The Blue Bag

The Blue Bag

Act I

Trina slowly enters the stage, wearing travel dress, a hat and carrying a big leather bag in vibrant blue. It seems to be her room. She sits down on her bed, opens the bag and thoughtfully places something inside. A bunch of girls comes in laughing.

Girls: -You’re back, Trina!!! How was your trip?

Trina: - Nothing special, all as usual.

Girls: - You never tell us about your travels. They must be boring you to tears.

Trina: - You’re right! I am much more interested in your new friends and what you did, it’s so exciting!

Girls and Trina leave the stage, girls pulling her by the hand, she jokingly resisting.

Lights going down, Trina coming back to the stage. Opening her bag again.

Trina: - My boring stories. Nobody here now, I can pull out one and enjoy.

Paris

Trina on the train to Gare du Nord. Alone, looking out of the window, thinking while leaning on one hand. A waiter passes by, offering refreshments.

Waiter: - Tea, coffee, why not?

Trina: - One “Why not” here, please.

Waiter: - (Giving her a coffee), Sugar?

Trina: - Just the milk please.

Waiter: - No sugar?

Trina: - No.

Waiter: - Don’t have any anyway.

Trina: - Then I’m in luck.

Waiter: - May I add some more?

Trina: - (Looking at the obviously attractive waiter over the top of her glasses) Surprise me.

Waiter: - Final stop, main entrance, an hour after arrival?

Trina: - We’ll see.

Gare du Nord, an hour after arrival. Trina stands at the main entrance, watching the attractive waiter approach.

Waiter: - Hi Trina!

Trina: - Alex!! You know I hate waiting. Where’s your car?

An hour later, Alex and Trina approach a stately Chateaux on the outskirts of Paris. An elderly man stands at the bottom of the stairs, looking happy to see them.

Pierre: - Trina! Alex! Great to see you guys! Trina, dear, you look lovelier every day. How was your drive? Did you use the time to tell Alex to give up this stupid waiter job and finally come and help me here? I am not managing the house and the business alone anymore.

Alex: - Dad! Stop this, you know it won’t work.

Pierre: - Young people today don’t know anything about values. Look, - everything I have worked for is falling apart. My garden, my shop, my house… It all needs a pair of strong hands. If this continues, Alex, I will leave everything to the church.

Trina: - Pierre, I am only here for a short time. Alex and I have some things to discuss.

Pierre: - (resigned) I’ll see you for dinner, then.

An old salon, bookshelves, old glass, candelabras, baroque chairs and a dusty desk filled with memorabilia. Tina and Alex sit in the armchairs at the corner window and are deep in discussion.

Trina: - So, was there anything interesting in the business class today? A moment of glory?

Alex: - Not much – some old uninspiring hags. But during the last two trips, there were a couple worth investigating. Substantial Tahiti pearls, crocodile bags, expensive suitcases. Sent the boys to get some addresses. Here.

Trina: - (Inspecting the notes and thoughtfully nodding.) This one has already been surveyed. All show. The other two look promising. I will get my people on that.

Alex: - I can’t be doing this much longer, you know. Dad is getting suspicious. And he really needs me here. I feel bad leaving him alone.

Trina: - Cut it out, Alex. Pierre lost a fortune in gambling. If not for you, he would already be sharing a bed in a common house long ago. Here’s your commission for the last time, by the way.

Alex: - So much, Trina?

Trina: - Your last couple of tips were priceless.

Trina’s room. Present. She’s alone. Still sitting on her bed with the opened blue bag in front of her. Humming dreamily while putting this memory carefully back in the bag and closes it. Then she gets up, turns off the light and says:

Trina: - I guess I should go down to dinner. The girls are waiting.

Act II

The stage is dark, with just a cross on the wall lit up. A choir of nuns chants a prayer.

“Hail, holy Queen, Mother of Mercy, our Life, our Sweetness and our Hope. To Thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve. To Thee do we send out sighs, mourning and weeping in this valley of tears…”

Lights go on to show a monastic dining hall. Long table, simple wooden chairs. Plump and lively cook, Sister Catherine is busy, energetically setting the table with sturdy earthenware bowls. One of the bowls falls on the floor and breaks.

