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 DEdicated to my wife Lili Turkzadeh 8/21/1971-7/5/2008. Forever in my heart.
I was born in England, and began travelling at an early age. I have lived in many places including: Freeport,Nassau, Canary Islands, Paris, London, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, Cannes - and travelled to many other countries. I now reside in the U.S.A.
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MY ACCOMPLISHMENTS:
- Television Actor - Appeared on Day-time dramas - Days, Bold and the Beautiful, Passions. Prime-time Shows-Murder she wrote, Crossings, Civil Wars.
- Appeared on stage in USA and U.K.
Production of'The Lion in Winter' was part of the Kennedy Center College awards. I was awarded best guest actor for the role of Henry 2.
Appeared in the British Premier of 'The Diviners'.
The U.S. Premier of 'City Gents'.
The West Coast Premier of 'Enemy!', 'Christie in Love'. - DEdicated to Lili Turkzadeh. 8/21/1971-7/5/2008
Co wrote and published novel with my wife. 'Stained Glass' by Lili Turkzadeh and Richard Davies.
A Mystical Love Story.
Now available at Authorhouse.com and bookstores.
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MY FAVORITE LINKS:
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MY RESIDENCE INFO:
City: Los Angeles.
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BOOKS PUBLISHED:
 Excerpts from Stained Glass by Richard Davies and Lili Turkzadeh.
New Edition now available at Authorhouse.com and bookstores!
Stained Glass is a romantic mystery novel, unlike most written.
The story centres on Catherine Colonessi, a young married woman who appears to have everything.
A beautiful home in Beverly Hills, a successful husband, and wonderful teenage son.
All seems to be well, until she falls in love with a man in her dreams.
These dreams are so real, and sequential, that Catherine finds difficulty in separating dreams from reality.
She feels sure that Benjamin, the man of her dreams, exists, and tries to find him.
Thus begins the mystery which takes many twists and turns, until it reaches a shocking, unexpected ending.
Beverly Hills. Present.
Catherine was awakened suddenly...
Griselda, her housekeeper, was knocking on the bedroom door. An instant later, the door almost burst from it's hinges as Adrianna entered in typical dramatic fashion.
“Come on Cathy. I ‘m running late. Some of us have to work for a living.” She added, tongue in cheek.
Griselda, who had tried unsuccessfully to prevent Adrianna from entering, gave a look of disapproval and returned to her housework.
Adrianna was Catherine’s older sister by one year. They were of Italian descent, and as like, yet unalike as sister's can be. Both had raven black hair, and olive skin. Adrianna was a very attractive women, and Catherine a timeless beauty.
“Just give me a minute hon.” Catherine entered her bathroom.
“I'll get us cappuccinos.” Adrianna said, as she left the room.
A short time later she found Adrianna and Griselda in the kitchen.
“I 'll be doing hair and then lunch with madam. She'll bring me home afterwards.” She informed Griselda before they left the house.
Outside, the sun was already warm, and promised a hot day.
Catherine's house on Maple Drive was smaller than many of the dwellings in Beverly Hills. It was a impressive Mediterranean style two level home of terracotta, marble and Italian stone.
As they drove towards the nearby shopping district, Catherine looked out of the car’s window and thought about her life. She had lived in that house ever since she married her husband Franco, eighteen years earlier.
Her parent's Paulo and Anna had immigrated to the United states, as many had after the Second world war. They were both from a small town in Italy, and maintained strict old world beliefs. Their own marriage had been arranged, and they strived to continue the custom once Adrianna and Catherine were of age.
Catherine was just fifteen when she was introduced to Franco by her father, and wed at sixteen. Their son Franco Junior had been born a year later. It seemed as if it was just yesterday, to her.
“So where’s that husband of yours this time?” Adrianna asked as she drove.
“That husband’s name is Franco, if you don’t mind. He’s in Milan. It’s that time of the year again.”
“How come you never go with him on his trips, anymore? You used to.” Adrianna replied, and suddenly swerved passed a slower moving car. “Damn tourists!” She shouted after them.
“Be careful Adi.” Catherine gasped at her wild manoeuvres.
After a time, she regained her composure. “It gives Franco some time to bond with his father.”
“Like two peas in a pod.” Adrianna added with sarcasm.
Unlike her sister, she had rebelled against her parents, and refused to be married, be it arranged or otherwise.
Catherine had not been on a business trip with her husband for many years. Franco did not ask her to accompany him; she did not pressure him to go. They tried it when Junior was a baby, but it was extremely stressful; But now Junior was away at school following in his father’s footsteps, Catherine could have joined Franco any time but for some
reason chose not to.
“You’re quiet this morning.” Adrianna commented as she pulled her car to a screeching stop outside of Pierre’s beauty salon, on Rodeo Drive.”
“What? Oh sorry. I was miles away.”
Adrianna smiled and kissed Catherine on her cheek. “See you for lunch.” She waived and then gunned the car into traffic, to the blaring protests of aggravated drivers.
Catherine watched as her sister raced with another vehicle along the street, shook her head, and entered the salon.
“Bon Jour, Catherine.” Pierre was waiting for her at the front desk. “And how is my beauty, ce matins? I see Adi is still taking on the world.”
Catherine laughed as they hugged.
Pierre was not really French. He was actually born, Billy Bob Buford, in Butte, Montana, but had changed his name, amongst other things and moved to Los Angeles when he realised that his life-style was different from that of his cowboy neighbours. Pierre had been Catherine and Adrianna's hair stylist for many years. He was the proprietor of the now famous salon, and personally chose his own clientèle; the large staff took care of the other customers.
“What does Madame want me to do with her merveilleux chevaux, today?”
“The usual.” Catherine replied, and settled into the chair.
He styled her hair, and gave her an update on the local gossip, while she listened intently, and chuckled at his entertaining stories. She always enjoyed her visits with Pierre.
“C’est finis!” Pierre said, as he gave a flamboyant gesture. “Well, ma belle? What do you think?”
“It looks great as always. Thank you baby.” Catherine replied.
They walked arm in arm to the reception area.
“Give my love to madame?” Pierre said and watched her leave.
Catherine had some time before before her lunch date with Adrianna, and decided to do some window-shopping.
The stores in Beverly Hills pride themselves on their stunning window displays, and are in constant competition with each other.
As she glanced in one of her favourite boutiques, something caught her eye. It was an objet d'art, and Catherine stopped to take a closer look. It appeared to be a stained glass design.
“Pardon me for bothering you miss, but what do you think of it?” Catherine was joined by a man who seemed equally interested in the same item.
“I love it.” She said.
“Thank you, but I am still not entirely satisfied.” The man replied. “You see, that top right corner needs more work, but I am always pleased to hear another’s point of you.”
“Is this yours. I mean, did you make it?” Catherine asked.
“Yes, guilty as charged I’m afraid;” and they turned to face each other...
Finally, he broke the silence.
“My name is Benjamin. Benjamin Northam.” He held out his hand and Catherine responded by grasping it tightly.
“I’m Catherine. I was thinking of buying your work.”
“Oh God, please don’t buy it from here. They will absolutely overcharge you and I can create the same thing, if you like, for a nominal price…or what about free?”
She laughed. “Yes I would like that very much, but of course I'd want to pay for it…
“Look…I know this is rather forward of me,” Benjamin asked hesitantly, “but would you be my guest for lunch? I haven’t eaten since this morning and wondered if…?”
