The Incorruptible — Act III

A Play

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Act III

Summary: As Vesper becomes an obstacle to Merritt’s congregation’s growth, Merritt, Thomas, and the Beggar plot Vesper’s death. Merritt attempts to avoid the Spirit’s prophecy concerning the staff.

Scene i

Outside Merritt’s Temple. Enter Merritt, Thomas, and Beggar.

THOMAS: His men waylay our congregants
like robbers travelers at night. 
Our advocate persuaded him
to see us not as partners but
as ravishers of his sole daughter.
The more Justina lets us dote
on her, the louder Vesper shouts
his prayers outside these walls while you
are prophesying. We dismiss
our flock and they are catechized
as they walk home. And some return
in Vesper’s robes and speak of God
as Vesper does, except these ones
are more compelling since their old
habits are known to the whole town
who marvel at such stark reform.

BEGGAR: That dirty band of sorcerers
deserves the stake, and he’ll burn first!

MERRITT: Despite the time his daughter’s spent
with us, suffering no abuse,
he does not rest in his complaint.
He says we have no virtue, well
to hell with patience then. Since birds
with louder songs make plainer marks,
our eager bolt will pierce his chest.

THOMAS: You have a plan?

MERRITT:               Since New Year’s Day.
I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this,
but I could leave nothing to chance.

THOMAS: There’s Vesper now.

MERRITT: [aside to Beggar] Go rouse your rabble.

Exeunt Beggar. Enter Vesper and his acolytes.

MERRITT: You’re early. Don’t your converts know
our temple’s doors are shut till six?
All the adherents you would poach
will be delayed another hour.

THOMAS: Just as the hunter lies in wait
before its game comes out to graze,
so Vesper preps apologies
to make his dogmas strike our hearts.

MERRITT: Well said! And well perceived, my son.

VESPER: You would believe I’ve come to kill
since all you’ve ever known is death.

MERRITT: We are the dead? Who here exults
in life? If it’s not us, would you,
you mortifiers of the flesh,
lay claim to that activity?
We only chance to speak of death
to prove that we must live life now
before that most assured end.

VESPER: Yes, how could I forget that you
were gifted with prognostication?
How wise that you, like Solomon,
have seen that war and famine come
in turns, grasses wilt atop
the graves of men whose fortunes failed
to save their flesh from its decay,
and every breath inhaled is lost.
But what you call the end is not. [Enter Beggar with mob.]
And you can’t point the way beyond
death’s tiny chasm, cannot teach
a man to cross that crack and live.

THOMAS: Hundreds of men we’ve taught to live.

VESPER: A shallow life. When that dries up,
they’ll need to draw from deeper wells.
Look at these men. [Vesper motions to his newer acolytes] How many were
once thirsting and unsatisfied
in Merritt’s temple? Ask yourselves:
With what has Merritt slaked your thirst?

BEGGAR: The spirit’s word, you damp raccoon.
[aside to mob] He’ll try to get you turned around
with clever talk. But with bare hands!
He has no spirit-given staff.

MERRITT: Vesper, your daughter trusts in us.
Do you believe Justina’s grasp
on truth’s so frail that we could dupe
her if our story wasn’t true?

VESPER: She will eventually discern
how her good nature could persuade
her that there’s grace where grace is not.
If you had let us baptize you
as John baptized the Christ, you’d know,
because I would have taught you, that
whatever spirit fills a man
will be revealed. His face will be
a living icon of his master.
Whoever climbs the mountain will
descend beatified, his form
transfigured and most glorious,
but to the devil’s flock a terror.
In your face, Merritt, nothing hides.
I see already what I know
Justina will. How great your fall
is bound to be, O Lucifer. 
For you and all your host of demons!

BEGGAR: [to the mob] Those words just sealed his fate! Kill him!

The Beggar’s mob charges Vesper. The acolytes flee, but Vesper waits, and the mob’s blows knock him to the ground. Enter Justina.

JUSTINA: What’s happening? Oh, help! This mob
is killing one of God’s beloved.

