Uncle Oscar

(a one-act play)

CAST:

Frank, an age fifties to sixties typical businessman, dressed in a suit. Should be on the tallish side.

Death, a smallish man, perhaps a bit fat, dressed in cargo pants with a Hawaiian or other type loud shirt. A rumpled sort of look, pleasant, cheery and not at all fearsome.

Waitress, typical and uniformed, constantly chewing gum.

STAGING: Stage is bare, but for a small table of the type found in outdoor cafes, with two chairs.

ACT OPENS to a darkened stage, Frank and Death standing side by side, the waitress offstage. Pinspot picks up Frank's head and shoulders, Death far enough away to be out of the light.

FRANK
(Gazing somewhat wistfully up into the middle distance)

I was . . . you know, sort of on my way somewhere.

(pauses)

To the bank I think, not sure now, it's all kind of a muddle. But it must have been the bank and an approval on the loan I'd applied for to keep my not so smart and not so interested daughter in college was on my mind.

(pauses)

You want to know the truth, getting her out of college and home to a job was what I was really thinking about, but you get my drift. Busy, between appointments and running like hell. Missing lunch so Betty could stay in some damned sorority. She wasn't missing lunch, that's for damned sure.

(pauses)

So there I was, trying to get across 47th street without being clipped by one of those wild eyed cab drivers, ducked behind a bus and made the curb, but barely, know what I mean. Heart pumping a mile a minute. Swamped in the lunch hour rush, an absolute horde of people and then it seemed like they all just suddenly melted away and there was this tap on my shoulder.

Lights come up. Death reaches out and taps Frank on the shoulder.

FRANK

(looking surprised)

Excuse me?

DEATH

I'm Death.

FRANK

I beg your pardon?

DEATH

Death.

(pauses)

It's time.

FRANK

What the hell fella, got no time to talk now. Take your problem somewhere else. You some kind of weirdo?

DEATH

No. Just Death. Everyone meets me sooner or later.

FRANK

You want money?

(speaks hurriedly, reaches for his pocket)

I'm a little short right now, but I gotta have something here if you don't mind change.

DEATH

(chuckles)

No, no. No need for money.

FRANK

(doing a double-take)

That's what I love about New York. Wander around here long enough you see everything from Ethiopian steel drum players to kids doing flips on blades and sheiks in the park . . .

(pauses)

You're serious, aren't you?

DEATH

Deadly serious.

(brightens)

C'mon Frank, we gotta go.

FRANK

This is nuts. Guy dressed like somebody's weirdo Uncle Oscar comes up and just announces he's death.

(pauses)

Wait a minute! How do you know my name?

DEATH

Shoddiest of details, Frank. Names don't really mean very much, but it's how you identify yourself. Want a last name as well? Social security number, driver's license, street address?

FRANK

If you're death, you gotta do better than that. Prove it!

(stands back confidently)

Death looks at Frank, stands back himself and begins to stroke his chin. Frank clutches his chest.

FRANK

Argggghhhhh!

(slowly sinks to his knees, gasping for breath)

Okay, okay. I believe you. Lay off for God's sake.

Death reaches out a hand to Frank, pulls him to his feet. Frank breathes deeply, getting his balance back, looks at Death without fear but with sudden interest. They sit at the edge of the stage.

FRANK

I'll be damned. Where's the shroud? Where's the sickle, the darkness where your face's supposed to be? You look like some little fat guy from Miami beach.

DEATH

Been seeing too many movies, Frank.

FRANK

You gotta have the wrong guy. Got the last name with two e's or something. Gotta be a mistake.

DEATH

Nope.

FRANK

Sure?

DEATH

Sure.

FRANK

Let's talk about it first.

DEATH

Cup of coffee?

FRANK

Yeah, coffee would be nice.

They rise and walk across the stage to a table.

DEATH

They all want that.

FRANK

(sitting down at the table stage left)

What, coffee?

DEATH

To talk about it first.

Waitress appears, leans back, arms crossed, order book in hand, chewing gum.

WAITRESS

What'll it be?

FRANK

Coffee

WAITRESS

That all?

FRANK

(distractedly)

Yeah.

WAITRESS

What about Uncle Oscar here?

FRANK

(close to panic)

Why'd you call him that?

WAITRESS

I dunno. Sure looks like somebody's Uncle Oscar.

Waitress sets two cups, pours, walks off stage.

DEATH

Cream and sugar?

FRANK

Yeah.