“Where would you like to eat?”
“Oh, would you mind choosing, please? I am not at all familiar with this area. I only came here today to deliver my stained glass to this store.”
“I know just the place and its real close. Let's go.”
Benjamin was tall, slim and forty years of age. He wore a casual suit and open necked dress shirt.
She excused herself and quickly called Adrianna on her cell phone to cancel their lunch date. Adrianna did not mind as she was very busy that morning. She was the proud owner of a very successful gift boutique business close by on Beverly Drive.
It was still early when they entered the little corner bistro. The owner showed them to a table.
“The pasta is great, here,” she told Benjamin as their waitress arrived.
“That sounds first rate to me.” They ordered pasta dishes and a bottle of the house wine.
“Your stained glass work is really wonderful. Where did you learn the technique?” Catherine asked, over drinks.
“My father taught me; It's a trade that has been in our family for generations, back in England. He was mostly a repair and replacement glazier so he taught me all the tricks of his trade. I just took it a stage further.” Benjamin smiled as he fondly remembered his parents... “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but would you like to visit my work shop after lunch?”
“Yes, I want to.”
The food arrived and it was as good as Catherine had promised. Benjamin ordered another bottle of wine. They ate, drank, and talked about many things.
“I'm parked on Canon Drive, near Santa Monica Boulevard, I think?” He said when they left the bistro. “The thing is you see...I’m lost.” He added with a boyish grin.
“We're real close if you know the short cuts. Walk this way!” And he laughed.
After a short time Benjamin spotted his parked vehicle. “I was certain that it was lost forever.”
He opened the passenger door for Catherine.
“I like your car. What is it?”
“It is a Jaguar.”
“That's what I have.” She replied. “But I've never seen one like this, before?”
“It's old, like me.” He smiled.
Benjamin drove through Beverly Hills, and at Sunset Boulevard turned towards the coast.
Catherine paid little attention to the journey. She was solely interested in him.
She told him how much she loved to sketch, and planned to attend an art school at one time, but it was one of those fantasies that never happened. He told her that his passion was oil painting, and had some of his work exhibited, but the glass work paid the bills.
The sky became cloudy as they drew nearer to the coast. A fine sea mist filled the air; unusual for the time of year.
He turned onto a smaller side road just before they reached the coastal highway.
The road quickly became narrower, and Catherine realised that she was now as lost as he had been in Beverly Hills. She wondered how 'wild driving' Adrianna would have negotiated the sharp bends in the road. It was lined with thick undergrowth, and all at once climbed steeply. Then, just as suddenly they were again in the open.
Benjamin pulled into a driveway.
“Here we are.” He gestured towards a small cottage.
Catherine quickly got out of the passenger side and stood on the summit of a cliff that overlooked the ocean.
“That's an astonishing view.”
“I know. I am very lucky.” Benjamin joined her.
The house was a Cape Cod style home constructed of stone and wood, and Catherine thought it looked unusually old for Southern California.
“Let me show you the workshop,” Benjamin suggested, and they walked the cobbled pathway that lead to the cottage.
“Oh my, that’s the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Jasmine is my favorite flower. Did you do this?” Catherine admired the stained glass window in the front door.
“Yes I did.” Benjamin said proudly. “I am so delighted that you like it, because I feel that it is my best work.”
“I don’t like it. I love it.” Her hand slipped into his. “Let’s go inside.”
Benjamin unlocked the front door and held it open while she entered.
“I’ll get us drinks. What would you like?”
“Do you have wine?”
“Yes. Please excuse me; I will be back in a jiffy! Make your self comfortable.” He disappeared into the kitchen.
She looked about the house. It had a cosy living room, and felt as though it had been unchanged for years. Catherine noticed an oil painting on the wall, and wondered if it might be Benjamin’s work. Just then, she heard a noise from the direction of the kitchen.
“Are you OK.?”
“Yes. Thanks. I’ll be right there.” He replied.
A burnished silver frame on a side table caught her attention. Catherine recognized a photograph of Benjamin with his arm around a young woman.
He reappeared, holding two glasses of wine.
“Sorry about that. Had to find clean glasses...That marvellous woman is my sister, Louisa.” He said with pride. “She lives just a stone’s throw from here. Cheers.” He handed her a glass.
“To us.” She replied.
“I’m in love you know.” He said quietly.
“ So am I.”
They slowly drank, and then he came to her.
Benjamin took their glasses and placed them on the table. She knew what was about to happen and waited in anticipation. Their lips finally met for the first time. They kissed passionately. Catherine had never kissed a man, any man, in that way. She felt light-headed; did not want it to ever end.
It was Catherine who led Benjamin by the hand up the staircase towards the bedroom. She seemed instinctively to know the way. Neither one spoke. She undressed him. He did the same to her, and they made love. They flowed as one; explored each other as children; were as passionate as young lovers. Their hunger seemed insatiable, and they made love until both spent and exhausted, fell asleep in each other’s arms.
Catherine was suddenly awakened.
“Miss Catherine?” It was Griselda knocking on the door. Catherine was confused.
'How does Griselda know where I am?'
She turned to Benjamin, but he was not by her side. Panicked, she quickly looked around the room, and then she understood.
She was in her own bed, and had been dreaming.
'But how can a dream be so real and so detailed?' She thought.
Catherine had never experienced one like that. She closed her eyes tightly in an attempt to return to it.
The door suddenly flew open and Adrianna came rushing in.
“Come on Cathy. I ‘m running late. Some of us have to work for a living.”
A tremor went through Catherine’s entire body as Adrianna spoke exactly the same sentence as she had in her dream.
“What’s the matter babes? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost? Do I look that bad?.. Are you are all right?” Catherine’s face was ashen.
She stared at Adrianna for some time, and then finally spoke.
“Oh...yes, sorry...I...I just had the most amazing dream. I wasn’t sure where I was, for a moment. I'm still kinda confused... Ever had one like that?”
“All the time. Now look Sleeping Beauty. Its 8.30, and we’re late. I hate to be the one to bring you back from la – la land, but you have an appointment with Pierre at 9, and I would like to make an appearance at the store sometime this week.!”
“Sorry. Just give me a minute.” Catherine said as she arose from her bed.
“I'll get us ...”
“Cappuccinos, yes I know.” Catherine interrupted.
“You are so weird.” Adrianna replied as she left the room.....
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She made entries in her diary;
6a.m.
‘All I can focus on is how good I feel when I’m with you...Your voice, your touch - make me shiver. I count the minutes until we meet again... You have turned my world upside-down. Your smile warms me to my very bones... I feel as one with you - attached to you by some unseen force, which entwines our hearts. My memories of others have become muddled, because of you... I know that you are awake before I am. I sense it, the same way we can feel the warmth of the Sun in the sky, when still asleep.’
A tear appeared in her eye as she closed her diary, knowing that he was but a dream.......
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“What can I do for you Mrs. Colonessi?” Peter Webster sat at his desk.
“I want you to find someone, Mr Webster.”
“I see. Call me Peter. I make no guarantees. Mr Petri is a good man so I'll listen to what you have to tell me and then I'll decide if I want to take your case. Sound fair?”