MERRITT: [to Thomas] This advent is unfortunate.

JUSTINA: This creature can’t deserve to die.
The merciful are blessed with mercy,
and debt released is credit gained
in heaven. Stop! Don’t do this thing.

MERRITT: [to Thomas] Run down and make that mob disperse.
Be sure she doesn’t see our beggar.

THOMAS: You rogues will feel the prophet’s wrath
if you won’t heed Justina’s plea!

Thomas chases the Beggar’s mob offstage. Exeunt Thomas.

JUSTINA: Those robes… Is that? It is! Oh God! 
[Justina cradles Vesper’s head in her lap. Vesper moans.]
Don’t move. Just rest and I will pray.

MERRITT: [aside] Perhaps I can still pull this off. 
[aloud] Justina? Did I hear your voice?

JUSTINA: Oh, Merritt, come and help me. Quick!

MERRITT: Is he alive?

JUSTINA: [Justina nods]                    Just barely though.

MERRITT: We don’t have time to wait for Tom.
Move to his legs, I’ll grab his head,
and we can lay him on the altar
inside the temple. He can rest
while you run for the doctor. Whoa!

At Merritt’s touch, the Vesper leaps up on all fours and snaps his teeth at Merritt’s hand. He circles Merritt like a wild animal.

JUSTINA: God granted him recovery!

MERRITT: Is this a miracle or curse?
Nebuchadnezzar’s sanity
was more assured than Vesper’s is.
Why does he shy and growl at us?

JUSTINA: Come to me, father. Peace. I’m here.
It’s me, your daughter, come to care
for you. Don’t back away. Don’t run.

MERRITT: It seems that mob has beat the man
from him and left us with a beast.

JUSTINA: Don’t say that, Merritt. I believe
he will be well. He’s in there still.
If I could just reach out and— [The Vesper howls and flees.]
He didn’t recognize my voice.
He’s just confused. He’s just—Oh, oh. [Justina falls to her knees sobbing.]
Where will he go?

MERRITT:              We’ll find him. I
won’t rest until he’s taken care of.

JUSTINA: You’d give up sleep to buy my peace?

MERRITT: Your peace? Oh, yes. 
[Merritt kneels beside Justina.]        I cannot brook
your sorrow any more than Zeus
could look upon the golden-haired
Demeter without being moved.
Your tears to me are like the death
of summer or an early frost
whose silent blade excises leaf
from branch while yet that first is green.
A plague upon the prophet who
could see your misery and not
work ceaselessly to see you soothed.

JUSTINA: That shows how badly he misjudged
you, Merritt. He believed you’d serve
only yourself. I saw a hint
but also underestimated
your love. I know it fully now.

MERRITT: You only think you know its fullness.
But I will show how far its border lies
and how my love resists both boundary and constraint.

Merritt and Justina embrace. Enter Thomas. Thomas hides.

JUSTINA: If that is true, don’t hesitate.
For I would learn all of your love
and see it met commensurate
even if that should leave me bare.

MERRITT: I’d have you at your barest still.
Love feels the body burned, and yet
there’s nothing love from love withholds.

Merritt raises Justina from the ground. Exeunt Merritt and Justina.

THOMAS: Till now, Justina kept aloft
my heart and his, preferred not one
over the other, teasing both,
persuading both there was a chance
her favor might belong to him.
But here, I’m dropped. Here, scattered like
a thousand shards obsidian,
a hopeful mirror turned unhoned blade.
In what direction will it point?
Let’s sharpen it, see how it’s made.

Exeunt.

Scene ii

Merritt’s Parlor. Enter Justina and Merritt.

MERRITT: The townsmen all are terrified,
and they complain about the sleep
they lose as Vesper howls each night
and races through the streets and huffs
at their backdoors, looking for scraps.
But what am I supposed to do? 
The Vesper flees from everyone
except his acolytes, and they’re
content to let him live among
the beasts. They feed him from their hands,
and with them he seems all but tame.