(pauses)

Now what's this all about?

DEATH

About?

FRANK

Yeah, you know. Why now. Why me?

DEATH

Why not?

(stirs coffee, sips)

Mmmm . . . good coffee. Hard to get good coffee anymore.

FRANK

Well in the first place, I just had my check up last week and the doctor said I was strong as a horse. The old ticker running like a wristwatch, no problems in the prostrate area, said I'd probably outlive my whole family.

(pauses)

And secondly, I'm just too damned busy right now. I don't want to bother you with details, you've probably got a lot to do, but I've got this wife and between the two of us, have we got a daughter. Thinks the world is her oyster and I've gotta get her out of college and on her own so me and Angela can get some rest and spend a few weeks in Florida every winter. It's been just one damned thing after another, but there's just a little light showing right now if I can just pull a few things together.

(Death starts to speak, but Frank holds up his hand to stop him)

And third,

(pauses)

Maybe the most important of all, I've never even thought about death and I need some time.

DEATH

Sure you have, Frank.

FRANK

What?

DEATH

Thought about death.

FRANK

Never.

(narrows his eyes and leans across the table)

Honest to God . . . never!

DEATH

What about at your father's funeral?

FRANK

That's different.

DEATH

How, different?

FRANK

I was thinking about my father's death you son of a bitch, not mine.

DEATH

Not even peripherally?

FRANK

My father was eighty-seven for God's sake. I'm fifty-four. C'mon back in thirty three years and maybe I'll be ready to talk to you. Dad retired with a bundle, got in over twenty years in the sunshine, fishing and playing golf. After Mom died, he even chased a few old babes.

DEATH

She wasn't real thrilled about that, I'll tell you.

FRANK

Whatever. But you get my drift. It's, it's just that I wasn't expecting . . .

(voice trails off)

DEATH

No one ever does.

FRANK

Perhaps, but look here, I suppose you have some kind of identification, something with my name on it, some kind of document.

DEATH

Not necessary.

FRANK

Well I must say you're a sight to behold. No offense, but I mean not even a crease in the trousers and that shirt. Where on earth did you get that shirt?

DEATH

That a problem to you?

FRANK

Well, I suppose not, but it does seem so . . .

DEATH

Irregular?

FRANK

Yes, that's it exactly. I mean one rather expects . . .

DEATH

What?

FRANK

Well, an appointment, some warning. I mean, this is a bit much to take in just wham bam here in the street when I'm thinking about something else. You warned my father.

DEATH

You knew.

FRANK

Well, in the abstract, of course I knew. Knew that someday at the end of a long and fruitful life things would sort of wind down. Get tired of all this, just kinda not care anymore. Have my family around if my daughter's out of college by then and smile wistfully at everyone, tell them to bear up, that I'm ready. But that's an abstract thought. Of course I knew that way.

DEATH

(throws his arms wide, with an expansive grin)

So, here I am!

FRANK

Yes of course, but this is all somehow so un-abstract. I mean this is here and now, no phone call first.

DEATH

No phone call.

FRANK

No knock at the door. You could have at least knocked.

DEATH

Never knock.

FRANK

A little preparation would have been nice.

DEATH

A lifetime to prepare.

FRANK

There you go again, in the abstract. There are some things I'll need to attend to first.

DEATH

No need.

FRANK

Easy for you to say, but I have obligations.

DEATH

No obligations.

FRANK

At the very least, a letter to write, couple of phone calls, things to say.

DEATH

Should have said them.

FRANK

Angela and I were just making plans last week. Plans that won't even begin for ten years. There's Florida and the 401K, a trip to Europe. All kinds of stuff. But who would know? Who would ever expect?

DEATH

You knew.

FRANK

There you go again. At fifty-four and feeling great, who knows, who expects?

(conspiratorially)

I don't suppose there's any kind of deal we could make? Some way to put it off for a while?

DEATH

You mean like a card game? Some kind of gamble or private deal?

FRANK

Yeah.

DEATH

Woody Alan, Frank. That only happens in books and stage plays.

FRANK

Well, what will they all think when I'm gone so suddenly?

DEATH

Very little.

FRANK

C'mon. Angela? My daughter? All my friends and acquaintances? Not much comfort in that. Certainly be a shock.

DEATH

Not so shocking. Remember Charlie Wilcox, five years ago?

FRANK

Yeah. Charlie was only forty-one. Shocked the shit out of me, I'll tell you.

DEATH

For how long?