“Very fair.” Catherine opened her purse, took some sketches out, and handed them to Peter. “I want you to find this man. His name is Benjamin Northam.”
He studied the sketches. “No photos?”
“No. But these should help. That's a good likeness of him.”
“When did you last see Benjamin Northam, and where was it?” He asked, as he took notes.
“...The other day at his house. It's somewhere here in Santa Monica, I believe.”
“So, you've been to his house, Mrs. Colonessi?”
“Oh, yes... But I can’t find it. I’ve tried, but it’s not where I thought it was, I guess.”
“Interesting... OK. Here's how it works. Before I decide to take your case, I 'll need to do a background check on you. It's standard procedure. I have to make sure that you are on the up and up. Is that going to be a problem?”
“No, no problem. I just need you to find this man, quickly...It's important that…”
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“Please don’t open it, yet. We must have champagne for this occasion.” He poured two glasses.
Catherine felt like a child, waiting to open a present.
“What is it?”
“A toast to Catherine and Benjamin. May nothing ever come between us.” He said.
“Yes, to us.”
“All right, now you may peek.”
Catherine slowly opened the lid. Inside, she found a smaller Limoge box. She quickly opened it. There, before her was a diamond ring, sparkling in the flickering candle light.
“Oh! Benjamin.”
He had quietly slipped out of his chair, and knelt beside her.
“Marry me Catherine. Make my life complete.”
“Yes. I will marry you, my darling.” Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Thank you.” Benjamin placed the ring on her finger, and they kissed.
He swept her up into his arms, and carried her to the bedroom....
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“We're starting our landing approach. Please make sure that your seatbelts are fastened and all seats are in their upright position. Thank you for flying American.”
The plane descended through the cloud cover, and Baltimore airport, shrouded in rain, slowly became visible.
What Catherine had told him during that last telephone conversation startled his curiosity. He wondered if something had happened to suddenly change her mind about the search, and hoped it wasn't anything bad or criminal? Peter had been a detective for too long and was suspicious of everyone.
He had finally found a Benjamin Northam, artist, after a lengthy internet search. There wasn't much information. He had two paintings put on show at Baltimore National Gallery some years before, and every exhibited artist was listed in the website's archives. Northam was apparently a local artist from Ocean View, Maryland.
Peter had not informed Catherine, because he was smart enough to know that Benjamin Northam meant more to her than just a good friend, and he did not want to give her any false hopes.
It was a long shot to be sure, but it was all Peter had uncovered, and he didn't like to give up. ...
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 Portrait of Evil
By
Richard Davies
A tale of horror in two acts.
Cast in order of appearance:
Michael Colonessi.
Hannah.
Joseph Abrahams.
Young Man.
The action of the play takes place in Michael Colonessi's studio in 1850 London, and the National Gallery in present day London.
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Act One.
Act One. Scene One.
London. Winter. 1850.
Michael Colonessi's studio. Late night.
(Lights up)
The curtain rises on the room of Michael Colonessi in the East End of London. It is an abandoned warehouse overlooking the River Thames, and Colonessi uses it as both his studio and living quarters. The floor is bare, walls are cracked and show stains of mildew and dampness. There is a small window high in the upstage wall. The pains are cracked and dirty. Lighting behind this window changes as to time of day. Upstage R. there is a makeshift wood cot with shabby blanket and pillow heaped upon it. An artist's easel stands, with the back facing the audience, C. Stage. There are fruit boxes, used as tables, upstage L. and R. of the easel. On these boxes are an array of artist's tools; palette, brushes, knives and paints, as well as bottles of wine and old drinking goblets. A door, stage L. is the entrance to his room. Propped against the upstage wall of the room, is an array of items including, blank canvases, another artist's easel, Michael's hat and cloak. Lit candles are placed about the room. Stage lighting gives the effect of candle light and shadowy corners in this very bleak studio.
As the play opens Michael Colonessi is standing upstage of the easel, admiring his latest finished portrait. (The audience does not see this portrait, or any of the paintings throughout the play, until the final scene.). He is a man in his late thirties, once handsome, but already going to seed. It is evident that he does not take care of himself, and this is 1850, when most of England's population did not live to see 40. His hair is uncombed. His attire, while fashionable, is not well maintained and looks as though he has worn the same outfit for some time. Michael was born and raised in England to Italian immigrants, but speaks with an educated English accent. He has a very gentle, quiet demeanour. His only Italian trait, his family name and perhaps a fiery personality that rarely appears. Michael is very passionate about his art. He drinks alcohol all the time, but rarely shows outwards signs that he is drunk. He drinks from a bottle of wine.
(Voice heard offstage.)Hannah. Michael, what you doing?
(Hannah enters through doorway, Stage L. Her dress is bundled up about her waist as she struggles to untangle it.)
Hannah. It's bleedin' freezin' out there! A peasouper, that's for sure! It was that cold, I couldn't piss.
(Hannah is a whore in her twenties. She is a very pretty woman, but it is hard to see under her makeup and wig. Like Michael, her clothes are fashionable, a gift from him, but they are in bad shape. She is a true cockney, and speaks with a harsh, crude accent. Hannah is streetwise, and although unschooled, is a naturally, smart woman. She lives in one of the worst areas of London, and does what she must to survive, as long as it is honest. Michael is not her pimp and does not treat her as such. They enjoy each other’s company. At this moment, Hannah is very drunk and unsteady on her feet.)
Michael. Here, drink this. It will warm you. (He moves to the boxes, fills a goblet with wine and hands it to Hannah who is now standing L of the boxes.)
Hannah. (Taking the goblet and crossing to look at the portrait on the easel) Cheers! Down the ‘atch! (Drinks). P’rhaps I should piss in this goblet? (Crudely laughs)
Michael. I am sure that I could not tell the difference if I drank it. (He drinks from wine bottle.)
Hannah. (Laughs). Then why not purchase some quality wine? (Studying the portrait)
Michael. I do not care about the quality. I care about the quantity.
Hannah. "Ere, is this it? Your latest?
Michael. It most certainly is. Why do you think we are celebrating? (He joins her and studies his work)
Hannah. What you talkin' about? We always celebrate... It's very good. I mean, I like it. I like all of ‘em what you do. He looks well orf. Who is he?
Michael. Why thank you. That means much to me. (He puts his arm about her.) He is Lord... I cannot remember his name.
Hannah. Old Lord what’s his name? (They laugh)
Michael. Yes. That will do. (He kisses her and then drinks from the wine bottle. Realizing it is empty; he tosses the bottle into a corner, and crosses to the orange boxes to get another.) I really do not care what his or any of their names may be. I care only that Abrahams purchases my work and secures other commissions on my behalf.
Hannah. Ooh, err. The room is movin'. I'm goin' to lay down for a bit. Join me? (Hannah crosses Upstage R. and lies down on the cot.)
Michael. Yes, soon. (He drinks.)
Hannah. That Abrahams is an old crook! He demands too much of your earnings. (She is quickly fading.) You don't need ‘im. Why not meet with the gentry your self? You can deal with ‘em. You‘re a toff...You’re my tof... (Hannah passes out.)
