. This one here, maybe not so gentle.

Three thumps of the tail.
Sneeze.
Puppy stirs.

Bucephalas: I need water. And cool sleeping. Too hot.

Skip-rasp, skip rasp, Bucephalas comes closer.
Thump-thump-thump-thump Raider's tail.
Rabbit and old dog regard one another. Neither knows it, but the music coming from the side yard is Desperado, by the Eagles.

Raider: Water here.

Raider stands, slow, and turns to a gravity-fed water bowl. Two laps. Two more laps.
The puppy stretches out, sighing, snoring little snores.
Bucephalas skip-rasp, skip-rasp, skip-rasp hops to water.

Raider: Water good. You have water now. I lie down. Play? Play? I lie down. Play soon. First lie down. Hot standing up.

Raider lies down on the cool concrete floor, near the puppy but adjusted now for the little one's stretching out cozy snoozing. Bucephalas regards the water bowl.

Bucephalas: No spout. 

CLANG! of a wrench being dropped. Bucephalas: freezes! Raider: raises ears, sitting up. Muffled curse from side yard, sound of beer can tipped over on hot concrete, scrape of wrench being picked up. Puppy snores, feet twitching, a quiet yip here and there.

Bucephalas is still for a long time, large dark left eye fixed on the door to the side yard. Raider has lain back down a long while before Bucephalas moves. Outside, the barest breath of a breeze stirs one or two leaves on one or two trees. They are the only leaves that move in Livermore that day. We do not see this. Bucephalas hears it and understands. Raider hears it and thinks about biscuits. The puppy growls and yips and plays in his dreams. Bucephalas turns again to the water bowl.

Bucephalas: No spout.

Raider: Water is good.

Bucephalas: Too hot.

Raider farts.

Bucephalas: My work is not done. Where there is water, I must drink.

Bucephalas puts his front paws on the edge of the plastic gravity bowl (his claws are far too long, and some of them are bloody and infected) and lowers his head, pink rabbit tongue drink-drink-drinking water. For a long time, the only sound is the music outside -- Foo Fighters, a surprising choice -- and the twisting of a ratchet wrench and the drinking of a rabbit tongue. Then a screen door slams from the house beyond the fence, beyond the side yard, and it so loud so very loud like an explosion and Bucephalas

falls

twitching

into time

We see a scene in the future: the puppy, three years older, stands with his nose at the wire mesh of the Hutch of Bucephalas.

Puppy: You. I remember You.

Bucephalas: Would you devour your future before you know it?

Puppy: You run? You play?

Bucephalas: Not now. Our time is short. I have a message for Chauncey.

Puppy: Who? No. Play.

Bucephalas: Play soon. I promise. When you are alone on the mountain, I will come and let you chase me. But for now, Maxwell, please settle. 

Puppy: Jax! Jax! I am Jax! Jax plays! JAX PLAYYYYYYYS!

Bucephalas: You are a born Maxwell. I know how to get chewy pigs' ears for you.

Puppy: Chewy Yum?!

Bucephalas: Sit still. Good. Now --

Bucephalas opens his eyes. The light coming through the door from the side yard is tinged with the late-afternoon red-gold of August, the temperature edging down toward tolerable. He is laying curled up with the puppy (Jax? Max.) and Raider. The puppy has his left paw resting on Bucephalas. Both dogs are snoring gently.

Bucephalas closes his eyes. 

Notes from the Future: Missives Missed

[The following was neatly folded and pinned via thorns to a rosebush near the entrance to the garden at the Compound; it would only have been found if Veronica had run after Max when he followed the summoning whistle; her name is written on the exterior in big red letters. It has fallen from the thorns and is now becoming part of the mulch beneath the rose, covered with snail tracks and a few leaves. Bugs and water are taking their toll; holes are clearly blank; some form of waterproofing may have kept it in better condition.]

Dear Veronica,

Bold move! Keep     ing to the shed at the t          he garden, circle behind it to the right, thr      he poison oak. Trust m      t rash is better than be        ht. Run!

Hopefull          Max are now in the shallow dugout behind the shed. The poison oak is deliberate. DO NOT TOUC              CE OR EYES. You must be vigi           is point. Again, DO NOT TOUCH YOUR FACE OR EYES. NO MA            HAT.

Hold still               Max. If he g                 m with a firm hug. Do not rub your face on him. Do not rub your face on him. Do not rub yo                   you choose to ignore this and my other warnings, your face and eyes will swell up ov                             ou will be unab               you most need to escape. By now, if you have learned anything at all, you will perh                       y dire warnings are extremely valuable. Please cherish my advice as gos                    unto ye from an observational crux which makes it possible for me to see the variatio            ath.

In the d                               aves, it's actually just oilcloth with leaves as cammo (long story); lift it off and you will find a nasty-look        en crate; inside that crate is a day pack with food and some poison oak cleanser. Follow the in                   tter, starting with your hands and arms. Do not touch your face. Use the e                        en doing anything piss- or shit-related. Please don't make me explain that and don't make me re                    three times.

If you can manage to stay there for three days, I will come for you. The ke              ax quiet while staying silent yourself. If you are disc             ast-Northeast (diagonally away from t                 t corner of the dugout), around the back of the Tor. Wait ther             enter the Tor until well a                 n then, throw some rocks into the Tor before y               en the trees. KEEP MAX W             U AT ALL TIMES.
I will wr                    en I can; you are not the only one who is                g.
Love,
Tad