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?
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