Michael. (Laughs loudly as he crosses towards Hannah) Me? A toff? Bless your heart Hannah, but I think not. (He sees that she is asleep and covers her with the blanket.) Sleep well. (He kisses her forehead, returns to the easel and stands, contemplating it.) (To audience) You see Hannah, Abraham’s serves a purpose. He does what I cannot. He wheels and deals with these people. People that I have no time for and in so many ways despise, just as you do. My only desire in this world is to paint. But unfortunately, to do so I need supplies and a place to practice my art. I wish that my parents had been rich, but alas, they were not and so I must sell my services, as you do, in order to live. Abrahams is my pimp. I need him as you need yours, my dear Hannah. My reward is the knowledge that this will live long after I am forgotten. (He picks up a brush from the easel.) Well, all that remains... (He signs his name to the portrait) There! A toast to my finished portrait! (He empties the bottle, crosses Upstage L. to the cot and lies down next to Hannah.)
(Blackout)
(During the blackout, sounds of church bells ringing from the church St. Mary-le-bow.)
(Note: In order for a Londoner to be considered a true Cockney, they must be born within the sounds of the church bells of St. Mary-le-bow or “bow bells” as they are most referred to.)
(Lights come up on the same scene and remain very dim. It is dead of night and all the candles are out.)
(Michael and Hannah are asleep on the cot. He murmurs and moves but does not wake.)
(Sound of street noises from modern-day London; buses, car horns, traffic noise, road drills, etc. This continues for a short time and then fades out)
(Voice-over) Young Man. Welcome to our newly opened viewing area. Please move along the room so that everyone can clearly see...
(Background sounds of many people of all ages, talking and moving about a room.)
Ladies and Gentlemen! (Background sounds end) The National Gallery is pleased to present Michael Colonessi's masterpiece. His self-portrait! "
(Voice-over ends as lights dim to Blackout)
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Act One. Scene Two.
Michael Colonessi’s studio. Following morning.
(Lights up. Lighting should be harsh and bright.)
(Michael and Hannah are asleep on the cot. He awakes with a start.)
Michael. Hannah, wake up! (He is excited and jumps up, immediately crosses to the orange box and drinks from a wine bottle. She is slowly awaking and is hung over.)
Hannah. What's all the bleedin' racket? Me head is killing' me. (Michael crosses and gives her the bottle.)
Michael. Drink this, it will help. (She drinks as he crosses to the Easel C, takes the finished portrait and props it facing against the Upstage L. wall. The audience does not see the portrait.) I had the most incredible dream!
Hannah. Well, good for you. You woke me for that?
Michael. You do not understand. (The action is continuous as he selects a blank canvas from the upstage wall, sets it upon the easel, and prepares to start work. He will begin by sketching with charcoal. Once again, the audience does not see the portrait.)
Michael. I have never had such a dream. The place was unknown to me. There were many people standing in a fine room, dressed in the strangest of garments.
Hannah. (Sitting on the cot. She is trying to brush her hair and tend to her makeup.) Was I in it?
Michael. No. I did not recognize any of them. There were men, women and some children. Some of the women showed bare arms and legs...
Hannah. (Giggling) Oh, it was a dirty dream, then. Was it an orgy?
Michael. (Laughing) It was not an orgy. (Hannah gives a look of disappointment and continues her ablutions.) The people were admiring a portrait of me! They were all gathered about it, but I have never such work. It was magnificent!
Hannah. Some one painted you. Who, I wonder?
Michael. No. You see, one of the men, I could not see his face, spoke to the others. He told them that it was a self-portrait.
Hannah. So? What does that mean?
Michael. It means that I painted it. They were all standing before my work! And the man said that it was a masterpiece. My portrait, a masterpiece!
Hannah. What the ‘ell you babblin’ on about? I don't know ‘alf of them words you speak!
Michael. I apologize. I am much overcome with emotion.
Hannah. No. That’s all right. You go on. It's good to see you so merry. (Pause) What you think it all means?
Michael. Well, I am not sure, but I think it a premonition.
Hannah. What's that when it's at ‘ome?
Michael. A thing that will happen in the future. I had a glimpse of what will come to pass.
Hannah. I’m not sure I understand. Is it good?
Michael. ...Yes. I think it must be.
Hannah. Then we must celebrate! Come here, me dear. I ‘ave a gift for you. (Laughs)
Michael. (Laughs) No. I must work on my masterpiece. My self-portrait! The dream has shown me the way. Given my life a new direction. A new meaning!
Hannah. (Stands and crosses to join him at the easel). Yes. It’s time also for me to go to work, and give me life a new direction. If you understand my meaning?
Michael. Do not go. Stay here with me? I would take care of you.
Hannah. I know that. (She hugs him, and crosses to leave, Stage L.)
Michael. Please consider it.
Hannah. I shall. Au revoir, me dear.
(Hannah exits)
(Michael watches her leave, and then continues to sketch at the easel)
(Lights fade to blackout)
(During blackout, the audience hears the sounds of Victorian street life. Carriages, workers, children playing…)
(As sounds fade, lights up.)
(It is twilight of the same day.)
(Michael stands before the easel C. stage. He has a brush and palette in hand. He is exhausted. As he works the lighting slowly dims until he can no longer continue painting. Michael crosses to the boxes, and places his tools. He has not enough energy to even walk to the cot, and lays downstage of the boxes, to immediate sleep.)
(Blackout)
(During blackout, sounds of the same church bells. St. Mary-le-bow)
(Lights come up on the same scene and remain very dim, as before.)
(It is dead of night. Michael is asleep in front of the boxes. He murmurs and moves but does not wake.)
(The audience once again hears street noises from modern-day London; buses, car horns, traffic noise… This continues for a short time and then fades out)
(Same voice-over) Young Man. Welcome to our newly opened viewing area. Please move along the room so that everyone can clearly see...
(Background sounds of many people of all ages, talking and moving about a room.)
(Fade to blackout)
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Act One. Scene Three.
Michael Colonessi's studio. Following morning.
(Lights up. Lighting should be harsh.)
(Michael is asleep, downstage of the boxes.)
(Sound of knocking on Michael's door Stage L.)
(Michael does not respond. The door opens and Joseph Abrahams enters stage L. He is a short and rather tubby man in his forties; an art dealer and a successful merchant. His attire is well turned out, if not a little too gaudy. He is a self-made man of means, and aspires for acceptance in London's high society. Money means everything to Joseph. He has a naturally nervous demeanour, especially when he visits Michael's studio which is located in a very bad neighbourhood of London.)
Abrahams. Michael. It's Joseph. Wake up. (He crosses to Michael who still has not moved, and slowly shakes him.) Colonessi!
Michael. (Slowly wakes up) Abrahams. What is the hour?
Abrahams. Late, sir! Have you been drinking, again? Unable to negotiate the bed, eh?
Michael. (Laughs as he rises, and drinks from a wine bottle.) Can I tempt you?
Abrahams. (Serious). It is not a joke, sir! You might me murdered in your sleep in such a neighbourhood! At the very least, have the sense to bar the door.
Michael. Yes. You are right, of course. Thank you for your concern. (He drinks from the bottle. Abrahams notices the self-portrait on the easel)
Abrahams. What is this? It does not in the least resemble Lord Kensington? Wait...It is you, sir! (He studies it) It is excellent, Michael. But did you not complete your commission? You promised!
Michael. A rare compliment. I thank you, sir. (Smiling) Lord what’s his name is over there. (He gestures to the portrait propped against the wall Upstage L. and Abrahams quickly crosses to it. He holds it up and looks at it. He stands with his back to the upstage wall so that the audience does not see the portrait.)