FRANK

Well . . .

DEATH

When was the last time you talked about Charlie, even thought about him?

FRANK

Yeah, but his wife . . .

DEATH

She remarried now?

FRANK

Yeah . . .

DEATH

Bingo.

FRANK

There will be tears. They'll weep and wish me back.

DEATH

A few. Not many. Not for long.

FRANK

I'll be missed, grieved for, agonized over.

DEATH

Not much.

FRANK

Well, I can't bear the thought of not much and not for long.

DEATH

Not yours to bear.

FRANK

But the light at the end of the tunnel. For God's sake, I'm just about to get a grip on things. I was through all that mess at the office over the Johnson account last year and the boss was finally getting over it and back on track for my vice-presidency again. Angela and I have plans . . . the first time those plans have been just for us. I thought somehow it was all so important.

DEATH

Lot of that going around.

FRANK

I remember thinking my dad hadn't done it very well, even with knowing. His life was all loose ends, everything rolling around like a cat with a ball of yarn and the mess he left when he died took me a year to sort out.

(peers across the table)

And he knew. You gave him almost a year to get things in order.

DEATH

I didn't give him anything. His doctors gave him a clue. I don't give or take anything, Frank. I'm just here.
FRANK

So you're my personal representative.

(eyes Death with some distaste)

Jeez . . . what a letdown.

DEATH

I'm everybody's, Frank.

FRANK

What, millions of people dying every day and you're it?

DEATH

I'm it.

FRANK

Like Santa Claus . . . getting down all those chimneys in just one night.

DEATH

Not a bad analogy, Frank.

(pauses, a broad grin across his face)

I like it! Not all that accurate, but I like it!

FRANK

But we're spending so much time over this. Coffee and all . . . you can't spend this much time with everybody.

DEATH

Don't get a big head, Frank. Time is a human concept.

FRANK

Don't you get tired of it? All that endless conversation?

DEATH

Tired is a human concept too.

FRANK

But I am human.

DEATH

For now.

FRANK

Where are we going? What's it like where we're going?

DEATH

You done with your coffee?

FRANK

Not really, does it make a difference?

DEATH

I could use another cup.

(waves his hand at waitress off stage)

FRANK

Yeah, well me too. So answer me, what's it like?

DEATH

Not supposed to say.

FRANK

Oh yes, well just expect me to come along then?

DEATH

Pretty much.

FRANK

And suppose I'm not ready. Refuse to go along and all that.

DEATH

Not an option.

FRANK

Let's talk this through. Is there a way around it?

DEATH

She's slow bringing coffee.

Waitress appears, sauntering, fills the cups, chews gum.

FRANK

(looking at waitress)

What's your name?

WAITRESS

Jo-anne.

FRANK

Well Joanne, this fella I'm having coffee with is Death. Shake his hand.

DEATH

(murmuring)

That's not a good thing to get into, Frank.

FRANK

Just go ahead there, shake his hand.

WAITRESS

(tentatively shakes Death's hand)

You fellas been puttin' somethin' in the coffee?

FRANK

No. I'm serious Joanne, this guy is sure enough Death and he's come for me. Sit down and talk a minute.
WAITRESS

(warily, still chewing gum)

I'm not supposed to sit with the customers.

FRANK

What would you do if a guy like this came up and introduced himself as Death and told you you had to go along?

WAITRESS

Reckon I'd call a cop.

FRANK

No, I'm serious. Just suppose he is Death, suppose he somehow proved it to you?

WAITRESS

Him? Uncle Oscar?

FRANK

Why do you keep calling him that?

WAITRESS

Dunno.

(pauses)

It's just his name. You guys oughta not be makin' fun with me.

FRANK

Forget all that. Just for the hell of it Joanne, what do you think death is like?

WAITRESS

It comes when you're old an' probably been sick a long time. Comes when someone's holdin' your hand an' it's peaceful, maybe kinda ghostly.

FRANK

(looking at Death)

I rest my case.

Waitress walks off stage, looking back wistfully and chewing gum.

FRANK

Now you see my problem.

(pauses)

Back to the question. Are there any loopholes, something to bargain away?

DEATH

You don't have much.

FRANK

Yes, well remind me of that of course. But supposing . . .

DEATH

It always happens.

FRANK

What?

DEATH

They meet me and start supposing.

FRANK

But you must have some sort of control. I mean, if there's all these chimneys you have to go down every day, there must be some way you could just overlook one of them.

