 
ON STAGE

A Collection of Stageplays

by

Jack Forge

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 John Stephen Rohde

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. It may not be re-sold or given to others. If you want to share this book, please buy a copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book but did not buy it, please go to Smashwords.com and buy a copy. If you want to produce a play, please, contact the author. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

Contents

Non-Music Plays

SHELTER

COMMUTANTS

THE MAGIC ROOT

THE CANYONS OF MARS

CONVERSATION #1

CONVERSATION #2

THE DOOR

WIND

FRUIT OF THE TREE

THE CHRISTMAS TREE

TOMATO JUICE

STREET LIFE

THE CONFERENCE

SUNSET ON PARADISE

SWAN DIVE

GARDEN OF DELIGHTS

INTERVIEWING THE LUMP

Music Plays*

TAMALPAIS

TIMOTHY OF ASPEN

APPLESEED JOHN

MAN ON THE MOUNTAIN

AUDUBON

TWAIN'S WOMEN

ALL TO DUST

***

Non-Music Plays

SHELTER

Three Scenes

Characters

MADELEINE

GORDON

GERALD

VICTOR

NEWSCASTER

PRESIDENT

JOE

ELLIE

Scene One

(A bomb shelter for long term living. Upstage center a steel door with three different latch locks and a steel bar. Near the door is a meter with gauges, wheels, lights, and digits--all in motion and making a continual whirring sound. On the walls, reproductions of sentimental pictures. Stage left is a kitchen. Stage right is a carpeted area with overstuffed chairs, tables, lamps, and a sofabed--all coordinated. Against one wall stands an AV system with a huge TV. A rack holds numerous disks. Offstage the noise of muffled blasts, shrill whistles, and hissing gas. MADELEINE and GORDON are finishing a meal at a kitchen table. They speak in boozy voices.)

MADELEINE: Gordon?

(No answer.)

MADELEINE (loudly): Gordon!

GORDON: Huh?

MADELEINE: Gordon, I'm worried.

GORDON: About what, dear?

MADELEINE: My tan.

GORDON: What's a mytan?

MADELEINE: My suntan, dopey.

GORDON (drinking wine): Looks great to me.

MADELEINE: I'm turning white down here.

GORDON (gazing at ceiling): Better than turning black up there.

MADELEINE: Wish I'd remembered my sunlamp.

GORDON: Could have more sun than you can handle in a few days.

(She looks at him staring at his empty plate as if at a mirror.)

MADELEINE: Gordon, you're not fading out again, are you?

GORDON: Just reflecting.

(She jumps up and stomps away from the table.)

MADELEINE: God--if only this madness would stop--so things could get back to normalcy.

GORDON: Uh-huh.

MADELEINE: Did you remember to drain the pool?

(He licks the inside of his glass and smacks his lips.)

GORDON: Course.

(They clear the table.)

MADELEINE: That'd be all we'd need now--a flood.

(More muffled blasts and hissing gas. The whole set shakes and bits of plaster fall. He looks at the ceiling.)

MADELEINE: Wonder where the boys are.

GORDON: What boys?

(She snaps a scornful look at him.)

GORDON: Oh, our boys. All right, I guess.

MADELEINE: You guess. How can you do that?

GORDON: Simple. I just close my eyes and....

MADELEINE: Don't be cute, Gordon. You always try to be cute.

(She slams the dishwasher door shut and turns it on. He again glances at the ceiling.)

MADELEINE: How can you think they're all right--when we haven't heard a word?

(He walks across stage to the AV system.)

GORDON: Discouraging.

MADELEINE: Not a single word since this whole damned thing started. (pausing) How can you think they're all right?

GORDON: Faith.

(She falls onto the sofa.)

MADELEINE: Well, I hope--

GORDON: Hope works too.

(He looks through the disks.)

MADELEINE: I hope you're right.

(He smiles at her. She regards him sentimentally.)

MADELEINE: We're in this together.

(He nods.)

MADELEINE: We sink or swim.

(He nods.)

MADELEINE: On the beach--

(He looks perplexed.)

MADELEINE: You and me.

GORDON: How 'bout you and me have some Kahlua and coffee?

(Deflated, she nods, and watches him walk back to the kitchen where he prepares the drinks. She kicks off her slippers and stretches out on the sofa. He swigs from the Kahlua bottle and sighs with delight.)

MADELEINE: I'm still worried, Gordy.

GORDON: About your tan?

MADELEINE: No, about our sons. They're our own flesh and blood.

GORDON: Yours anyway.

(She ignores him. Another blast offstage.)

MADELEINE: They're out there--God know where--fighting for our freedom.

GORDON: Uh-huh.

(She glowers at him as he brings two cups.)

MADELEINE: But do you care? I mean, do you really give a damn?

GORDON: Sure I do. You may forget, but I know what it's like.

MADELEINE: Yours was different, Gordon.

GORDON: Whaddya mean by that? War is war.

MADELEINE: At least you got to see the world--

GORDON: Humph.

MADELEINE: And play with those native cuties.

(He forces a laugh and then looks off, seeming to hear exotic music with accompaniment from the dishwasher.)

MADELEINE: But our boys have to fight in our backyard--so to speak.

GORDON: So--war is hell. But at least they know the territory. Besides, they've had a lot of practice--fighting as kids in our actual backyard.

MADELEINE: Hah, hah.

GORDON: Regular cockfights--shoulda bet money on 'em.

(She tisks disapprovingly.)

GORDON: Naw--too one-sided. Gerald too sensitive. Victor always kicked the sh....

MADELEINE: Gordon!

(The dishwasher stops. Silence for a few moments.)

MADELEINE: Make love not war.

GORDON: Huh?

MADELEINE: Just remembering an old bumper sticker.

(He sighs.)

MADELEINE: Well, wouldn't you rather?

GORDON: Which?

MADELEINE: Maybe you'd rather switch.

GORDON: Both take a lot of energy.

MADELEINE: Come, come, Gordo--war makes death, love makes life.

(He grunts.)

MADELEINE: Babies. Love makes babies.

GORDON: If you're unlucky.

MADELEINE: Don't get cynical, Gordo. You're always cynical. (pausing) Anyway, love produces life.

GORDON: You mean sex produces life.

MADELEINE: I mean love. Sex is something else--

GORDON: You're something else.

MADELEINE: Something frivolous and crude--even commercial.

GORDON: I never paid for it in my life.

MADELEINE: Sex is for animals.

(The sound of escaping gas like a hissing snake. He hunches over and creeps towards her, his tongue waggling, eyes bulging.)

MADELEINE: Don't get crude, Gordo. You always get crude. Now, where was I?

GORDON: Sex.

MADELEINE: Oh, yes--war. War is completely destructive. Nothing good comes of it--

(He falls upon her, but she slips away.)

MADELEINE: Nothing at all.

GORDON: Peace.

MADELEINE: I suppose war does lead to peace--eventually.

(More blasts offstage. More bits of plaster fall.)

MADELEINE: But I'm talking about the substantial benefits of one over the other. Don't you see?

GORDON: Let's see what's on TV.

NEWSCASTER:...so once again--we go to the White House, where....

GORDON: The President's going to speak.

MADELEINE: Again?

(The PRESIDENT looks like a well-preserved movie star. At the sides, stand a US and a college flag. An old football is prominent on his desk.)

PRESIDENT: My fellow Americans....

GORDON: It may be important this time.

MADELEINE: Bah!

PRESIDENT:...the struggle to defend the freedom of our homeland is going well.

(GORDON turns off the lights. Only the video screen illumines their faces.)

PRESIDENT:...so join with me now in a moment of silent prayer that we may endure this our darkest hour.

(A closer blast offstage. More falling plaster. GORDON brushes bits off himself and looks at the ceiling.)

PRESIDENT: Good night and God bless the United States of America.

NEWSCASTER: With that, his twenty-third address to the nation this week, the President has once again....

MADELEINE: Please, turn it off, Gordon. I can't take another analysis.

(GORDON starts channel surfing. The flickering and flashing accompany the blasts offstage.)

MADELEINE: Always trying to tell us what to think. We have ears, don't we? His speech was plain enough, wasn't it?

GORDON: Uh-huh.

MADELEINE: As usual.

GORDON: Nothin' on. Whaddya wanna watch tonight, dear--slides, old movies?

MADELEINE: Slides. We haven't seen them in a while. Maybe they'll take my mind off my worries.

(He sets up the system.)

GORDON: Showtime!

(The offstage noises sound closer. On the screen, color still photos appear about five seconds apart: various persons around a backyard pool. In a series of shots, MADELEINE poses like a model. In another, GORDON pretends to be seducing ELLIE, the pretty wife of his friend JOE. In another, JOE dives from a springboard into the pool, and MADELEINE admires him from poolside. In another, children play in the water. VICTOR spits water in GERALD'S face and laughs, making his brother bawl like a baby.)

MADELEINE: Oh, Gordon--look at the pool!

GORDON: Uh-huh.

MADELEINE: How I miss those days. (pausing) Here it is July and I can't see the sun, besides play in our beautiful pool. In fact, I think today is the fourth.

GORDON: Hah!

(Louder offstage noises.)

GORDON: Complete with fireworks.

MADELEINE: Oh, Gordon--look how tan we were.

GORDON: Hm!

MADELEINE: But now we're fading away down here like a couple of corpses.

(The slideshow ends.)

MADELEINE: What's next?

GORDON: Mexico.

MADELEINE: Ole!

GORDON (singing): "South of the border--"

(On screen, shots appear in blurry succession. MADELEINE, GORDON, JOE, and ELLIE in distorted close-ups. Many beer and tequila bottles are visible on a table.)

MADELEINE: I hadn't realized the train was going so fast.

GORDON: It wasn't. We were.

MADELEINE (giggling): Oh, you silly. (pausing) Oh, my God! Look at Joe and Ellie--stewed to the gills.

GORDON: As usual.

MADELEINE: What a pair!

(A close up of ELLIE'S ample breasts.)

GORDON: Yeah.

MADELEINE: Don't be vulgar, Gordo. You always get vulgar.

(A close up of MADELEINE makes her nose bulbous and her eyes unaligned. GORDON titters.)

MADELEINE: Jesus, Gordon--you couldn't've made me look uglier.

(He chokes back glee.)

GORDON: Camera distortion, dear. Sorry.

MADELEINE: Some photographer! Wish I'd shot you a few times.

GORDON: Bah! You say the same thing every time we look at these pictures. (pausing) Just look at that stack of empties. Can't believe we drank 'em all.

MADELEINE: Well, they told us not to drink the water, didn't they?

(They share laughter. In the last series, shots of tropical beaches, exotic women, island terrain, and palm trees. MADELEINE and GORDON look happy. VICTOR and GERALD, older, look almost chummy.)

GORDON: Hawaii!

MADELEINE (singing): "Bali hai--my special island--come to me, come to me--"

(He tries to embrace her.)

MADELEINE: Get off me, Gordo! Now's not the time.

(He grunts. The video screen goes white and then black with a clicking sound. The stage is dark. Neither speaks for a few moments.)

GORDON: Now the time?

MADELEINE: I think I'll just rest my eyes for a while.

(He sighs heavily and turns on a table lamp. The stage is in low light. He goes to the kitchen and she stretches out on the sofa.)

GORDON: Guess I'll get drunk. Want some brandy?

MADELEINE: Uh-huh. (sighing) It's all the same.

(He gives her drink to her and sits on the floor at her feet.)

GORDON: What's the same?

MADELEINE: Life. Everyday we do the same old thing--eat, sleep, read, watch TV, sleep.

GORDON: That's about it.

MADELEINE: What a rut!

GORDON: Well, at least we're alive.

MADELEINE: Are we? How do we know? All this good be just a dream.

GORDON: A nightmare.

(More noise offstage.)

MADELEINE: We may as well be out there with the boys.

GORDON: I wouldn't go out there for all the tea in China.

MADELEINE: You don't even like tea.

GORDON: China neither.

MADELEINE: Seriously, Gordon--look around you and tell me it's worth it.

GORDON: It's worth it.

MADELEINE: But we have nothing to hope for, to work for, to live for--nothing.

GORDON: Nothing but survival.

(She jumps to her feet.)

MADELEINE: I want romance, passion, dreams! I want to live!

(She bends over him and starts blinking one eye.)

GORDON: What is it, Maddy?

MADELEINE: I want--

GORDON: Yes?

MADELEINE: I want you to look in my eye. I think I got a lash or something in it. Stings.

GORDON: Oh.

MADELEINE: Gordon!

(He slowly rises to his feet.)

GORDON: Lemme see--by the lamp.

(Bending his body over hers bent backward, he looks into her eye.)

MADELEINE: See it?

GORDON: I see it.

MADELEINE: Well, get it out!

(He dips his little finger into her eye. She yelps.)

GORDON: Got it.

MADELEINE: Whew!

(He examines the particle on his little finger tip.)

GORDON: Hmmm.

MADELEINE: What is it, a lash?

GORDON: No, a gnat.

MADELEINE: A gnat! Wonder where it came from.

GORDON: Donno. (peering around) Must be a hole somewhere.

MADELEINE: Well, you better find it and fix it before we get gassed.

(He finishes his brandy.)

GORDON: Tomorrow.

MADELEINE: My eye. I'm tired.

GORDON: Wanna go to bed? By the way, you look nice today. (touching her) Very tired?

MADELEINE: Exhausted. Pull out the sofa, will you dear?

(With no enthusiasm, he obliges.)

MADELEINE: Isn't it about time?

GORDON: For what?

MADELEINE: For the late news.

(He turns the TV to news and strips to his underwear. She merely removes her shoes and slips fully clothed into bed. He turns off the lamp and crawls into bed beside her.)

NEWSCASTER: The Pentagon reports over a thousand enemies destroyed today, but only seven of our freedom fighters have heroically fallen for their nation. (pausing) I just received word from Washington that we do not yet

have an actual description of the enemy. But we do know they seem to be attacking only from the air.

(More louder explosions offstage and more plaster falling. GORDON glances at the ceiling.)

NEWSCASTER:...their bombs and gas constantly threaten. Recent descriptions of their aircraft show nothing we have seen. (pausing) Nevertheless, the President states that we can expect complete victory and the preservation of our beloved homeland.

(MADELEINE is falling asleep.)

PRESIDENT: I am proud to inform you that our national honor is still secure.

NEWSCASTER: Please stay tuned....

(GORDON looks at his wife to say something, notices her eyes closed, and looks back at the TV. The video screen shows scenes of the battle: explosions, collapsing buildings, rubble, dust, and yellow gas clouding the sky. The landscape looks like a wasteland from which missiles blast off intermittently. Numerous lasers scan the surface from unseen sources in the sky. MADELEINE awakens and sits up startled.)

MADELEINE: What's happening?

(GORDON tries to comfort her with his arm over her shoulders.)

GORDON: I think it was only explosions on TV but I'm not sure--

MADELEINE: Sounded like right outside our door. Lord, help us!

GORDON: Yeah sure.

MADELEINE: Surely, you don't doubt the Lord.

GORDON: Course not.

MADELEINE: He's always been on our side.

GORDON: Uh-huh.

MADELEINE: Just wish we'd all heed his word more carefully.

GORDON: I just wish he'd say something definite for a change--or say anything at all.

MADELEINE: That's because you're too busy watching TV. Turn it off, will you? Makes me nervous.

(He lowers the sound and stares at the screen anxiously.)

GORDON: I don't wanna miss anything.

(She shakes her head.)

GORDON: Hey, wait! Here's that commercial I been telling you about. The one with the cockatoo and the egg beater--

(He laughs at the TV.)

MADELEINE: Gordo--

GORDON: You gotta see this--

(He giggles like a boy. She goes to the kitchen and pours herself some brandy-laced milk.)

MADELEINE: Gor-don! Will you stop? We're being attacked by Martians or something and you want to watch some stupid commercial.

(He stops laughing and turns on the lamp.)

GORDON: Who in hell said anything about Martians?

MADELEINE: I simply....

GORDON: That's the trouble. People always think this country is going to be conquered by Russians or Martians or someone. Well, I say this is the greatest country in the world and we're gonna stay that way.

MADELEINE: Why Gordon--you're so, so--

GORDON: You've never really seen me work up, have you?

MADELEINE: No. I don't think I've had the pleasure.

(They get back into bed and continue watching TV. The sound intermittent.)

NEWSCASTER:...increased...around...capitol. No word from...House, but fires...down Pennsylvania...Congress and...Court adjourned...FBI...CIA...armed forces...Fort Knox....

(The video screen goes to snow and static. The gauges on the wall blink red lights and vibrate needles. MADELEINE and GORDON fall asleep. A blast offstage and the TV goes out. Stage is dark.)

Scene Two

(A knock three times from outside the big door. Again, three knocks, louder. MADELEINE stirs. Three more and louder knocks. She sits up suddenly.)

MADELEINE: Wha--?

(Louder knocking.)

MADELEINE: Gordon, Gordon! Someone's knocking on the door.

GORDON: Huh?

MADELEINE: Who would come a-knocking at this hour?

(Banging on the door.)

MADELEINE: GORDON!

GORDON: Someone's at the door.

MADELEINE: What in hell you think I've been saying? Answer it, Gordon.

GORDON: At this hour?

MADELEINE: We can't ignore someone at our door.

GORDON: I can.

MADELEINE: Well, I can't.

GORDON: Who could it be?

MADELEINE: How in hell do I know? Go and find out!

GORDON: Why don't you go and find out?

(She stares at him.)

GORDON: Okay, okay--

(He goes to the door.)

GORDON: Yes--who is it?

(Muffled voices from the offstage.)

MADELEINE: What did they say?

GORDON: I couldn't make it out. Maybe foreigners or maybe....

MADELEINE: Well, open the door and find out.

GORDON: But maybe they're, you know, Martians or something. And they want us for specimens. God knows, we're pickled enough.

(He titters.)

MADELEINE: Real funny.

(More banging.)

MADELEING: Open it!

GORDON: Okay! Okay!

(He opens the door. On the other side of an outer glass door, stand two glowing images of VICTOR and GERALD.)

GORDON: Good Lord!

MADELEINE: Who is it?

GORDON: I-I'm not sure but I think they're....

(When the images speak, their voices distort.)

VICTOR: Hello, father.

GERALD:...father.

(GORDON is dumbfounded.)

MADELEINE: Who is it, dear?

GORDON: I don't know for certain, but they called me father.

MADELEINE: What?!

GORDON: Are--are you Martians?

VICTOR:...boys.

GORDON: Newspaper boys?

VICTOR and GERALD: No.

GORDON: School boys?

VICTOR and GERALD: No.

GORDON: Doughboys?

VICTOR and GERALD: Uh--

GORDON: What boys?

MADELEINE: Whose boys?

VICTOR: Your boys.

GORDON: You don't look like our boys.

MADELEINE: You look like Martians.

VICTOR:...not Martians.

MADELEINE: Well, don't just stand there letting the war in, Gordon. Close your mouth and show them in so we can see who they are.

(GORDON opens the glass door, letting VICTOR and GERALD enter with a puff of yellow gas. GORDON coughs and closes the doors behind them. VICTOR and GERALD walk as if floating to stage center.)

MADELEINE: Can I get you something--coffee, beer, water--?

VICTOR: We don't drink--anymore.

GERALD:...anymore.

MADELEINE: Then how about a sandwich or a nice piece of cake?

VICTOR: We don't eat either.

MADELEINE: Mm. Don't drink or eat. How in the world do you expect to keep body and soul together.

VICTOR: We don't.

VICTOR: Not anymore.

GERALD:...anymore.

MADELEINE and GORDON: Oh.

VICTOR: We barely made it back here in one piece.

GERALD:...in one piece.

GORDON: Wh-where you boys from?

VICTOR: You still don't recognize us, do you?

(MADELEINE and GORDON look at each other, shrug, and shake their heads.)

VICTOR: I was afraid of that.

MADELEINE: What?

VICTOR: That we'd appear strange to you.

MADELEINE: Well, what with your bodies flashing and all....

GORDON: We sort of....

VICTOR: But we're not as strange as we look.

VICTOR: I am Victor and this is Gerald.

GERALD:...Gerald.

VICTOR: And we've come home.

GERALD:...home.

(They advance and reach to MADELEINE and GORDON who withdraw in fear.)

MADELEINE: Uh, that's wonderful--isn't it, dear?

GORDON: Er, yeah, wonderful--I guess.

VICTOR: We've been through hell.

GERALD:...hell.

VICTOR: You know what it's like, don't you, dad?

GERALD:...don't you, dad?

GORDON: Sure do--son. So, tell me, kids--what did ya do in the war?

VICTOR: 'Bout same as you, dad.

VICTOR: 'Cept I think we got killed.

GERALD:...killed.

MADELEINE and GORDON: Killed!

VICTOR: Maybe so.

VICTOR: As you can see, we're not exactly the same ol' Vic and Gerry.

GERALD:...Vic and Gerry.

GORDON: I should say so--

VICTOR: I expected you to be a little surprised.

MADELEINE: Well, yes--you could've at least called first.

GORDON: Yeah.

VICTOR: Sorry, but we couldn't find a phone.

MADELEINE: I suppose so--

GORDON: You see, we haven't seen the outside world for many months, except for TV.

VICTOR: But that's not real, is it?

GORDON: No, not really.

MADELEINE: I just don't see how you could stand it--the real thing, I mean.

VICTOR and GERALD: Drugs.

(MADELEINE covers her gaping mouth with her hand.)

GORDON: I need a drink. Sure you boys won't, er, can't--?

MADELEINE: Gordon! (pausing) You know your father--he'll never change.

VICTOR: Neither will we.

VICTOR: Forever.

(VICTOR, MADELEINE, and GORDON stare at GERALD.)

GERALD: Forever.

GORDON: Well, you were a fine son, Victor. You too Gerald.

MADELEINE: Still, I'm so happy to see you again. You too Gerald. In spite of your, er, deaths.

GORDON: Uh-huh.

MADELEINE: So then, what will you do now?

VICTOR and GERALD: Nothing.

GORDON: Where will you go?

VICTOR and GERALD: Nowhere.

MADELEINE: Do you have any plans?

VICTOR and GERALD: None.

MADELEINE: Oh, Victor, don't sound so hopeless.

VICTOR: It's a fact of death, mom.

MADELEINE: How sad.

(Another blast offstage, louder than ever. Plaster rains over the stage.)

VICTOR: They're getting closer.

MADELEINE: Who...?

GORDON: Who in hell are they, son?

VICTOR: Not of this world.

GERALD:...world.

(MADELEINE and GORDON gasp in unison.)

MADELEINE: Oh, dear!

GORDON: Martians!

MADELEINE: Well, we're safe down here, aren't we?

GORDON: Aren't we?

VICTOR: I'm afraid it's graver than you think.

MADELEINE and GORDON: Huh?

VICTOR: You're only buying a little time.

GERALD:...little time.

VICTOR and GERALD: Unless--

MADELEINE and GORDON: Yes?

