One. Exterior. Cathedral. Daylight. Establishing it's beauty in
elevation, stain glass and stone carvings. From its huge doors suddenly
comes a flow of white cloud choir boys. Angelic, white surplussed,
all bobbing in a disciplined stream. But then, suddenly in their
midst, startling, ridiculous, incongruous is Martin a young man
in an ill fitting rain coat. As the boys proceed in their orderly
way, Martin is left alone. Peculiar, disturbing. Which one... which
one will it be?
Two. Interior. An office near the Cathedral. Daylight. A view of
the Cathedral through the window. Alone, in this Dickensian office
above the small printing presses, sits Mr. Bates, middle aged, meticulous,
writing with a gold barreled fountain pen. He's finishing a little
verse beneath a picture of an angel:
Although we all must sometimes stumble
As we journey through this life,
I've never heard you moan or grumble,
The perfect mother and wife.
Bates places the sheet of paper on top of a pile of similar sheets,
his face heavy with contempt. He stares into the middle distance.
A framed photograph of a lively, attractive young woman, Patty,
his daughter, is in front of him, on his expanse of desk. He glances
at it. He caps his fountain pen, neatly puts the sheet into the
pending tray, neatly lines up his blotter, his desk aids, and satisfied,
rises to join the homeward throng.
Three. Exterior. Cathedral precincts. Fading daylight. A few people
bobbing along with the anomalous, near vacant, tired expression
of home-goers. Which one... which one will it be?