JUSTINA: For many years, his disciplines
meant living in the wilderness
denying his humanity,
suffering deprivations most
of us could never bear. The wolf
is ravenous because he hunts
and only earns an empty gut.
But carnal things will never sate
my father’s appetite. He bows
before the cross, for he respects
the symbol of Christ’s suffering
and those as well who sacrifice
their comfort, taking priestly vows.

MERRITT: Thomas supposes if we had
some Vesper robes, your father might
approach us.

JUSTINA:       But why would you feint
with unearned raiment, which I doubt
would fool my father, when you have
the spirit’s token of your power?

MERRITT: Which he refused to give its due
for many months. Why would he now?

JUSTINA: The Vesper’s intellect refused,
but God has freed him from his mind’s
intractability and blessed
him with the instinct of a beast
which always does the Godhead’s will.

MERRITT: I’m not so confident as you.

JUSTINA: Did Aaron’s rod not swallow up
the vipers pharaoh’s court magicians
conjured, and did its almond bud
not prove his right to serve the Lord?
Give me your staff, and I will show
the merits of its form. It’s brazen 
as Nehushtan was to demonstrate
your power to spare your flock from death.
The top’s a crooked basilisk
turned inwardly, thus petrified
as every man becomes who fails
to set his eyes on God and serves
the cockatrice that is himself.
Its eyes are neither opaline,
lapis, or garnet, nor are matched
but are composed of pearls opposed
in color—on the left is black,
the right is white—just as the hands
of God on judgment day will seem
opposed in purpose as they stoke
the fires that melt away the dross
of those who long for purity
but harden flaws into the clay
that would not yield beneath his touch. 
If any doubts the spirit’s role,
these pearls will be the wounds of Christ.
Beholding them, she must regret
her hesitance and, touching them,
compound her sorrow. To postpone
accepting truth so obvious,
requires a self-inflicted blindness.
My father has been freed from that.

Enter Thomas.

THOMAS: Justina. My apologies.
I should have guessed that you’d be here.

JUSTINA: Oh, Thomas! Good. You must convince
your father of his authority.
He doubts his crozier’s power can tame
my father in his wild state.

THOMAS: I will not interfere or be
a go-between in lover’s feuds.
My father knows his mind, and not
a drop of blood can turn aside
his purposes. I’ll leave you two.

JUSTINA: No, stay. I was about to leave,
and he abhors to be alone.
I will return within the hour. 

Exeunt Justina.

MERRITT: The truth is she can’t bear to part
with me for long. 

THOMAS:            Why must you keep 
her now? Her father is beyond
reasoning with. Justina’s voice
means nothing to the Vesper but
stretches me out on tenterhooks
while your romancing leaves me dry
and apt to rip when you caress
and kiss the girl. It makes me sick. 
When will you break this pointless tryst?

MERRITT: It’s not so simple, Tom. I’ve stolen
the love of naïve girls before. 
But hers, beyond all innocence,
has pardoned me, the former thief,
by freely giving me much more
than what the past has seen me scrape
off with. My treachery is overdue
and yet, leaving her, I’d betray
myself, accepting poverty
instead of riches. You admit 
the foreignness such abstinence
would seem observed by one like me. 

THOMAS: I should have let the beggar kill
the man instead of murdering
my chances with Justina. Clever,
siccing me on your mob, so you
could have your unimpeded way 
with her while she was mourning.  

MERRITT:                      Tom,
I say this with affection—you
have many useful qualities,
but you are no impediment
between a woman and a man. 
You’re right about that first bit though. 
Vesper’s insanity is worse
for us than all his holiness. 
The layman’s superstitious mind,
which venerates this staff as sign
from God, lends Vesper’s wails a weight 
to match. Some doubt he was concussed 
that night, suspect an ominous
intention in his keening call. 
It takes a wolf to know a wolf,
they say and look askance at our
fine wools which made our winter warm.
If he had died, we could have had
the beggar hanged, and he’d have been
the last of our assembly lost
to Vesper. Which would you prefer,
a hunting beast or haunting ghost?

A door slams offstage. The sound of a struggle.

THOMAS: Are you expecting company?

Enter Beggar with a woman.