VICTOR: Unless you can adapt.

GERALD:...adapt.

MADELEINE and GORDON: Adapt?

VICTOR: Like rats--

GERALD:...rats--

VICTOR: Or insects.

GERALD:...sects.

(GORDON is dumbfounded.)

MADELEINE: What are you saying?

VICTOR: To survive--

VICTOR: Like roaches adapt to insecticides

GERALD:...insecticides.

GORDON: Or gnats?

VICTOR and GERALD: Yes.

VICTOR: They killed me and Gerry--

VICTOR: But you don't have to die.

GERALD:...die.

(MADELEINE starts to open her arms to them but thinks otherwise and closes them across her breast.)

MADELEINE: My poor babies--you must have blown to bits.

GORDON: Smithereens.

VICTOR: It wasn't that way.

GORDON: Napalm?

VICTOR: More like aerosol.

MADELEINE: Like hairspray?

GORDON: Deodorant?

VICTOR: Insecticide.

MADELEINE: Like ant poison?

GORDON: Poison?

VICTOR: Yeah. So, if you got any leaks, you better seal 'em quick--or you'll get fumigated like us.

GERALD:...like us.

MADELEINE: Ugh! Like bugs.

GORDON: In a rug.

VICTOR: But a little could be good for you.

VICTOR: So you can adapt.

GERALD:...adapt.

MADELEINE: No, thanks. We can survive maybe another year down here. Eh, Gordon?

(GORDON nods uncertainly.)

MADELEINE: If our heroes can just hold them off....

VICTOR: But those heroes could be dead--like us.

GERALD:...like us.

MADELEINE: The President himself has reassured us many times that....

VICTOR: They're all dying, mother--by the thousands.

GERALD:...thousands.

VICTOR: Only I, er, we escaped to warn you.

GERALD:...to warn you.

MADELEINE: But the news reports--

GORDON: Pictures don't lie.

MADELEINE: They say that thousands of the enemy are dead, but few of our....

VICTOR: I know better, mom--I, we were there.

GORDON: Bet it was hell.

VICTOR: I saw scores of my buddies drop like flies. Saw their limbs curl up, their bodies twitch a few moments--and then they were gone.

GERALD:...gone.

VICTOR: I know because, you see, I was one of them.

GERALD:...one of them.

(MADELEINE starts shaking. GORDON falls to his knees.)

VICTOR: So, you've got to change.

GERALD:...change.

MADELEINE: Adapt.

VICTOR: Before it's too late.

GERALD:...late.

MADELEINE (crying): Then why didn't you change?

VICTOR: No chance.

GERALD:...chance.

MADELEINE: But who in hell wants to be a bug? Yuck!

GORDON: Yuck.

VICTOR: You'd be alive.

GERALD:...alive.

MADELEINE: I'd rather be dead. Wouldn't you, Gordon?

(He is silent.)

MADELEINE: Gordon.

VICTOR: Like us?

MADELEINE: But what's the good, if we can't stay as we are?

GORDON: What's the good?

VICTOR and GERALD: Life.

(Another shattering blast offstage. And more plaster falls.)

VICTOR and GERALD: Hope.

MADELEINE: But I....

(Another blast and more plaster. Cracks zigzag down the walls. The gauges go crazy.)

VICTOR and GERALD: Time.

(MADELEINE and GORDON stand mute. VICTOR and GERALD head for the door.)

VICTOR: Well, we may as well go.

GERALD:...go.

MADELEINE: Leaving so soon?

VICTOR: We've done all we can for you.

GERALD:...for you.

VICTOR: Come on Gerry.

(GERALD stands still.)

VICTOR: Gerry?

(No response.)

VICTOR: You wanna stay, eh? Well, then stay and watch them die.

MADELEINE: Where will you go, Victor?

VICTOR: Nowhere.

MADELEINE: Write to us.

VICTOR: No.

(She starts sobbing. GORDON tries to comfort her.)

VICTOR: I'll let myself out.

(A devastating blast rocks the set, followed by loud hissing. The lights vacillate and go off. The stage goes dark. The sound of the door opening and closing. VICTOR exits. GERALD pauses and then follows him.)

MADELEINE: Gordon, they're gone.

GORDON: Again.

(The hissing changes to static.)

Scene Three

(Snow reappears on the video screen. MADELEINE and GORDON are lying in bed apparently sleeping. Suddenly, MADELEINE wakes and sits up.)

MADELEINE: Gordon!

GORDON: Huh?

MADELEINE: I just had the most horrible nightmare.

GORDON: Me too.

MADELEINE: I need a drink.

GORDON: Me too.

MADELEINE: Bloody Marys?

GORDON: Uh-huh.

(While she turns on the lamp and goes to the kitchen, he turns on the TV.)

PRESIDENT:...victory and the preservation our homeland....

NEWSCASTER: Now, we have this further development. Our sources in the field inform us that strange creatures are roaming the land in increasing numbers....

GORDON: Maddy!

(With drinks, she hurries to the bed.)

NEWSCASTER:...described as five or six feet long, gray, six-legged, ugly heads and long antennae.

MADELEINE: Oh, Gordon!

NEWSCASTER:...appear to be scavenging upon the carrion remains of, of--our dead and dying....

GORDON: My God!

MADELEINE: How monstrous!

GORDON: What are they eating?

MADELEINE: Who is the word. Could be people we knew.

GORDON: Joe 'n' Ellie.

MADELEINE: I hope they put up a fight. I'll never give in without a fight! How 'bout you, Gordon? You with me?

(She looks to him for support but he is silently staring at the screen.)

MADELEINE: Gor-don!

GORDON: Huh? Oh, yes, of course, dear. (aside) I guess.

MADELEINE: I knew you wouldn't desert me.

GORDON: Yes, dear.

MADELEINE: Everybody else in the world may be giving up--too bugged to fight back--but not us. We'll hold out till death do us part. Right, dear?

(He swallows his drink laboriously and nods half-heartedly.)

MADELEINE: All right then. To us!

GORDON: To us.

MADELEINE: Our nation depends on people like you and me.

GORDON: Uh-huh.

MADELEINE: The world depends on us.

GORDON: Uh-huh.

MADELEINE: The human race depends on us, Gordy!

GORDON: Uh-huh.

(Struck by a grand notion, she unbuttons her blouse and removes her bra. Gordon glances at her with a double take.)

MADELEINE: The future--

GORDON: Uh-huh!

MADELEINE:--is in our hands.

GORDON (grinning): Ah, yes!

(She grabs her breasts with both hands. Gordon's eyes pop. She spreads her arms wide.)

MADELEINE: Gor-don!

GORDON: Yes! Yes!

MADELEINE: In the name of God, country, and all human life on Earth, Gordon--in the name of all we hold most holy--life, love, Gordon--take me!

(He leaps on her in frenzy.)

PRESIDENT:...preservation of our....

(MADELEINE and GORDON moan and groan in the throes of sexual ecstasy. Suddenly, the video screen turns to snow again. The lamp flickers. Static sounds. A horrendous explosion nearly collapses the set. When the debris settles, the screen is black, the lights out. A loud hissing noise above the stage. A huge yellow cloud envelopes the shelter. The stage darkens.)

(No curtain.)

COMMUTANTS

Four Scenes

Characters

GREGORY

SUZANNE

NEWSCASTER (voice)

Scene One

(A door downstage center. A bell hangs above it. A car engine is heard. Suddenly the door swings open. A young couple appears dressed for work. She is pulling curlers from her hair; he regards her irritably. Seeming to want to drag her out the door, he slams it shut, and the bell clangs. They hurry offstage left. Car doors open and close, one of them slammed.)

GREGORY (off, shouting): Damn it, Suzanne!

(Offstage, a car door opening again, and the sound of heels running. SUZANNE reappears from offstage left, runs up to the door, her remaining curlers bobbing, fumbles with her keys, and disappears inside, as the bell jangles again. Very loud rock music erupts from the car. In a few moments, she reappears, the bell jangles, and she hurries offstage left. The car door again opens and closes. And almost immediately, the car engine is heard reversing, stopping, and then accelerating. The stage darkens.)

Scene Two

(GREGORY and SUZANNE sitting on two adjacent chairs facing upstage. They look angry but are silent. The loud music continues. He makes a few exaggerated turning motions of an imaginary steering wheel, while she stares at an angle downstage as if out a window. He makes one more exaggerated turn and acts as if accelerating up a ramp to a freeway. The loud music continues, as they ride in silence. She gives him a dirty look.)

SUZANNE: Would you mind turning that noise down?

(He reaches forward and snaps off the radio. She tisks and reaches down to turn it back on but to barely audible classical music. She continues looking off for a few moments in silence.)

SUZANNE: Can we talk, Gregory?

(He does not respond but only stares straight ahead, his hands gripping an imaginary wheel. A radio news report is heard.)

NEWSCASTER (offstage):...continued warm and light haze in the city today.

SUZANNE: Warm?! God, I'm dripping wet already.

(He looks at her lasciviously.)

SUZANNE: Why do you always act like a child?

(Exploding, he snaps off the radio again, hurting his finger.)

GREGORY: Who in hell is the child here anyway? Making us late every damned day of the week. I can't depend on you for one damned thing. And you call me a child. Jesus!

SUZANNE: Stop swearing. You're going to get out of control again.

GREGORY (fuming): Well, I swear one thing for sure. If I'm late to work again today because of you, I'm going to--

(She bears down on him.)

SUZANNE: You're going to what?

GREGORY: I don't know, but I know I can't take it anymore, Suzanne.

SUZANNE: Well, either can I.

(Silence.)

GREGORY: Christ!

SUZANNE: Gregory!

GREGORY: I'm not talking to you, damn it--look at that traffic ahead. This is just what I need.

SUZANNE: Maybe it's an accident.

GREGORY: I don't care what in hell it is. I'm going to be late for work again. I'll get fired.

SUZANNE: Oh, they wouldn't fire you.

GREGORY: Oh yeah, you think I'm indispensable or something?

SUZANNE: No, but you're good at what you do.

(He quietly absorbs this unexpected compliment, as a helicopter beats overhead.)

GREGORY (honking continually): Jesus Christ! Look at that guy. What does he think--I was slowing down to let him get ahead of me? (leaning as if out a window and shouting) Hey, asshole--think you're something special?

SUZANNE: Gregory, please!

GREGORY: Well, I'm not going to let some selfish bastard take my rights away.

SUZANNE (aside): You should talk.

GREGORY: What was that?

SUZANNE (looking out the window): Nothing.

(He brakes suddenly, throwing them forward in their seats.)

GREGORY: Son of bitch!

(Again, he leans on the horn.)

SUZANNE: Oh, calm down. You'll have a heart attack and we won't get there any sooner.

GREGORY: What do you want me to do--let every jerk on the road buck the line?

SUZANNE: Well, what can you do about it?

(He continues honking.)

GREGORY: Look--did you see that guy flip me off? Me--the guy he butted in on. (shouting out the window again) Fuck you, asshole, and your IQ.

(To no avail, she reaches to him and tries to calm him down. Failing, she turns on the radio. Another news report.)

NEWSCASTER:...miles of stopped vehicles. Several seem to be piled up. We have not yet been able to learn the cause of the accident or how long the tie up will....

(GREGORY snaps off the radio.)

SUZANNE: Gregory!

GREGORY: I can see the bad news right in front of me, Suzanne. I don't need to hear it rubbed in by those radio guys sitting in their cushy air-conditioned offices miles away from the problem.

(Gradually horns join sirens in the distance. Then faint popping sounds like engine backfires. Oblivious to anything but his mood, he stares straight ahead. But she sits up in her seat and looks concerned.)

SUZANNE: Greg?

(He does not respond.)

SUZANNE: Gregory, did you hear that?

GREGORY: What?

SUZANNE: Shots or something?

GREGORY: Shots! Suzanne, you're not getting into one of your little paranoid trips again, I hope--not now. Those were backfires.

SUZANNE: Did you hear them?

GREGORY: No, but we are on a freeway afterall, cars drive on freeways, and cars backfire. Deduction? Backfires.

(She seems to want to be reassured by this but is not.)

SUZANNE: But they weren't really like backfires.

GREGORY: Oh, so now you're an expert on the subtle distinctions between gunshots and backfires.

(She ignores him but continues to look concerned. More sirens in the distance. More horns honking. And another copter whirring overhead. She looks around anxiously to see what is happening. He, however, is steaming at the slowness of the traffic.)

GREGORY: Jesus! What the hell am I doing here--driving this damned freeway every day, day after day--and for what? I should take off to Montana or some place--leave all this shit behind....

(He slouches behind the wheel and mumbles. She ignores him at first. The noise of sirens, helicopters, and car horns become louder.)

SUZANNE: Would you take me with you?

(He does not answer. She tisks and looks out her window.)

SUZANNE: So, you do want to--you really want to separate then?

(He does not answer but looks uncomfortable. Silence.)

SUZANNE: Why do you have such a black view of things, Gregory?

GREGORY: 'Cause that's the color of the picture, Suzanne. And why do you look at things like they were fairy tales? Life isn't sweetness and light, you know. Wake up and smell the smog.

SUZANNE: Well, you're doing a good job of alarming me.

(More shots. She starts and then sobs.)

GREGORY: Oh, God! Look at her crying again at the drop of the hat.

SUZANNE: More like a bomb.

GREGORY: This is how you react to everything unpleasant, Suzanne--with self-pity or hysteria. Just like a....

SUZANNE: Gregory--stop it--please!

GREGORY: Why? I'm just getting started.

SUZANNE (pointing): Greg--watch out!

(Startled, he jams on the brakes. Squealing tires. They are again jerked forward.)

GREGORY: You all right?

SUZANNE (nodding tearfully): Just watch where you're going, please.

GREGORY: I'm doing the best I can in this mess, Suzanne. Maybe you'd feel safer walking. Maybe you can find someone to pick you up. Someone better than me. Someone who can keep you happy in never-never land. Fly

you to the moon.

(Silence.)

SUZANNE (quietly): A rocket man.

GREGORY: What?

SUZANNE: Maybe I can find someone else.

GREGORY (looking wounded): Good. Okay, do what you always do. Give up when things get tough; find something easier.

SUZANNE (pointing ahead at the traffic): Or someone.

GREGORY: Yeah, okay--I get the point--and it hurts. Satisfied? What--? (braking sharply) Damn! I'll never make it now.

SUZANNE: And I have a meeting to....

GREGORY: So do they. Look at all those cops and....

SUZANNE: Ambulances.

(Red lights flashing. Awestruck, GREGORY and SUZANNE scan the scene. Aghast, she covers her eyes.)

SUZANNE: Oh, God!

(Speechless, he stares.)

SUZANNE: I've never seen such a horrible--

(She sobs again.)

GREGORY: Jesus Christ! What could have happened?

(She looks at him like a frightened child. He turns on the radio. She turns as if looking through the rear window. Red lights are flashing across their faces.)

NEWSCASTER (off):...apparently caused by a sniper firing along the freeway. At least two people known hit so far....

GREGORY: So far?!

NEWSCASTER (off):...no word yet about the identity or the location of the sniper.

(GREGORY and SUZANNE look at each other apprehensively.)

SUZANNE: My God, he's out there somewhere!

(They both peer out the windows and scan the surroundings.)

NEWSCASTER (off):...again--two known dead, six or more injured, several seriously.

(They look increasingly fearful.)

NEWSCASTER (off): Meanwhile, in Washington today congress voted for the new military budget. The president is expected to sign it.

(GREGORY reaches to the radio.)

SUZANNE: Greg, don't....

GREGORY: I'm not going to turn it off. Just....

(More shots. The sound of glass shattering. They duck. He tries to shield her with his body.)

GREGORY: You--all right?

(No answer.)

GREGORY: Suzanne?!

SUZANNE: Yes, yes--I'm okay. You?

GREGORY: I don't think our car was hit. Looks like the one ahead of us--Mister Finger.

SUZANNE: Oh, God! Is he all right?

GREGORY: Don't know. Can't see. But cops and rescue guys are running to his car.

SUZANNE: He might be hurt.

GREGORY: Maybe. His window is blown. And I don't see his head.

SUZANNE: Greg! Can we get out of here?

GREGORY (looking around): No. We're hemmed in. Wait. The police are waving me around. (yanking the wheel) They're directing us. Look! Cops in combat gear. Whew! We're moving!

SUZANNE: Oh, thank God!

GREGORY: You better get down--outta sight.

(She sits low but keeps watch.)

SUZANNE: What about you?

GREGORY: Somebody has got to drive us out of here.

(He grips the wheel. They look around apprehensively in silence. The sounds of sirens, copters, and shouting. The stage darkens.)

Scene Three

(Lights up. GREGORY is alone waiting in the car. He opens the passenger door. SUZANNE enters from stage right and sits close beside him. They hug each other rather desperately and look at each other long. Then he drives on in silence.)

SUZANNE: Heard anything?

(He shakes his head and turns on the radio. Quiet classical music.)

GREGORY: What a relief!

SUZANNE: Yeah.

(Silence.)

SUZANNE: Everybody at the institute was talking about it all day.

GREGORY: At the agency too.

(Silence.)

SUZANNE: Think he's still out there?

GREGORY: Don't know.

SUZANNE: Hey! We're not going back on the freeway, are we?

(He regards her quizzically.)

SUZANNE: Listen, Greg--I'm scared to death. Can't we take surface streets this time?

GREGORY: They're slower.

SUZANNE: So what?! I'm in no hurry to get shot.

GREGORY (turning): Okay, okay--relax. I'll find another way.

SUZANNE: I wish they'd say something on the radio. (scanning the dial) Damn. Where is that news station?

GREGORY: Here. Let me--

NEWSCASTER (off):...and now the stock report....

SUZANNE (agitated): Oh....

GREGORY: Take it easy, baby--we'll hear.

(The stock report drones on.)

GREGORY (regarding her sympathetically): Look, Suze--I feel I should....

SUZANNE: Wait--something now.

NEWSCASTER (off):...apparently still at large. The police are continuing a house-to-house search in the area surrounding the scene of the shootings. However, there are yet no leads--no indication of who or where he might be. So far, three are dead, eight injured, two in critical condition.

SUZANNE: Oh, my God.

NEWSCASTER: And now for sports....

(She turns off the radio and falls back in her seat. He regards her concernedly and takes her hand.)

GREGORY: Don't worry, hon--they'll get him.

SUZANNE (glancing around warily): So scary to think such a monster could be out there, anywhere, watching us, aiming at us right now.

GREGORY: Not likely.

SUZANNE: How do you know?

GREGORY: I don't, but....

SUZANNE: No, you don't.

GREGORY: But you've got to get it out of your mind. It's beyond our control, Suzanne. No use worrying about it.

SUZANNE: But that's just it, Greg. There are so many dangerous things beyond our control these days that....

GREGORY: Yes, and if they blow, they blow. Sitting here in a sweat isn't going to prevent the explosion.

(She wraps her arms around herself. He swings the car to a stop and wraps his arms around her.)

GREGORY (tenderly): Look, sweetie....

SUZANNE: Greg! What are you doing? That nut out there could be getting ready to shoot us right now.

GREGORY: Come on, Suzy....

SUZANNE: Let's just keep moving, Greg, please.

(He sits back and pulls the car away from the curb.)

GREGORY: Sure. But try and settle down. Okay?

(She nods. He turns on the classical music again. Taking her hand, he regards her fondly.)

GREGORY: You know--I'm really sorry about this morning.

SUZANNE: It wasn't your fault.

GREGORY: I mean about the way I was acting.

SUZANNE: Okay, but will you keep your eyes on the road, please?

GREGORY: How can I when I'm distracted by such loveliness?

SUZANNE (smiling): Come on, silly--just get me home safely.

GREGORY: That's right where I want you.

(She smiles again, but anxiety shows on her face.)

GREGORY: Right there with me--at home. (pausing) You know that, don't you?

(She nods hesitantly.)

GREGORY: I don't want anything to happen to you. To us.

SUZANNE: I don't....

GREGORY: That terror this morning....

SUZANNE: Yeah.

GREGORY: Shocking to say the least. (pausing) That could have been we dead or wounded on the freeway this morning. (pausing) If it had been you, (choking back tears) I don't know--

(She regards him tenderly.)

SUZANNE: We were lucky.

GREGORY: We've been luckier than I thought--at least I have.

(She takes his hand and smiles at him.)

GREGORY: We've got to keep it going, Suzanne. I do anyway.

SUZANNE: I do too, honey.

(He pulls over and embraces her.)

SUZANNE: Greg, dear--please keep moving. I won't feel good till we get home.

GREGORY (resuming the road): Home. No better word in the English language.

SUZANNE: How about love?

GREGORY: Synonymous to me.

SUZANNE (looking around): Not much of it out there though, I guess.

(Silence. She lays her head on his shoulder. She listens and then looks up, curious.)

SUZANNE: Honey--look--it's raining a little.

GREGORY: I don't believe it. This time of year? In this city?

SUZANNE: I know. It's weird. (pausing) But nice, huh?

(She snuggles. He smiles at her warmly.)

SUZANNE: God, I almost feel like getting naked and running through it all the way home.

GREGORY (laughing): Reminds me of our honeymoon. Remember?

(She laughs.)

GREGORY: Maybe we can do it again.

SUZANNE: We can try.

GREGORY: Not the same way, of course. That was new. And we're only new once.

SUZANNE: Yeah. Too bad. It's going to be sad getting old.

GREGORY: Better than prematurely dead.

SUZANNE: Yeah, better than dying.

GREGORY: Got to go on living.

SUZANNE: And loving.

GREGORY: Yeah.

SUZANNE: If we can survive.

GREGORY: We got to, Suzanne.

(He puts his arm around her and pulls her close.)

SUZANNE: It stopped.

GREGORY: What?

SUZANNE: The rain.

GREGORY: Just a shower.

SUZANNE: Oh, look, a rainbow.

GREGORY: Yeah--(smiling at her) beautiful.

(She smiles, snuggles closer to him, and turns up the music. The last measures of the second movement from Beethoven's Sixth Symphony. Although uneasy, they keep smiling. The stage darkens. The bell over the door jingles gently.)

(Curtain.)

THE MAGIC ROOT

Ten Scenes

Grazie, Machiavelli.

Characters

DOCTOR RICHARD GERHARD

BONBON EDDINGTON

E. EDWARD EDDINGTON III (TRIPOLI)

HUBIE LEVITS

MONSIGNOR BOB

LEAH

PUBLIC ADDRESS VOICE

Scene 1

(A medical examining room with syrupy music piped in. As soon as DOCTOR RICHARD GERHARD sees BONBON EDDINGTON sitting on the examining table as cool as marble, he wants her. Indeed, he can barely blink his eyes. The dressing gown hangs off her breasts like the folds on a statuesque goddess. She turns her blonde head with a wry smile and whispers as she talks.)

BONBON: BonBon.

GERHARD: Thanks, I love chocolate.

BONBON: No, I'm--

GERNARD: Just the same.

BONBON: I mean, that's my name.

