劇本來源：BBC官方網(wǎng)站 搬運(yùn)/侵刪Queers. s01e01 Episode ScriptDouglas Fairbanks there thinks he's in with a chance.A bit of company on a wet Friday night.Except old Dougie doesn't have a cast in his eye and a built-up shoe.At least, not last time I was at the flickers.It's always the eyes.That's how you know.A glance held just that little bit too long, dragged off to one side, like the trail of a Very light in the dark.After the do, the, um, interview ..the officer asks me, not unkindly, I must say, "So how do you chaps, "chaps like you and the captain, know one another?" So I told him.Not my words, something somebody said to me once."A certain liquidity of the eye." That's how HE knew.My eyes are bad, mind you.Too bad for shooting Prussians at any rate, so I was shunted onto hospital work."Cushy", says Sam."That's a charabanc holiday, Perce."You always wanted to see France, didn't you?" I remember my first day in resus - the resuscitation tent.That's where they take the dying or the nearly dying and the shocked ones.There's heated beds to put some life back into them, and transfusions.Our guns were going hell for leather.The sky was all lit up - powdery, green.Horrible green.Like the air was sick.Star shells, Verys, dumps going up.And then the ambulances come in and we have to ferry them in, the ones that can't walk.And they've got these labels on them that tell you what's wrong with them.Like left luggage.Have you ever carried a stretcher? Bloody horrible.You feel like your arms are going to pop out of their sockets.Some chaps can get very heavy.Those that can walk into the hospital ..are covered in mud and salt sweat.Caked in it.All stiff and cracked, like moving statues, like those poor fuckers in Pompeii what got covered in lava.I've seen photographs of them in the lending library.And then, in the resus tent, a thing you'd never expect.Silence.Not a moan or a groan.They're beyond all that, I suppose, most of them.Smoking, breathing, just about.Mind you, I've seen what a transfusion can do and it is a bloody miracle.Lads with one foot in the grave and their pulses all thready, they have the transfusion, they're up, they're joking, they're having a smoke in a couple of hours.I said to Captain Leslie, I said, "You wouldn't credit it, would you? "It's like It's like witchcraft." "Sounds about right", he says, "since we're in hell." But he says it with a smile and when he does that there's these creases in his cheeks like ripples in the sand."You're a credit to this unit, Percy", he says to me."You've all the tenderness of a woman." And he shakes my hand."It's Terrence," he says and I says, "What is?" He says, "Me."My name.Terence Lesley."Do call me Terence."I can't bear all this formal rot." But he's an officer and it don't seem right, so, "I'll stick to Captain Leslie," I say, "if it's all the same." He just smiles again and shrugs.And his eyelashes are long.Long and blonde.I can't see much of his hair cos it's under his cap, but then one day I'm bringing in a stretcher ..and he takes his hat off and, just like that, his hair tumbles out.Yellow as corn.And I must have stared because he grins at me and pushes his hair out of his eyes and says, "Come along, Perce, stir your stumps." But I don't move.And just for a bit Well, like I say, held just a just a moment too long.Douglas Fairbanks over there will give me a wink in a minute.There you go.HE SIGHS KNOWINGLY I've always been a skinny bugger, me.Thin as a whip, Mother says.Father was the same.Mother always had a bit more beef on her after she had Albert and me, and there was one before us.A boy.But he died.He was called Percy, an' all.Poison berries.Never think a thing like that can happen, but it does.I can remember Mother showing me the pictures in the medicine book, all shiny and glossy pictures like Jesus in the book at Sunday School.And little Percy had grabbed a handful of these berries and ..that was that.Box, I think, the berries.Black, like little bullets.Like liquorice sweeties.Maybe that's what little Percy thought they was.Anyway, they done for him and then, a year or so after that, along comes I and they call me Percy, too.A bit odd, some might say, a bit morbid, but Mother always said that she could see him in me.And she looks so funny when she says that to me ..and she looks so sad.But I don't think it's just because of little Percy because there was another time she looked at me the same way.It was freezing, I remember that.We was waiting for a train.Dad had some business in Reading, I forget what it was.We were to come with and make a day of it.I was 15, thereabouts.Albert was 12.I'd been dispatched in search of tea and buns.They all sat in the waiting room, steam coming off them like wet dogs.Anyway, I'm on my way to the refreshments and there's a commotion, so I think, "Oh, the train must be coming in," so I say to the girl behind the tea stall, pretty girl I remember with bows in her hair, I ask her to get a shift on.She says, "What's the hurry? The Reading train isn't in for another "quarter of an hour." So I think, "What's all the fuss about, then?" And then I see it ahead of me on the platform.Policemen, at least I think they're policemen, but then I look properly and they're not, they're from the jail.Dark uniforms, little hats with shiny brims.And between them, well, aa prisoner ..waiting to be taken away, I suppose.And it's not the first time I've seen as such.I used to see them a lot, poor bastards, shuffling along in their chains and the arrows on their clothes.And it's rough clobber, like to make you itch, worse than this.So, "Why are all these folk whispering and pointing?" I wonder.So I look at the chap in the chains and he's a big chap, sort of like a big bear of a fella.With a big slack, pouchy face.Fat-ish, except it's all sunk in now, and his hair, which was most likely black as your hat is now shot through with grey.And he looks wretched.As well he might.There's rain dripping off his hair and down the creases in his big face.And then I realise, it's not just rain, he's bloody crying.And then he looks at me.And there it was.In that moment ..a certain liquidity of the eye.And then he looks back down at his boots and it's as if the whole world has come tumbling down around him.I stand there.And I think, "He knows me."He knows me for what I am."He can see it in me." And I start to shake.And it's not from the cold, it's shame.And fear and ..terror.And someone starts laughing.And there's a little girl and she's wandered close to the prisoner.She's got a little wooden horse on a dirty bit of string.And then her mother goes up and drags the girl away from the man as if he were like to eat her up.And then I hear it, a name.Whispered behind fancy gloves and November hands what are stiff with cold."It's him, isn't it?" And suddenly Dad's beside me and he's gripping my arm and he says, "You all right, Perce?" And he's proper worried.And there's a sort of ringing noise in my ear and I feel for a moment like I might faint, but then this chap goes straight up to the prisoner on the platform and he He spits in his face.And Dad looked shocked.And just then, the train comes puffing into the station, steam everywhere.And I look back to the prisoner, but he's covered now in a great big cloud of steam.Dad picks up the tea and the buns and he gets us into the carriage.It smells of damp wool and musty, like church, and there's little beads of rain on the window, the open window.And Mum pulls down the leather strap and the sound sort of ..snaps me out of it."What was all that fuss about there, Clem?" And Dad sups at his tea and it hangs in little drops from the ends of his Kitchener 'tashe."You won't believe it," he says."Out there on the pl。

。