BEGGAR: She burst in through the servant’s door.
I could not stop her.

WOMAN:                  Snowfall’s bound
to make impassable the trail
my husband took to cross the mountain.
Let’s hideaway and warm ourselves
until the thaw when he’ll return.

MERRITT: Why make me to repeat myself?
You have no business here; get lost!

WOMAN: Abusing me in public, I’ll 
forgive if privately you’ll love
me once again. I’ve longed for you.
This beggar and your son won’t tell.
There is no harm lying in bed.

MERRITT: For God’s sake, woman, leave and lock
the door behind you. Our days are done.
[to beggar] I’m begging you, throw her outside.

Exeunt Beggar and the woman, protesting.

THOMAS: You’re turning down a willing lay?
Justina has bewitched you, not
the other way around. 

MERRITT:        Bewitched
is too disparaging for one
as fair as our Justine. Enchanted.

THOMAS: Semantic arguments are not
my main concern. A spell’s a spell,
and you are not the virile man
that rod deserves as handler.
Drop her before she ruins you.

MERRITT: Don’t throw a tantrum, son. I know
these roads much better than you think.
The ravings of a jealous rival
won’t make me give Justina up.

THOMAS: You’d choose her over your own son? 

MERRITT: I choose to live forgetting you
insist upon dichotomies
so false the cutter ends up cut.
My door opens for both of you.
Being unable to bear her here, 
it’s you that would choose loneliness.

THOMAS: If you are going to force my hand,
I’ll do my best to soldier on.
But if I leave, I won’t be back
until you’ve gotten rid of her.

Enter Justina carrying a package.

THOMAS: Our dear enchantress has returned.

JUSTINA: That’s nearing on a kind remark,
though I suspect you talk in code
since nothing kind has left your mouth 
in recent weeks. No, don’t explain.
Just know, things can’t go on like this,
and I sincerely hope that you
and I will reconcile soon.

MERRITT: I hope so, too. But what is that
you’re carrying, Justine?

JUSTINA:                         A gift.
The first of many vestments you
shall wear as suits the calendar.
And Tom, when time allows, I’ll make
a set for you to signify
your role assisting at the altar.

THOMAS: We’ve always worn less-formal clothes
since vestments do not fit the age
and are as welcomed on a man
as ballgowns. Dresses on a priest
do not command respect. The staff
the spirit gave makes people bow.

JUSTINA: You seek a negative intent
in everything. Why would I want
emasculated men around?
You see how well I know your tastes.
The argent thread with which I stitched
the subtle scrollwork round the crosses.
The darkest silver fox-fur trim.
The sense of stark regality.
[Justina drapes the vestment over Merritt’s shoulders.]
This is the mantle of a king,
and Merritt wears it handsomely.

THOMAS: [aside] She presses close to him to prove
the point I’ve known since Vesper’s brush
with death: She’ll never be with me.
I can’t look on when she’s with him.

Exeunt Thomas.

MERRITT: Your talents never end, my girl.
You’ve lain on me the yoke of glory, 
a cloak with heft so marvelous
the eye can see it at a glance.

JUSTINA: With such a cloak Elijah struck
the waters, parted them, and crossed
to meet the warhorses of heaven.
His righteousness was judged too great
to bury. May yours be judged so, too.

MERRITT: Amen. I wish that all could see
me through your eyes, Justina, but
I’d always have your eyes see more.
Let’s lay this cloak before the fire
that it may bless this night and be
the seat upon which you and I
shall overcome and rule together.

JUSTINA: Would that be wise? Suppose a spark
ignites this robe while we are deep
in conversation and then all
its power is lost.

MERRITT:             It won’t be so.
I’ll show you how the flames reveal 
their subtle bodies in the dark
and how to firewalk those coals
and leave unsinged your flawless soles. 

Exeunt.

Scene iii

The town plaza. Enter a group of townsmen with ROSH. Thomas enters opposite.