GERHARD: Yes. Well, you can call me Doctor Dick.

BONBON: Of course.

GERHARD: Now--(smoothing his hair) what can we do for you?

BONBON: We can make me pregnant.

GERHARD: Fine.

BONBON; You can help me?

GERHARD: Of course. What seems to be the--

BONBON: I can't conceive.

GERHARD: Have you tried?

BONBON: Twenty-five, married two years, no children--don't abuse chemicals--eat well, sleep well, exercise daily--never sick--husband adores me, and we, you know, several times a week--no birth control but nothing happens--nothing.

GERHARD: (grinning officiously) Open your gown, please--and lie on your back.

BONBON: No.

GERHARD: Madam--

BONBON: I've been poked and pawed by doctors and quacks from here to Rangoon, doctor. I've had my ovaries heated, my feet needled, chicken blood smeared across my abdomen, and mantras chanted over my naked ass.

GERHARD: Yes?

BONBON: I've been painted, dipped, bathed, sweated, and bled. I've swallowed so many concoctions I'm pissing rainbows. My husband and I, er, we, you know, by the clock, the moon, the sun, and the stars. And all I've got to show for it is a raw crotch and sticky sheets. We've tried every position known to man, animal, or religion. I've stood on my head so many times, down looks up to me. I know the temperature of my vagina better than the weather. I've balanced the pH of my pussy better than the spices in a pot of paella. My uterus has become so cultivated it should sprout a nursery full of strapping bambinos. One of her eyes twitches with an incipient tear. I'm rich, ripe, and ready to birth, Doctor Dick--so what's wrong?

(He stares at her with all the delight of a pasha about to pounce upon a newly captured concubine.)

GERHARD (salivating): Fertile?

(She makes a question mark with her face. He makes notes.)

GERHARD: I'll run some tests. Tell me about your husband, my dear.

BONBON: Middle aged, rich, and powerful--what else can I tell you?

GERHARD: Has anyone ever counted his sperm?

BONBON: Are you kidding? Big Ed fancies himself the cock of Wall Street, so it's never come up. (grinning) But if you want to play with his little balls, well--

GERHARD: If I could--

BONBON: Then you shall.

GERHARD: You can put your clothes back on, BonBon--(exiting) for now.

BONBON: Oh, Doctor Dick--

GERHARD: Yes?

BONBON: You know, you really should do something about that awful swelling.

(He exits, grinning.)

Scene 2

A luxurious apartment decorated in elaborate occult. E. EDWARD EDDINGTON is comfortable in HUBIE LEVITT'S place. A big man, EDDINGTON carries himself like the Sun King. To HUBIE, however, TRIPOLI, as he calls him, is just another point on his astrological chart. Sitting in a rattan seat suspended from the high ceiling of HUBIE'S cathedralic domicile, EDDINGTON slowly turns back & forth like a confused compass trying to get a bead on the North Pole. HUBIE, in an arabesque caftan, is floating around him, lighter than air, making effeminate moves with his hands that only one touched by the heavens would understand.

EDDINGTON (head back, eyes closed): Read my mind, Hubie.

HUBIE: Of course.

EDDINGTON: Whaddya see?

HUBIE: A great soul tragically misunderstood--

EDDINGTON: Yes?

HUBIE: A spirit of genius--

EDDINGTON: Yes, yes?

HUBIE: That would gladly give up all his power, fortune, and fleet of Mercedes for the touch of his own born baby's hand.

EDDINGTON: Well, I don't know about that--

(Hubie searches his face.)

EDDINGTON: But--a baby boy?

HUBIE: It's in your destiny, Tripoli.

EDDINGTON: I care that much?

HUBIE: With your sun resting in the crotch of Leo like it is, and the Milky Way encircling the breast of Virgo, you cannot do otherwise, my good and rich man--

EDDINGTON: No?

HUBIE: Unless, of course, the alignment of Mars and Venus should become enhanced by reflections off the belt buckle of Orion--

EDDINGTON: What?

HUBIE: Then, you may find your treasure more in the bank than at the bosom, my all-monied friend.

EDDINGTON: I see.

HUBIE: If only you could, my dear Tripoli, but alas, you are, uh, bestowed with gifts other than my humble celestial powers. So I exist only to serve thee.

EDDINGTON: Bless you, Hubie.

HUBIE: Of course.

EDDINGTON: How can I ever repay you?

HUBIE: You can't--but keep trying.

EDDINGTON: I will.

HUBIE; Fine. And I shall chart you a course to paradise.

(Hubie touches a button in the wall that dims all the lights except for a spot on Eddington. Relaxing regally in the slowly rotating chair, the big man hears a chorus of alleluias surrounding him as from a band of angels.)

EDDINGTON: Is it time to raid Congressional Inc. at forty cents a share, Hubie?

HUBIE: It is time, Tripoli.

Scene 3

(A penthouse bedroom with a view of the city at night. Naked, EDDINGTON is blindfolded and lying face down on an oversize bed. The bed is surrounded by objects of kitsch and murals depicting cherubic nudes in various positions of erotic delight. Drug paraphernalia lies on a nightstand. Hard rock & roll is blaring. His wrists and ankles are tied to the bedposts with lingerie. Standing over him in black leather boots, panties, and bra, BONBON is lashing his raised buttocks with his own designer suspenders.)

BONBON: Daddy be good boy or BonBon won't give him sweets.

EDDINGTON: Oh, beat me BonBon! Beat me good. Daddy make BonBon baby!

BONBON: Yes, daddy, yes, big boy--then BonBon give you big sucker.

EDDINGTON: Yes, yes, sweet-sweet. Beat me good.

BONBON: Promise BonBon, daddy be better boy and make BonBon baby?

EDDINGTON: Promise. (beating) Promise.

(She beats him harder.)

BONBON: Now--gimme goo?

EDDINGTON: Ravish me, witch.

(She unties him, rolls him over, and mounts him. But when he ejaculates, she collects his semen in a jar.)

BONBON: BonBon's sweet daddy-boy--there now--booboo--go to sleep 'n' suck--shhhh--

(He lies groaning with satisfied exhaustion. She jumps off the bed, puts on a long coat, and rushes out the door with the specimen. He lies spread out on the bed as if awaiting his own sacrifice.)

EDDINGTON (ecstatically): What a woman! What a whore! I'd give a corporation for that brawd!

Scene 4

(A cavernous office on the top floor of a skyscraper. Dressed in expensive sartorial garb, Eddington leans back in a big leather chair behind a huge mahogany desk. To his rear through a huge window, a vast cityscape stretches into brown haze. A huge portrait of the big man, himself, in a regal pose covers nearly one wall. On another, scores of frames show photos of him arm-in-arm with presidents, kings, and moviestars. While gazing at these pictures, he is talking with Doctor Gerhard through a speakerphone on his desk.)

EDDINGTON (imperiously): If this is another blackmail scam, forget it. The last cheeky entrepreneur who tried that is chasing his tail in a basement made for bears.

GERNARD (off stage): No. Pure science, Mr. Eddington. A favor for your lovely wife.

EDDINGTON: My wife? Oh, so you're another one of those charlatans trying to con her out of a few thousand stocks with a hat full of tricks, huh? See a brawd free with her money, and you start salivating. Or is it just to get into her pants?

GERNARD: Why, no--just a humble man of medicine trying to help her fertilize her ovum.

EDDINGTON: Don't play humble with me, doc--I work on Wall Street, remember. I know how much you guys take in per annum. (nastily) You stay away from her, if you don't want your stethoscope leveraged in your asshole. I'll tend to seeding her myself.

GERHARD: Fine, if you know where you can get some extra spermatozoa.

EDDINGTON: What?

GERHARD: Mr. Eddington, your semen doesn't have enough of the right stuff to reach the end of your cock, let alone her uterus--even if the little you have were soaked in nitroglycerine and shot from a cannon.

EDDINGTON: Bullshit! I've produced brats from here to Rangoon, quack. Besides, my wife's the one with the problem--not me. And I've probed her assets enough to prove it.

GERHARD: Not to me. Contrarily, Mr. Eddington, Bon--your wife is blessed with enough procreative power to populate the moon.

EDDINGTON: Bah! She's a blooming rose--looks good, smells good, tastes good, but no more seed in her belly than brains in her head.

GERHARD: If you'd like to see the results of my test--

EDDINGTON: What test? Who the hell are you? My wife tells me everything and she never mentioned anything about you or any fucking test. Look, I've got more important business than to sit here and....

GERHARD: As I said, Mr. Eddington, she came to me last week. Asked if I could help her conceive. I tested her. She brought me your sperm, and I tested you.

(Eddington mulls this over and, hearing rock & roll, remembers when BonBon disappeared after intercourse.)

GERHARD: Sorry, Mr. Eddington, but you're the one with the problem.

(Eddington blusters.)

GERHARD: You simply are not physically able to reproduce-¬that's the scientific fact. Now, I know this distresses you, sir, but there is an alternative--

(EDDINGTON angrily switches off the phone box.)

Scene 5

(At the door of his templed apartment, HUBIE greets DR. GERHARD warmly.)

GERHARD: I'm Doctor Gerhard.

HUBIE (giggling): Doctor Dick.

GERHARD: Uh--

HUBIE: I'm clairvoyant. My stars! How gorgeous you are! Do come in, Doctor. My humble chapel on the outpost of the cosmos is all yours.

GERHARD: I don't make house calls, of course, but this case seems to--

HUBIE: Yes, do make yourself comfortable on the divan. Anything to refresh--? Oh yes, you're a Scotch man, right?

GERHARD: No, Teutonic.

HUBIE: Mmmm--so potent!

GERHARD: Thanks.

HUBIE: I'm delighted to meet a man of medicine with such leonine virility.

(Gerhard fidgets nervously.)

HUBIE: Oh, but listen--I'm going on as I do in my inimitable Aquarian way. And you came here to discuss science I presume. So, please--

GERHARD: I'm trying to help Bon--Mrs. Eddington to conceive.

HUBIE: Nothing personal I hope.

GERHARD: Only my duty to humanity in the sacred name of science.

HUBIE: My, my, we're passionate, aren't we?

GERHARD: Empirically.

HUBIE: Emphatically. But, alas, dear doctor, it's not in the cards for them.

GERHARD: What?

HUBIE: The tea leaves, the I Ching, the zodiac, the cosmic design--you know--the mystery of heaven. She's simply an ill-starred slut and he's--well, I prefer not to reveal the confidences of my clientele.

GERHARD: No, their problem is really a matter of technique.

HUBIE: Of which you're a master, I suppose.

GERHARD: Well, yes, actually.

HUBIE: I'd love to see you in action, Doctor Hard.

GERHARD: Gerhard. I'm doing this for Bon--Mrs. Eddington, you know.

HUBIE: And not for Tripoli?

GERHARD: I beg your pardon.

HUBIE: Triple E--the big man--Edwin Edward Eddington the Third.

GERHARD: Oh, yes, of course--but that's the problem.

HUBIE: And that's where I come in, eh?

GERHARD: I hope so.

HUBIE: So do I. But, alas, hope is for kids, fools, and the fish in the sea.

GERHARD: Well--

HUBIE: Let's talk American. Where's the profit?

GERHARD: What? As a noble man of science, I seek no profit--beyond my normal fee, that is.

HUBIE: No, no, of course not--neither do I, sweet doctor. Helping people through the mysteries of the cosmos is my only purpose in life. Yes. But it is also in my stars to turn an occasional coin. Not much--just enough to keep body, soul, and aura together. And you--surely you need a few feathers to soften your bed, too, doctor.

GERHARD: I do well enough.

HUBIE: Doctors do.

GERHARD: Witch doctors too.

HUBIE: Now, now--let's not get bitchy.

GERHARD: Look, Mr. Levits....

HUBIE: Hubie, darling.

GERHARD: Hubie darling--uh, I'll be glad to add considerably to your coin collection, if you can persuade Eddington to allow his wife to be artificially inseminated. I understand he listens to you.

HUHIE: Always--he and many other magnates of this world--and for good reason.

GERHARD: There's no better reason than this--they both want a child. And without adoption, there is no other way. Besides, this way the baby would at least be of her own blood.

HUBIE: How romantic. You know, I've always wanted a child, myself. Could you do the same for me?

GERHARD: Mr. Levits--please.

HUBIE: Well, all this sounds delightful, doctor, and I'm simply thrilled to think I can help. But I have one condition.

GERHARD: Yes?

HUBIE: Let me do you.

GERHARD: Pardon?

HUBIE (laughing): Your horoscope. You'll find I have a wonderful touch.

GERHARD: Yes, well, good--then we're agreed.

HUBIE: Oh, yes. But tell me, Doctor Harder--

GERHARD: Gerhard.

HUBIE: Yes. Who's to be the lucky donor?

GERHARD: Oh, yes--he will be selected by Mister and Mistress Eddington from a file of eligibles provided by an association of potent young men.

HUBIE: Oh my!

GERHARD: Well--I must be going. Thank you--

HUBIE: You're so welcome, but I need--

GERHARD: A check?

HUBIE:--something done about this awful swelling, doctor.

(Frowning, the doctor exits.)

Scene 6

(A religious rectory of restrained luxury. Mr. & Mrs. Eddington are seated with Monsignor Bob, a flush-faced shepherd of souls. The lights play on the wall behind his desk to look as if a halo surrounds his head. A tape of Gregorian chant runs continuously as background music. On his desk, a goblet contains what appears to be flesh and blood.)

BONBON: If I'd known you had this artful insemination crap in mind, Edward, I wouldn't have bothered to see a doctor.

EDDINGTON: And the sperm count? Was that crap too?

(Monsignor Bob squirms.)

BONBON: Only to make a point, darling.

MONSIGNOR: Now, now, my children. God's divine plan allows families to be formed in a variety of ways--some of them quite cute but mysterious to the minds of us mere mortals. I say unto you that fruitfulness can come on many trees--all of them rooted in the multiplication tables.

EDDINGTON (ignoring the cleric): You've been so determined, I thought you wanted the kid.

BONBON: I've always wanted it for you, sugar.

MONSIGNOR: Two of God's creatures obviously so in love deserve the blessing of bouncing baby parishioners. It's what we're all about, you know, er, most of us, that is--for so it is written in the Bible of begettings. I myself of course am content to do His work in this my holy unselfish way.

EDDINGTON: And I have so long wanted a son to carry on the bottom line.

BONBON: Of course you do, dearest, but not this way--it's so, so artificial.

MONSIGNOR: The Great Artificer in the sky fashions this world for His own greater glory, my dear. We are only soldiers in the conquering army of our Almighty Father.

EDDINGTON: At least it'll produce the real thing to which I can put a name. Given time, of course, I could naturally procure for us a portfolio of children, but for the time being we may as well take advantage of this opportunity--as an investment.

BONBON: But the thought of strange sperm in my body gives me the willies.

EDDINGTON: Honey pot, Hubie assures me that we will screen the donor from a presentation of highly qualified applicants. Nothing but the best for you, my love.

MONSIGNOR: And besides, my dear, I seriously doubt you'll find the need to name your baby Willy--even if they are twins.

EDDINGTON: Do it for me, baby.

(The Gregorian chant crescendos, as the two men work themselves into a breathless state.)

MONSIGNOR: Do it for the Army of Christ.

EDDINGTON: Do it for the bottom line.

MONSIGNOR: Do it for the Church.

EDDINGTON: Do it for your mother.

MONSIGNOR: Do it for the Mother of God.

EDDINGTON: Do it for private enterprise, the free market, and the American way.

MONSIGNOR: Do it for the love of God and God's country. Now, children, kiss my holy ring, and go add to the billions having dominion over the earth.

Scene 7

(A cafe in a luxuriant urban department store. Mirrors and brass paneling make the place a funhouse for the wealthy. A sweet voice over the public address system periodically announces special sales on unusual and useless items. BONBON and her mother, LEAH, a queen bee supremely poised in the company of the rich and famous, chat over crystal goblets of sparkling water.)

LEAH: I had given up hope of ever seeing my grandchild.

BONBON: I'm surprised.

LEAH: Hopelessness is more common to my generation than you think.

BONBON: No, I mean I thought you never cared for babies.

LEAH: I didn't--not when I had you and your sisters. I always wanted boys anyway.

BONBON: Maybe I'll produce another girl.

LEAH: But you can find out in advance these days, my dear.

BONBON: And so what then? If it looked like it would be a girl, should I have it removed like a tumor?

LEAH: Why not? I wish we'd had the medical science for that in my day.

PUBLIC ADDRESS (off): May I have your attention, shoppers? In Sundries you'll find we have a very special item--human hair doilies from Borneo--on sale from now till closing time.

LEAH: Oh, dear, remind me to pick one of those up before we leave.

BONBON: Yes, mother.

LEAH: Look, it's all a matter of natural selection. I saw that on television the other night. We choose what our species needs most at any given time. And if you ask me, with all these fairies floating around here these days, we could use a few good men.

BONBON: Like father?

LEAH: Don't be facetious. Your father had no more balls than your Ed. Oh sure, he looked good and he talked a good game, but when it came down to making babies, I had to milk him like a cow. I doubt he had much more stuff in him than your man. Dare I call him that?

BONBON: He does all right.

LEAH: All my life I've been looking for a real man. Sometimes I wish I'd been born one. I could have shown them how it's done.

BONBON: I bet.

LEAH: Now, we have the chance to make one, Bon. We can raise him the way it should be done--superman from superwomen. You're doing this for more than me, though God knows I deserve it. You're doing this for the future. Think about it! You'll be remembered as the mother of greatness personified.

PA: Your attention, shoppers. On aisle three in exotic gifts, we are pleased to be offering handbags made entirely from mummified bull elephant scrota--all at a one-time price of....

LEAH: Oh, my, I've been looking for one of those for years. My life is complete.

BONBON: I don't know.

LEAN: You wouldn't at your age.

BONBON: No, I mean I just can't get past the clinical part of it all and I don't trust that doctor. I've always thought of having a baby as the fruit of love, you know.

LEAH: We have too many fruits walking the streets now, dear. The production of new life calls for careful planning. I did the best I could to arrange your marriage. And look how that has worked out, so you ought to be foresighted enough to arrange your baby--since you have the opportunity.

BONBON: But how do I know what the donor is like? I don't even get to meet him. Doctor Gerhard is so damned secretive.

LEAH: I knew very little about your father when we married--and you came out all right.

BONBON: I mean there could be insanity in this guy's family that they don't even know about. Maybe he's got black blood in his veins or his great grandfather was a liberal or even a poverty-stricken artist or something--God forbid.

LEAH: Now, now--I'm sure they're screened very carefully to prevent any such riffraff from seeping into the bloodlines. After all, Bonnie, these people are trying to purify the race--thank God. They want only the best offspring

as much as we do.

BONBON: I guess you're right. They only gain by skimming the cream, don't they?

LEAH: Certainly, my dear.

BONBON: But it just doesn't feel natural to me, so I can't get excited about it. I know I should--it means a baby at last, but--

LEAH: That's right--a baby for you.

BONBON: Something Edwin has always wanted--a son.

LEAH: And more power to him--as if he needed it.

BONBON: I kind of like the idea myself.

LEAH: Power? Me too.

BONBON: No, pregnancy.

LEAH: Sure you do.

BONBON: I've never been pregnant.

LEAH: And it's high time. If I had to go through it, so do you.

BONBON: A baby would be fun to play with, wouldn't it?

LEAH: Well, of course it would. And I know you'll make as fine a mother as you do a wife. Ed seems happy.

PA: Attention, shoppers. In the basement, we have a limited supply of rare stuffed hummingbirds--perfect for that centerpiece during those special dinner parties.

LEAH: Now, we must be going, darling, I've got to get some of those wonderful things before the crowd picks them all up. I simply can't go home empty handed. Ew! I shudder to think of it. A shopping day without goodies is like a day without profits. These things are better than money in the bank.

BONBON: What else is money for?

LEAH: What else?

(They go off laughing.)

Scene 8

(A star-studded studio. HUBIE LEVITS is alone, reclining gracefully among huge pillows in the shapes of the zodiacal symbols.)

HUBIE: These are wonderful times! Not since the Golden Age of Alchemy, have people given so much to get so little. A star sign here, a sun sign there, and I have them eating out of the palm of my precious hand. O how

blessed I am to have been born into this New Age, carried out of the Seventh House of Heaven on a silver current of Aquarian love! Yes, I am come to minister to these my children in their hour of need. And in such need they are. I am come none to soon. For in their childlike minds they dwell--blind and deaf and dumb awaiting one to lead them out of the wilderness. And so I am come to save thee. Stardust sparkles in the swath of my graceful

hand. The moon waxes and wanes at the blinking of my beautiful eyes. Should I call them forth, thunderbolts from heaven would crisscross the sky in a cosmic tapestry of truth, for I have the power of the light and the dark. I

do! I do! I do! And they love it. What else can they do for themselves--dwelling thus in the wilderness? Now, in all humility I do not pretend to be less than I am. Why else would kings, queens, presidents, and

potentates--movie stars and billionaires--celebrities from around the world, the rich and famous of stage, screen and TV--rock stars, sports heroes and war heroes--and of course chief executive officers of oil, automobiles, and

drugs--why else would all these go-getters of this great and powerful civilization come to me for guidance in their lives? I am their priest, their magician, and their miracle worker, all in one divine person--a trinity for our times. I give the nod and the leaders of the superpowers of the world shake hands. Even the great and glorious Tripoli swallows his megalomania to let his woman absorb the juice of another man. And I bought his mind with nothing but a gesture from my premonitory hand. (rising to the occasion) I am the word. And they are the slates upon which I am made manifest. May they forever wander and wonder--in order that I shall lay down the law--and reap the rewards--for now and always as long as this humanity of fools continues to confuse the singer with the song. (pirouetting) Ah, yes--these are, indeed, wonderful times!

Scene 9

(The medical examining room. The piped in music has become sensual. BONBON is sitting on the table as she was in the beginning. Now, however, she no longer looks the sophisticated sexpot she was at first, but a submissive woman acquiescing to her fate. DOCTOR GERHARD bursts in like a dashing swashbuckler boarding a ship full of booty.)

GERHARD: Ready to make a baby?

BONBON: A baby.

GERHARD: As I promised. And you are ovulating, right?

BONBON: Yes.

GERHARD: You seem less than elated.

BONBON: I feel more like a high school experiment.

GERHARD: No experiment. I've done this hundreds of times.

BONBON: Then one more won't make any difference?

GERHARD: Yours will be the piece de resistance--so to speak.

BONBON: I'm afraid my resistance is gone.

GERHARD: All the better. Now, open your gown, please--lie down on your back and spread your legs.

(BonBon cooperates reluctantly.)

GERHARD: I'm going to give you a little something to relax you.

(He injects her.)

GERHARD: Now, this procedure is harmless and painless--in fact, you may actually enjoy it.