Sister Catherine: - Damn! (Quickly looks around to see if anyone heard the profanity). What a day! I am such a mess. No inner peace, and this is why I came here in the first place. Mother Bridget said that all I need is time and prayers, but it’s my seventh year here and nothing has changed. Why is my mind so filled with doubt? Why won’t the worldly problems disappear? I love it here. I admit, I am not much of a loner and ascetic. What would I give to be so distant and passive like some of the other nuns here! But my flesh is weak. I still love the smell of a freshly baked bread and brewed coffee in the morning. I close my eyes and smile at the thought of a hearty stew and the flowery flavour of honey. My heart stops a beat at a sight of a milky white drop of water slowly sliding down the side of a well – aged cheese. (Closes her eyes and puts her hand on her breast piously).

Talks to the audience now:

But I am getting carried away. I must tell you that I didn’t come to this convent following a higher calling. My way was thorny and painful. I ended up here out of desperation and disillusionment. This frumpy cook you see in front of you was no less than a doctor of philosophy. My worldly name was Marina Bernadotti and I was an author of numerous serious publications. Works, well known in the academic world, that have caused many learned debates and had just as many supporters as critics. My area of expertise was the philosophy of a crime.

Stage darkens.

Train to Dublin.

Marina Bernadotti, considerably younger, leaner, well-dressed, sleek hair and very expensive glasses. Sits on that train, tired after giving a seminar at a retreat at Dalkey. A woman’s magazine, carelessly thrown by someone under the empty seat next to her, attracts her attention. Normally it is something she wouldn’t read, but now she is tired and thinks it is something good to get her mind off work. She picks it up and starts looking through it.

Marina: - Another royal scandal. I don’t understand how it is even news. I mean do any of these people know details of my divorce? Do they care? …How to make sushi at home…10 ways of getting rid of fat stains on leather…Wait…

Marina stumbles. Between the sushi and cake recipe and all over the margins of the magazine, in a perfect staccato of a beautiful psychopathic handwriting, there’s a note, reminiscent of the “Dear Boss” letter of Jack the Ripper. A man behind the scenes reads it out loud:

“Whoever gets this message should know: I want to confess to no less than 20 murders of perfect strangers. Men and women. I killed them because I could and because I liked it. In fact, I loved every moment of it. Since nobody notices, I see no reason why I shouldn’t keep at it, and with every time I get better and better. I can’t wait to smell their sweat and to see the look of fear and desperation in their eyes. Then resignation. Nothing compares with the sweet climax of being able to take a life from someone, who is so thoroughly broken by pain I caused, that she practically gives it to you. Why, she begs to be able to die…”

Marina Bernadotti, visibly excited, grabs the magazine and runs out.

At the university

Marina Bernadotti’s office. Desk filled with papers and books, shelves, lamp. Marina and her assistant are looking at the magazine.

Marina: - This must be divine intervention. My ticket to Nobel Prize! Basically presented to me on a silver tablet! I have been looking for something like this for years!!

Assistant: (with pathos)- Yes. It is perfectly clear that the killer is not interested in his victims as human beings. All of them are obviously no more than a philosophical study to him. It is almost as if he laid them on the altar of your next brilliant publication. (looking at the audience) …and I stand to profit as well as a research assistant.

Marina: - (Pacing up and down the room, thinking aloud) His are not the crimes of passion, or something he does following his lowly instinct. No!

He is trying to work out if he can just use a random person to his own end. For example, he needs to know that he’s not alone in the world, so by destroying a life, he proves to himself that he actually has a purpose.

Assistant: - God, you are brilliant! Another hypothesis may be that he tries to prove that the existence of others isn’t a purpose in itself.

Marina: - This is going in the right direction! We may consider extrapolating on his emotional involvement. Maybe he needs to find out, what kind of philosopher he would be if he just killed in cold blood, as opposed to experiencing excitement from ultimate satisfaction of existentialism. (Assistant nods, exited).

A year later. The same room. Marina, tired, but satisfied, proof reads the ready publication for the last time. With a sigh and a nod, she puts the still warm from the printer’s wad of paper in a brown envelope and writes the address on it.

Marina: - Ready at last. My best work so far. I only wish that at the end of it I could plausibly hypothesise why he should actually stop killing, but it is a nature of such publications – one always needs a leeway for the next one. Besides, for that I would have to provide arguments for and against moralism at the same time. Nobody has this much time and patience to read.

