The Highland Tale; The King Act Two Scene Three Sub Act One

 

THE PORTER

ACT TWO

SCENE THREE

SUB ACT ONE

 

In the early period before dawn, the cursed ones will be attending to the tasks, then the cleanup after the clean.

“It will be purgatory, like if I am dead.” The figure carried the pots that contained the remains of the night. “They are so advanced in their works, but the idea of creating a disposal system for the castle was never in their thoughts. I know my ancestors were at the tasks long before, but spare a thought for us lackeys.”

“Ouch, the Lord thinks of us. Heck, we are the babies of the flock." The figure laughed. “They called me the Porter, and yet I stand a distance, for they do not want to inhale my stench. I could have told them it was what you released that I was to hold onto here.”

“Porter indeed. My mama named me Javert after my father; bless him, for he may be among the hellions of hell. I was told he was no angel, and his blessed obsession was with Valjean. Kinda sad that he loved that name; it must be a man, yet he fathers me as his son.”

“Blessed thee, mother. I am sure he mistaken you for your back; they all looked alike when you were humping from there. Guess it must be his day, for he missed the bung hole and got into your womb.” The one named Javert laughed. “I could have told you the stench was what drove him away.”

“I am Javert; do not forget my name. Do not forget me.” The man sang to himself. “Darn! Father, you named me with a French name, and yet I am not.”

“It is as well, as I am the porter, yet I have to say the castle needs Arwan, the God of Death, to cleanse the evils here.” The porter smiled. “We may smell alike to them, but we may be doing the same for their souls.”

The noise of the pot being filled by the ones.

“What a lot of the pile! If a man were gatekeeper for the gates of hell, he would sure have had to turn the pots to avoid the gates being overflowed.”

“What a pile! If it is their sins, then I will say they are doing their repentance.” The porter dragged the pot to the cart. The pot moved to the cart, and the porter kicked at the wheels of the cart.

“Knock, knock, knock! Who is there, in the name of the devil?” The porter called out. “I am not the noble who cleared his soul; hush, he may hold many sins there. It smelled of it.”

"You have come a long way from there.” The porter looked at the pile. “You have come at a good time for me to clear the pots. If not, they will need more of the handkerchiefs, because you are not going to smell a lot more as it was in hell.”

“Knock, knock! Who is there in the other devil’s load? Indeed, it is a shade different from the others. One will say that one blended into all the others; I will say the content came from the measly content who fed the lot and took the remains. You cannot lie on your pile; no, the gods will know.”

“Nothing is more revealing than the committed treason in the name of God, but you will find in the end that you cannot lie to God about your actions. Oh, come in, schemer. You will soon mash in with the others.”

The porter then stopped in his words. He looked at the onrush of dawn.

“A new day comes, God. I am Javert; do not forget my name. Do not forget me.” The porter bowed to the emerging sun. “Do not forfeit me. I am doing your work here. Though it may smell, the work needs to be done.”

The porter bent to pick up the cart on its wheel, and the tear on his pants was seen.

“Another tear to my bottoms.” The porter cried out. "What I need is the fabric or the tailor. It was the tailor who did not do this well on the last stitch. Never could I expect more than a patch-up when the coins of mine would not weigh down their purse.”

He saw the coming of two guests.

“I must be away. They would not see to their dawn befallen with the stench of the last dusk.”

“Hold there, porter.” One of the gentlemen approached the former. “What... I can see you doing the task of the morning.”

“Aye, my Lord. The castle had not been upgraded. Such are the woes of the Thane; smaller land and smaller is the purse.” The porter said. “Have you slept well, my Lord? I never slept there, but I was told the bedding was softer.”

“I did sleep well. One too deep indeed.” The gentleman replied. “Did you...”

“We drank and sang until the wee hours before morning. Then I realized my tasks. Oh Lord, the drinKing results in three things.” The porter said.

“What three things does drinKing result in?”

“The drinKing results were a red nose, sleep, and urine. It provokes desire, but also hinders it. DrinKing arouses desire but inhibits performance. Therefore, drink is like a traitor in relation to sex. It makes you feel good, but it blocks your abilities. It gets you up, but then lets you down. It eggs you on but leaves you dismayed. It gives you an erection, but soon it takes it away again. And, finally, it gives you erotic dreams, but they disappear, just leaving you with the need to pee.”

“And you believe that so?” The gentleman smiled.

“Yes, it did, my Lord. I will swear that father was one.” The porter smiled. “DrinKing told me not to tell a liar, but I was too strong for it. It may have weakened my legs a bit and knocked me off balance, but I found a way to give it the slip.”

“I threw it all out.” The porter smiled.

“I can see that.” The gentleman looked at the cart. “There was much to say.”

“My daily task, my Lord.” The porter turned to his cart. “I best be going. The urine stench bad. I had that smell years ago. It was the heavy drink that shut the guards then. They slept through the night, and the visiting Thane was dead by morning. A bad day for us then.”

“We are to hear the past today. Is your Lord up at this hour?”

“Does he not?” The porter asked back. “Or unless he is dead.”

The gentleman ignored the porter and made his wat to see to his King.