(BONBON smirks then sinks into a semi-conscious state as if she were a drugged lioness. The DOCTOR checks her pulse and blood pressure. Satisfied, he turns around and locks the door. Then he removes his smock, his shirt, pants, and shoes. Standing naked in his sox, he mounts his patient on the table and proceeds to probe her in a most primitive way.)

GERHARD: First, I insert my, er, this long instrument into your vagina, through the cervix (pushing) and well into your uterus-- where I will deposit first class semen. (thrusting slowly) Now, I must move carefully to prevent any trauma and to allow the sperm to adjust to the chemistry of your bodily fluids.

(The stage lights darken, and a holograph projection appears. As the doctor talks to her and probes her continually in the customary rhythm, BonBon dreams a drug induced fantasy. The images of her dream are shown in the holograph: in warm ambience, she is making love tenderly and affectionately with Doctor Gerhard. She responds with profound love and emotion, as if they are the best of lovers destined for perfect happiness.)

BONBON: Oh!

GERHARD: Yes, you're lubricating nicely. The pH of your vagina feels just fine. (thrusting) In a moment or two, we'll breach the cervix and penetrate the uterine cavity.

BONBON: Yes!

(The holographic images become more fervent.)

GERHARD: And now, as I cause you no pain--thrust home!

BONBON: Ahhh!

GERHARD: The exquisite tension--the swelling, the flex--blast off! The big bang! And God's chosen ones head for the high ground, the hot cavern of man, smooth and viscous and silent--washed by a primordial sea.

BONBON: Swim! O salmon-hearted seed!

GERHARD: In mass they race to the passage of the moon.

BONBON: The sun.

GERHARD: One bold cell strikes out alone, stretching beyond its ken to reach the zygotean star.

BONBON: Kiss me!

GERHARD: Contact!

BONBON: Kiss met!

GERHARD: Fusion!

BONBON: A son!

GERHARD: I'm done.

(The holographic images of BonBon and Gerhard turn slowly in space, closely entwined like a double helix.)

GERHARD: In nine months you shall deliver--I guarantee it.

(The holograph fades out. The stage lights come up. Doctor Gerhard has dressed, leaving BonBon upon the table like an etherized odalisque. As he is buttoning his smock, she reaches a languishing arm to him in a suppliant gesture of tender connection.)

BONBON: Wonderful treatment, doctor.

GERHARD: We aim to please.

BONBON: Love your beside manner.

(He nods without thinking.)

BONBON: Where do we go from here?

GERHARD: Pay at the desk.

(He exits, leaving her alone in the room. Lights down.)

Scene 10

(Lights up. Outside a church. The doors open and out steps BonBon with her swaddled newborn baby, Monsignor Bob, Eddington, Hubie, Leah and Doctor Gerhard--all descending the steps together.)

MONSIGNOR: May the Lord bless and keep the family Eddington.

EDDINGTON: My son and heir.

HUBIE: A new Cancer among us.

LEAH: My life is complete.

BONBON: And I owe it all to you, doctor.

EDDINGTON: And my money.

GERHARD: A simple exercise of my Hippocritic oath, my dear.

BONBON: Sweetie, I want the good Doctor Dick to be our family physician for the rest of my, our lives.

EDDINGTON: Well--

BONBON: He has performed wonderfully for me, us.

MONSIGNOR: Alleluia!

BONBON: Who knows what miraculous treatments he may provide in the future?

(Cradling the baby in her arms, BONBON leads them off. The MONSIGNOR, standing on the top steps, blesses them with the sign of the cross as they go.)

HUBIE (pointing upward stage right): Look! A sign from heaven!

(A chorale swells from offstage. Eddington puts his arms around his wife. Leah walks beside her. All three dote mercilessly on the baby. Doctor Gerhard follows BonBon, watching her rear end. Hubie follows him, watching his. All exit.)

BABY: (offstage) Mun-ny!

(ALL make oooh and aaah sounds.)

EDDINGTON: (off) Daddy's little dividend!

(Final Curtain.)

THE CANYONS OF MARS

One Scene

Characters

MISTER PEDAGAUSS

SLATER

STUDENTS

PROMPTER

VOICE

(A teacher, PEDAGAUSS, is writing rapidly across a worn chalkboard. The board, nearly covered by indecipherable graffiti, extends the breadth of an upstage wall. Above the board hangs a clock with no hands; nevertheless, a ticking sound emanates from it. A flag-holder is fastened to the right side of the chalkboard, but only a tattered remnant of the flag hangs there. As the teacher is writing with his left hand, his right hand is wiping the board ahead of him, ineffectually trying to remove the graffiti. All the while, his breath is blowing chalk dust off the board in small puffs around his head. The rest of the stage is empty; however, several students, listening to pop music on portable cassette players, are randomly seated in the audience, their headphones buzzing like insects. The stage is dimly lighted and dirty. A bell rings, and the teacher glances up at the clock.)

PEDAGAUSS: The history of the world is told in war. We can just about, yes, just about set our watches by it. (A portly little man, he peers over his shoulder at the audience.) I hope you're taking notes, my students. I'm not going to repeat this.

SLATER: I can't read it, Mister Pedagas.

PEDAGAUSS: That's Pedagaaausss, you insolent....

SLATER: Can't read that neither.

STUDENTS (variously): Me neither. Me neither. Neither can I. Me too.

PEDAGAUSS: Look, I know it's difficult with all this damnable graffiti on the board but....

SLATER: No, I can read that just fine. It's your writing I can't make out.

(Laughter among the STUDENTS.)

PEDAGAUSS: Well, what would you like me to do--print? Or maybe you'd prefer if I sprayed it on with a can of paint.

STUDENTS (variously): Yeah! Cool! I got some in my pack.

(Cackles, hoots and howls. The teacher faces the audience, stomps his feet, and claps his hands.)

PEDAGAUSS: Stop! Stop it! Stop right now!

STUDENTS (together): Oooo--

(Gunshots pop offstage like firecrackers, and several ricochets sounds crisscross the theater. The teacher falls flat on the floor. When the gunfire stops, the STUDENTS are silent.)

PEDAGAUSS (rising cautiously): You see. Misbehave and God will punish you.

(Chuckling at his remark, he returns to the chalkboard and continues his simultaneous action of writing, erasing and talking. The students, however, seem not to get the joke.)

PEDAGAUSS: I suppose we must put up with these street fights from time to time, in case of combat overseas. Now, my blank slates, (rubbing his hands vigorously) as I was saying in the previous class, history embraces all knowledge. Know your names, places and dates and you know the story of the world.

THIRD STUDENT: I gotta date to watch a video with Trina at my place tonight, Mister Pedagas--

PEDAGAUSS: Pedagauss, GAUSS!

(The STUDENTS laugh.)

PEDAGAUSS: Quiet! And raise your hands if you have something to say. (aside) Though I doubt it would be of any importance. (to the STUDENTS) I will not respond to unrecognized shouts from the gallery.

(Another series of gunshots reverberates across the theater, and the teacher hits the deck again.)

SLATER: How 'bout shots, Mister Pedagass? Ya gotta recognize a shooting gallery for what it is.

(More derisive laughter from the STUDENTS. The teacher looks up slowly and tries to conceal his embarrassment by jumping to his feet. But the move does not come off well, and he is subjected to more laughter. He glowers at them a moment, then returns to his work on the board.)

PEDAGAUSS: Well. I was about to say--knowledge is power....

FOURTH STUDENT: What about money, Mister P?

PEDAGAUSS (sighing deeply): Yes, money talks, but I wish you wouldn't unless called upon.

FOURTH STUDENT: My dad says money makes the world go round.

SECOND STUDENT: Yeah, it's what counts in life.

FIFTH STUDENT: I'm gonna be a millionaire before I'm thirty.

STUDENTS (variously): Yeah. Yeah. Me too.

FOURTH STUDENT: So how's history gonna help us make money, Mister P?

STUDENTS (in chorus): Yeah!

PEDAGAUSS (stepping downstage): Listen, my dear empty heads. What do you--what do you think we're all about here?

FIFTH STUDENT: Good question.

PEDAGAUSS: How do you people expect to succeed in life without an education?

SECOND STUDENT: My uncle made fifty million and he's a high school dropout.

STUDENTS (together): Yeah!

PEDAGAUSS: Bah! How many of you really think you're going to make a million? You won't even get good jobs if you don't go to school. Then where will you be? On the street, that's where--if you can find a doorway to sleep in.

THIRD STUDENT: My brother never went to college. He's a weapons dealer, and I bet he makes more than you do, Mister Pedagass.

(The STUDENTS enjoy this comment with loud enthusiasm.)

PEDAGAUSS (flustered): Well, yes, I'm sure he does--but I'm not doing this for the money, anyway.

THIRD STUDENT: Let's hope not.

PEDAGAUSS: I'm doing this because, well--

(A public address system booms throughout the theater.)

VOICE: THOSE WHO CAN'T--TEACH.

(The students seem not to have registered this, for none of them responds. But the teacher, startled, looks around to find the source. Suddenly realizing it may be in his own imagination, he pretends to have heard nothing.)

PEDAGAUSS: Because, well, because there is nothing better that I can do for my fellow man.

(Over the PA system, a fanfare sounds briefly, again apparently heard only by the teacher.)

SECOND STUDENT: What about me, Mister Pedagauss? Aren't you doing it for your fellow women too? Or don't you like women?

(The students bellow with caustic laughter.)

PEDAGAUSS: My sexual preferences are none of your business. But of course, I do it for you too.

FOURTH STUDENT: How 'bout with her, Mister P? Do you want to do it with her too?

STUDENTS: Ohhhh!

PEDAGAUSS (shouting): Silence! I will not allow dirty remarks in my classroom.

FOURTH STUDENT: Whaddya mean, Mister P? I ain't said nothin' dirty. You must have a dirty mind, Mister P. From walkin' 'round in this filthy place, I guess.

PEDAGAUSS (losing control): How dare you! You know nothing of my mind or of my habits. I pride myself, yes, pride myself on my scrupulous attention to virtue. And no punk like you is going to assassinate my character.

(Shots ricochet across the theater. PEDAGAUSS hits the floor again. The students titter.)

SLATER: Looks like somebody's trying to assassinate more than your character.

(The laughter is somewhat subdued. When all is quiet again, the teacher slowly rises, brushes himself off, and returns to the board.)

PEDAGAUSS: As I was saying--all history can be measured by the marches of the great conflicts of the world (writing): the conquest of Alexander, the Peloponnesian war, the imperialism of the Caesars, the barbarian invasions, the sword of Islam, the crusades, the Napoleonic wars, the first and second world wars, and all the thousands of civil, territorial, and economic wars and little battles that have intervened from the first neighboring caves to the gunfights raging day and night on our own city streets.

(A few shots pop outside as punctuation to his words. The teacher starts but retains his composure and misses only one or two beats before continuing.)

PEDAGAUSS (looking downstage): My point is evident. The greatest passion of humanity has been the most violent, merciless, wanton, and progressive destruction of its own kind.

(When his back is turned, the students initiate a paper wad fight, sending crumpled missiles back & forth across the theater.)

PEDAGAUSS (continuing without noticing the fusillade): More money and manpower has been spent on warfare than on any other human endeavor. The condition of our own school is an excellent example. Not schools, or

farms, hospitals, housing, cities, or even research and development for industry, unless of course for the development of military hardware, have benefitted from the deadly venture of war.

(When he turns around to see the results of his lecture, he notices the paper fight. He sighs long and deeply.)

PEDAGAUSS (aside): I may as well be hollering in the canyons of Mars. Warriors in the making, that's what they are. Grist ready for the mill of war. Deaf, dumb and blind except to the rhetoric of the military and the marketplace. Nope. No thirst for knowledge here. We've so bled the trees of the Academy with our philistine vacuum pumps that the paths of learning look more like trails into the desert than steps into the sylvan sanctuary of intellectual grace. Why do I go on?

(He claps his hands loudly like gunfire, and the students suddenly stop throwing paper.)

PEDAGAUSS: Now, now, children, can we call a ceasefire to our war games and resume the lesson of history?

VOICE: Or be doomed to repeat it?

(A paper wad hits PEDAGAUSS in the face. Angrily he scrambles around the floor to pick it up, but keeps kicking it with his feet just as he is about to reach it with his hands. Finally, he snatches it up and ferociously hurls it back at the audience. Several more wads fly up at him, but he ducks, picks them up and throws them back too. This escalates into a melee for a few moments, until an especially loud and numerous burst of gunfire sends him to the floor on his face, and the entire paper fight ceases. When the shooting stops, the teacher, panting, remains on the floor, and the students are dead silent. When all seems safe once again, the teacher rises slowly, straightens his clothes, and resumes.)

PEDAGAUSS (catching his breath): Well, as I was saying, money and the military rule the earth.

(SLATER raises his hand.)

PEDAGAUSS (pleased): Yes, Slater.

FIRST STUDENT: Ya gotta admit, Mister P--military service is a good way to get job training and money for college.

PEDAGAUSS: Unfortunately, it's one of the only ways these days. But during a war, you may be caught in crossfire. More shots ricochet across the theater.

FIFTH STUDENT: Couldn't be any worse than here.

(The teacher nods sadly to the point. The others titter.)

SLATER: Yeah, I'd rather fall in combat, fighting for my country than die in the gutter on Main Street.

PEDAGAUSS (nodding again): Understand me, I'm not saying you have many alternatives. In fact, military service is about all that is left to any young man or woman without money and connections. With money you can go to the best schools from daycare on up and....

SECOND STUDENT: That's where I'm going. My uncle's going to pay my way to go to a private school up near the country club--away from all this misery in town.

(The other students and the teacher merely stare at her for a moment in silence.)

PEDAGAUSS (gesturing): There it is. (pausing) But Slater suggested a critical point when he trumpeted his preference to fight for his country. And I don't blame him.

(A murmur waves through the students.)

PEDAGAUSS: In fact, I did that very thing when I was his age.

(Another murmur, louder. The teacher sits down on the edge of the stage and waits for complete quiet.)

PEDAGAUSS (softly): I was just about to graduate from high school. I had been accepted to the university and was going to celebrate the summer in between--when war broke out. The iron cauldron of hate heated up with the usual combustible mixture of ignorance, poverty, greed, and frustration, and then boiled over and exploded. Once we start cooking those ingredients, there never seems to be a way to cool them down. Death and destruction rise with the temperature and erupt with the frequency of Old Faithful. Per chance, I was caught, let myself be caught in the disaster--

(The teacher falls silent for several moments, and the students become restless, as he simply stares straight ahead without blinking.)

SECOND STUDENT: Uh--Mister Pedagauss...?

PEDAGAUSS: Wha--? Oh, I beg your pardon. Sometimes--distracted--yes, well, as I was saying--I went to war.

(Murmuring.)

PEDAGAUSS (rising with his words): Almost everybody I knew was going to war. We embraced each other with camaraderie. Bravado spiced our conversations. We were off to find glory in battle. No matter the cause was just or not. Our leaders said we were fighting for freedom, and that was good enough for us. If it seemed noble, and we bought into it--with our lives.

(Murmuring.)

PEDAGAUSS (pacing across downstage): You see, unbeknownst to us, we were being magnetized to a sacred ritual. (pausing and looking around for response.) Well, what am I saying? Think, students. What rite of human passage am I talking about?

(No answer.)

PEDAGAUSS: Initiation, of course. It's as old as human society.

THIRD STUDENT: You mean like the Africans--drinking blood and all that?

PEDAGAUSS: Exactly. Only don't be so smug. What they prove with the blood of their brows, we prove with our very lives. What they celebrate as strength in the face of pain, we cheer as victory over a demonized enemy. What they remember as scars from superficial wounds long healed, we memorialize with tombstones and monuments to horror. No, my young chargers, when it comes to symbolizing birth, life, and death, we, all of us homosapiens on this planet are revolving on the same journey.

(Silence among the students; only distant gunfire is heard.)

SLATER: So what you're sayin' is--war is natural.

PEDAGAUSS: Good thinking, Slater--but, no, I'm not saying that. I'm saying initiation is natural. War is evil. No other animal, none on Earth makes war as do humans. Not even ants, the most warlike of all, make war merely for imperial gain, but for survival. As all predators, they hunt and kill to eat and to reproduce. They don't single out their enemies as evil. If hungry or threatened, they fight. Simple as that. However, human beings, the chosen of god, the most highly developed animals on the globe, half beast, and half angel--only we succumb to the unnatural, irrational disaster that is war. And by that, we become devils.

(The teacher stops speaking and peers around the audience as if waiting for something. Several awkward moments pass. Finally, the PROMPTER peeks out from behind a curtain.)

PROMPTER (whispering to the audience): Initiation.

FOURTH STUDENT (belatedly): So what about initiation?

PEDAGAUSS: Ah-hah! That's what the excitement is all about. We can argue about the causes of war being territory, economics, or politics until our textbooks crumble in our hands, but it all comes down to red-blooded young males. Without the heat of youth simmering in the veins of every adolescent youngster yearning for manhood, the old profiteers, the generals, and the demagogues would have no one to fight their bloody battles. Tell me, Slater, if you go to war and, assuming you survive, how do you want to be treated when you come home? As a hero?

SLATER: No, just as a man.

PEDAGAUSS: I rest my case.

(Murmuring.)

PEDAGAUSS (aside): The Myrmidons. (to students) But you see, war, though the most famous, is actually the worst way to become a hero. Oh, it may have worked for our ancestors. But we are supposed to be more advanced than they. We are supposed to be rising above barbarism. That's what this classroom is for. Damn it! If we have gained anything at all, it has come through learning. Are we to build a bonfire in the middle of this room, roast our fresh kills over it, and paint prayers on the walls? Is this no more than a cave?

(Momentary silence.)

SLATER: So what about initiation? You got all the answers, Mister Pedagauss. So tell us.

PEDAGAUSS: If I had all the answers, Slater, I wouldn't be here. I'd be the oracle of presidents, prime ministers, and kings. But I can tell you--there are other ways. (pausing for attention) Look, you want to prove your manhood, right? You want to show your courage, your loyalty, and your honor, right? And you see violence--threat to life or limb--as the only confrontation worth the ordeal, right?

(He looks around for affirmation, but finding only blank faces, continues.)

PEDAGAUSS: So--what are the alternatives?

(No answer.)

PEDAGAUSS: Think and speak.

(No answer.)

PEDAGAUSS: What violence do we suffer in our daily lives right here at home? We don't have to travel halfway around the world to fight an enemy. We have them right here on our homeland. Just listen.

(Distant gunfire.)

PEDAGAUSS: Well--?

SECOND STUDENT (hesitantly): Crime?

PEDAGAUSS: Exactly. And what else?

THIRD STUDENT: Fire.

PEDAGAUSS: Right.

FOURTH STUDENT: Flood.

PEDAGAUSS: And hurricane, tornado, and all the calamities of life that befall the world we live in.

SLATER: But where's the honor and glory in searching through debris for the dead and dying?

PEDAGAUSS: Ah! Now we come to the crux of the matter. What initiates us into manhood? Is it the taking of life--or is it the giving?

SLATER: It's the risking.

PEDAGAUSS: Agreed. But is there no risk in fighting these calamities at home?

SLATER: Yeah, but who cares?

PEDAGAUSS: Exactly. Caring is the key. All the traditional primitive rituals of initiation have at their core an abiding concern for humanity. Brutal as it may seem to scar the flesh of a young man for life, it is far worse to scar his soul in battle. What is most important is the result. Give a young volunteer the training and the opportunity to fight on the streets of his neighborhood for his fellows and you produce a man with a heart.

FOURTH STUDENT: How much would it pay?

STUDENTS (in chorus): Yeah.

(The teacher hangs his head in dismay.)

SLATER: The question is, Mister P. Can I buy a new car?

STUDENTS (loudly): Yeah!

PEDAGAUSS: Is that what you're living for, Slater?

SLATER: That and the babes.

(Laughter.)

PEDAGAUSS (aside): A babe yourself.

SLATER: Cars and cunts, Mister Pedagass....

(All students but the female chuckle derisively.)

SECOND STUDENT (indignantly): Hey!

PEDAGAUSS: Slater, you watch your mouth, youngster. I told you, I'm not going to tolerate foul language in here.

SLATER: Sorry, Mister P. All this talk of initiation got me excited, I guess.

PEDAGAUSS: Granted, there are other forms of initiation....

SLATER: More fun too and less dangerous.

SECOND STUDENT: Don't be so sure.

MALE STUDENTS (variously): Oooh--aaah!

PEDAGAUSS: Now, now then, we have no time for that. But your bluster makes a point, Slater--the other reason for honor and glory. (awaiting a response) Well?

(The girl titters.)

PEDAGAUSS: Of course, to impress the fair maidens. But do not count on violence to make points with females. It took a magic potion to overcome the enmity of Isuelt towards Tristan for having killed the Morholt.

(The students are dumbstruck. The theater is strangely silent; even no gunfire.)

PEDAGAUSS (aside): Pearls before swine. (to the students) Well, you have my notes on the history of the world. Study them carefully. There will be an essay test next week.

SLATER: Essay?

THIRD STUDENT: We always take multiple-choice tests, Mister Pedagauss.

PEDAGAUSS: Look, we are not playing a parlor game here.

(A bell rings.)

PEDAGAUSS: As much as you may want to be spoon-fed facts so you can get your walking papers to oblivion, I want you not only to find your own food for thought but also distinguish yourselves by describing its value and meaning.

(More dumbstruck silence.)

PEDAGAUSS: Well, that's....

SLATER: The all clear signal.

PEDAGAUSS: Any ques...?

(The students rush out of the theater.)

FIFTH STUDENT: Maybe I can get home before....

FOURTH STUDENT: Let's go.

THIRD STUDENT: I gotta pick up a video.

SECOND STUDENT: Bye, Mister P.

SLATER (leering at her as she exits): And I gotta pick up a--

(The teacher watches them leave then looks expectantly around the theater at the rest of the audience. The stage lights stay on and the house lights off.)

VOICE: Any questions?

(If anyone in the audience comments or questions, the teacher adlibs responses. If not, the gunfire resumes and continues until everyone has exited except the teacher. He remains standing alone on stage until all have left and the lights go out.)

(No curtain.)

CONVERSATION #1

One Scene

Characters

A

B

A: You here yet?

B: No.

A: Where are you?

B: I don't know.

A: How did you get there?

B: I'm not sure.

A: When did you leave?

B: A long time ago.

A: Where did you start?

B: At the beginning.

A: Why did you leave?

B: I'm not sure.

A: Are you alone?

B: I think so.

A: Will you be here soon?

B: I don't know.

A: Are you in motion?

B: A little.

A: How fast are your moving?

B: I can't tell.

A: You can't or you won't?

B: I can't. Maybe I won't.

A: How long have you been moving?

B: A long time.

A: Do you know where we are?

B: I'm not sure.

A: Do you think you can find us?

B: I doubt it.

A: Then why are you coming?

B: I don't know.

A: Did anyone tell you to come?

B: No.

A: Do you want us to wait for you?

B: If you want to.

A: Why should we?