TOWNSMAN: The Vesper held six dozen men
at bay. Despite the clubs they drubbed
him with, he didn’t lift a hand
against them. Rigor mortis clutched
eight men while they were yet alive,
a falling branch struck three more dead
when they took off, and not a one
lived forty days beyond that night. 
The last said with his dying breath
that he’d been paid to mug the monk.

ROSH: By who?

TOWNSMAN:   Death took him fore he said.
But think of it. Who profits but
the so-called prophet and his son?

THOMAS: What rubbish are you peddling, Rosh?
Six dozen men? Who dug their graves
if they’re all dead? In fact, I chased
them off the Vesper, back to Court
and Rowe, and each retained their ghost.
Don’t make a tragedy a myth.
He’s just a man turned idiot.

ROSH: Six dozen men or six, they thrashed
the Vesper hard enough he has
no right to live but he’s on lease
from God above. Deny me that.

THOMAS: You make it sound as though the sky
had opened up, and angels shuttled
Vesper’s soul to Peter’s gate
but left his body with its breath
behind to torment all of us.
If God has spared the Vesper’s life,
why make him roam the streets deranged?
That he survived’s an accident.

ROSH: The prophet’s stooge won’t change my mind.
If he’s alive, it is no thanks
to you, and if I had to guess,
I’d bet you two been whetting knives
for your next chance at Vesper’s life.
But you can’t kill him, less you aim
to clamber through the spirit’s hedge.
The man’s immortal now, and that,
Merritt has not the power to change.

Exeunt Rosh and townsmen.

THOMAS: You’d have to be a perfect fool
to think a man invincible.

Exeunt.

Scene iv

Merritt’s bedroom. Enter Merritt with his crozier. He paces the room.

MERRITT: For all the sway this crozier’s blessed
me with, I can’t command my son’s
divided loyalty unless
I first deprive myself and throw
Justina out. But out to where?
Does Vesper have a hole where she
can lay her head? How could I rest
knowing her hair was lichen-strewn,
the lunules of her fingernails
eclipsed by dirt and bruised to bone,
her dreams disturbed by Vesper’s wails
while I sit in my luxury
and eat my fill in chambers warmed
with aromatic evergreen?
The Vesper’s daughter has disarmed
me thoroughly with kindnesses
mistaken younger men might think 
a wife would naturally confer. 
But Joan was loathe that I caress
her, never boiled us tea to drink,
nor piled my shoulders high with fur
when winter chilled our single-pen.
Justina slices apples thin
for cider when the evening’s cold,
takes pains to keep my tumbler filled,
and is not stingy with her lips.
When I pretend to leave, she traps
me on the couch, willingly pinned
beneath her legs. She won’t consent
to part with me unless the length
is less than half a day. The strength
of Vesper’s daughter’s constancy!
If Tom had not deserted me, 
my son and I’d parley, despite
the envy in his heart, and rate
the mystery of Justina’s love
against the spirit’s promised grave
for such a loyalty as she
displays. Could her death come from me?
I need another set of ears
advising me. Beggar, come here! [Enter Beggar.]
When did you last see Tom around?

BEGGAR: Just yesterday. He rents a room
off of the square and spends his time
wandering between the woods and town.

MERRITT: Did he say when he would return.

BEGGAR: He did and didn’t, sir.

MERRITT:                                    Don’t be
so damn opaque. Just tell me straight.

BEGGAR: He won’t return until the Vesper
issue has been resolved.

MERRITT:                        The girl?

BEGGAR: I could’ve missed the meaning, sir,
but that was how I took his words. 

MERRITT: If it were any other girl
I’d blame him, but then here we are.
Completely hypothetically,
were our two roles reversed, I sense
that I might pout about it, too.

BEGGAR: She is a rare one to be sure.

MERRITT: And how would you describe the girl’s
affection toward me? Does she have
an undeniable desire
to please me, Beggar?

BEGGAR:                      Who am I
to judge a woman’s way with you?
You know Justina best. She has
no secrets, hides no motives, and
forecasts her tempers plainly as
a thundercloud. With Thomas gone,
she is your closest confidante. 
If you can’t judge her, then who can?