She seals the envelope, sighs, silently laments the imperfection of being and puts her coat on. The door opens and her assistant runs in, dishevelled, crazy look in his eyes.

In his hands, a daily paper, which he slams on the desk in front of Marina.

Assistant: - My life is over. A year’s work! A whole year of research for this publication of yours, and now - this. Reads aloud: “Serial killer suicides”

Marina: (rips the paper out of his hands, reads herself). –“ Having unsuccessfully tried to alert the public to his deeds, and having become increasingly weary of trying to help justice authorities to catch and stop him, a certain Mike O’Brian, self confessed serial murder, has taken his own life. According to a letter he sent to the press, he continually left detailed descriptions of his crimes in library books, walls of the public toilets, theatre programs and baker’s flyers. Frustrated by the total lack of reaction, Mike tried to give himself up, but the police didn’t believe him, thinking he is just a bum, looking for a roof over his head this time of the year. The last straw was when he realized that some of the people who found his notes, plagiarized them by publishing them as their own criminal novels, TV series and even dissertations, from criminology through to psychiatry. O’Brien hanged himself, disappointed in the moral state of today’s society and not being able to see himself as part of such.”

Some time later

The stage is darkened. It’s a nun’s cell, stern in its décor. A window and a cross on the wall. Sister Catherine, aka Marina Bernadotti, is on her knees, looking at the cross piously.

Sister Catherine: - My head is spinning from so many questions. Are Science and Moral compatible? Is it easier to just forget everything you knew, leave everything behind, move your life in a different direction. Abandon this drive to reach the truth by all means. How easy it is, to wake up in the morning, to prostrate yourself in the chapel and just pray. Use prayer to free your mind, to fly away on the wings of clear conscience, into unknown spheres, void of dark matter. No doubts. No regrets, no feeling of fear or shame. What a pity, this beautiful feeling is impossible to hold on to.

Act III

An elegant salon. Ladies’ desk, artfully made venetian style chairs. A cosy rug on the floor, tasteful floral curtains, half drawn over an arched window, just letting some morning sun into the room. Trina sits at the desk, wearing a dressing gown. She’s holding a ledger in one hand, a pen in the other. Same girls as in the act I come in.

Trina: Good morning my pets!

Girls: Morning! So nice to have you with us for a while, Trina! Why do you have to travel so much? Especially when you say your travels are always so boring? Why not stay with us and enjoy some time at home? It’s so lovely here, isn’t it?

Trina: One day perhaps.

Girls flutter out of the room, a colorful cloud of perfumed gauze. Trina gets up, walks over to one of the chairs and picks up a blue bag. Opens it, and seems to be pulling out another memory out of it.

Train to Paris

Trina is in a compartment alone, reading. The door opens and an elderly lady walks in.

Lady: May I join you here?

Trina: Sure, pleased to have some company. It is a long ride.

Lady: What brings you to Paris?

Trina: A walk down the memory lane. Keeps me alive.

Lady: (smiling) A young girl like you talking about staying alive…

Trina: Not that young. Do you live in Paris?

Lady: Just outside, in a lovely country house.

Trina: All alone?

Lady: No. I have a lot of kids. Well, not really my own…young souls needing refuge and guidance.

Trina: I lived in a convent once. Do you run an orphanage?

Lady: Of sorts. I guess you can see lost souls as orphans. They are just as alone, vulnerable and dependent on a good hearted person to stay on the straight and narrow.

Trina: You’ve got me curious. Do tell. My name is Marina Bernadotti, formerly sister Catherine. I am on crossroads right now. Looking for a purpose.

Old lady leans back and looks at Trina with a benevolent smile.

Lady: Once I was a good looking young thing like you, and full of life. There were many paths on which my restless soul took me, not all of them fragrant and filled with flowers. Having tried my fortune long enough, I ended up in Paris one day. Alone, cold and penniless, I sat in a street café, having invested my last money in a cup of hot coffee. I mustn’t’ve looked too bad anyway, because even in this sorry state, I attracted attention of a handsome stranger.

We are now in a Paris café. A young lady sits at the bistro table, holding a cup of coffee with both hands, as if to warm them up. A man in his forties, handsome, well dressed, sits at another table nipping on a glass of wine. He is watching the young woman with obvious interest. He silently cheers her with his glass, then gets up and pulls up a chair to her table.