B: I don't know.

A: What do you know?

B: Very little.

A: Then why are you here?

B: I'm not sure.

(Curtain.)

CONVERSATION #2

One Scene

Characters

A

B

A: What are you listening to?

(No answer.)

A: I said, what are you listening to?

B: Huh?

A: What in hell are you listening to?

B: I can't hear you.

A: Then turn it down.

B: I know we're in town.

A: I said turn it down.

B: I can't.

A: Why can't you?

B: It needs it to be loud.

A: But I can't talk with you.

B: Yes, you can.

A: It's too difficult.

B: I know.

A: What do you know?

B: I know what I hear. That's all.

A: But you can't hear me.

B: I know.

A: Don't you want to hear me?

B: No.

A: Why not?

B: No reason.

A: You must have a reason.

B: Maybe I do.

A: Then tell me what it is.

B: Why?

A: Because I want to know.

B: You may want to know too much.

A: One can't know too much.

B: Yes, one can.

A: How?

B: By listening too much.

A: Listening.

B: Yes.

A: But you listen to that damned loud thing.

B: Yes, I do.

A: What if I made you listen to me?

B: You can't.

A: Yes, I can.

B: You're not big enough.

A: Yes, I am.

B: Well, you're not tough enough.

A: What if I had a gun?

B: Do you?

A: Maybe.

B: I don't think you do.

A: Want me to show you?

B: Yes.

A: If I do, will you listen?

B: Show me. Then I'll decide.

B: You're bluffing.

A: Well, I have one at home.

B: Do you?

A: Yes.

B: Go get it and maybe I'll listen to you.

A: I could shoot you with it.

B: You could.

A: I would.

B: Would you?

A: I should.

B: You should probably do a lot of things.

A: I'm going to get my gun.

B: I know you're done.

A: Listen, I'm going to kill you.

B: Why would you bill me?

A: I said--oh, what's the use? I'm leaving.

B: I'm listening.

(Curtain.)

THE DOOR

One Scene

Characters

MISSY

BUDDY

(No curtain. Darkness. Two rooms separated by a closed door. Loud knocking. Lights. BUDDY sits on a chair on one room. MISSY is standing at the door in the other room.)

MISSY: I'm out here!

BUDDY: Where?

MISSY: Here.

BUDDY: Who are you?

MISSY: Missy.

BUDDY: Missy who?

MISSY: Missy. Just Missy! You know--

BUDDY: I know Missy Menoigan, Missy Terpaland, and, uh, let me see--oh, yes--Missy Bennennym.

(Silence.)

BUDDY: Well, are you one of them?

MISSY: No. I'm just Missy.

BUDDY: Missy, shmissy--you could be anyone--someone I don't know. Someone I don't want to know. Someone who could hurt me. Someone who could hit me, cut me up into little pieces and eat me, or shoot me, or blow me

up, or even kill me. Oh, absolutely not! I can't take a chance on a Missy I don't know.

MISSY: Buddy! You know me! I know you. We've known each other all our lives. It's Missy, Buddy. Please let me in. I need help.

BUDDY: What kind of help?

MISSY: I'm in trouble.

BUDDY : Trouble? Are you a troublemaker. I hate troublemakers....

MISSY: No--

BUDDY: Yes I do.

MISSY: I'm not a troublemaker. I'm in trouble. There's a difference, you know--a big difference--a life and death difference.

BUDDY: Life and death? I knew it. I could get hurt. I knew it--

MISSY: Buddy--listen to me. Listen carefully. Don't speak. Just listen.

BUDDY: I'm listening.

MISSY: No, you're not. You're talking. Just like I knew you would. I can't trust you.

BUDDY: Yes--yes, you can. You can trust me.

MISSY: How do I know that?

BUDDY: I give you my word.

MISSY: Good. Now--will you let me in?

BUDDY: No.

MISSY: Buddy, look--

BUDDY: I can't. It's too dark outside. Besides, the door is closed.

MISSY: I meant that figuratively--like see--

BUDDY: I told you--it's too dark to see.

MISSY: I mean--to understand--

BUDDY: Understand what?

MISSY: What I'm going to tell you.

BUDDY: How can I understand what you're going to tell me when you haven't even told me yet? Phew!

MISSY: Buddy?

BUDDY: Yes?

MISSY: If you simply listen, I will tell you.

BUDDY: Tell me what?

MISSY: I forgot.

BUDDY: What?

MISSY: What I was going to--oh, yeah, I remember. Yes! I was going to tell you that you don't have to worry about me. I won't hurt you, Buddy. I'm your oldest friend. You can trust me. And I wouldn't be bothering you now if I wasn't seriously in need of help. (pausing) Buddy?

BUDDY: Yes?

MISSY: If I tell you a story, will you help me?

BUDDY: Maybe.

MISSY: Okay. Well, it all began when I was born--

BUDDY: Hey, wait a minute! Is this going to be a lifestory? I hate life stories.

MISSY: Okay, okay--I'll condense it.

BUDDY: Good. And will you edit the story? I hate ragged stories, too.

MISSY: Yes, I'll edit--

BUDDY: Good. And will you expurgate it?

MISSY: Expurgate?

BUDDY: Yes--expunge all the dirty words.
MISSY: Do you mean censor it? Is that what you mean? Well, if so, I won't do it. It's a free country, and I have the right to speak freely.

BUDDY: All right, go ahead and speak freely, if it's so important to you but--

MISSY: Yes?

BUDDY: Will you bowdlerize the story?

MISSY: Bowdlerize? I don't even know what that means. Wait--isn't that another way of censoring?

BUDDY: Not really. But go on--tell your story. Just be careful not to upset me.

MISSY: Well, it all began when--

BUDDY: Do you have to start at the beginning?

MISSY: But I can't very well start at the end.

BUDDY: You could start in the middle. You know--like Homer.

MISSY: Homer.

BUDDY: Yes.

MISSY: Do you want me to tell the story in classical Greek too?

BUDDY: That would be nice.

MISSY: But I don't know more than a few words.

BUDDY: Either do I.

MISSY: Then why do you want me to tell the story in Greek when you wouldn't understand it.

BUDDY: I simply thought it would be interesting to hear it in an ancient language.

MISSY: A dead language.

BUDDY: Don't be morbid. Besides, Homer is immortal.

MISSY: That's not the point. Agreed, Homer is immortal, but the language he wrote--or spoke--is no longer used in lingual intercourse.

BUDDY: Don't be nasty.

MISSY: I'm not. I'm merely trying to--oh, to hell with it.

BUDDY: How dare you condemn ancient Greek!

MISSY: I didn't. It was only another figure of speech--to express my frustration.

BUDDY: Why are you frustrated?

MISSY: Well, I wonder what in the world I could be frustrated about?

BUDDY: So do I.

MISSY: For one thing, Buddy, you won't let me in. For another, you won't let me tell my story.

BUDDY: Okay, okay--you can tell your silly story--but don't curse.

MISSY: I'll try not to.

BUDDY: Promise?

MISSY: I won't promise anything---unless you promise to let me in after I tell the story.

BUDDY: I can't promise that but I will listen to your story.

MISSY: In English?

BUDDY: Do you know any other languages?

MISSY: Not well enough to tell a comprehensible story.

BUDDY: Nor do I know any well enough to comprehend a story.

MISSY: Then why did you ask?

BUDDY: I thought it would be interesting.

MISSY: Buddy, Buddy--we've covered this ground--please--

BUDDY: What ground?

MISSY: Buddy, for Godsake, please let me tell my story.

BUDDY: You cursed!

MISSY: I did not!

BUDDY: Then you took His name in vain.

MISSY: No, I didn't! I simply invoked Him--or Her--oh, darn it, Buddy--

BUDDY: Careful.

MISSY: Let me tell my story.

(Silence.)

MISSY: Are you listening?

(Silence.)

MISSY: Buddy, why don't you answer me?

BUDDY: How can I listen and answer you at the same time?

MISSY: Don't. Just listen. (pausing) It all--

BUDDY: Remember--in the middle.

MISSY: I can't begin anywhere, if you keep interrupting me. Now just listen! Don't answer, don't question, and don't interrupt. Don't say another single word. Don't utter a sound. Simply, only, silently LISTEN! (pausing) So then, one day when I was--(pause) Buddy?

(Silence.)

MISSY: Buddy, are you there?

(Silence.)

MISSY: BUDDY!

(Silence.)

MISSY: Oh, Buddy--how can I tell you my story if you're not there? (pausing) If you are there but quietly listening, I'll go on. But if you've gone away, my story will be useless. What good is a story no one hears? So, Buddy, I've got to know if you're there. I know I told you only to listen. But I can't see you. You won't let me in. Consequently, I have no way of knowing if you will hear my story. You see, if you were to like my story then you may be inclined to let me in, but if you never hear my story--well, then, I'm afraid I have no chance to get in. Oh, Buddy, don't you see how important it is for me that you hear my story and like it? If you don't let me in, I will stay in trouble and I will have no one to help me in this life and death struggle. (pausing) Buddy?

(Silence.)

BUDDY (shouting): I'm in here!

MISSY: Where?

(Curtain.)

WIND

Two Scenes

Characters

HOSTESS

GUESTS: CANDOUQE, NARCISCO, WAGONERE, RIBDIDDLE

AUDIENCE (several)

Scene One

(Curtain down. In front of it at two tables on each side of a podium are four chairs. A huge bulletproof transparent shield stands between the stage and the auditorium. A few seats in the auditorium are reserved for the AUDIENCE. A spotlight holds on the lectern. When the auditors start to become restless, the HOSTESS enters and stands at the podium.)

HOSTESS: We're not all here--so we have to wait before getting started. Please be patient. We should begin soon, I hope--

(The HOSTESS, apparently waiting for a signal, looks into the wings. A commotion is heard offstage, muffled voices. The GUESTS file out from each wing--two from each side. They awkwardly take their seats, and the HOSTESS opens the event.)

HOSTESS (aside): Some of us simply aren't going to make it. (to auditors) Tonight, as you know, we are gathered to discuss a subject that has raised much debate in social, political, and religious circles. The subject being the reward or punishment of our children.

(Murmuring from AUDIENCE.)

HOSTESS: Often these days, we see on television and even in print, for those of us still able to read, reports of youth gangs going wild. And many of us see this as a crisis in our country. As educators, marketeers, and congressmen repeatedly utter: our children, our future.

(AUDIENCE applauds. Any spontaneous accompaniment is encouraged by the HOSTESS.)

HOSTESS: So, having said that which I just said that I wanted to say, I now say that I shall introduce our guests. (looking left) On my right, we have Mister Candouqe from the Society of Abilitators and next to him Mister Narcisco from the Center for Selfsales. (looking right) On my left, we have Mister Wagonere from the Major Movement and Mister Ribdiddle of People More People.

(The HOSTESS waits for applause. None comes.)

HOSTESS: Well, to begin, I shall throw the subject open to our first speaker for a short introduction--Mister Ribdiddle of People More People.

(The HOSTESS claps, as the first GUEST, a gaunt man, rises unsteadily and ambles to the podium. He gazes over the audience for a long time and appears about to faint. But slowly, quietly he starts to speak inaudibly at first.)

RIBDIDDLE:...the world...a God-given right to reproduce our kind. No finer species has ever appeared on this planet, so it is our duty to further civilization. The production of healthy, happy children is fundamental. And fun too, I might add (tittering). Well, we can see from the popular weekly TV show--"Sensational Statistics"--that our children are disappearing and dying at an alarmingly rate. This should give us concern. I know I'm concerned. Aren't you concerned?

(AUDIENCE murmurs.)

RIBDIDDLE: Well, you should be. And so the question ought not to be asked: Do we reward or punish our children? Rather we should ask: How can we produce more and more children to replace those we're losing?

(AUDIENCE applauds, as RIBDIDDLE sits down, and the HOSTESS stands to introduce the next GUEST.)

HOSTESS: Thank you, Mister Ribdiddle. Our next guest--Mister Candouqe from the Society of Abilitators.

(The second GUEST almost leaps to the podium and shouts an enthusiastic salute to all attending. CANDOUQE stands straight and delivers in strong tones.)

CANDOUQE: Yes, more children, but also better children.

(AUDIENCE applauds.)

CANDOUQE: And the key is training. Raise them well, teach them to be self-indulgent, and the rest will take care of itself.

(More applause, as CANDOUQE reseats.)

HOSTESS: Short and sweet. Next--Mister Wagonere of the Major Movement.

(The third GUEST rises like a corpulent god and commandingly strides to the podium as if it were a temple throne.)

WAGONERE: "The rest"--now that is the magic phrase. The ordinary, hard-working taxpaying, veteran rest of us know what's good for children. We've been raising them to be great patriots for nearly three hundred years. And we show no sign of falling down on all fours in adoration of some ivory tower notions of righteousness. We know the truth as we see it; we live it every day.

(AUDIENCE applauds.)

WAGONERE: And we....

HOSTESS: Thank you, Mister Wagonere. Now, finally to start our discussion we have Mister Narcisco of the Center for Self Sales.

(The fourth GUEST appears to ask the third GUEST to leave the podium. And, although much smaller than WAGONERE, NARCISCO looks prepared to fight for the right to speak. However, diplomatically the HOSTESS steps between them and gently leads the big one to his seat. NARCISCO stands at the podium as if the only one in the room and addressing a huge mirror.)

NARCISCO: Ladies and gentlemen--you just saw a demonstration of the monster that is the mob.

(WAGONERE jumps to his feet but, at the urging of others, sits.)

NARCISCO: You see, you see. I stand here alone to bear witness to you. The masses must be controlled if we are to raise and train our children to be free and independent individuals. And so, I think, we must reward or punish them according to their individuality. Let me simplify as I do so well: if a child shows a strong ego, I praise; if not, I punish. By way of illustration--my son wanted a mother of steel automatic pistol with a hair trigger and a bone handle like those that in his words "all the other kids have." Well, I hauled off and beat the shit out of him as I do so well and I seared his ears with orders for him to be his own man even at six, and to find his own type of weapon that best suits his personal identity.

(Applause from AUDIENCE.)

NARCISCO: To prove the effectiveness of my method, when my boy asked for a water cooled machine pistol plus magazine, all made by a mom and pop shop down the street, I, personally, as I do so well, walked

him to the store and promptly bought the gun. My son is now, needless to say, the big boy on the playground.

(More applause.)

NARCISCO: Our children must be given every opportunity to prove their individuality. It's a dog eat dog world, and the top dog wins the pile of bones. The rest is extinction. So I say--it's not whether we reward or punish the child but for what purpose. Forget those namby-pamby platitudes of goodness, kindness, and generosity. The successful person is in youth a dominant dog. No matter how he gets to the top of the heap. If he gets there at all, he must be the best, most fit to lead and succeed. So throw the kid a bone. If he fights off every other kid to keep it, then praise him to the top of the tallest skyscraper. But if he tries to share it with the pack, beat him to a pulp. Then he'll shape up and fight for himself like a man or he'll go the way of communists and become extinct. Either way works.

(Rabid applause as NARCISCO steps to his seat, clasping his hands above his head like a champion.)

HOST: Now, who has a reply to that stimulating starter?

(CANDOUQE hurries to the podium.)

CANDOUQE: Narcisco is dwelling in a comic book world. He would make a race of Supermen. Well, we can't all be heroes, nor should we want to be. But every man or woman born can contribute to the scheme of things, regardless of physical or mental capabilities. It's just a matter of preparation. So why punish at all? Simply reward children for doing well and do nothing for doing badly. No need to punish. We do that enough to our male or female selves. Human nature drives us all toward excellence. Whenever we fall short of that goal, we castigate ourselves more than any slave driver could. I say, find what the boy or girl child is good for. All are good for something. Then help him or her with every bit of power you have to become the best he or she can be. Not sex, color, size, or intellect should prevent parents and schools from making an idle girl or boy child into a productive cog in the wheel as quickly as possible. We're all good for something. We just have to discover it, nurture it, and then the best of all possible worlds will be attained. With every male or female body doing his or her part--be it gravedigger or bureau chief--practicability is the key word. Whatever works best is best. And we'll create this brave new he-and-she world by positive reinforcement--by praise alone for work well done in a totally controlled environment. Utopia can be ours afterall.

(Wild applause as CANDOUQE bows repeatedly and reseats himself with aplomb. Almost as a reaction, RIBDIDDLE pops to his feet and starts chattering in mid-sentence.)

RIBDIDDLE:...with more people. Yes--(He almost falls back to his seat.) the total domination of this planet is at hand. When the point of overflowing is reached, we shall conquer space once for all, fly beyond this debris-cluttered stratosphere, and soar into the heart of the galaxy, the true way to milk and honey. There we'll colonize new worlds as we have done so thoroughly to each and every piece of land on Earth. Through dedicated procreation, we can swell our numbers to the trillions and veritably fly like popcorn off this planet to impregnate fecund spheres throughout the cosmos.

(AUDIENCE cheers.)

RIBDIDDLE: And we shall do this not by punishment or even praise but by sexual profligacy. No prudery allowed. Celibacy the only sin. And those who cannot or will not reproduce shall not be punished but be assigned as slaves to the breeding class. Thereby we shall satisfy both of our labor needs.

(Applause.)

RIBDIDDLE: So fuck, fuck, fuck yourselves to death and more will always come forth to carry the explosion of humanity to the stars.

(Fanatical applause. WAGONERE hollers over the masses.)

WAGONERE: Yes, yes, fuck all you want. I'm all for that, but remember--the most of us carry the load for the few. So if you want to make your babies, they must be raised to be like most of us or they will be burdens on the state. God knows we, the majority, have made this world what it has become. Heavens, no great revolutions would ever have occurred without our majorative actions against a remote tyrant daring to charge us for defending our investments. We fought for fiscal liberty then and we will fight for social liberty now. We were righteous then; we are righteous now. Let no one, no special interest group infringe upon our freedom to do as we see fit. And if we see fit to make a living off the backs of the inferior few, so be it. That is God's will.

(Wild applause.)

WAGONERE: So make all the babies your little heads desire (chuckling) and train the children to join the people, the patriots. Simply praise them if they do so, but put them into prison if they do not. Either way is good for the economy. And what is good for the economy is good for most people. The majority rules!

(AUDIENCE cheers.)

WAGONERE: The majority prospers!

(AUDIENCE cheers.)

WAGONERE: The majority right or wrong!

(The AUDIENCE cheers.)

NARCISCO (shouting): Mostly wrong! The free individual has made the civilized world we enjoy today.

WAGONERE: You are simply enjoying the fruits of popularity.

NARCISCO: And if it becomes popular to play Russian Roulette, what is the fruit? The apple of William Tell?

CANDOUQE: Not if we become good enough at the game.

RIBDIDDLE: And we have an endless supply of players.

(AUDIENCE laughs merrily, as the GUESTS quarrel in a close group, gesturing threateningly. The HOSTESS steps into their midst to quiet the quarrel and prevent a fight but she disappears among them, apparently absorbed by their escalating hostility.)

WAGONERE: The people!

(AUDIENCE applauds.)

RIBDIDDLE: More people!

(Applause.)

NARCISCO: The person!

(Applause.)

CANDOUQE: More personality!

(Applause.)

HOSTESS (off): But what about the children?

(From the rear of the auditorium, a taped chorus of children is heard to sing: "We are the homeless...." AUDIENCE turns to look and gestures defensively.)

HOSTESS: Security! Security! Please remove that riff-raff from the auditorium. We're trying to discuss a critically important subject here and will not be interrupted by childish interlopers.

(Shots fired. The HOSTESS waits for order while the chorale is interrupted and the children are heard screaming chaotically in flight. Then a gradual quieting.)

WAGONERE: A perfect example of the noisy few disturbing the busy many.

RIBDIDDLE: But they are the future--

CANDOUQE: Only if they are able.

NARCISCO: To prove each one worthy.

CANDOUQE: All are not worthy unless--

WAGONERE: Only most.

RIBDIDDLE: As many as possible.

WAGONERE: How many, for Godsake?

CANDOUQE: I'll tell you--

RIBDIDDLE: I'll show you in a handful of sperm.

WAGONERE (to CANDOUQE): How do you know?

CANDOUQE: If it works--

NARCISCO (to WAGONERE): Who do you think you are?

WAGONERE: Better than you, by God.

NARCISCO: No one--

WAGONERE: No?

(The HOSTESS rushes in futilely to quell the growing quarrel.)

NARCISCO: I alone can see--

CANDOUQE: That is pragmatically impossible.

RIBDIDDLE: Agreed. To breed--

WAGONERE: Selectively, yes.

HOSTESS: But what about the children?

RIBDIDDLE: More.

WAGONERE: Better.

CANDOUQE: Able.

NARCISCO: To win.

HOSTESS: But what about the question?

NARCISCO: Which?

WAGONERE: Why?

CANDOUQE: How?

HOSTESS: To beat or not to beat?

RIBDIDDLE: That is the question? Ridiculous. Anyway, to be is the answer to all questions.

CANDOUQE: To be able.

WAGONERE: To be most.

NARCISCO: To be best.

CANDOUQE: If prepared according to national standards.

WAGONERE: If agreed by enough--

RIBDIDDLE: By all.

NARCISCO: Impossible.

RIBDIDDLE (to NARCISCO): Impotent?

NARCISCO: How dare you--

HOSTESS: Now, now, gentlemen--

(NARCISCO takes a swing at RIBDIDDLE, misses, and falls on CANDOUQE.)

CANDOUQE: Not this way!

(WAGONERE yanks NARCISCO off CANDOUQE and throws NARCISCO off the stage. AUDIENCE applauds.)

CANDOUQE: I could have done that. I can take care of myself.

NARCISCO (screaming from floor): You're a dead man, Wagonero!

RIBDIDDLE: Plenty more where he came from.

WAGONERE: Yes, and I'm here to stay.

NARCISCO: Expecting this threat to my personal freedom, I came prepared.

(NARCISCO pulls out an electronic device and shows it off like a trophy.)

NARCISCO: This little remote controller can change your channels to the biggest hit on the air. Just give me a reason.

HOSTESS: Security!

CANDOUQE: Can he do such a thing?

WAGONERE: Hell, yes, if enough of us let him get away with it.

HOSTESS (screaming): Security!

Scene Two

(NARCISCO presses a button on the remote controller: the lights go out, the curtain opens, and the spare set of a ghost town is revealed, illumined as if for the beginning of a first act. AUDIENCE applauds. The children's chorus is again heard offstage. AUDIENCE applauds. The stage lights gradually dim as for evening. AUDIENCE applauds. When the stage is totally darkened, the chorus fades away. A video monitor shows the HOSTESS and the four GUESTS arguing animatedly; although, none of their words can be understood. AUDIENCE applauds. A hollowing wind blows across the stage, blocks out the screen, and sends a dust cloud into the auditorium. AUDIENCE runs out of the theater. The wind and the video continue indefinitely.)

FRUIT OF THE TREE

One Scene

Characters

Man

Woman

Extras

(A MAN approaches a bus stop where a woman is waiting. He hovers around her, smiles, and then accosts her.)

