But he said to them, “Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe it.”

–John 20:25

With a tip of the tricorne to David Lindsay

SCENE 1 – Doctor’s Office.

DR. TAITZ: The new king, he troubles me – something that strikes the mind uneasy.

PATIENT (wincing, grabbing his jaw): Aye, ‘tis something striking uneasy, though’t seems to me a little further south.

DR. TAITZ (ignoring PATIENT): Observe his visage – its darkened hues, the skin’s deception but a shade suppressed. Doth our Lord’s house any Moorish blood?

PATIENT: What? The moor king? Bah – her Majesty consorted. “Twas a political arrangement, yes, to thwart the House of Clinton. Still

TAITZ: A Moor? Which one?

PATIENT: Oh, something or other – King Barbarianga of Tukokonga. Do I strike thee as a geographer?

TAITZ: Something is rotten in the state of Yuess.

PATIENT (impatient): Something is rotten in my mouth. Remove it, I beseech thee!

SCENE 2 – Street Scene.

(A MADMAN, wearing rags and bearing a pewter cup, sit’s a distance from the crowd.)

MADMAN: He’s a deceiver! A fraud! Down with the king!

The crowd passes by, paying him no heed. A band of three SOLDIERS, an avant-garde, accost the man.

SOLDIER 1: What’s this? One of the Sons of Fawkes? A penny for your thoughts, brave man.

MADMAN (withdrawing his cup): Your king is no king at all, but a half-witted click-click masquerading his lineage.

SOLDIER 2: Fie – you mean to say he was masqued up, a lady proceeding. A mound of cake to hide his true disposition, like so?

(He grabs a clod of mud from the street and begins smearing it on the MADMAN’s face, who tries to resist but is held in place by SOLDIER 3. At a distance, DR. TAITZ emerges from the crowd, watching with concealed horror.)

MADMAN: Help! Help! The tribesman’s Janissaries fall upon me.

(The crowd laughs, mockingly, as the SOLDIERS push the MADMAN between themselves.)

SOLDIER 3: The king processes through these parts anon. Pray we don’t see you again.

(He shoves the MADMAN into the far wall, where he crumples. The soldiers depart, boisterously laughing amongst themselves. DR. TAITZ waits for them to depart, then goes to the MADMAN.)

TAITZ: Wipe thy face – remove the muck of usurpers’ cake. (She reaches into her purse.) Here, take these tokens – it is not much, but it is all I have brought to market.

(Rolling over, he brushes aside the money)

A beggar who takes no coins! Now indeed I have seen it all. For what, then, the cup?

MADMAN: I am not one of French ilk – a pox upon their house! – living on the toil of others. ‘Tis a cooling aid, that hath put my troubled mind at much easy.  An old apothecary, Dr. Leary, provides it at no charge. Have a draught.

TAITZ (sipping). Absent city muck, ’tis most delectable. I greet thee -  I am Dr. Taitz, a dentist of these parts, and (looking around) skeptic of His Majesty.

MADMAN (dryly): Speak of the devil.

(A royal procession comes through. The crowd cheers and trumpets blare. At the end of the procession is KING BARACK, riding a steed and accompanied by several fully armored knights.)

MADMAN: His countenance, behold it! Smugly sneering in serpentine splendor, sending titmice scurrying in terror. He rules not with strong force, but black magick – the worst of the House of Washington.

TAITZ: And on what authority declare you him of regal blood?

MADMAN (startled): Why-

TAITZ: For suppose him to a pretender be, a Perkin cloaked in Southern sheen?

MADMAN: Milady of Virtuous Platonism blessed, fealty do I, Philip Berg, swear to thee. Such wisdom, such grace!

TAITZ: Nothing more of this – keep your stoop, and cock your ears to those in similar malcontent. To the genealogist I go – the seal’s the thing wherein we’ll catch the lineage of the king.

(Exeunt)

An excerpt from Caravaggio's Doubting Thomas

(A dark room, lighted only by candles. Cloaked figures sit around in a semi-circle facing the audience. TAITZ enters stage left.)

TAITZ: BERG, ‘tis a strange location for an uprising. Had the Cavaliers such dreary haunts?

BERG: Necessity doles out only her lowest rents.

TAITZ: And who are these Calthusians (gesturing at the cloaked men)?

BERG: The sentiment against the Pretender grows; these men form the core of our resistance.

(Moving to the first, removing his hood.)

BERG: Here, Satrap Keyes, long a warrior against the imposter king, having fought against his advances in the Central Plains.

TAITZ (aside ): A Moor?

BERG (aside ): At least he admits it.

(Uncloaking the second)

Carl Swensson, Esq., who hath drawn legal documents from the Great Charter to try and convict His Impostorness in abstentia.

TAITZ: The first thing we do, let’s unleash the lawyers.

BERG (uncloaking the third): Ronald Polarik, former scribe of Westchester.

(uncloaking the fourth)

Andrew Martin, who claims knowledge that the King is a spy sent by Saladin himself.

TAITZ: A Mussleman? Ay, there’s been muscling involved, no doubt.

