Inquisition And Tubular Bells

At the ten o'clock rehearsal, in the Velosophy office.

Vello is already there, checking his mail for free tickets.

Rosamunda is busy with pins, and a tube of paper glue.

Ray enters with Terence.

Ah, Candide and Doctor Pangloss! says Rosamunda. Let's get started. Today we'll practice the auto da fé.

Goody, says Terence. Who's driving?

It's not a vehicle, Terence, says Rosamunda. It's the Portugese Inquisition. First you must go in a procession, wearing these outfits.

She holds up two wonderful costumes fashioned out of paper.

For Ray, a paper cassock and mitre decorated with penitential symbols, inverted flames, devils without tails or claws.

Terence's devils have tails and claws and his flames are upright.

Terence looks at the flames on his paper outfit. He looks at Ray's.

That means you burn, says Ray, nastily.

Nooo! says Terence looking around for the otter costume, which Rosamunda has put away.

Yes, but don't worry Terence, says Rosamunda. It rains so much they can't burn you.

Hoorah! cries Terence. I'm saved!

They hang you instead, says Ray, even more nastily.

Terence stamps over to where Vello is still ripping envelopes.

Hmph, says Vello, tipping out contents. Bill, bill, bill. Bill, bill. Where are my tickets?

Did you write this story? says Terence.

Yes, says Vello. You do look nice in that paper costume. Very authentic.

Terence dances up and down.

Something jingles in his pocket, under the paper costume.

Jingle jingle. Rustle rustle (that's the paper).

Do I have to die? asks Terence. I don't want to.

Hasn't anyone bothered to tell Terence the story? asks Vello crossly.

You come back to life at the end, says Rosamunda.

Woo! says Terence. How long am I dead for?

A long time, says Ray. From now on it's all about me.  Me and Cunégonde.

But she's dead TOO! shouts Terence.

No, says Rosamunda. She recovers from the disembowelling.

Terence can't believe that grown ups can be that stupid.

Arthur drops in to watch the rehearsal.

Arthur, says Rosamunda. How was the show at the Bakehouse? Stop Start, what was it...?

Good, says Arthur. Except for a crying baby. The characters bled into one another and shared traits, so it had the feel of a dream or hallucination. It pointed to a deep commonality in our experience, and suggested that our inability to be present with one another is due to something interrupting our ability to recognise ourselves in the other.....

Ha ha. You got theatre notes, says Rosamunda.

Was it me? asks Terence. The crying baby?

No, it was a real crying baby, says Arthur. But I heard you were wailing.

You would, says Terence. All bad things happened. Until A Dog Died.

I know, says Arthur. That was my idea. But the poem was Pablo's

Huzzah, cries Vello. Tubular Bells! What a coup! Two free tickets!

Oh lucky! cries Rosamunda. Who are you taking?

Would you care to accompany me? asks Vello.

Oh yes, would I ever! says Rosamunda.