MAN: I'm a stranger, but....

WOMAN: Yes?

MAN: Could you tell me when the next bus stops here?

WOMAN: Which one?

MAN: Oh, there are more than one? The number twenty.

WOMAN: That should come by in about ten minutes.

MAN: Good, thanks.

(She nods and smiles.)

MAN: You wouldn't have change for a fifty, would you?

WOMAN (annoyed): No, I'm sorry.

MAN: How much is the fare?

WOMAN: Where are you going?

MAN: Garden City.

WOMAN: Two-fifty.

MAN: Exactly two-fifty?

(She nods and looks away.)

MAN: Are pets allowed on the bus?

WOMAN (confused): No. Do you have a pet with you?

MAN: No.

WOMAN: Then why do you ask?

MAN: Just curious.

(She sighs.)

MAN: Is food allowed on the bus?

WOMAN (irritated): Of course not.

MAN: Then why do so many people eat on it?

WOMAN: I don't know. Maybe they're hungry.

MAN: Yes. If hungry, enough people will do most anything. Well, it doesn't matter. I'm not hungry anyway. Are you?

WOMAN: No.

MAN: Then you have eaten recently.

WOMAN: No, but I don't think that's any of your business.

MAN: Just curious.

WOMAN: Remember, curiosity killed the cat

MAN: Well, I'm not a cat.

WOMAN (aside): No, but you're a cuckoo.

MAN: What?

WOMAN: Nothing.

MAN: Now, I know you said something. I think it was about me so I want to know the remark you made.

WOMAN: It doesn't matter.

MAN: Of course it matters. What we say to each other provides our main means of communication. It helps us to get along.

WOMAN: I don't want to get along. (aside) Not with you anyway.

MAN: I heard that.

(She shrugs. He studies her demeanor.)

MAN: You don't have to be rude.

WOMAN: Rude! Me--rude? I'm sorry but you're the rude one.

(She turns and steps away.)

MAN: That's even ruder.

WOMAN: What?

MAN: Walking away from one when one is talking to one.

WOMAN: Well, I'm not one for one to talk to.

MAN: But you started the conversation.

WOMAN: I star--but you spoke to me! I was simply standing her, quietly minding my own business, waiting for the bus, when you started asking me questions. "Could you tell when the bus comes?" you said.

MAN: No. I said, "Could you tell me when the next bus stops here?" Please be precise when you quote someone.

WOMAN (impatiently): "There's more than one?" you said.

MAN: No. I said, "There are more than one?" The expletive carries no number, which is instead determined by the adverb in this case, unlike other syntactical constructions that....

WOMAN: Okay, okay!

MAN: Be grammatical.

WOMAN: Then you asked "Would you have change for a fifty dollar bill?" or was it "Do you have--"?

MAN: Neither. I said, "You wouldn't have change for a fifty, would you?" Softening the question courteously with an expected negation, also simplifying the currency description for the sake of brevity. Long drawn out questions can be so annoying, don't you think?

WOMAN: I certainly do.

MAN: But that question was out of order anyway.

WOMAN: It certainly was.

MAN: No, I mean, you remembered it out of order. Before that one I said, "How much is the fare?"

WOMAN: No, you didn't.

MAN: Yes, I did.

WOMAN: No. Logically, you should have asked that first but you didn't.

MAN: Of course, logically. That's how I know what I said, when I said it. I'm ruthlessly logical if nothing else.

WOMAN: Then I'm afraid you're nothing else because you asked those questions in the wrong order.

MAN: Impossible. I refuse to listen any further to your inaccurate retelling of my interrogatives. For thirty years I have taken great pride in my impeccably correct use of the English language--Americanized though it may be--and so I resent any implication however casual that my usage leaves room for improvement. You should know that--

WOMAN: I'm sure you're right--but I know what I heard.

MAN: How can you be so sure?

WOMAN: Okay then I'm not sure you're right. Besides, you may refuse to listen further to me and I won't be hurt.

MAN: No, no. How can you be sure you heard right? People don't even see right, and vision is a stronger human sense than hearing.

WOMAN: Well, I see you right here in front of me and I hear what you say, unfortunately. That's all I need to know about you.

MAN: My, my--how quick we are to judge one another--without the slightest effort to really get to know....

WOMAN: Why should I want to know you?

(He smiles.)

WOMAN: Why are you smiling?

MAN: Now, you are asking the questions. You've given up reviewing mine?

WOMAN: No, I haven't.

MAN: Fine. Then continue.

(She is silent.)

MAN: Well?

WOMAN: I don't want to.

MAN: You can't remember the rest of my questions, can you?

WOMAN: I don't care to remember your stupid questions.

MAN: No question is stupid except the one....

WOMAN: Not asked. I know. Come on.

MAN: Where are we go...?

WOMAN: Please! Don't give me that childish question everyone jokes with.

MAN: Childish! How could you know my arrested question was going to be childish? That's like saying your aborted fetus was going to be a juvenile delinquent.

WOMAN: My abortion is none of your--(staring at him) How did you know I--?

MAN: I didn't.

(The woman is abashed.)

MAN: Sorry. I was merely using a figure of speech. (pause) So--what made you decide to--?

WOMAN: How dare you invade my private life!

MAN: Is that a question?

WOMAN: Look. I'm standing her waiting for a damned bus, minding my own damned business, when you....

MAN: What does the father think?

WOMAN: He's not going to be the father. He's only the man who--what am I talking to you for? And why are you bothering me about this? Are you one of those pro-life extremist loonies?

MAN: I'm not active either way.

WOMAN: What--sexually or politically?

MAN: Politically, of course, but if you want to know....

WOMAN: I don't.

MAN: Presently I'm on the prowl.

WOMAN: Oh, I never would have guessed

MAN: May I kiss you?

WOMAN: WHAT?!

MAN: You're available, aren't you? Or you will be soon.

(She is dumbfounded.)

MAN: I see no ring on your finger, and you have repudiated as a potential father the man who sired your baby--

WOMAN: My embryo--actually.

MAN: Oh. Well, anyway, you're either coming out of a relationship or else you're promiscuous.

(She starts.)

MAN: But I doubt the latter. You don't look the type.

WOMAN: What do you mean by that?

MAN: I mean you appear to be rather conservative.

WOMAN: That's better than being liberal.

MAN: Depends on what you're free with. I myself am conservative with money but free with love. Want some?

WOMAN: No.

(She turns away for several moments and then confronts him.)

WOMAN: Don't you ever give up?

MAN: Not as long as you're talking to me.

WOMAN: Well, then, I should shut up, shouldn't I?

MAN: I wish you wouldn't. I enjoy talking with you. Perhaps you are also getting something from our conversation.

WOMAN: Yes, a headache.

MAN: Possibly due to stress.

WOMAN: Undoubtedly.

(He becomes tearful.)

WOMAN: Are--are you crying?

MAN: Sympathetically, yes. It's something I do.

WOMAN: Not on my behalf, I hope.

MAN: I'm frequently moved by the difficulties of others.

WOMAN: That's very empathetic of you, I'm sure, but I'm in no hardship really.

MAN: No?

WOMAN: No.

(They look at each other for a moment then both break into tears and hug. She immediately backs off, and they quickly struggle to regain their composure.)

WOMAN: Oh--I'm so sorry. I don't know what....

MAN: It's all right.

WOMAN: No, it isn't. I shouldn't be so open with strangers.

MAN: But I'm no longer a stranger.

WOMAN: Huh? I barely know you. Don't even know your name.

MAN: We've touched each other.

WOMAN: That hardly makes us friends.

MAN: Friendship has to begin somewhere.

WOMAN: Why here? With me?

MAN: I don't see anybody better.

(She stares at him.)

MAN: We've met, communicated, embraced--we're on our way through friendship to lovedom.

WOMAN: What?

MAN: Lovedom. But before we become lovers, I should advise you that I take neither sex nor its consequences lightly.

WOMAN: Look--we're not even going to be friends, so you can forget about the consequences and leave me alone.

MAN: When I commit to a woman as a lover, I expect to be consulted fairly on the fruit of our sexual bliss. I should bear equal responsibility for any action before or after the dirty deed.

WOMAN: Fruit? Bliss? Dirty--? You must be out of your mind. And if you don't leave me alone instantly, I'm going to call a cop.

MAN: If I leave you alone, you may become just that--

WOMAN: What?

MAN: Alone--a fate we all fear.

WOMAN: Speak for yourself, jerk. I prefer to be alone.

MAN: Then why did you get pregnant?

WOMAN: I didn't, if you must--I mean I didn't intend--it was an accident.

MAN: An accident.

WOMAN: Yes.

MAN: Like an apple falling from a tree onto your head?

WOMAN: Hah. Well, sort of like that, I guess.

MAN: Newton was not sitting under that tree by accident.

WOMAN: Newton! What's he got to do with it? Besides, that is probably just a legend.

MAN: No matter. The allegory works.

WOMAN: You must have been living in a cave. No allegories work anymore, because nothing is like anything else. Everything is relative.

MAN: Exactly. We relate to each other with kindness and caring.

(She stares at him.)

WOMAN: I was wrong.

MAN: Yes.

WOMAN: You're not a cuckoo, a loony, or a jerk.

MAN: Of course not, I'm--

WOMAN: Worse. You're a dreamer, a naive idealist.

MAN: Wrong.

WOMAN: Wrong?

MAN: Right. I'm simply a man looking for love.

WOMAN: Well, you're looking in the wrong place, barking up the wrong tree, heading down a blind alley.

MAN: We're on a two-way street.

WOMAN: No. You're going the wrong way on a one-way street.

MAN: Swimming upstream?

WOMAN: You got it.

MAN: Like a salmon.

WOMAN: Now, don't start with the tiresome symbolism again.

MAN: Only deductive logic--

(She sighs.)

MAN: Salmon swim upstream, and I'm swimming upstream; I must be a salmon.

WOMAN: A turkey maybe, but not a salmon; although, your thinking is fishy.

MAN: That may only be my semen you're sensing.

WOMAN: Don't be nasty.

MAN: It's organic.

WOMAN: Salmon are not the only creatures that swim upstream, so even if you were swimming upstream, you would be in the company of many other life forms, such as--amoebas.

MAN: You have in mind the wrong single cell organism, and it's not even flagellata to boot.

WOMAN: Well, you can boot your flagellata somewhere else, mister. I'm not interested.

MAN: I think you are. If not, you wouldn't be talking with me.

WOMAN: You're repeating yourself. Your tape is starting over. You've run out of material.

MAN: Never. But I am having trouble getting it published.

WOMAN: You're wasting your time with me--I'm neither a publisher, a producer, nor a procreator.

MAN: Of course you are. And a fine specimen too.

WOMAN: What--would you etherize me on a table?

MAN: No, but I would gratify you in bed.

WOMAN: I ought to slap your face.

MAN: Don't. I may slap back.

WOMAN: Oh, a batterer, eh? I should have guessed.

MAN: No, just a male humanimal.

WOMAN: A humanimal? What in hell is that?

MAN: A coinage. I like to do that.

WOMAN: That figures.

MAN: Huh?

WOMAN: You've flipped.

(He looks moved.)

MAN: Over you, yes.

WOMAN: I'm touched.

MAN: You too?

WOMAN: Don't be smart.

MAN: I try to be nothing else.

WOMAN: Then, if so, leave me alone.

MAN: Don't you want company?

WOMAN: Why--?

MAN: When you go in for the procedure?

(She starts to react and then reflects.)

WOMAN (tearfully): If I'd wanted company I would have-asked....

MAN: Would he have come along?

WOMAN: No. I don't know. Maybe he would have....

MAN: I will.

(She stares at him.)

WOMAN: You will.

MAN: Yes, I will.

(She laughs in spite of herself. Then she breaks into silent tears and sobs quietly beneath much effort at self-control. Slowly, tentatively he touches her arm. She does not move. Carefully he suspends his arm above her shoulders. In a moment she breaks down and puts her forehead on his chest. She weeps profusely. He holds her in his arms and hums lowly in her ear. The bus approaches, stops, and then departs. The woman pulls away abruptly and looks upstage right.)

WOMAN: Oh--now, look what you've done. You've made me miss my bus.

MAN: Don't worry--you can catch mine.

(She studies him quizzically then slowly smiles. They begin conversing rather amicably for once, but their words are inaudible. Other people gradually gather at the bus stop, some speaking to each other, and all blocking the couple from view. Lights down.)

(Curtain.)

THE CHRISTMAS TREE

One Scene

Characters

KIT

KATY

(Winter woods. A blustery day. Late afternoon. KIT and KATY are walking up a trail. KIT is carrying an axe, KATY a rope.)

KATY: How much farther, Kit--my feet hurt, and I'm cold.

KIT: Tell your feet its Christmas, Katy, and they'll carry you along with joy.

KATY: I'd rather my feet were carried too. Could you carry me a ways, Kit?

KIT: Course not, Katy, you're too heavy.

KATY: I am not heavy. I'm a little girl.

KIT: Well, I'm a little boy, and you're too heavy for me.

KATY: I wish daddy were here. He'd carry me. He'd carry both of us.

KIT: Well, he's not. So come along, Katy. We've got to find a tree before dark.

KATY: Why do we have to find a tree? Why don't mommy and daddy find one for us--like before?

KIT: They can't, Kate--you know that.

KATY: Oh, I know. They're too busy.

KIT: They have a lot of money to make, so we can have a lot of things for Christmas.

KATY: But I don't want a lot of things, Kit. I want mommy and daddy--and an artificial Christmas tree.

KIT: Hah! You say that now. But wait till Christmas morning. You'll be the first one up and out into the living room to see what Santa left us under a real big tree.

KATY: I don't believe in Santa Claus anymore. Do you?

KIT: Naw, not really. I'm too big for that kid stuff.

KATY: Big enough to carry me?

KIT: Not that big yet.

KATY: Kit?

KIT: What?

KATY: Do you think you'll ever get as big as daddy?

KIT: Sure.

KATY: How do you know? You're small now.

KIT: I'll grow.

KATY: Just like a tree?

KIT: Taller than a tree.

KATY: Kit?

KIT: What?

KATY: How are we going to know what tree to cut down?

KIT: We'll know.

KATY: How?

KIT: It'll speak to us.

KATY (tittering): Trees can't talk, silly.

KIT: No, but they can speak.

KATY: How?

KIT: By saying, "I'm your Christmas tree."

KATY (laughing): Oh, yeah? And what if it's not the one you want?

KIT: Then it'll say, "I'm not your Christmas tree."

(KATY laughs heartily.)

KATY: You're so funny, Kit. I'm glad you're my brother.

KIT: Even though you have to help me bring home a Christmas tree?

KATY: Sure--if you'll help me decorate it.

KIT: I'll supervise.

KATY: As usual.

KIT: That's what I'm good at.

KATY: Yeah, you'll be a big boss someday--like mommy.

KIT: Like daddy.

KATY: Mommy's just as big a boss as daddy.

KIT: No, she isn't.

KATY: Yes, she is.

KIT: Isn't.

KATY: Is.

KIT (shouting): Is not!

KATY (shouting back): Is too!

KIT (mumbling): No, she is not.

KATY: I heard you, Kit.

KIT: I don't care.

(The wind gusts.)

KATY: When are we gonna find that tree, Kit? It's cold and windy. And it's getting late.

KIT: I told you when....

KATY: Yeah, I know--when it talks to us.

KIT: Speaks.

KATY: What?

KIT: When it speaks to us, Katy.

KATY: Well, I've been listening for the last mile and all I've heard are doves, geese, quail, and the wind.

KIT: Those are good signs, Katy--we must be getting close.

KATY: I still think we should get an artificial one.

KIT: Listen.

KATY: To what?

KIT: Just listen.

They listen for a moment.

KATY: What do you hear?

KIT: Shhhh.

(They Listen.)

KIT (whispering): Hear that?

KATY (whispering exasperatedly): What, Kit? I don't--

KIT (whispering): Ya hear that whistling--soft and wavy like?

KATY: I only hear the wind in the trees. Is that...?

KIT: Stop. Look. See. There it is.

KATY: Where?

KIT: There on that knoll--see--standing as straight as a Cossack.

KATY: What's a Cossack?

KIT: I don't know. I read it in a book.

KATY: But--isn't that tree a little big?

KIT: Naw. It's a perfect Christmas tree.

KATY: But it won't even fit in the house.

KIT: Sure it will.

KATY: It won't even fit through the door, Kit.

KIT: We'll bring it in through the window. Come on, Katy. Let's go chop it down.

KATY: Do you think we can?

KIT: Sure we can.

KATY: But its trunk is so thick.

KIT: No thicker than a man's arm.

KATY: Much thicker than yours.

KIT: I'm not a man.

KATY: No, you're nothing but a boy trying to cut down a man-size tree.

KIT: And I'll do it too. Just watch me.

KATY: But wouldn't a plas....

KIT: Shhh.

KATY: Okay, I'll just sit here and watch you.

KIT: Good. Then you won't get in the way.

KATY: Be careful, Kit.

(KIT steps up to the tree and gazes up at it, as if sizing it up for a fall. After a moment he raises the axe and starts to swing at the trunk. Just then a big wind blows up.)

KATY (shouting): Look, Kit, its limbs are like arms. It's waving to us! Oh!

KIT (shouting): What?

KATY (shouting): Kit, watch out--it's going to grab you.

KIT (shouting): It can't grab me. It's only a tree.

KATY (shouting): If it can speak to you, maybe it can grab you too. Watch out!

KIT: Wow! That was close. I almost got knocked over.

KATY: You almost fell, Kit, and you would have rolled down the hill and you could have bumped your head and....

KIT: Yeah. That old tree almost knocked me over.

KATY: I told you it was going to grab you. Are you all right?

KIT: Sure. No dumb old tree can hurt me.

KATY: Maybe it didn't want to hurt you. Maybe it just doesn't want you to hurt it.

(KIT ponders this a moment.)

KIT: Well, I'm gonna knock that old tree down if it's the last thing I do.

KATY: But, Kit--why don't we just go back home and get an artificial tree. It'll be safer.

(Waving off his sister, he starts for the tree again. Another big blow comes up.)

KATY: Watch out, Kit! It's raising its arms again!

(KIT backs off.)

KIT: Wow! That old tree has a mind of its own.

KATY: Sure does.

(KIT studies the situation.)

KIT: Well, maybe I'll find us another tree--a smaller one.

(Another big wind blows and howls.)

KIT: Or maybe we'll just get that plastic tree after all.

KATY: Yeah, Kit, let's do that. Come on. Let's go home and get an artificial tree. We can dress it up like a real one. We can make it so pretty.

(KIT joins KATY and they walk away together. KATY glances back at the tree apprehensively.)

KATY: Oh, look, Kit--

KIT (turning to see): What?

KATY: Look at the light from the sunset coming through the tree. It's all red and gold like Christmas.

(KIT stares at the vision.)

KATY: Oh, Kit--isn't it pretty?

KIT: Sure is.

(They stand together and admire the sight until the sun's rays dissipate.)

KATY: Let's go home for Christmas, Kit.

KIT: Yes, Katy. (taking the rope and her hand) Let's go home and decorate our tree.

(They exit.)

(Curtain.)

TOMATO JUICE

Five Scenes

Characters

MADELINE

DADDY and VOICE

MOTHER

DICK

(MADELINE, an apparently pregnant young woman, is sitting in a rocking chair stage center. On a wall behind her and to each side are two framed life-size faces in relief. They appear to be images but are actually the heads of characters in the play: MADELINE'S father and mother. A cock crows offstage.)

MADELINE: I don't, I don't, I don't, I don't, I don't, I don't want this baby. I don't, I don't, I....

MOTHER: You're going to be a mother, Maddy. That's all there is to it.

(MADELINE buries her head in her hands and whines.)

MADELINE (murmuring): But I don't want to be a mother.

DADDY: Don't be childish, Madeline. Besides, it's too late now. You must accept the responsibility.

MADELINE: But I don't want to be responsible for this, this....

MOTHER: Baby, Maddy. It's a baby, a precious little gift from God.

MADELINE: Gift? I feel like it's a curse.

DADDY (sharply): Madeline. Don't talk that way. (tisking) I warned you about that, that, that guy you married. But you were determined to ruin your....

MOTHER: Now, father.

DADDY: Don't interrupt me, mother. You know that damned kid....

MOTHER: Daddy, please--

(MADELINE sobs quietly.)

MOTHER: Now, look what you've done.

DADDY: Harrumph! (mumbling) Stupid dancer.

(From offstage pop dance music. MADELINE perks up. DADDY shakes his head forlornly. A spotlight picks up DICK dancing in from the wings. The spot following him throughout his routine, he dances completely around the stage. MADELINE'S eyes adoringly follow his every step. Completing his routine, he stops upstage center and bows, holding it a long time. MADELINE applauds enthusiastically. He turns and bows to her. She laughs gleefully.)

MADELINE: Wonderful! Come gimme big juicy.

(He dances over to her with a flourish. Her father is shaking his head disapprovingly. MADELINE and DICK embrace, she pulling him on top of her. They rock together.)

MADELINE: Oooo--you gon crush it, Dicky--you squeeze tomato so tight.

DICK: I'll squeeze you till it pops right out of you onto the floor, you ripe little juicy fruit, you.

MADELINE: Oh, you bad, bad boy. Baby not ready yet. Me still makin' it for Maddy and Dicky.

DICK: Seems like we already made it, eh, Maddy, eh? He tickles her.

DADDY: Oh, Christ.

(MADELINE and DICK laugh and fondle each other lasciviously.)

DADDY: Will you look at that, mother. Right in front of everybody. Good thing they're not on camera. I'd have to hide my face from the world, wouldn't I?

MOTHER (holding back a smile): You would, and so would I. Disgraceful!

DADDY: What kind of daughter did we raise, mother?

MOTHER: She's daddy's girl.

(He tisks.)

MOTHER: But I don't know what's gonna happen to that child.

DADDY: Seems like it's already happened to her.

MOTHER: Not her--the baby child. The one she's gonna squirt out right there on the floor if they keep bumpin' each other that way.

(He watches MADELINE and DICK a moment and then tries to look at his wife, but the frame prevents him from getting a good look at her.)

DADDY: Damned picture frame. They could've made these bigger, so we'd have space to maneuver. And why so far apart? I have to practically shout for you to hear me, mother.

MOTHER: Oh, father--

DADDY: Don't father me about this mother. If they'd let me build the set, it would have been done properly. We'd be comfortable right now--at least as long as it lasts.

MOTHER: Well, they didn't, so....

DADDY: And why not?

(She bows and shakes her head slowly.)

DADDY: I'll tell you why not--because no one asked me. They made this production without even asking me about building the set.

MOTHER: Well, they made you one of the characters, didn't they?

DADDY: Yes, yes, they did that, and I'm grateful. But a man's got to be valued for his best ability. I'm no actor to be stuck here on this wall. I'm a master builder who should be making towers to heaven.