Abrahams. Yes. Very fine. A good likeness. He will be pleased. Which reminds me? (He places the portrait against the wall, again away from the audience, and takes some coins from an inside jacket pocket. He crosses to Michael, standing stage R. of the easel studying his portrait.) Your payment, Michael. For the portrait of Lady Smythe. I am afraid that it is less than I anticipated. (He hands it to Michael who takes the coins and pockets them.)
Michael. It will suffice. Thank you.
Abrahams. Do you not count it, sir? Or inquire as to the purchased price?
Michael. I trust you, Joseph. (Abrahams feels embarrassed)
Abrahams. I will make sure that you are paid double for Lord Kensington! (Pause) For what reasons have you decided to paint a self-portrait? (Glances again at the portrait.) I must say, it is superior workmanship, but it would not be an easy task for me to find a purchaser. My clientele desire their own portraits or at the least, portraits of loved ones.
Michael. These last two nights I have dreamed about my self-portrait. A most profound dream.
Abrahams. Dreams? (He crosses to the wall Upstage L. and picks up the portrait of Lord Kensington.) Pay no attention to them, sir. They are nothing more than bad wine and inferior food! I must leave, my carriage awaits. (Pause) Michael, listen to me. Why do you choose to live in this Hell-hole surrounded by thieves and beggars? Let me help you acquire rooms in a more suitable neighbourhood. I have friends who own property in Mayfair, or what about Richmond? The river is most picturesque there. It is a haven for artists such as you.
Michael. Thank you, Joseph. I will consider it.
Abrahams. Exactly the same answer as before. Well, expect me in two or three days. I shall have your payment and perhaps a further commission. Till then, farewell! (He exits Stage L. with the portrait under arm.)
(Michael returns to the easel C stage, and continues work on his self-portrait.)
Michael. The dreams are my future!
(Blackout)
(During blackout, the sounds of distant thunder.)
---------------------------------------------------
Act One. Scene Four.
Michael's studio. Later that afternoon.
(Lights up. Sounds of rain.)
(Michael is standing at the easel, absorbed with his painting.)
Hannah. (Offstage) It's your ‘annah! (She knocks on the door)
Michael. Enter! The door is not locked!
(Hannah enters stage L. carrying bottles of wine and loaves of bread).
Hannah. It’s rainin' cats and dogs out there! I "ate winter! Here, I brought you food and drink. When did you eat last? (Michael shrugs. She crosses to the boxes and places the bottles and bread. He stops work as she joins him at the easel. They embrace.) I did not see you at the tavern this last night. You missed a grand ole brawl! You know the widow Jenkins? (She does not wait for a reply) Well, ‘er and this burly tart, ‘orrid she was, more like a man than whore, got into it over a young tar, ‘andsome he was. Not ‘andsome like you… Well, the widow punched this bitch square in "er chops, and broke her teef. You should ‘ave seen the blood! It was all abowt the place!
Michael. Business as usual at The Anchor and Hope, eh?
(She laughs and looks at his portrait.)
Hannah. That is...wunderful! I mean it. Don’t forget to eat. (She hugs him and crosses to leave.) Well, no rest for the wicked! Will I see yer at The Anchor, later?
Michael. Perhaps. If not, I will be here. It was very thoughtful of you to bring me food. Thank you, Hannah.
Hannah. Think nothin' of it! Ta-ta, dearie. (She exits Stage L.)
(Michael watches her leave. He crosses to the boxes, picks up a loaf of bread, puts it down and instead opens a bottle of wine. He drinks from it and immediately returns to the easel at C. stage.)
(Blackout)
(During blackout, sound of hard rain)
(Lights up, as rain fades. The lighting is dim and candles are lit. It is twilight.)
(Michael is standing upstage of the C. stage easel. He is drinking from a bottle of wine, and is agitated as he studies his work.)
Michael. It is not as my dreams. That portrait was... perfect! This is not even close! (He crosses to the cot upstage R. and slumps onto it. Michael continues to drink and look at the portrait. He is at a loss.)
(After a time, he falls to his knees downstage of the cot)
Michael. (Praying) I have never been much of a praying man, and at times even questioned my own beliefs, especially when my parents... But if it be true, and you do exist, I beg of you, grant me this one wish and in return I promise to follow your path forever. This I swear on my life. Help me create my masterpiece. I fear that I cannot accomplish the task alone". (He kneels in silence)
(After a while, he crosses to the boxes upstage L. and picks up painting tools. He takes a lit candle, and crosses to the easel C. stage. Michael continues to paint in candle light.)
(Fade to blackout)
(During blackout, sound of hard rain)
-------------------------------------------
Act One. Scene Five.
Michael's Studio. The following morning.
(Lights up.)
(Michael is still hard at work on his portrait C. stage. He has not slept and looks very tired and dishevelled)
(A young man suddenly enters. The audience does not hear him. It is as if he just appears.)
Young Man. Good morning, sir. May I enter?
Michael. (Stops painting and looks at him) Please do.
(The young man crosses L of the easel. He is beautiful. His features are perfect, face angelic; A look of pure innocence. His blond hair is long and neat; clothes, a sombre black, are immaculate. The young man's manner is that of complete tranquillity. He does not show any emotion, and his voice is gentle, almost lyrical. Is he of this world? He carries a covered picture frame, underarm)
Michael. (Mesmerized by the young man's demeanour.) Care for wine, sir?
Young Man. No, thank you, Sir. (Crosses to upstage R. of the easel) Begging your pardon. Are you unwell?
Michael. Tired, Sir. Just, tired. (He drinks.)… Now, I am rather busy, as you can see...
Young Man. (studying Michael's self- portrait) Sir. If I may be so bold. Your work is absolutely marvellous. I am embarrassed to show you this.
(The man opens his package and hands a painting to Michael. The audience does not see it.)
(Michael gasps at the portrait.) Michael. That is it! It is me! Exactly as my dreams!
Young Man. Begging your pardon, sir. Is it to your liking?
Michael. It is miraculous. But why do you bring it to me?
Young Man. You asked for help, sir. Here it is. (Hands the portrait to Michael)
Michael. I do not understand? Who are you?
Young Man. It is of no importance.
Michael. (Nervously) Who sent you? What do you want with me?
Young Man. Sir, I am instructed to leave the portrait in your care.
(The young man crosses downstage of Michael towards the door, stage L.)
Michael. Wait! Where did you acquire this painting? (The young man stops and turns to Michael who still holds the painting.)
Young Man. Why, sir, I painted it.
Michael. You? But I am not familiar with your work. And I know most of the artists...
Young Man. (smiling) I am no artist. This is my only painting. After a time I shall return for it. But heed this warning. Do not alter the canvas in any way while it is in your possession. Good day, sir. (Young man turns to leave)
Michael. I do not understand? Why would I alter it? (Young man exits stage L.)
(Michael watches him leave. He crosses to the easel, and holds the new portrait next to his self-portrait)
Michael. It is perfection. Brush stokes are light as a feather. Colours are radiant. My work is amateurish by comparison. (Pause) How is it possible the young man could produce such a treasure? (Laughs cruelly) Am I not supposed to be the artist?... I need a drink!'
