Re: [nukkad] bovine debate

["aryaone" <>]

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Tip of the day:  No chain letters, virus hoaxes and good luck charms. See 
<http://www.kumite.com/myths/> for a list of Internet hoaxes.
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SON, YOU ARE DEAD

By Arya.

[A one act play set in Biblical era when stones appear with 
penal codes and bushes burn. There are as yet no Christians
nor Moslems on earth. There are Hindus and Parsis though,
but they don't matter to this story.

The scene takes place in a Jewish home, staid but lavish. An
elderly bearded man, Abraham, locking like a prophet, stands 
by the huge round table in the center of the sitting room. It's
late morning, almost noon.

He speaks in earnest fashion to a golden haired young boy of 
10 who sits lounging in an outsized, high backed, ornate chair.

Incense buns in the corners in huge jars, the windows are
lavishly curtained, opening on to a bright day, slaves stand
in the wings as though placed there with a sinister purpose].

Abraham [in steady voice]: Son, consider the honor! It's not
just anyone wishing you slaughtered, it is the great Yahweh,
our Most Honored God!

Son: [petulant, rebellious] Yeah. That makes a lot of difference
to me. I wont even feel the knife's edge as you slide it across
my neck jus' because God sees so.

[Then with a raised voice, incredulous] For Pete's sake Dad, you
have gone crazy or something? You wanna butcher me dead to 
please your senile, mean spirited God who gets his kicks out of
having fathers slaughter their sons in the vilage square? Gees!

Abraham [somewhat slinking, not meeting his son's eyes, in 
almost a whining voice]: Dear child, it is His wish, this is the 
Almighty Yahweh we speak are talking about. His Will be 
Done or something. Read the Bible yar. You can't buck the 
God of the Jews. Remember the plague of locusts He threw 
at the Sumerians because they bucked some commandment 
or the other? You want that to happen to Judea? And by the
way, who is Pete?

Son: [Almost yelling, now moving to the edge of his chair, 
livid and earnest, blond hair on flushed cheek]: Don' be
throwing those Books at me! I know who wrote them,
some poor punks, jobless monks you guys paid to scribe
whatever gave you power over money and women and
farmers and artisans, so you and God could run riot and
have no one question you.

I know what you are trying to [now outright shouting],
you are using this cheap gimmick to have every father  kill
one of his sons off and on to set an example and keep the
family and the people at large in line!

And Pete is St. Peter who will PR Jesus' dharma so 
Jewish people will almost vanish. Don't you read stuff 
on the internet other than look at smutty pictures of naked
boys? 

Abraham [after the fashion of Old Testament Prophets]: OK,
Yea and Anon! I've had just about as much lip as I need out 
of you as I can digest. Slaves!

[The hefty studs from Samaria slowly advance to cut off the
kid as he makes a run. They pin him down by the prayer shelf
on which stand, 3 foot long, scroll fashion, the Torah and 
Talmud, pale papyrus wound on golden rods].

Son [yelling screaming struggling helplessly]: Dad! What the
!%%**#!! are you doing, do you realize? Dooooonnnt doo
thiiisss!!! Heeellpppp!!! Soomeonneee pleeeze heeellppp!.

[The kid is now slung against the pillar of the prayer shelf.
In his struggle the Torah keels over and falls on the most
industrious slave, who looks remarkably like Charleston
Hesston, and knocks him to the side. The other slaves almost
lose the stranglehold because of that. 

Abraham, who has raised his hand with the murderous knife
in aloft, to strike dramatic fashion at his own son's slender
white neck, seems to hesitate, unsure of the stroke.

There is Thunder in the left wing, a bolt of lightening hits
the west wall, and a large hairy hand with talon like claws
snatches the son and flings him into the chest of drawers.

Suddenly, a very small, very white little baby lamb appears,
with grass in it's mouth, as though it was suddenly grabbed
from a pasture in Jordan valley and transported into this
murderous little story not all it's own].

Little Lamb: [very frightened now] Bleeeeeeeat!!

Abraham: [swinging down] In the Name of Yahweh, the 
Most High!!!

Little Lamb: [throat cut abruptly] Bleeeee .......... Urgggg.

The slave who looks like Mr. Hesston: Damn! Now what the
heck is going on? The ass can't manage to kill his own son?
People in the good ol' U.S. do it all the time with one hand
tied behind their back and 'baccy* in their teeth. Thank goodness
for the NRA!*

Son [now cold and angry, with embers in his eye]: OK. I've
just about had it.

[Theatrically striking a pose center stage] I ain't no son of 
yours you jerk! I now curse your household for all times to 
come.

[Continuing, with a rising tone] In time there will come the
Gentiles, who will neither kill their sons, nor sacrifice, but will
kill a lot of you in gas chambers and slave camps, so posterity
will know the time as the Holocaust.

Following them, a religion will be born in the desert, which 
will keep your traditions.

They will, because of what you have done to day, kill every
year, kill in sacrifice tens of thousands of sheep, goats, camels, 
cows, and tithe it to your name.

Far to the East in Hind, the same tribe will kill and eat the
cows, to the chagrin of the Dravidians, and later Aryans.

Because of this, an everlasting bitterness will ensue, never
to be resolved.

And this my final curse. In time all the animals killed will be
reborn in the land of Israel and along the dead sea, with the
Sumerians and Palestinians on the other side. And they
will never reconcile, and will kill each other over tens of 
centuries, yea, even unto the End of Time.

[Abraham, with the bloodied dagger still in his hand, falls
to his knee. The slaves fade into the shadows and disappear. 

The boy, head bowed, turns and walks away till he is not
seen anymore].

Little Lamb [who has some life left in it's tiny body, jerks
it's little legs one final time, and emits a small, fading, pitiable
... ] bleeeet.

Exeunt.

Copyright and by courtesy of
Tru Self Inc. 2002.





























 















































Son, you are dead.
Consider yourself gone defunct derelict demised.


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