MOTHER: Well, well--

DADDY: Damn right!

MADELINE: Now go on over there, Dick, and make up to mother and daddy. I want you all to get along--all of us--like one big happy family. (pushing him gently) Go.

(DICK reluctantly separates from MADELINE and starts dancing half-heartedly in place. But shortly he gets into a groove and dances over to the faces on the wall. As he glides by DADDY he pauses, considers, and then steps to MOTHER. With a twirling flourish, he stops in front of her and bows. MADELINE is rocking and daydreaming. MOTHER stares at DICK, nods, and smiles.)

MOTHER: I'd applaud if I could, Dick, but I can only move my head a little.

DICK: Gotcha all bound up in there, eh, mom?

MOTHER: Yes, well, never mind how bound up I am, Dick. I want to know if you're going to be good to any baby Maddy's been makin' in her belly.

DICK: Course, mother, but....

MOTHER: And care for it properly.

DADDY: And how's he gonna do that? Dancing? Hah!

(DICK dances with great verve back & forth between them. MADELINE rocks with the same verve. MOTHER and DAD watch him amusedly. He comes to a semi-finale between them and bows. Only MADELINE applauds.)

DICK (panting): Well?

DADDY: Well what?

DICK: Wasn't that the most breathtaking routine you ever saw?

DADDY: Breathtaking for you maybe, but mother and I were not impressed.

MADELINE: I was.

MOTHER (quietly): So was I.

(DICK sits crosslegged and rests.)

DADDY: You'll have to step livelier than that to make it in this world, young man, and take good care of my daughter.

MOTHER: And a baby.

DADDY: And a baby.

MADELINE: A baby.

MOTHER: What is it, dear?

MADELINE: Nothing, mother--only a twinge.

DADDY: Humph.

MOTHER: I hope you and Dick didn't squeeze too hard. That's been known to cause contractions, you know.

MADELINE: I know, mother--you told me before--many times.

MOTHER: Well, you shouldn't let him climb on you like that, Maddy. It puts too much pressure on the....

DADDY: And it's downright undignified.

MADELINE: We're only lovin' each other, mother-n-daddy--just the way you two used to before--

DADDY: Before what?

MADELINE: Nothing.

DADDY: What? Do you think something happened to us? Do you think just because we got hung up here on this damned wall that we're not as good a couple as we used to be?

MADELINE: No, I....

MOTHER: We're only hangin' up here for you, Maddy. You know that.

MADELINE: I know, mother.

DADDY: And when this bit is finally over, we'll go right back to our regular routine. Won't we, mother?

MOTHER: We certainly will.

DADDY: Time out now for some family melodrama--that's all.

MOTHER: We're here to help you through this.

DADDY: And soon we'll be back in the old place, doin' what we always do.

(MOTHER nods agreeably.)

MADELINE: I know. I forgot.

MOTHER: You mustn't forget us, Maddy--no matter what happens.

MADELINE: I won't mother.

MOTHER (tearfully): We won't forget you, ya know. Not ever.

MADELINE: I know, mother.

DADDY: Why else would we allow ourselves to be hung up here like this day after day if we didn't...?

MADELINE: Yes, yes, I know. I'm sorry. I really am.

DADDY: She won't even look at us, mother.

MOTHER: I know, dear. It's the rocker.

DADDY: Well, can't she turn the damned thing around when we're talking to her?

MOTHER: No, she can't daddy. It's protocol. Rules of the stage.

DADDY: Protocol! Well, what about politeness and respect for elders. Don't they matter anymore?

MOTHER: I don't know, dear. I don't think so.

DADDY: Humph!

MADDY: Oh!

DICK: Maddy?

MOTHER: What is it, Maddy? Are you...?

MADELINE: No. Yes. Yes, I think I am, mother. I--oh, dear, I'm scared, mother. Mommy!

MOTHER: Now, now, darling--mother's here. Mother will help you.

MADELINE: But, but how can you help me--hung up the way you are?

MOTHER: Mother can talk you through it, dear.

MADELINE: Talk me through...!

MOTHER: Mother's been there, you know. So trust your mother, Maddy. I won't let you down.

DADDY: Yes, trust her, Maddy, which is more than you can do with that husband of yours.

MOTHER: Oh, but he can help too.

DADDY: What's he going to do--dance for the successful birth of their firstborn?

DICK: I could.

DADDY: Humph. You couldn't dance for the birth of a dollar.

MOTHER: Just step on over to your wife, Dick, and see what you can do for her.

(DICK jumps to his feet and dances to MADELINE. When he arrives by her side, she screams. He falls backward but agilely regains his balance.)

MOTHER: Now, bear down, Maddy.

MADELINE: I--am--bear-ing--down--mother.

DADDY: Do what your mother tells you, Maddy. She's an old hand.

MADELINE: I wish--I had--her old hands--over here--right now.

MOTHER: Dick! Where are you?

DICK: Right here, mother. I'm ready to go to work.

DADDY: That'll be the....

MADELINE: He's already done enough, mother. I don't want....

MOTHER: Hush now, girl, and let your husband help you through this. You don't want to have to go through it alone like I did.

DADDY: Humph.

MOTHER: So listen. Dick, look and see if the head is showing yet.

DICK: The head?

MOTHER: The sweet little head.

DADDY: For godsake, mother, there may be people watching. And he's gonna look between my daughter's legs?

MOTHER: We've got to know how far along she is.

DADDY: Not far enough. She's only eighteen.

MOTHER: Do you see it, Dick?

DICK (searching): Nah. I don't see any head.

(MADELINE hollers.)

DADDY: What's he doin' to my girl?

MOTHER: It must be comin' out.

DADDY: Right now? Right here?

MOTHER: It comes when it wants to. It's only natural.

DICK: Well, I don't see anything.

MADELINE (hollering more loudly): Well, I feel it!

MOTHER: She feels it, Dick.

MADELINE (hollering even more loudly): Why--does it--have to hurt--so damn--much?

MOTHER: You're only bonding, Maddy.

DADDY (mumbling): Hollering, I'd say.

MOTHER: You're bonding through pain. Just like I did. Just like every woman since Eve has had to do.

DICK: I still can't see a damn thing!

MADELINE: Then you must be blind, 'cause here--it--comes! She screams.

(Darkness.)

Scene Two

(Rocking gently upstage center, MADELINE is holding a bundle in her arms. Looking like a Renaissance madonna she is gazing fondly at the object, which seems to be breast-feeding. MOTHER and DADDY remain on the wall. DICK is offstage.)

MADELINE: Oh, mother--I never knew how, how....

MOTHER: How beautiful?

MADELINE: How beautifully rosy! More beautifully rosy than nothing I've never imagined. A miracle.

DADDY: It'll be a miracle if you can support it.

MADELINE: Oh, daddy. Why don't you come over here and look at your grandchild?

(Silence.)

MADELINE: Sorry. I forgot you were still hung up back there.

DADDY: Till the end, I'm afraid.

MOTHER: Seems like forever. My neck's getting tired. I'd like so much to sit down for a while.

DADDY: I'd like to take a walk.

MADELINE: It'll be over soon.

MOTHER: Yes, it'll all be over soon.

DADDY: Not soon enough for me.

MOTHER: At least you got to have a child before the end.

MADELINE: Will it do any good?

MOTHER: Certainly, Maddy. There's always hope for goodness in the world.

DADDY: Hope and a few bucks will get you a cup of coffee.

MOTHER: Oh, father--don't be so pessimistic. Things'll work out. They always do. Maddy's got a new baby. And besides, she shouldn't drink coffee while nursing.

DADDY: Yeah, yeah. (pausing) So--where's the proud, new father anyway?

MADELINE: Don't worry. He'll be back.

DADDY: What?

MOTHER: She said that he'll be back.

DADDY: I know what she said. I just don't believe it.

MADELINE: He came before; he'll come again.

DADDY: Well, before he comes again, tell him to wear a rubber.

MOTHER: Father!

MADELINE: Oh, daddy--forget Dick and enjoy your new grandchild. What an appetite he must have! He doesn't seem to want to stop nursing.

DADDY: He'll eat you out of house and home if that so-called husband of yours don't support him and you.

MADELINE: He will. Dick's a good man. And he loves little Dicky.

DADDY: But does he care enough about you and the baby to go out and get a job and support you? That's the question.

MOTHER: Oh, you and your questions.

DADDY: I ask them because I want answers, mother. Do you have the answers?

MOTHER: No.

DADDY: Does Madeline?

(MADELINE shakes her head.)

DADDY: Does anybody?

(MOTHER and MADELINE shake her heads.)

DADDY: And I have another question. What in hell is that man of yours doing? I haven't seen him since the delivery.

MADELINE: He's auditioning.

DADDY: Auditioning! For what? The part of a dancing obstetrician?

MADELINE: No, silly.

MOTHER: Has he got a chance for a new job, Maddy?

DADDY: You call dancing a job?

MADELINE: Well, he does have an audition for one of the big shows.

MOTHER: Les Miserables?

MADELINE: I don't....

DADDY: The Unfortunates?

MADELINE: Is that a new--? Oh, daddy....

DADDY: Unfortunate for the audience that has to pay to watch him.

MADELINE: He's a good dancer, he is. I'd pay to watch him.

DADDY: You already have--and dearly.

MOTHER: I'd pay too--

DADDY: Hah!

MOTHER: If I could get out of this frame.

DADDY: If I could get away from this stupid set, I'd catch him and ring his neck.

(MADELINE starts to cry.)

MOTHER: Maddy? Oh, now look what you've done. She's going to get the baby all wet.

DADDY: You're all wet.

MOTHER: And you're a stick in the mud.

DADDY: At least I'm not a dick in the dirt.

(MADELINE sobs uncontrollably.)

MOTHER: Maddy--

DADDY: Now, now, girl--daddy's here.

MADELINE (sobbing): Way over there.

DADDY: I know your mother and I have been hung up for awhile. But we'll be getting down soon and--

MOTHER: And then we'll be one big happy family again.

DADDY: Just like we used to be.

MOTHER: In the good old days.

DADDY: The days of beer and pretzels.

MOTHER: So you just sit there rocking your baby and nursing him the way I used to nurse you, and everything will be all right.

MADELINE (calming): Promise?

MOTHER and DADDY: We promise.

DADDY: Which is more than I can say for that....

MOTHER: Oh, father, don't start again.

DADDY: Okay, okay. I'll shut up. I won't say another word. I won't even say I told you so, when the time comes.

MOTHER: I hope not. Nobody likes a....

DADDY: Yes, yes, I know.

MADELINE: I wish I knew what time it was. Dick was supposed to come home right after the audition and tell me if he got the job.

DADDY: Humph.

MOTHER: I'm sure he did and that he'll be home soon and that you'll both live happily ever after.

MADELINE: I hope so.

DADDY: I don't believe in fairy tales.

MOTHER: Don't you believe in happiness?

DADDY: I won't say anymore.

MOTHER: Good. You'll only make Maddy cry again.

DADDY: I don't want Maddy to cry.

MADELINE: I know, daddy.

DADDY: Daddy loves--

MOTHER: I know you do. We both do.

MADELINE: I know you both do and I do too. And the baby.

MOTHER: Yes, of course, and the baby too.

MADELINE: And Dick.

MOTHER: Yes, Dick too.

DADDY: Well, I wouldn't go that far.

MOTHER: You've gone too far already.

MADELINE: Not far enough. I won't be happy till you accept Dick whole-heartedly into this family, daddy.

DADDY: Aren't you familiar enough with him? Do I have to cuddle him too?

MOTHER: Wouldn't hurt if you cuddled once in awhile.

DADDY: I'll cuddle all you want once I get off this damned wall.

MOTHER: I can't wait.

MADELINE: Me too.

DADDY: You've got your own cuddler.

MOTHER: And someone new to cuddle now too. (pausing) Sure is a good little thing. Haven't heard a peep out of him since he appeared.

DADDY: Either have I. Is she all right?

MOTHER: He.

DADDY: I don't care about him. He's big enough to take care of himself.

MOTHER: Not Dick silly--the baby.

DADDY: I know, I know. Can't a man make a joke around here? We could do with a little laughter.

MOTHER: Not so little it's small, please.

DADDY: What do you mean by that?

MADELINE: Would you two please be nice to each other? You might upset the baby.

DADDY: What will upset him is that hoofer bouncing around the place like a windup toy.

(Again, popular dance music offstage.)

DADDY: Oh, God.

MADELINE: Yes, and he's all mine.

Scene Three

(They listen and wait. Suddenly DICK leaps in from the wings. Jumping and twirling, he bounds around the stage. MADELINE follows him with her eyes and laughs cheerily. DICK dances in front of DADDY and MOTHER and finishes on his knees in front of MADELINE, his arms outspread.)

MADELINE: You got the job!

DICK: No--

MOTHER: Ohhh.

DADDY: I knew it.

DICK: But I got a check.

(He pulls it out and shows it to her.)

MADELINE: They paid you anyway?

MOTHER: Oh?

DADDY: Hah!

DICK: No, the state did.

MADELINE: You got a job dancing with the state?

MOTHER: Oh!

DADDY: Humph.

DICK: Well, no--they just gave it to me for....

DADDY: Unemployment insurance.

DICK: Yeah.

MOTHER: Oh.

DICK: For that part I had last year. Someone told me I could get some money, so I went down to the employment office and, voila--they paid me one hundred and twenty dollars. And I get the same every week.

MADELINE: That's good, dear.

DADDY: What a success story.

(DADDY and MOTHER shake their heads slowly.)

DICK: Let's celebrate.

DADDY: What?

MOTHER: He said, "Let's celebrate."

DADDY: I know what he said. I just don't know what we have to--oh, never mind.

MADELINE: But, Dick--what about the baby? Aren't yes gonna kiss him hello?

DICK: What baby?

MADELINE: This one, silly--

(She holds the bundle out to him.)

MADELINE: The one you helped to bring into the world.

MOTHER: Your precious little gift from God.

MADELINE: Your son--little Dicky.

DADDY: Christ.

DICK: My son? But, Mad....

DADDY: I knew it. He's not the father. Thank God.

MOTHER: 'Course he is. They been bumpin' each other often enough.

MADELINE: Here, Dick--hold him for a while. He's so sweet. She hands him the bundle.

MOTHER: And so good. We never hear a peep out of him.

DICK: But, Maddy, this....

MADELINE: This is your beloved son.

MOTHER: You should be pleased.

DICK: This is only a....

MADELINE: A bundle of joy, Dick--our pride and joy.

MOTHER: A precious gift from....

DICK: God, Maddy, you didn't--(gulping) Don't you remember?

MADELINE: Sure, I remember everything--the bumping, the swelling, the pain, the blood....

DADDY: The hollering.

MOTHER: The gift.

DADDY: The boy.

MADELINE: The joy.

DICK: Fruit, Maddy, fruit!

MADELINE: Well, yes, a kind of fruit, I guess.

MOTHER: Precious fruit of your loins.

DADDY: No grandson of mine is a fruit!

DICK: No, I mean a Burpee.

MADELINE: Don't make fun, Dick.

DICK: It was only a tomato, Maddy.

(MADELINE titters.)

DICK: A big, ripe, juicy, red tomato.

MADELINE: What?!

DICK: Yes.

MADELINE: No!

DICK: (nodding): Yes.

MADELINE: A tomato. I gave birth to a tomato? What kind of a joke...?

(She snatches the bundle away from him and searches it frantically.)

DICK: No joke, Maddy.

MOTHER: A peach maybe but not....

DADDY: The apple of my eye but not....

DICK: A tomato--a large Burpee tomato I had in my pocket.

MADELINE: In your pocket?

DADDY: What?

MOTHER: A large....

DADDY: I know, I know.

DICK: I was saving it for a snack after the audition. You squished it when you were hugging me.

MADELINE (breathlessly): Oh, no!

DICK: Don't worry, I have more.

MOTHER: Oh, no--

DADDY: Would someone tell me what is going on here?

MADELINE: But what about the nausea, the swelling, the pain...?

DICK: I don't know.

MADELINE: And the blood?

DICK: The blood? Tomato juice.

MADELINE, MOTHER, and DADDY: Tomato juice?!

MADELINE: But I thought you delivered a....

DICK: For a while I thought I was going to have to, but....

MOTHER: You didn't deliver a precious little baby boy after all?

(DICK shakes his head sadly.)

DADDY: Then what in hell did you deliver?

DICK: Nothing really.

MADELINE, MOTHER, and DADDY: Nothing!

DICK: Not a thing.

MOTHER: Well, I....

DADDY: Typical dancer.

(MADELINE starts crying.)

DICK (comforting her): There, there, Maddy--we can make one. I've got money now--

DADDY: Humph.

DICK: We can make one for real this time.

MADELINE: I went through morning sickness, nine months, of swelling up like a balloon, hours of screamingly painful labor only to squish your tomato and wind up nursing a bundle of rags?

DICK: Well--yeah, actually, I guess you did.

MADELINE: Well, this is one tomato you ain't gonna squeeze again.

DADDY: Now you're telling him, daughter.

MOTHER: Oh, father....

DICK: But, Maddy, don't ya love me? (He starts dancing.) Ain't ya gonna let me bump ya anymore? Make a real baby? A precious little gift from...?

MADELINE: To hell with you and your stupid shtick.

DADDY: That's my girl.

MADELINE: Oh, I'm so humiliated. (sobbing) I feel like such a fool--a poor, silly, stupid fool.

MOTHER: Now, now, Maddy--mother's here to comfort you.

(MADELINE cries loudly. DICK dances around her. The pop music rises in volume. MOTHER and DADDY talk inaudibly between themselves. MADELINE cries more loudly to exceed the music. The melee builds ominously. Then lightning flashes and thunder crashes around the stage. Darkness. A spot lights MADELINE in the rocker. DICK continues to dance around her in widening circles until disappearing into the darkness. A VOICE from above speaks in godlike tones.)

VOICE: Madeline?

MOTHER: Oh, God!

DADDY (mumbling): More like a machine, I think.

MADELINE: Yes?

VOICE: Tend to your garden, Madeline.

MADELINE: My garden?

VOICE: And do your homework.

MADELINE: My homework?

VOICE: Especially your arithmetic.

MADELINE: My arithmetic!

VOICE: That is all you need to do.

MADELINE: What do you mean?

VOICE: I cannot tell you.

MADELINE: Why not?

VOICE: Because I am mysterious.

MADELINE: You are.

VOICE: I am.

MADELINE: But what does it all add up to?

VOICE: Nothing, really.

MADELINE: Nothing?

VOICE: And everything.

MADELINE: Well, which is it?

VOICE: Both actually.

MADELINE: You are mysterious.

VOICE: I am.

MADELINE: And confusing too.

(Again, lightning flashes and thunder crashes.)

MADELINE: Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to offend you.

VOICE: I forgive you.

MADELINE: Thank you.

VOICE: You are welcome.

MADELINE: Funny--I've never felt welcome.

VOICE: You've always been welcome in the world, woman--and necessary.

MADELINE: Oh?

VOICE: I could not have done it without you.

MADELINE: What?

VOICE: Anything. All of it. The whole shebang.

MADELINE: The big bang is female?

VOICE: Part of it, yes.

MADELINE: I see.

VOICE: Feel better now?

MADELINE: Well, I think....

VOICE: Do not think too much, Madeline. You will be happier if you do not.

MADELINE: But I've got to figure things out.

VOICE: What things?

MADELINE: Well, my life, for example. Or--is it already figured out for me?

VOICE: Maybe.

MADELINE: Don't be coy. Tell me if I have any choice in the matter.

VOICE: Of course you do.

MADELINE: And does it make any difference if I do?

VOICE: There is always a chance, you know.

MADELINE: For things to get better?

VOICE: At least for things to change.

MADELINE (considering): Yes, I have changed.

VOICE: I knew you would.

MADELINE: You know I didn't want to have a baby in the first place.

VOICE: Of course, I know. And then?

MADELINE: Yes. Then I did. And when I thought I had one, I felt like Mother Earth. But when I realized I never had one I felt like a barren witch. Now--

VOICE: I know.

MADELINE: Of course you do.

VOICE: And you still can have one.

MADELINE: But....

VOICE: Do not worry, Madeline. Everything will work out well if you want it to.

MADELINE: Sounds like wishful thinking to me.

VOICE: Just desire. Profound desire combined with action can accomplish wonders.

MADELINE: It would be wonderful if we all could get to like each other--even Dick and Daddy.

VOICE: Stranger things have happened.

MADELINE: Have they?

VOICE: I should know.

MADELINE: Yes, yes, of course you should.

VOICE: It is all up to you. It always has been--ever since the beginning.

MADELINE: Up to me?

VOICE: And people like you

MADELINE: Well, I am....

VOICE: Blessed, Madeline. You are blessed--because you love.

MADELINE: I do love, don't I?

VOICE: Yes, very much, and I am well pleased.

MADELINE: I love daddy.

VOICE: Yes you do.

MADELINE: And I love mother.

VOICE: Of course you do.

MADELINE: And I love Dick.

VOICE: Especially Dick. And he loves you. Do not let him get away, Madeline. As men go, he is a fairly good one.

MADELINE: He is good, isn't he?

VOICE: Good enough.

MADELINE: And he dances well, doesn't he?

VOICE: Well, enough. But he could put a little more suspension in his jete.

MADELINE: Yes, he could, couldn't he?

VOICE: All in all, though, he is a decent human being--worthy of taking care of you and your son.

MADELINE: I, I'm going to have son after all?

VOICE: Of course. It is all arranged. You didn't think I would put you through that test without rewarding you, did you?

MADELINE: You mean--I'm actually pregnant? I'm really going to have a baby?

VOICE: Naturally.

MADELINE: Wonderful!

VOICE: That is right.

MADELINE: When?

VOICE: When all the sons of God are born.

MADELINE: He's going to be a son of God?!

VOICE: Naturally.

MADELINE: Super!

VOICE: Well, yes, to be precise. And you shall call him Manny.

MADELINE: Manny?

VOICE: Emmanuel is too old-fashioned, don't you think? Too highfalutin.

MADELINE: Manny. (excitedly) Mother! Daddy! Dick! Dick, where are you? I have wonderful news!

(Thunder.)

Scene Four

(Same as Scene One, except four framed portraits in relief now adorn the wall: MADELINE'S aged MOTHER and DADDY, an older MADELINE next to her mother, and an older DICK next to DADDY. The rocker is empty. A roaring crowd heard in the distance.)

MOTHER: Where is he?

MADELINE: He's on a mission.

MOTHER: Of mercy?

MADELINE: A mission of love.

DADDY: Humph.

MADELINE: I'm proud of him. I have been ever since I heard the word from the vision.

DICK: I thought you said it was only a voice.

MADELINE: I did.

MOTHER: The voice of God, huh?

MADELINE: Yes, I think it was.

MOTHER: I'm so proud of you, Maddy.

DADDY: Christ.

MADELINE: No, it was the Father, I think.

DADDY: Well, it wasn't me.

