There Won't Be War

And then everybody had them, remember? England and France, and India and China, and Brazil and South Africa and Israel and Pakistan—And people said that was really okay, because that was MAD, the Mutal Assured Deterrent, the thing that would keep anybody from ever using one, because everybody knew that nobody could possibly win a nuclear war?

They were wrong about one of those things, remember? But they were right enough about the other. Nobody won.

Here, take a look. Give me a hand, will you?

She goes behind the desks and pulls out a new backdrop, puffing with the effort. Bachelors Numbers Six and One help her, then go back to their places. All the others crane their necks to see.

We are now looking at the New England town again, only it has been nuked. All the church spires are broken and burned out. A few people are moving about in the dirty, ash-tainted snow. We see that some are children in rags, looking hungry, freezing in the cold weather. A few adults look obviously sick. One or two figures seem more energetic; they are shepherding the others to a waiting “ambulance”—it is someone*s large sleigh, pulled by a swaybacked old horse.

Jane takes off her hat and gathers up the tails of her coat to tuck into the waistband of her tights.

JANE:

The trouble was, the deterrent didn’t deter everybody.

She picks up a TV remote controller from the floor, aims it at the screen and flicks from scene to scene. We see New York, Tokyo, Moscow, Beijing, Chicago, Rio de Janeiro, Tel Aviv, San Francisco, Capetown, Paris, Rome, Copenhagen, Melbourne, Singapore, Mexico City, St. Louis, Cairo, Stockholm. They are all in ruins. Jane is talking while she changes channels.

JANE:

It only took one to start it, you know. Then everybody got together to finish it.

BACHELOR NUMBER TWO:

(He is bewildered and angry.) Hey, it wasn’t supposed to happen that way! They was supposed to make sure there wasn’t any more wars!

BACHELOR NUMBER ONE:

They said the same about mine, too, miss.

JANE:

Well, what the hell, one out of a million isn’t bad, is it? Because this time they were right.

BACHELOR NUMBER SEVEN:

(He is incredulous, but dares to be hopeful.) Pardon, mamselle, is it that peace is here at last?

JANE:

You bet, sweetie. Only it’s a little late for you guys, isn’t it? I mean, being all dead and like that.

(She comes over to them and pats the nearest one on the shoulder—insistently.)

So really, now, you better all just lie down again, okay? Go ahead. That’s the way ....

Grumbling, all eight bachelors get up and tip their desks down onto the floor When they do so, we see that each of the desks is actually a plain pine coffin. The eight men reluctantly climb in, one after another, each one putting the lid on for the one before him.

Jane, grunting, lifts the last lid in place to cover Bachelor Number Eight. Then she begins putting her suit back on. Now we see that it isn’t really a spacesuit. It’s an anti-radiation suit, and it is spotted and stained with long use.

JANE:

(Bowing to audience.) Well, Merry Christmas to you all, and good will to men, and peace on Earth. Really. I mean, this is the war that finally meant it.