MERRITT: But you would say she’s loyal?

BEGGAR: Yes. 

MERRITT: More so, perhaps, than anyone. 

The Beggar nods.

BEGGAR: Would you say I’m a runner-up?

MERRITT: No prophet worth his salt conflates
the zeal of men in desperate straits
with loyalty. It’d only take
a fresh, young face who promised fish
for you to bait a hook with my
intestines. Go on, Beggar. Pray
that I have mercy on your frailty. 
[Exeunt Beggar. Merritt contemplates his staff.]
I’d rather throw this staff away
then see this cockatrice’s spines
stained with Justina’s blood. But words
of prophecy are not undone
so easily. Without this staff,
this kingdom I have built will fall,
and it would find my hand again,
disguised in form, to strike her dead.
No, I must find a way to break
her loyalty and drive her off.
Yes. Let the prophet prophesy:
So long as I still grip this staff,
Justina will be spared her life.

Exeunt.

Scene v

Near the woods. Late in the day. Enter Thomas, wandering about.

THOMAS: She knew the depth of what I felt.
Except my foolish New Year’s stunt,
I told her just the way it was.
The sea and all as emptiness
without her, and that’s what she chose!
I could have taken nothingness
if she had done the decent thing
and disappeared, gone with a lover
whose form was unfamiliar
so that his specificity
could not be used to torment me.
Instead, my father’s specter waits
inside my fantasies of her,
and barely has the shoulder slipped
from off her dress then he arrives,
summoned by her to mock my loss.
Another rival, I could scrag
and not lose sleep about it, but
killing the loins from which one sprang
is guaranteed to make one mad.
Justine, you kept yourself and stole
my father from me! That will not
go unavenged. But how am I
to make you suffer as I have?

Something howls in the woods.

Of course. What better substitute
for patricide exists than Vesper,
the one whose opposition turned
my bidding for Justina’s love
into a game of three-hand euchre?
I’ll march against the eldest hand
and turn him down for good this time.
The dagger that Justina made
will send her father to the grave! 
[Enter the Vesper, howling and loping across the stage.]
And there he goes, running toward death!

Exeunt.

Scene vi

Merritt’s Parlor. Enter Merritt and Justina, dusting snow from her cloak.

JUSTINA: This close to spring, I look for thaw
not frost, and least of all a squall
that paints the night sky’s darkness white.
By midnight, I suspect the drifts
will have remade the world, a blank,
unshadowed scape where I would lose
my way back to my home and hearth.
Why make me beg to borrow yours?

MERRITT: It can’t be half so bad as that.
A passing flurry. You can warm
your hands before my fireplace
and then we’ll see about tonight.

JUSTINA: You’re acting strangely, Merritt. Why?
This prophet who, with anxious voice,
denies the storm and aims to throw
his lover out in freezing temps
is not the prophet who proclaimed
that he could shelter sinners from
apocalyptic punishment.

MERRITT: You want a prophet’s reasoning?
Suppose I said a vision came,
revealed that, if you stayed the night,
you’d die, and since I didn’t turn
you out, my hands would bear your blood.

JUSTINA: Then I would say you’re valiant
and that I’m proud the one I love
would sacrifice my body’s warmth
to spare my life.

MERRITT:            Of course you would.
Well, it would be a lie. The truth
is that one tires of lying beside
a woman, even one as fair
as you. In fact, your fairness plants
a doubt in me: What are the odds
Justina is more beautiful,
or rather the most beautiful,
when I have hardly seen the world?
You have beguiled my senses, dear,
but they are senses ignorant.
A clever man can trick a fool
only so many times before
the fool will hate the clever man.
The ignorant despise the wise
as I despise your beauty now.

JUSTINA: You should have stuck with prophecy.
You have no gift for crafting lies
and that’s so obviously false
I’d almost laugh, except I know
my laughter will not save me from
the blizzard to which I am condemned.
If you reject me, you’re compelled
to do so by some unseen hand.

MERRITT: I do it of my own free will.

