The Wheatfield Incident

“Today, class, we are going to write an amazing play,” said eighth grade English teacher Mr. Henderson. “It’s going to be amazing because you won’t be writing anything down . So no paperwork for me. Hoorah on that account. And, secondly, no homework for you. Double hoorah on that, I’m sure. But we will be videotaping. And I won‘t grade you on appearance. So don‘t go tidying up on my account.

“We will begin by picking a time in history. Any takers?”

“The ninteenth century,” said Robert.

“Good period,” said Mr. Henderson. “A lot of big things happening around the world. Which country?”

“France!” said Charlotte.

“OK. What’s the subject?”

“Art!” said Michelle. “Please?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Henderson. “That could work. I believe France had an artwork or two in the 19th century. I believe they even had a gallery. All right, then. Who’s the subject?”

“Van Gogh!” said Anaka.

“He’s not French!” said Jordan. “He’s German!”

“No he’s not!" said Michelle. “He’s Dutch.”

“Calm down, people,” said Mr. Henderson. “He is Dutch, but he was living in France. And if I remember correctly that would be around the 1880‘s. So, now we have the time, place and subject. What happens to Mr. van Gogh that we should want to write a play about him?”

“He dies,” Said Michelle.

“That’s so depressing,” said Lewis. “Can’t we do something easy? Like Washington crossing the Delaware? At least we know he makes it.”

“No,” said Mr. Henderson. “This is not a debate. These exercises are on a first come, first served basis.

“So where does our first scene take place?” continued Mr. Henderson.

“In a wheat field in Auvers” said Michelle. “That’s where he was shot. So the story goes.”

“Anyone know the day?” said Mr. Henderson. “Just to give it some atmosphere.”

“It was Sunday, July 27, 1890,” Michelle. “I studied him in art class.”

“I just realized that this can’t work as a class project,” said Mr. Henderson. “Not enough characters.”

“Not necessarily,” said Michelle. “I just read a book about about Van Gogh. And in the book they theorize that Van Gogh didn’t commit suicide at all. But that he was accidentally shot by one of two boys who were in the vicinity at the time. One of the boys was known to dress up like a cowboy and he carried a gun. The thought is that they were possibly drunk and taunting the painter. Van Gogh then passed out, and when he woke, he made his way back to the inn, where he died two days later.

"Van Gogh also made an odd statement to the police, who questioned him about the shooting, saying, ‘My body is mine and I am free to do what I want with it. Do not accuse anybody, it is I that wished to commit suicide.’

“Do not accuse anyone?” continued Michelle. “What an odd thing to say if you just shot yourself. They believe that he truly wanted to die and saw no good reason to ruin the boys life. Death was on its way and it suited him just fine. They also don’t believe he was shot in a wheatfield. They think possibly in a farmyard near Rue Boucher, which was closer to the Inn. But I can’t get the wheatfield image out of my head, so I would stick with that.”

“OK,” said Mr. Henderson. “Now we have three characters.”

“There were crows in the wheat field,” said Michelle. “How about we take some dramatic license and throw some crows into the mix? They must have seen something.”

“I love a challenge, Michelle,” said Mr. Henderson. “You’re on. And since this is mostly Michelle’s idea. Michelle will play the part of Van Gogh. Lewis and Jordan will play the part of the two boys. Robert, Charlotte and Anaka will play the part of the crows.”

“Can I be the boy with the gun?” said Lewis.

“Fine by me,” said Mr. Henderson. “Any objections, Jordan?”

“None at all,” said Jordan. “I hate the damn things.”

“Tree hugger,” said Lewis.

“Bullet head!” said Jordan.

“That’s enough of that,” said Mr. Henderson. “All right, then, class. The scene is set. Michelle, you take center stage and paint your tragic heart out. Tell us what Van Gogh may have had on his mind at the time. Then, when I give the cue, Lewis and Jordan show up in the wheatfield. Lewis dressed in cowboy gear and holding a gun. Jordan will be holding a bottle of wine. Just be yourselves and annoy the poor man. Crows? You chime in whenever you sense a lull in Van Gogh’s musings.

Using a piece of chalk for her brush, Michelle approached the blackboard and make it her easel. Drawing winged figures flying over a wheatfield.

Van Gogh: Damn crows. They frighten me with their cries.

First crow: We frighten him? Why look at him! A crazy man mumbling to himself in a wheatfield.

Second crow: Oh, look. He’s painting us. I never realized how much alike we look. Next time I’m wearing a kerchief.

Third crow: Very funny. But I had no trouble finding you in the painting. You’re the plump one right over there. The one that barely keep himself in the air.

Boy with Gun: Hey, freak with one ear. Paint me!

Boy with Wine: Oh, leave the poor man alone. He’s no harm to anyone.

Boy with Gun: Why don’t you cut off your hand? Then we won’t have to look at your miserable paintings!

Van Gogh: Please let me be. I will paint you if you like. But another time. Perhaps, for now, a sketch? Just step into the sun a moment.

Boy with Gun: All right. I will. But this better be good. Or you may lose your other ear.

Van Gogh: You know, I used to paint my younger brother Theo. But that was so long ago. I wonder if he still has them? No matter. Just stand still for a few moments more and you shall have your sketch.

Boy with Gun: My father says you were in hospital with crazy people. Is that why your paintings are so crazy?

Van Gogh: Yes. That’s exactly why. you can learn a lot from disturbed people. At least I did.

Boy with Wine: We should go. The bottles almost empty.

Van Gogh: I’m done. Look. Tell me how you like it.

Boy with Gun: Is this a joke, monsieur?

Van Gogh: No joke, young man. It’s just as I see you.

Boy with Gun: With two heads!

Boy with Wine: Why does on head have a scowl and sharp teeth, while the other is smiling?

Van Gogh: One head for the boy who stands before me. And another head for the boy inside of him.

Boy with Gun: I’ve a good mind to shoot you. You’ve insulted me. Better, yet. I’ll shoot your painting. Stand aside, madman.

Van Gogh: Oh, please. Don’t. I was only having some fun. Don’t --

Boy with Wine: Oh, dear God! You’ve shot him!

Boy with Gun: I didn’t mean to! I told the fool to step aside.

VanGogh: Just go. Tell no one you saw me. I will be all right.

Michelle drops to the floor to thunderous applause and the school bell rings.

“Good class today, people,” said Mr. Henderson. “I wish there could have been more. See you all tomorrow.”