BERG (uncloaking the fifth): Jerome Corsi, a scholar from the University who hath studied his majesty for many years prior.

(uncloaking the sixth)

Leonardo DONOFRIO, a known gambler whom I found at the docks.

TAITZ (brow furrowed): A great gamble this is indeed – to attempt such overturning with so motley a crew.

BERG: This is not all – I have espied many members of Parliament openly raising questions, and former warriors, and many townsfolk who loved their comfort too much to risk their lives.

TAITZ: Well, gentlemen, I stand before – I am Dr. Taitz, who instructed Mr. Berg in his quest to find those who question the king’s lineage. What say you?

DONOFRIO: Playing a black card when red’s trump is highly suspect indeed.

MARTIN: Black card, hie! ‘Tis a card black than skin, yea – a card of the imposter Mohammed, death upon his name. Under cover he arrives, to deliver the isles to the hands of the Sultan.

POLARIK: Not from Arabia doth he come, but from the Isles of Ho-Wai-Ha – or so he doth claim. I, for one, doubt their veracity.

TAITZ: The isles or the ‘Bamas?

POLARIK: Both, by nature.

KEYES: Perhaps a Musslemen he may be; but he draws his charter from Prussia and Russia, to whose bloody chambers he doth rush us.

(Intermittent debate breaks out, with each member arguing for their own pet theory.)

CORSI (standing up ): Enough! Can’t you see this thing, this abomination, for what it really is? The King is not Turk nor Moor nor Ethiop, a mere lurker in oriental shadows. ‘He is not a German butcher nor a Cossack mercenary. No – it is worse than this. King Barack is not royal, but is not base either – for he is of no woman born. He is the Devil himself in human form.

(Horrified silence.)

This is not a fight of warring factions – unless, by factions, we mean the forces of God against the Hellspawn! All Man’s destiny and his strivings have come to this.

TAITZ: We must strike. Pledge an oath – (they all rise, draw out an assortment of arms). To our mothers!

ALL: To those of mothers’ born!

(Exeunt.)

SCENE 4

MESSENGER: King Barack, my liege – a plot stirs against you.

BARACK (obviously wearied by the news): Oh, pray tell, what now?

MESSENGER: A league of citizens claim that you are not rightfully king – that your lineage is false, cover for something dark. They hath taken to the town square.

BARACK: Ah, them – well (smiling at his vizier EMANUEL) consider it dealt with.

MESSENGER Yes, my liege.

SCENE 5 – (Night. TAITZ is sleeping when several loud raps are heard at the door. In her nightgown, she cracks open the door.)

TAITZ: Who knocks at this hour?

MESSENGER: An ally in thy cause – a questioner of the crown.

TAITZ: So it hath often been said – especially by his soldiers.

MESSENGER: Death to the king!

TAITZ (worried): Enough – you’ll draw the sheriff. You demonstrate your virtue well enough – enter.

MESSENGER: My time here is short – by coming I have already put thee at risk. Take this, and I shall be on my way. (He hands her a scroll, affixed with a seal.)

TAITZ: This is quite the early hour for mail delivery.

MESSENGER: This is quite the piece of mail. Enclosed is the lineage of the House of Washington – no Moor is to be found.

TAITZ: The Aleph of our alliance! The Constitution of our cause! (tearing open the scroll) But wait – to whom do I owe this favor?

MESSENGER: To reveal myself would put us both at risk of death. Already, a warrant awaits upon my head. Enough – I am gone.

SCENE 6 -

(Town scene. An upraised platform in center stage, where the TOWN CRIER stands. A crowd gathers)

SPECTATOR 1: What’s the day’s entertainment?

SPECTATOR 2: A conspiracy! They claim the king an imposter.

SPECTATOR 1: Openly?

SPECTATOR 2: No document’s perfect – not even the Charter.

TOWN-CRIER: Hear ye, hear ye! Before ye stand the Peeping–

TAITZ (hissing): Doubting!

TOWN-CRIER: The Doubting Thomas Society of the Isles.

TAITZ: Behold, ye! The King Barack, much praised and loved throughout this land, is in fact none other than The Devil Himself, an Imposter to the throne who hath counterfeit his lineage. We present a family history of the Kingdom, retrieved at risk of much peril and personal injury, proving beyond any doubt that King Barack is no king at all!

(She holds out the scroll triumphantly, and bystanders begin to peer closely at it.)

CHILD: What? That’s not the King’s seal – look, it’s a jester’s head!

(The crowd starts laughing.)

BYSTANDER: Yes, yes, and it says right here – “Non Veritas.” ‘Tis counterfeit.

(TAITZ angrily seizes back the document, and starts spluttering. Meanwhile, BERG emerges, hand on hilt.)

BERG: Scurrilous wench – I should have recognized thee from a mile off. Thou art a hidden spy, working for the King.

TAITZ: Thou beggarly rogue!

(The Doubters begin fighting amongst themselves – some of the crowd stays to watch, but most drift off laughing. Ensemble music plays as the curtain falls.)