Man: Please, excuse my being so straight forward. I couldn’t help noticing that you shiver. You must be cold and hungry, may I ask you to join me for lunch?

Lady: I guess I’m in no position to decline.

The man hails a waiter and a minute later he brings two plates and glasses, filled with wine.

Man: Forgive the platitude, but what’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone here?

Lady: Down on my luck, I guess. Made some decisions, this is the result.

Man: Cause and effect, the usual story.

Lady: Usual?

Man: Same play, different actors. Every time. Was it a man?

Lady: As kind as you are, in the beginning.

Man: There’s nothing kind about me, I’m afraid. I smell despondency.

Lady: So what’s your game?

Man: I play with open cards. I don’t promise anyone stars from the heavens, and they don’t complain about the darkness.

Lady: Darkness…I’ve had enough of it.

Man: Oh, I see you are no stranger to adversity. But remember, as hard it is to suffer, watching others do so is much worse. It is even harder to raise yourself to helping others when you hit the rock bottom yourself.

Lady: Continue…

Man: Well, I grew up alone with my mother. Maman let me think that she was a privateer, living on a nice pension, left to her by one of her influential friends. The doors of our house were always open. Light, music, good food and excellent wine were always a part of our life. I was spoilt by many pretty young women, who also seemed to be ever present there. I have received a solid home education. Learnt to distinguish a good drop and recognize the pleasure of heavy brocade over my shoulders. In short, I was groomed to become a dandy with the unmistakable airs of leisurely brat.

Then maman suddenly died. I turned 20, when it became clear to me that maman ran a brothel. A high class, very exclusive place, but a brothel nevertheless. Also, as good as maman was in spending money, managing it was obviously not one of her strengths. In other words, I have inherited a brothel with a huge debt.

Lady: So what have you got in mind for me, prostitution?

Man: (Making a dismissive gesture), I’ve got enough angels for that. I need someone who can take care of them. My partner has found her personal happiness, and I am absolutely hopeless in matters of organization. On top of it all, I have a young son and a gambling habit. So what do you think?

Lady: My name is Francoise Brodeur. I am a professional thief.

Man: Pleased to meet you. Pierre. Pierre Louvoise. My little boy’s name is Alex. I am sure you will like him.

A corner of the stage lights up with two ladies in the compartment smiling at one another.

Old lady: Francoise Brodeur, a professional thief.

Trina: Catherine – Marina Bernadotti, Trina. Criminological expert, a nun and a philosopher.

On the stage light up one by one, separees with couples in them at different stages of undress.

1st room: a girl stroking a man with a whip. “On all fours, your honour!”, man eagerly doing as told.

2nd room: another girl handcuffing the chief of police to the chair.

3rd room: Trina sitting in front of the computer screen with Alex.

Trina: Jackpot! I’ve got the videos. Also the ones with the ministers of justice and education. Executing their duties in no uncertain way. Make some printouts. I want them in the post tomorrow morning. I hope we are not going to regret this.

Alex: Well, this is definitely the coup. If all these representatives of local justice pay up, we don’t need to worry about the fate of our angels anymore. You can finally stop traveling, stay here, smell the roses and maybe even improve the cooking in this place. And I can finally give up that waiting job. Dad has been getting suspicious lately. Lucky for us he’s not got a clue about the finances.

Pierre walking into the room, holding an envelope.

Pierre: Trina, Alex! Wonders will never cease! I’ve always known that this business will pick up again one day! Just look at the bank statements this month – stately sums have come in from high places. Have you two applied for research grants from public institutions? I mean, we could certainly contribute with the wealth of knowledge about human nature and it’s manifestations at the time of need. We are finally getting some recognition for our work!

Trina and Alex exchange glances and smile.

Trina alone in her bedroom again, sitting on her bed and placing this last memory in the blue bag. Girls flutter in, surround her with gaze, laughter and lively chatter.

Girls: Trina! We’ve heard you won’t be leaving us anymore! We are so happy! We’ve got so much to tell and show you. So many things we can do together!

Trina: Calm down, it’s true. Don’t fuss so much, we’ve got time now. A lot of time…

Picks up her blue bag. Puts it away into the cupboard and lets girls pull her out of the room.

The End.