(He places the new portrait on top of his own, and looks about the room for his hat and cape. He sees them in a heap against the upstage wall, crosses and puts them on. Michael exits stage L. He closes his door, and then locks it with a key.)
(There is a silence in Michael's empty room. The lights fade to almost black, and then suddenly a single shaft of light shines down on the new portrait on the easel.)
(Blackout)
(During the blackout audience hears the sounds of Victorian street life. Carriages, workers, children playing…)
------------------------------------------
Act One. Scene Six.
Michael's studio. Later that same day.
(Lights up on the studio. Sound of the door being unlocked. Michael enters stage L. The action is continuous.)
Michael. (To audience) At first, I wandered aimlessly through the narrow streets. I felt dejected and humbled by the young man's portrait. (He takes off his coat and hat and dumps them on the cot, upstage R. He crosses to another easel propped up against the upstage L. wall and picks it up.)
Michael. It was bitter cold, and fog enveloped everything in its path. A thick, suffocating, fog that clawed at skin and stung my eyes. I was unable to see more than a step in any direction. Even the lamplighters had forgotten our miserable neighbourhood, that morning. I wondered what could have possessed my parents to abandon their ancestral birthplace and warmer climes of Naples, to immigrate to such a place. In recent years I have often asked that very question, but will never know the answer. It had not occurred to me, while they lived, for those were happier times and it seemed the sun always shone.
(He crosses to the C. stage easel and sets up this new easel side by side the easel at C. stage. He takes the young man's portrait and places it on the stage R. easel. At no time can the audience see the contents of the portraits. The easels are set as close as possible together.)
Michael. Street vendors went about their business, undaunted by the demonic darkness that engulfed our world. I found momentarily relief as I passed by a chestnut-seller's oven, and felt a surge of heat from fiery coals. Entering a gloomy alley, I heard an angelic voice singing a Christmas carol in the shadows of a doorway. I had quite forgotten that Christmas would soon be upon us. When I passed by the doorway, an old, haggard streetwalker propositioned me and I was shocked to realize the sweet, melodious sounds originated from that grotesque.
My spirits were raised somewhat once I beheld the welcoming lights of The Anchor and Hope tavern, ahead.
Inside, I was greeted by Hannah and the usual boisterous scene. We sat at a table with her friends and drank, but I was nothing more than a quiet spectator. My thoughts returned to the young man. That face? I had never seen such beauty in a man! As I looked about the tavern, and watched vulgar vignettes played out before my eyes, I speculated on the young man's fate if he had accompanied me. I decided that there would be no happy endings. Where did he come from, I wondered? Was he the answer to my pray?
(He takes his self-portrait off of the easel and props it against the Upstage wall, facing away from audience, and selects a new, blank canvas from the wall. He takes that new canvas and places it onto the easel at centre stage L. He begins to sketch a new self-portrait.)
Michael. It was then I understood. I had been given the opportunity of a lifetime. A chance to learn, first hand from a masterpiece. To study it up close, even to emulate, if I could. I knew I must push aside my resentment toward the young man, and instead think him a God send! I left Hannah, happily holding court, and returned as quickly as I could to my room.
My first attempt at a self-portrait had failed to meet my standards, but now I have an inspiration! A reason to start anew!
(He continues to work at the easel, as lights fade to blackout)
(During blackout, sound of rain)
-------------------------------------------
Act One. Scene Seven.
Michael's studio. Later that night.
(Lights up dim. The candles are lit.)
(Michael is asleep on the cot. The front door opens, but he continues to sleep, undisturbed.)
(Hannah enters stage L. carrying wine bottles, sees him asleep and quietly crosses to the orange boxes and sets them down. She crosses upstage of the easels and stops to look at the portraits. She looks first at Michael's and then notices the young man's and is awestruck by his painting.)
Hannah. Aw my gaud! (Michael wakes up with a start, and sees her back to him leaning into the portrait. He jumps up as if to attack her.)
Michael. Hey! What are you doing!.. (Hannah turns and he sees her.) Hannah? It is you. Why did you enter my room? (Sees that he has hurt her feelings) You startled me.
Hannah. So I reckon. (She hugs him) I knocked on your door. It wasn't locked, so I came in. I'm sorry. I tried not to disturb you, but when I saw that...
Michael. No matter. No harm done. (Pause) Well, what do you think of it? (They both study the portrait)
Hannah. I ain't no educated person like yourself, but I ain't never seen anythin' quite so comely in all me years! It's quite perfect, 'andsome, good-lookin' and anythin' else I can think of! When did you paint it?
Michael. I did not...
Hannah. It's the best I ever saw! (She hugs him again). How comes you ain't signed it? Were you waitin' for me?
Michael. It is not... quite finished.
Hannah. What? It looks fine to me! But, what do I know?
Michael. You know more than you think, dear Hannah. (They embrace) While I have the pleasure of your expert knowledge... (He crosses to the boxes and picks up a wine bottle)
Hannah. 'ere don’t be saucy!
Michael. No I am serious. What about my portrait? I meant my other portrait? (He joins her at the easel)
Hannah. (Studying it). It is most of them things what I said before, but, it's not, well...If I 'ad not seen your other portrait, it would be the best, but.. You see what I mean?
Michael. Yes. I see. It is good, but not as good. (He offers her wine)
Hannah. Yes! That's what I meant to say. (She drinks) Mm. That's better! It warms the cockles of me ‘eart! (He laughs) What I don’t quite get? This uvver one ain't finished, even the likes of me can see that, but why paint annuver? I mean, you ain't gonna get better than that one?
Michael. You have a point, my clever little bird. (She giggles at his endearment.) The thing is Hannah, artists are never satisfied.
(He crosses upstage R. and picks up his first self-portrait leaning against the upstage wall, and brings it back to show Hannah.) Remember this? (He sets it in the middle of the other two. The audience does not see any of these paintings)
Hannah. Oh yes! ‘course. You know, silly me, I thought that ‘un, (indicates his other portrait) was the same as this! But somethin' bovered me about it?
Michael. (Curious) What bothered you?
Hannah. (Studies all three portraits). I see it, now that all three are laid out afore me. The first one that you did and the second one you did, both ‘ave innocence. That’s what it is! In their eyes, they ‘ave innocence, like a new-born, like your eyes, me dear. (She gestures to his latest portrait) But this one ‘as an harshness about it. (Shudders) You looks angry.
Michael. That is very astute! Of course, you are directly on target. Thank you. I believe you have solved my problem!
Hannah. (Smiling) Then we must celebrate! (Crosses to the boxes and picks up wine.)
Michael. (Laughing) Absolutely!..Would you accept my first self- portrait as a gift? I should like you to have it.
Hannah. Yes. Thank you. I dunno what to say?
Michael. (Smiling) Then I must remember to give you more gifts.
(Hannah laughs. She crosses upstage R to the cot. Places the bottles to the side and lies down on the cot. She gestures to Michael.)
Hannah. Come ‘ere.
(He crosses to join her at the cot. He sits and takes her in his arms.)
(Lights fade to black out)
-------------------------------------------
Act Two.
Act Two. Scene One.
Michael’s studio. The following afternoon.
(During blackout, sounds of Victorian street life. Carriages, workers, children at play...)
(Lights up. It is gloomy throughout the room.)