JUSTINA: Then you’re no better than your son!
For all your careful talk, you’ve proved
your words are worthless, excrement
thrown by the bucket to the sea
where they will be forgotten.

MERRITT:                             Good!
You finally understand me, then.
Consider all my recklessness 
as you are trudging through the snow. [Exeunt Justina.]
She’s in the care of Vesper’s God.
At least she’s spared the spirit’s rod.

Exeunt.

Scene vii

Woodland. Heavy snowfall. Enter Thomas.

THOMAS: The Vesper’s holy pawprints cross
this snowbound path like chi and rho,
and I can only hope the howls
I’m following belong to him.
It would be just my luck to clump
into a wolfpack’s den alone.
I ought to take this blizzard as
a sign denouncing my whole plan,
except I have no plan. What chance
in hell is there that, finding Vesper,
he’ll trot right to my open palm
just as a dog to master would?
He knows my look, if not my smell,
and must know my intent. I left
the planning to my father for
a reason. This is case in point.

Enter Acolyte. Thomas steps behind a tree. Enter the Vesper. The Vesper approaches the Acolyte and takes food from his hand.

THOMAS: [aside] I’m not the only one who braves
the cold tonight. I know those robes
but not as well as Vesper does.
And look how tame the beast becomes
to see a friendly face. I’ve heard
of vipers luring birds by tails
they’ve made to look arachnid. Birds,
expecting a free meal, instead
receive the viper’s venomed fang.
And all the viper does is wait.

Exeunt the Vesper. The Acolyte crosses the stage. Thomas draws a knife, slays the Acolyte, and dons his robes.

THOMAS: I’ve seen the way my quarry went,
and mimicry will make his end.

Thomas draws the robe’s hood. Exeunt Thomas. 

Enter Justina. The disrobed body of the dead acolyte lies in the distance.

JUSTINA: The unwise proverbs of a man
lead down a path no woman walks
unless she overvalues body
and undervalues soul. I’ve left
mine blacker than a colly bird
because I trusted Merritt’s word.
There’s nothing love from love withholds
except the promise of tomorrow.
And yet, love is not love refusing
the stain of sin as its own burden.
Look at me, God. Have I not borne
another’s sin since New Year’s Day
and let it separate me from
my father’s gaze? Did I not view
his love as hate, his discipline
as vanity—while I was proud
to bask in Merritt’s flatteries—
his rescuing of drowning men
as the artillery that tore
holes in their sails, splintered their ships?
I do not care if I was wrong
or right about my father’s judgment.
He’d never send me to my death
unless he first had grappled with
that adversary to assuage
my trembling fear. As psychopomp,
he’d offer calloused hands and limp
beside me. That heavy gate admits
but one to pass, I won’t pretend
he’d take me further, but he’d watch
and pray that I would rest in peace,
whatever lies beyond that gate.
So, why have I abandoned him?
Even without his proper mind,
he’d treat me with the dignity
a father shows a daughter, and
a daughter’s not repulsed by age,
infirmity, or loss of sense
but looks to ease that suffering.
I’ll go to him, confess my faults,
and then, freed of my shame and guilt,
live as his daughter once again.

Justina walks into the distance where, discovering the murdered acolyte, she crosses herself, kneels beside him, and places her hand upon his head.

JUSTINA: Oh, Connor. Naked as we came,
you’ve left the world. May you be clothed
in glory, stand beside the throne,
and intercede with all the saints
on my behalf. Whoever wounded
and left you in disgrace, the town
will bring to justice. If I can,
I’ll put you on my shoulder. 
[Justina struggles with the acolyte’s body but leaves him on the ground.]
                                                       Stiff
and cold and heavy as a stone.
May nature’s shroud preserve you, Connor.
When I return from town, I’ll bring
the sheriff and men to bury you.

Exeunt Justina.

Scene viii

Outside Merritt’s House. Heavy snowfall persists. Enter Merritt from front door.