DEATH

Even if I could, why would I do that, Frank?

FRANK

Because it's important, for God's sake.

DEATH

Another human concept, Frank. Why are you more or less important than anyone else?

FRANK

But . . .

DEATH

No, I mean it, Frank. What makes life or death all that important?

FRANK

Because it's all there is.

DEATH

How do you know?

FRANK

Are you saying it isn't? Are you saying there's something else? Heaven or hell or afterwards or forever?

DEATH

I'm not saying anything. I'm asking how you know.

FRANK

Because there must be.

DEATH

Why must there be?

FRANK

Then there isn't.

(looks intently at Death)

That's what this is all about, isn't it? There is nothing and you're just trying to con me.

DEATH

You're all wrapped up in the wrong things, Frank. All wrapped up in human concepts of life and death, forever or nothing, organized religion or atheism, the importance of vice presidencies and a few years lolling on some beach.

FRANK

You're saying that's not important?

DEATH

What do you say, Frank?

FRANK

It's all I have. All I've ever had. What is there except a lifetime of expectation? When I was a kid I was expected to do well in school and take out the garbage. In synagog to learn the lessons.

DEATH

There goes the Santa Claus analogy.

FRANK

Then college and marriage and business. It was all important and now I've got a daughter in college and she's in the middle of all that same importance. You come along to just snuff me out and I gotta wonder.

(pauses)

Why wouldn't I wonder? If none of those things are important, then what is?

DEATH

This isn't the Enlightenment, Frank. Just death.

FRANK

Well, it's only natural. You do come as something of a shock.

DEATH

(continuing)

Never really understood that.

FRANK

What?

DEATH

How the inevitable could shock. Human beings see it every day, all those millions dying, know that it's not something just for others and then pretend it is.

FRANK

Well, it's just too much to know it's all over. I'll miss it, not that it hasn't been hard . . . damned hard sometimes.

DEATH

Miss it how?

FRANK

Miss rowing a boat and hanging in a hammock. I never got enough of that, thought I would always have the time. It seems I was always on the way to doing something.

DEATH

Human doings.

FRANK

This is getting morose.

(brightens)

I've got an idea. Let's go somewhere and hang out in hammocks.

DEATH

Hmmm . . .

FRANK

Wouldn't work, huh?

DEATH

Probably not.

FRANK

There was a time when I was about sixteen and had the old man's car. Wintertime and a bunch of us were crammed in there, going like hell and laughing like kids do. None of us drunk or anything, just being sixteen and not thinking.

(pauses)

We came over a railroad track way the hell out in the country and all of a sudden the road was glaze ice and a hard left turn I didn't expect. I cranked the wheel and we just slid. Christ, it seemed to take forever and then we hit the ditch and the car rolled. I wasn't even afraid.

(pauses)

We finally stopped, right side up and I got out . . . a little dazed I guess. There were blankets in the trunk. I don't know what they were there for, but they'd come loose and were spread all over the snow.

(pauses)

I thought they were my friends. I thought I'd killed them all.

DEATH

You might have.

FRANK

Yeah. Turned out that everyone was fine. So crammed in there they just all bounced off each other and no one was even hurt. The car was a mess and the old man didn't even give me too much shit. Guess he was scared as well that it could have been different.

DEATH

What if it had been, Frank?

FRANK

What?

DEATH

What if you had killed them all?

FRANK

I don't know. I guess that would have been that.

DEATH

Bingo.

FRANK

You say that a lot.

DEATH

But that's what it is, Frank. Dying at sixteen from foolishness, at forty-five on the street or eighty-seven in your bed. That's what it is, Frank.

FRANK

Okay, so I buy the bit. Now what?

DEATH

The bit?

FRANK

Show biz term, a kind of referential thing.

DEATH

Oh.

FRANK

So, let's get on with it then. Where from here?

DEATH

From here?

FRANK

Yeah, I mean we can't just keep drinking coffee.

DEATH

Thought you liked coffee.

Stage blacks out. Pinspot picks up Frank.

FRANK

So there you are. I still don't know what it was all about . . . a dream? . . . a hallucination? But I have coffee at that restaurant every once in a while and the waitress always asks me about Uncle Oscar. I bought a hammock and turned down the vice presidency. My daughter graduated and it's amazing how much we have to talk about. Somehow Florida isn't so important and the hammock is big enough for Angela as well.

(pauses)

Not the Enlightenment. Just death . . . I think about that a lot.

Stage blacks.