(Michael is alone. Hannah has gone, along with his gift of his portrait. He toils at his portrait at C. stage. A physical change has come over him. He looks more dishevelled than before. His demeanour has also changed. He is unhappy and irritable.)
(He works for a time. Then stops and steps back to compare both portraits.)
Michael. No! It is not good enough! (He angrily throws his paint brush to the floor and crosses to the boxes to find another full wine bottle, and drinks. He returns to the easels and studies the young man's portrait.)
Michael. (Frustrated) How? How did he achieve that effect! (He drinks wine) And why is he not here to show me? (He laughs harshly) Him? What can he teach me? He understands nothing!.. By what means did he accomplish this? (He angrily gestures to the heavens) Did you show him how? (Pause) Why him? Why not me? (He picks up brush and palette and returns to his portrait.) If you are watching over me, then direct my hand! Give me the ability to paint like him!
(Michael continues to paint as the lights fade to blackout)
----------------------------------------------
Act Two. Scene Two.
Michael's studio. Later that same evening.
(Lights up. It is evening. The candles are lit)
(Michael works at his portrait by candlelight for a time and then stops.)
Michael. It is finished. I can do nothing more! (Crosses to the orange boxes Stage L. cleaning his brush, and places it on the box. Opens a bottle of wine and crosses upstage of his portrait. He slowly drinks while he contemplates both portraits for some time. His anger builds until he is unable to control himself any longer.)
Michael. Is this how you help me, damn you! (Lifts his portrait from the easel as if showing it to the heavens and then suddenly throws it to the floor and kicks it away, upstage L) Why did you send me this? (Picks up the young man's self portrait as if to do the same thing, but hesitates, and then places it back on the easel. crosses upstage to the cot and slumps dejectedly)
Michael. What manner of cruel trick do you play on me? (Speaks to the heavens) What have I done to deserve such torment? You place before me a masterpiece, yet it is beyond my skill to rival or even imitate it with any degree of satisfaction... I do not understand. I prayed to you and your answer is to degrade and humiliate! You are supposed to be kind. Instead you are evil! As far as I am concerned, from this moment on, you do not exist! I am done with you! It would have better had I never laid eyes on it!
(The young man immediately enters Stage L. Michael is not aware of the him for he slumps, head in hands)
Young Man. Good evening, sir. I am here for the portrait.
Michael. (Looking up) Oh, it is you? At this hour, sir?
Young Man. You expressed a wish to no longer have it.
Michael. (Stands and crosses to portrait) No matter. It is here.
(As the young man crosses to the easel, Michael is suddenly reluctant to part with the portrait, and blocks the young man's way to the easel.)
Michael. My apologies, but I find that I have changed my mind. (Laughs, nervously) Would it be possible to leave the portrait in my safekeeping for a day or two more? I suddenly find I am not quite finished with it.
Young Man. Sir, I am instructed to return with the portrait, this evening.
Michael. By whom?
Young Man. I am not at liberty to say.
Michael. But you claim that this portrait is yours. Surely then, you can decide for yourself?
Young Man. Sir, I did not say I owned it. Only that I painted it. Now if you will excuse me... (The young man tries to get around Michael, but he bars the way.)
Michael. What harm could there be if you returned in a few days? After all, you brought it here for a reason?
Young Man. That decision is not mine to make.
Michael. (Becoming desperate) But, it was loaned me for a purpose. Was it not?
Young Man. Sir, it has served its purpose.
Michael. What do you mean by that, sir? (The young man does not reply) ...If it is a question of payment? I have some coin, and will be glad... (Michael goes through his pockets)
Young Man. I cannot return without the portrait.
Michael. Well, what about just one more day? (The young man is silent)… An hour or two, then? Surely, you can grant me that? (There is silence. Frustrated, Michael shouts to the heavens) Help me, damn you! (The young man waits patiently.) Can I not persuade you to change your mind, sir? (Young man is silent) Very well. I will bring it to you. (Michael crosses to portrait, and stands upstage of it staring at it.)
Michael. (Apologising) I find I cannot...
(The young man crosses to the easel and is about to pickup the portrait when Michael suddenly thrusts a painter's knife into his side. The young man gasps and falls to the floor downstage of the easel.)
Young Man. Why?... (He moans loudly as he holds his side.)
(Michael quickly looks toward the door, the young man is moaning all the while. He kneels down next to the young man, puts one hand roughly over his mouth, and stabs him deeply in the heart)
Michael. Please be quiet! (The young man moves for a moment, and then crumples, lifeless to the floor. Michael quickly crosses stage L. and locks the door. He outs all the candles, except one. He picks up that candle and slowly returns to the young man's side, crouches, and hesitantly touches his neck. )
Michael. (Recoils with the cold touch and drops the knife) What have I done? (He sits on the floor in silence, next to the young man and places the candle by his side.) Michael. (To young man) I could not let you take it. You do see that?
(After a time he forces himself to check through the man's pockets)
(There is a sudden knock at the door and Michael is frozen to the spot. Note*. The sudden knocks at the door are loud and abrupt.)
(Another knock at the door and after a pause, the sound of someone trying to open the door.)
Hannah. Michael! (She tries the lock, again. Michael looks about the room in a panic) Michael is you in there? It's me. Open up! (Knocking on the door) You asleep? Come on, wake up, it's Christmas! I've got a present for you! You'll never guess what? (Laughs, knocking) You ain’t sleepin' at Christmas! (Knocking). Come on! There's a big shindig goin' on at the Anchor! You should see all the grub? Everyone's there! (Knocking)...
(Pause) Hannah. ‘ere wait a mo, you gave me a key, didn't you? Now where in the bleedin' hell did I put it?
(Michael nervously looks around and spots the knife. He quietly stands, picks it up, blows out the candle and crosses silently towards the door. He takes position upstage L. to the side of the door, with knife ready.)
(There is a long pause as he waits in the silence)
Hannah. Nah! I can't find it! I'd loose me bleedin ‘ead if it weren’t screwed on! (She bangs hard on the door for a time) I'm goin' back to the Anchor. I fancy some more of that goose gravy! I'll return, later! (The young man suddenly moans out loudly)
Hannah. Michael is that you? (She bangs on the door, again. Michael looks on helplessly, as the young man slowly drags himself towards the door) If you're in there, open the bleedin' door? It ain't funny no more! (Hannah knocks on the door. The young man reaches his arm out towards the door, and then collapses.) 'Ere, you got someone in there? (Knocks on the door) Is that why you won't answer? (Young man is still) Well, I'm orf, ducky!
(Silence. Michael does not move. The lights dim to blackout)
(During the blackout, the intensified sound of church bells. St. Mary-le-bow)
---------------------------------------------------
Act Two. Scene Three.
Michael's studio. Later that same night.
(Lights up. It is the middle of the night. The room is set as before, but the young man is not in the room.)
(Sound of front door being unlocked. Michael enters from stage L. and crosses to the boxes to find a wine bottle. He is breathless and exhausted. He drinks and then crosses to the cot upstage R. and collapses onto it.)
(After a time he speaks)
Michael. (To audience) I waited till mid of night. Thankfully, Hannah did not return for I am not certain what might have happened. But I know I could never harm her...
I carried the lifeless body across the landing outside my door and rolled it down a flight of stairs at the back of the building, till it came to a stop on the stone floor below. It was physically demanding, and I feared to drop the dead weight. My body is not used to such hard labour.