MERRITT: Unseasonable snow, relent.
I beg you, let my casting out
preserve, not end, Justina’s life.
Don’t prove by me how futile all
attempts at thwarting fate must be.
Do not erase her perfect form
as you already have erased
the footsteps that would lead her home. [Merritt walks away from his door.]
I fear I will not sleep tonight,
or any till this augury
has been fulfilled. If I could speed
this reckoning by spilling blood,
I’d strike the victim down tonight
and bring Justina back if I
need track her down myself. Perhaps
the Beggar’s estimate was right.
I’m sure that I could make a case
that he indeed was runner up
in loyalty to her. My lies
tonight have knocked her from that claim.
But I don’t have it in me yet.
This storm must further chill my blood.

Enter Vesper. He lopes up to Merritt’s front door and sits beside it.

MERRITT: Still following me then, old boy?
No sooner do you beat some dogs
away, then they return for more.
What say you, Vesper? There are none
so diligent as you have been
attending to our temple’s doors.
No injury was strong enough
to keep you from my services.
And here you are the very night
I send your daughter off, a stray
come scratching at my door for scraps.
It’s clear now. Holy canine, you
have come to fetch this stick
and satisfy the prophecy—
I have been doomed to kill my most 
devoted follower, the dread
of which has plagued me without need.

Merritt strikes the Vesper with the spirit’s crozier. The Vesper dies. 

MERRITT: And thus I snip the Parcae’s web. 

Enter Thomas still hooded in the acolyte’s robes.

THOMAS: The Vesper’s dead!

Merritt swings his crozier, slashing Thomas’s throat with the basilisk’s spines. Thomas falls to the ground where he struggles but is unable to speak.

MERRITT:              And you won’t live
to tell about it, acolyte.
This snow I thought a curse will drink
your blood as my accomplice, cover
my tracks, your drag-marks to the grave
that I will make for you. A cave
disguised by switches should suffice. [Thomas dies. Merritt rests his crozier beside the door.]
My weights are easy, burdens light
because they had ascetic diets!

Merritt grabs Thomas under the arms and lifts him. The hood of Thomas’s robe falls and a lantern beside the door illuminates Thomas’s face. Merritt drops Thomas’s body, backs away. Thomas’s knife falls to the floor beside him.

MERRITT: Impossible. A trick of light
or snowfall warps this youthful face.
That’s all. Uncanny the resemblance,
but one at first should always doubt
the testimony of his eyes.
My son did not take Vesper’s robes,
did not receive his baptism
in wintry waters, and would not
have left to take the Vesper’s orders.
[raising his voice, looking around] 
Here lies some other boy, not mine!
Tom’s safe—not here, and not alone;
he waits for me to make things right!
[quietly] Then why do you still hesitate?
[Merritt approaches Thomas, drops to one knee, picks up Thomas’s knife, and removes the hood.]
You fool. You foolish brute. This knife
belongs to your own heart. Your blood
should be the blood that slicks this blade.
You cast him out. Let your own veins
when you reduced your only heir
to Vesper’s rags. Spirit, come now! 
This curse is more than I can bear.
I did not bargain with Tom’s life
when I assented to your word.
Not for my sake alone but Tom’s
did I look for this awful power.
His followers were mine. Mine his.
Where are you then, infernal ghost?
I’d yet make one more deal with you.
A trade. I’d make this scarlet snow
more red if you’d let Thomas live. 
[Merritt holds the knife’s point to his chest, hesitates then throws aside the weapon.]
I know you are not generous.
And I’ll not waste another ounce
of blood. What can I do, my son?
There’s nothing else, so Vesper’s tomb
must be your own, but I’ll erect
a monument for you in time
so that your memory will bear
and buoy me across the dark.
My rod will blossom in your ark.

In silence, Merritt drags Thomas’s body and then Vesper’s body to a cave. Snow continues to fall. Merritt covers the entrance of the cave with fallen branches. Returning to his house, Merritt retrieves his crozier. 

Enter an acolyte. Merritt stumbles back.

MERRITT: That wolfish face. It cannot be.
You’re dead. I buried you. Get back!
Don’t take another step. You’re dead!

Exeunt Merritt through front door. Lights fade to black.

---

Continue to Act IV