No person living in the other rooms stirred, and if they heard any sound, chose to ignore it. It is a neighbourhood where curiosity ceases after dark and remains hidden behind locked doors until morning light.
Outside, river fog reeked of soot and sewage. Nothing moved but vermin, scurrying from one meal to another.
The derelict backyard overlooks the bitterly cold waters of the Thames, some few yards distant. Even so, I was unable to carry the weight and instead dragged his body across the frost covered ground towards the wharf.
It seemed like a life time, and my entire body was soon bathed in cold sweat.
All of a sudden, I heard loud noises coming from the shadows about my dwelling, and was certain that my terrible crime had been discovered. My imagination rapidly flashed before my eyes as I watched my own trial and public execution accompanied by the jeers of a mob. By the time I realised that the disturbance was nothing more than cats tussling, my heart pounded so violently against my chest that I almost fainted dead away.
I stood in the silence until my breathing returned to near normal and I had regained what composure still remained.
The hardest part was yet to come, and I struggled to pull the body up two steps onto the rotting wood surface of the wharf.
Once convinced I was alone, I pushed the lifeless body into the murky river.
Strange, but as the young man sank below the surface, It seemed that he opened his eyes and smiled up at me...
I know that the police will eventually find him. But it matters not. They drag bodies from the Thames every day. London's morgues are overflowing with the unclaimed and unwanted. (Michael stands and crosses to the portrait to admire it)
...The portrait is now mine and mine alone! As it should have been from the beginning! (Pause) I wonder why the young fool did not sign his finished work. Is that not proof enough that he intended me to claim soul ownership? (Picks up a paint brush and wine bottle.)
Well, all that remains...
(He is about to sign the portrait when there is suddenly a loud knock on the door... Michael freezes. Another knock, but he does not move. After a pause, the sound of a key unlocking the door. He looks in terror as the door slowly opens...)
Hannah. (She enters) Oh, there you are! What's the matter? You look like you seen a bleedin' ghost? (She looks around the room as she puts her key in a pocket, and sees the portrait on the floor.) ‘Ere, what you been up to? (Michael is silent) Are you all right, me dear? (She crosses to join him at the easel. He is still holding the brush and wine bottle) I thought this ‘un was finished?
Michael. What? (Quietly) Oh… Yes it is.
Hannah. You gonna put your name on it, then? (Silence) Come on, and then we can go celebrate! It's still goin' strong at the Anchor!.. (Michael is hesitant) What, cat got your tongue? (She takes the wine bottle from his hand and drinks.) (Chuckling) You ‘ad better put yer mark on it before someone else does!
Michael. (Nervous) What do you mean? Who?
Hannah. What? Oh, I was joking, dear...
Michael. (Now resolved). I am the fool if I stop, now. It is mine! (He drinks from the bottle, and then signs the portrait.) There!
(Suddenly, all lights go to blackout immediately followed by a single piercing light that engulfs him. He drops the brush and bottle and covers his eyes as Hannah looks on, horrified. A moment later, there is a deafening high pitched noise, so unbearable that Hannah crumples onto the cot and Michael cowers to the floor, as they cover their ears.)
(Blackout)
(During the blackout, sounds of a high pitched scream of agony and then silence)
(Lights up. Hannah is still lying on the cot, as before. Michael has vanished. The easel that held the young man’s portrait is now lying on the floor, downstage R. The young man's portrait has also vanished.)
Hannah. (Slowly opens her eyes, sits up and looks at the easel) Michael!
(Blackout)
---------------------------------------------
Act Two. Scene Four.
National Gallery. London. Present Day.
(During blackout sounds to establish modern day London. Traffic noise, car horns, subway trains, trucks, road drills, police car sirens....)
(Traffic sounds stop and background sounds of people talking and shuffling about a room continue)
(During blackout.) Young Man. (offstage) Please move along the room so that everyone can be seated.
(Lights up. There is a backdrop that completely closes off most of the stage leaving only a small downstage, front area. Front and C. stage. Is an easel with a portrait on it, facing the audience. It is a self - portrait of Michael Colonessi. The young man stands to the side of the easel facing the audience. He is unchanged, except for his attire. He is now dressed in modern day business clothing; Suit, shirt and tie, and hair styled accordingly. His attire is still dark and sombre, and very elegant.)
Young Man. (addresses audience as if they are viewing the portrait at the gallery.) Ladies and gentleman! (Background sounds stop) Welcome to the National Gallery's newly opened viewing room. I trust you are all comfortably seated? (Pause) It gives me great pleasure to present Michael Colonessi's masterpiece. His self-portrait!
It has now been over a year since this portrait was discovered in the vaults of the National gallery. And during that time, the world's most renowned art experts have scrutinised every aspect of the painting. It has undergone extensive carbon dating, as well as paint, canvas and even handwriting tests. The results conclude that it is authentic and without doubt the work of the artist Michael Colonessi. No flash photography, please...
Before this portrait came to light, Colonessi's ‘unsigned’ self-portrait, as it is known, was considered to be his last and greatest work of art. And along with Da Vinci's ‘Mona Lisa’ has been the standard by which we perceive greatness. But even these two monumental achievements pale in comparison. This new find has turned the art establishment on its ear!
His other works are magnificent in their own right, but this self-portrait is one of a kind, and Colonessi was assuredly touched by genius when he painted it.
See how delicately the artist captured the eyes? (He gestures to the portrait) One feels that the portrait is almost alive and his eyes make contact, such is the brilliance of this achievement.
But how was this masterpiece overlooked for over one hundred and fifty years? And why has there never even been a mention of its existence?
It is another piece of the puzzle that has surrounded Michael Colonessi for almost two centuries. Sir, please tell your child not to touch that...Thank you.
There are no historic records of his last days, and we can only rely on an account given by his closest friend, an art dealer.
According to his story, he had commissioned Colonessi to paint a self-portrait.
When he arrived one morning at the artist's studio, he found the ‘un-signed’ self-portrait waiting for him, but there was no sign of Michael Colonessi, and he was never seen nor heard from again. What happened to him? He seems to have vanished from the face of the earth. Was he murdered? Did he commit suicide? And why was his body never found? Perhaps he met a watery grave in the River Thames? (Smiles)
It is a mystery, to be sure, and one that will probably never be solved. Michael Colonessi knows what took place, but he has long since gone to his maker.
What remains is this magnificent work of art for all to appreciate...
That concludes our tour for today. Thank you for your time. Please make your way to the exits. The Gallery will be closing in fifteen minutes. (Young man smiles.) (Sounds of people talking and shuffling about a room continue for a time and then fade to silence.)
(Young man exits stage R.)
(Lights fade to blackout, except a single shaft of light directed onto the portrait at stage C.)
Michael. (Voice over.) He knows the truth, believe me, but he lies to you! He always lies and deceives! Can you not hear me? Listen to me. Look at me, I live! See? I move my eyes. How can you not see? You are but a few paces in front of me. I am the portrait! Please look! My eyes. I can move my eyes. I beg you. Someone. Let me out! Why can no one ever hear me?...No! Do not go. Do not leave me alone with him! God, please forgive my sins. Save me from this Hell!"
(Blackout)
The End
(For performance rights contact the author @ londonenglandkent@yahoo.com)
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