MOTHER: Of course not.

MADELINE: He did sound a little like you, though. (pausing) Ever since he old me I can actually love, I have believed in a better world.

MOTHER: A lot of people believe you, Maddy. Just look at all the T-shirts people are wearing. And listen to them screaming out there.

(The crowd heard closer.)

DADDY: A lot of suckers, if you ask me.

MADELINE: Dick believes me, don't you, darling.

DICK: Of course, dear.

DADDY: He'd believe any old song and dance.

MOTHER: If enough people believe, it must be right.

DADDY: I can hear the trumpet call to the next crusade.

MOTHER: At least it would be a holy war.

DADDY: Isn't that the only kind?

DICK: Hah! That's a good one, dad.

(DADDY smirks.)

MADELINE: No. I don't want war. I want peace and love. And that's what Manny is working for too. That's why he traveled to the sacred centers of the world.

MOTHER: Like Las Vegas?

DADDY: Hah!

MADDY: No, like Delhi, Jerusalem, and Mecca to know the power of the divine spirit. And when he had learned all the wisdom of the great souls, he returned to the people with his message of love.

(Again, the crowd even closer.)

DADDY: Well, I'm not sure they're getting it out there.

MOTHER: Oh, dear.

MADELINE: Manny must be leading them here.

MOTHER: Of course. They want to hear from you, dear.

MADELINE: I really have nothing to say. I've done my part.

DADDY: Maybe they want Dick to dance for them.

DICK: I'd like to. And I would if I weren't hung up here.

MOTHER: You'll get used to it, Dick.

DADDY: I haven't yet.

DICK: Been so long since I used my legs I can't feel them anymore.

DADDY: Now you can use your head for a change.

DICK: I'll think about it.

DADDY: That's the stuff, son. More wit and fewer wiggles. The two men laugh together.

MADELINE: I miss his wiggle.

MOTHER: So do I.

(The crowd sounds closer and closer.)

DADDY: Well, we all better think of something, 'cause it sounds like they'll be right here on stage with us soon. And they don't seem to be in a very good mood.

MOTHER: Oh!

MADELINE: Why worry? We're happy in our love together, aren't we?

DADDY: Happy as we're gonna be, I think.

MOTHER: I'm happy.

DICK: I'd be happier if I had a big ripe tomato to munch on.

DADDY: If you could dance for the folks out there, you'd get plenty of them.

MADELINE: Don't remind me.

MOTHER: It could have been worse.

MADELINE: Yes, I could have had a tumor.

MOTHER: A tomato is better.

DADDY: Much better.

DICK: I know how to pick 'em, don't I?

MADELINE: You sure do. You picked me.

DICK: Packed you too.

MADELINE: Well, not....

DICK: And now you have Manny.

MOTHER: A gift from God.

MADELINE: God's gift to the world.

(The crowd is shouting and beating on a door offstage.)

DADDY: The world seems to want more than a gift from God these days.

(A bang.)

MOTHER: Oh dear!

DICK: Sounds like Manny brought some friends.

MADELINE: Well, I'm ready to receive them.

(The noise of a door breaking down.)

MADELINE: Manny? (listening) Manny, are you there?

(Darkness. The noise of a mob stomping, shouting, and rushing to the stage.)

Scene Five

(Same as Scene Four, except a white cloth stained with crimson is draped across the empty rocker, and all the pictures in relief are now draped in black. Darkness. A raven's call heard from afar.)

(Curtain.)

STREET LIFE

Five Scenes

Characters

NANNY

DRAKE

SWITCH

SNATCH

TEENS

GIRL

Scene One

(Morning. Five vacant storefronts along a city street. Cardboard boxes, shopping carts, and dirty, tattered sleeping rolls fill doorways. Trash litters the sidewalk. A vague stench in the air. City noises in background. A siren screams nearby, and the voice of NANNY (unseen) stage center howls through a yawn.)

NANNY: Shut off that god damned alarm!

(The siren gradually diminishes.)

NANNY: Helluva way to wake up in the mornin'.

(In the other doorways, there are slow stirrings. Yawning, stretching, groaning, and squeaking sounds emanate. After a moment, the coverings in the doorway stage center are thrown back. A grizzled, old, matted head pops up. The head of NANNY speaks in a husky voice through a mouth mostly toothless.)

NANNY (rubbing her arms): Brrrr! Come on, ya bums. Get outta the sack and greet the day. You can dream again, when darkness returns.

(A man's voice heard from under a dirty blanket in a doorway stage right.)

SWITCH: Dreams in the dark, dreams in black--one day like any day comes a bum. Sackaflesh for a sackagold....

NANNY: Oh, turn it off, Switch. Too early for that nonsense.

(SWITCH mumbles incoherently under his blanket.)

NANNY: Come, come, neighbors. We got to make a livin'.

(She drags herself out of her wrappings, rubs her old joints, and steps onto the sidewalk as if onto her front porch. She is dressed in ragged grimy clothes of one color--dirty gray. She raises her arms above her head and stretches in a half-hearted attempt at exercise.)

NANNY: My Lord, what a mornin'!

(The baritone voice of another man in a doorway stage left. Standing up, he is an imposing figure.)

DRAKE (singing): When the sun begins to shine--

(Another man speaks from covers in a doorway stage right.)

SNATCH: I'll take the night any day.

DRAKE: You'll take anything you can get, Snatch.

(SNATCH giggles.)

NANNY: Come on, Bags. Get those marinated old bones a-workin' 'fore the suits start comin'.

(No movement, no sound from the doorway she is addressing stage left.)

DRAKE: Oh, let him sleep, Nanny. He's earned a rest after all his years of suffering.

NANNY: Ain't no rest for the wicked, Drake.

SWITCH: Ain't none more wicked than us. None more or less than the rest. And rest is easy-for souls in suits.

(They all mumble indiscernibly to each other and to themselves while they roughly assemble their few things. NANNY keeps her possessions in a shopping cart; SWITCH sits on top of his things and takes a battered coffee cup in hand. SNATCH puts on a large overcoat and ambles away. DRAKE packs some cardboard into a bag.)

SNATCH: I'll be back with breakfast in a flash.

(He exits.)

DRAKE: Old Snatch doesn't flash the way he used to, Nan.

NANNY (chuckling): If he's not careful, he'll be goin' to the slammer in a flash.

DRAKE: Well, at least he'll get three squares a day there.

NANNY: Almost gits'em now anyways, thanks to the great consumer society. And the freedom to live in the street.

DRAKE: Thankfully people's eyes are bigger than their stomachs.

NANNY: Let's hope their wallets are bigger'an both.

SWITCH: Trashcans and doorways overflowing--

DRAKE: You got it, man.

NANNY: O1' Switch always looks on the bright side.

SWITCH: Brightside, night side--six a one, half dozen 'nother. Take it or leave it when the snow finally falls.

DRAKE: Funny how sometimes he seems to make more sense than the rest of us.

NANNY: Switch always been a sensible man. Just a little confused at times that's all. But he knows more'an we think.

DRAKE: Well, I think the suits will be coming soon, Nan. Better get out your piece. I've got to get my kit together.

(NANNY steps stage left to the end of the storefronts and takes a harmonica out of her pocket. She inspects it, wipes it off, and blows a quick scale.)

NANNY: Get up, Bags. Suits are comin'.

(No answer from the place where BAGS appears to be sleeping. SNATCH reenters with a few crumpled but stuffed fast-food bags.)

SNATCH: Take yer pick--half-eaten MacMuffs, greasy hash browns, a few pieces of apple turnover, and some cold, stale coffee--good as it gets.

(He passes the victuals around. They devour them and lick their dirty fingers.)

SNATCH: None for you, Bags? Come 'n' git 'em while they last.

(No movement from BAGS'S.)

SNATCH: Oops, (licking his fingers) too late. Only for the quick.

(The four of them look at BAGS'S doorway for a silent moment. Then NANNY holds her empty cup in one hand and starts blowing a lively tune with the other. DRAKE and SNATCH stuff their things into backpacks and start to leave.)

DRAKE: See you when the black comes back.

SNATCH: Don't wait supper fer me.

(They exit. NANNY waves them off and speaks without missing a beat.)

NANNY: Hah! Nanny waits for no man.

SWITCH: And the black waits for no one either. It's come and gone, but it'll be back again. (contemplating) But suppose we don't. Suppose we do--

(SWITCH mumbles into his hands. NANNY ignores him, plays her harmonically vigorously, and holds out her cup. Footfalls of approaching people offstage.)

(Curtain.)

Scene Two

(Lights dimmed for dusk. SWITCH sits in the same spot, quietly mumbling to himself. NANNY is playing to a finish. NANNY slaps the harmonic on her thigh and looks offstage left.)

NANNY: Thank you, ma'm. (aside) Usually count on the women.

(She examines the contents of her cup, jingles it, and smiles.)

NANNY: Good day. How 'bout you, Switch?

SWITCH: My cup runneth over the edge of a cliff whence none returns without a feather or a straw.

NANNY: Yeah, yeah.

SWITCH: No coin of the realm worth crossing against the light.

NANNY: I know what you mean, my man.

SWITCH: Nobody knows the mean. Only the beginning and the end.

NANNY: Hey, Bags! You been sleeping all day. Ya sick?

(No answer.)

NANNY: I know you want yer space, but I'm gonna hafta come over there and roust ya, if ya don't show some spunk. Bags?

(Another siren. Almost immediately several bawdy teenagers dash across the stage from right to left. NANNY watches them run past and shakes her head sadly.)

NANNY: Chasin' a dirty night's work so young. Where they comin' from? Oughta be home eatin' milk 'n' cookies and studyin' in cozy homes with lovin' families 'steada bein' out here on these nasty streets sellin' their bodies. (pausing) What in hell's goin' on here, Switch?

SWITCH: 'T's all goin' down.

NANNY: Sure'n hell is.

(DRAKE calls from offstage.)

DRAKE: Hey, Nanny-O!

NANNY: Hey, the artiste home from the light.

(DRAKE enters with a few colored cardboards under his arm.)

DRAKE: And a bright day it was. (shouting) I sold a picture!

NANNY: Hooray! Party time!

DRAKE: Looks like a wine kind of evening, Nanner.

SWITCH: Wine 'n' dine 'em to their hearts discontent. Nobody knows the difference when the darkness comes.

DRAKE: How's Bags?

NANNY: Been there all day. Not a peep.

DRAKE: Riper than usual, too.

NANNY: More'an usual?

DRAKE: Should we roust him?

NANNY: Wait'll the scent o' the grape drifts over to him. That'll perk him up.

SWITCH: Up or down--it's all the same in paradise.

DRAKE: If this were paradise, I'm sure going to walk a straight line to stay out of hell.

NANNY (laughing): Till the juice loosens up yer joints anyways.

(DRAKE laughs heartily as the stage lights come up as streetlights.)

DRAKE: Shall I go shopping for supper or wait till Snatch comes back?

NANNY: May's well wait, Drake. Pickin's been good for ol' Snatch lately. (considering) Too good maybe.

DRAKE: Scared me when he came home with that guy's wallet.

NANNY: Not as bad as that lady's purse. Don't want him rippin' off the ladies, Drake. They treat us better'n most.

DRAKE: Either way, he's gonna get busted again. And he may not go easy. The man almost beat him to death last time.

NANNY: 'T's that damned crack, Drake. Makes him crazy.

SWITCH: Crazy for love. That's all. Nothin' more 'cross the street than the stars in the sky.

(They all three look up and hold their gaze for a moment. The stage darkens a bit.)

DRAKE: No moon tonight.

SWITCH: Stolen by the shadow.

NANNY: Yeah, and that shadow called Snatch is still driftin' through the city.

DRAKE: His kind of night, Nan.

NANNY: Yeah, well, we better get somethin' to eat ourselves or we'll be driftin' away jes skin 'n' bones.

DRAKE: I'll fetch it.

NANNY (dreamily): Sure would like a real set down dinner one o' these days.

DRAKE: Someday, Nan. Maybe I'll get a show and....

NANNY: Someday a big show, son--and you'll be famous.

SWITCH: Show your magic to the world, and they'll steal your lightning.

DRAKE: I'm light enough now, old Switcheroo. I need to take on some fuel. (laughing) It's going to be a hard drinking night.

NANNY: Party time in the neighborhood. That oughta raise ol' Baggers.

SWITCH: Spirits to wake the dead.

(DRAKE and NANNY look over at BAGS'S doorway in silence. Nothing stirs there. NANNY starts to walk over to it but stops as though remembering something.)

NANNY: Why doncha go, Drake. I'll put yer things away.

DRAKE: Hot wings and elixir coming up.

(He exits. NANNY picks up his bag and boards and carries them to his doorway. She sets his pictures against the storefront and looks them over. They are mostly sunsets and sunrises over the city, surprisingly well executed.)

NANNY: Not bad for ketchup 'n' mustard paints and some blue chalk.

SWITCH: If mustard be the food of art, brush on!

NANNY: Yeah, whatever.

(She reassembles her things in her own doorway and sits down. After a moment of contemplation, she pulls out her harmonica, slaps it against her leg, and plays a plaintive tune. SWITCH moans quietly in harmony and sways to & fro. A small group of suburban teens is talking loudly offstage before they enter. They spot NANNY and approach her threateningly.)

FIRST TEEN BOY: Hey, witch bitch!

(NANNY keeps playing.)

BOY (shouting): Hey, witch! Stop with that thing. Yer gonna wake the other deadbeats around here.

(She plays on. SWITCH stands up defiantly.)

SWITCH: Beware the wrath of hell, O, Philistines!

BOY: Go back to hell, old man. And we're Manchester teens not Philistines.

(Laughter among the boys. SWITCH makes violent motions with his arms like a windmill. Instantly the boys rush him and start beating him. NANNY rushes to help him.)

NANNY: Stop it! Stop it, boys. He doesn't mean any harm. Stop!

(Two of them instantly turn on her. Just as they are about to beat her to the pavement, DRAKE enters in a rush. Brandishing a jug of wine, he strikes one of the boys on the back, throws one aside, and threatens another. The boys back off.)

DRAKE: Just give me a reason to break your necks.

BOY: You and an' yer of lady.

(DRAKE grabs one of the boys and shoves him hard against a storefront wall. The boy hits his head, crumples, and starts whimpering.)

DRAKE: Next?

(The boys freeze then slowly back away warily. DRAKE leaps at them with his arms flailing, the bottle in one hand.)

DRAKE: Disappear!

(The boys exit, running off stage, but shouting back threats.)

DRAKE: Damned delinquents.

(He helps NANNY to her feet.)

NANNY: I'm awright. How's Switch?

(He looks after SWITCH.)

DRAKE: Good thing Snatch wasn't here. He would have carved them up for Thanksgiving.

NANNY: If my mouth organ was a knife, I might have cut 'em myself.

DRAKE: Not very motherly, Nan.

NANNY: Yer my brood, Drake. They're just a marauding tribe of young lunatics. Donno where they come from...?

SWITCH: The lunatic fringe, if I do say so myself. No certification, no medication.

NANNY: Compared to them, Switcher, yer the sanest man on Earth.

SWITCH: Corpus sans menses sounding....

DRAKE: Speaking of sounding, why don't you sound an alarm on that instrument of yours, Nan, whenever you're in danger? I could hear it for blocks.

NANNY (nodding): If I can make it musical enough. Don't wanna drive away my patrons.

DRAKE: Bags okay?

NANNY: They never noticed him. He never moved a muscle.

DRAKE: Smells like something's been moving though. Whew! What a stench!

NANNY: Must be sick.

DRAKE: Should we take him to emergency?

NANNY: He hates it there. Better leave him be fer now. He'll come around when he's ready. Always does.

SWITCH: Always, never, and forever. It's all the same to be or not to be....

DRAKE: Well, let's be down to supper. I've got some viands and wine for this Friday even. Good cheer for all.

SWITCH: Friday's good.

(NANNY spreads an old dirty blanket on the sidewalk in front of her doorway. DRAKE and SNATCH sit on each side of her. DRAKE lays the food and drink in front of her. She takes dirty plastic cups and crumpled paper plates out of her cart, wipes them off on her shirt while bowing her head, and distributes them. The others wait in silence almost solemn.)

NANNY: Let the feast begin.

DRAKE: Should we wait for Snatch?

NANNY: We could starve waitin' fer Snatch.

SWITCH: Pinched within an inch of our lives.

NANNY: Pour me a cuppa that skid row red and pass the pizza, Drake.

(After NANNY tastes food and drink, the three of them partake with gusto.)

NANNY (mouth full): Come on, Bags--git it while it's wet 'n' hot.

(No answer. The three indulge themselves without another word, eating and drinking voraciously.)

(Curtain.)

Scene Three

(Deep night. NANNY, SWITCH, and DRAKE are lounging in and around NANNY'S doorway. All are drunk. City noises have abated.)

DRAKE: I could have been a great artist, Nanny.

NANNY: You are, DRAKE, you are. But the world doesn't know it yet.

(SWITCH utters drunken gibberish that bears a thread of sense.)

DRAKE: Hell, Switch doesn't even know it.

NANNY: He seldom knows what day it is, Drake.

SWITCH: Good Friday.

NANNY: See.

DRAKE: Yeah, and on the third day we all rise from the dead, right?

(A distant church bell rings eleven times.)

NANNY: At twelve o'clock, I turn into a princess.

DRAKE: You're already my queen, Nannogram.

SWITCH: Queen of the May.

(They all laugh.)

NANNY: Drake the Romantic. I can always count on you to raise me up. Quite a change from my ol' man who used to beat me up.

DRAKE: I'll put you on a pedestal anytime, girl, and treat you like the angel you are.

(She laughs.)

DRAKE: Don't know where we'd be without you, Nan. You're the binder that holds the paint to the canvas. (reflecting) No, I do know where I'd be without you--long ago dead in a gutter down some nameless alley. Yeah, I'd have cashed it in years ago. Too much pain, too much failure, too much loneliness.

NANNY: Too much drink anyways.

DRAKE: Yeah, that too--mostly that. (reflecting) And Snatch--he'd been in lock up some time ago--maybe shot to death. And ol' Switcheroo--hell, he'd have been beatin' to death by those young cannibals years ago. And Bags--well, I doubt he'd ever've found a place to lay his old, drunken head but the cold hard pavement of endless heels and lost souls.

(Silence except city noises.)

NANNY: Ol' Snatch later'n usual tonight.

DRAKE: Maybe finally got himself snatched.

SWITCH: Snatched and latched--never to hatch again.

DRAKE: Buried alive.

SWITCH: Dead or alive--unwanted, unclaimed.

NANNY: The livin' truth.

DRAKE: Dead right.

(NANNY and DRAKE glance at BAGS'S place and then look at each other.)

NANNY: Oughta roust him. Should eat somethin'. Anything left?

DRAKE: Hey, Baggers.

(No reply.)

DRAKE: Bags!

NANNY: Come on, Bags. You've slept it off by now.

SWITCH: Turned it off long ago.

NANNY: You better take a look, Drake.

(DRAKE gets up on wobbly legs and ambles over to BAGS'S doorway.)

DRAKE: Whew! Something really rotten here!

SWITCH: Too warm for Denmark.

NANNY: Needs a bath.

DRAKE: More than usual.

SWITCH: An acid bath.

NANNY: Wake him up, Drake.

(DRAKE, covering his nose, pulls the dirty covering back and peers into the doorway.)

DRAKE: Can't see-- Bags? You awake? Whew! Bags?

NANNY: Roust him, Drake.

SWITCH: Roast him.

DRAKE: He doesn't roust.

NANNY: Is he movin'?

DRAKE: I don't think so, Nan. Dark over here. Can't see clearly--

SWITCH: Darkness everywhere.

DRAKE: He doesn't seem to....

NANNY: Shake him, Drake. Wake the man up.

DRAKE: I'm tryin', Nan, I'm tryin' but--

NANNY: Can't be drunk after all the sleepin'.

SWITCH: The sleep with no dreams, no mornin' after.

DRAKE: He isn't sleepin', Nan.

NANNY: Not sleepin'? Well, what? Oh--oh, my God! He ain't--?

DRAKE: Maybe so.

(NANNY tries in her drunkenness to rush over to BAGS. She stumbles, falls, and crawls to his doorway. DRAKE helps her up. She peers at BAGS and cries out.)

(Curtain.)

Scene Four

(Night. The colored lights of emergency and police vehicles are flashing around the stage. Dirty blankets and rags lie strewn about BAGS'S vacant doorway. SWITCH is walking around the stage looking at the lights. DRAKE is comforting NANNY who is weeping.)

NANNY: I knew he wasn't well, but I didn't do nothin'.

DRAKE: Don't blame yourself, Nan.

NANNY: But I've got to look after all of you, Drake. Who else gonna do it? Who else you got?

(He bows his head and does not answer.)

NANNY: These cruel streets ain't no kind o' home for folks. All the wet 'n' cold and the noise 'n' filth, the constant hunger gnawing at yer belly like a rat. And the danger, Drake, the danger. Any night now any of us might get stabbed or shot by one of our own kind--or beat to death by some wild punks on the prowl or--(weeping) or just not wake up one mornin' like poor ol' Bags. He shouldn't died like that, Drake. He was a poor man but not a bad man. He had no one to comfort him, no one to nurse him, no one even to lay his poor old head on somethin' soft 'fore he died. He oughtn't been left there like a piece of garbage, Drake. No, he oughtn't died like that. He was a human being.

DRAKE: Humans beings are the only ones that waste in this world, Nan. People have so much; it's easy for them to get rid of what they don't want. Bags wasn't wanted.

NANNY: I wanted him. He was like family to me. Like you 'n' Snatch and Switch. We stick together, Drake.

DRAKE: We do, Nan, but it's not enough. Sometimes we die.

NANNY: Many times we die--without homes, without families, often without friends. We die on these filthy streets all alone. What a life! (pausing) Well, I can't take it anymore, Drake. When things like this happen, I feel like checkin' out too.

DRAKE: Nonsense, Nan. You can't do any such thing. We need you. The rest of us need you. Who'd take care of ol' Switcher without you?

NANNY: I can't take care of all of you, Drake. I'm only an old woman. I'm old, tired, an' scared. I'm scared, Drake--very scared.

DRAKE: I know, Nan, I know--

(SNATCH enters furtively amid the flashing lights.)

SNATCH: Hey--what's the man doin' here? Somebody...?

NANNY: Where you been, Snatch? I been worried sick 'bout you, boy. Ol' Bags--he....

(An officious voice shouts from offstage.)

VOICE: Hey, you!

(SNATCH wheels around defensively.)

VOICE: Yeah, you. Com'ere.

(SNATCH makes a break for it and exits.)

VOICE: Hey! We got a runner! Git 'im, Mike!

(A commotion offstage.)

SNATCH (off): Git off me, man. I didn't do nothin'. Fella's got to make a livin' somehow.

VOICE (off): Stranglin' sick old men ain't makin' a livin'.

SNATCH (off): What? What you talkin' 'bout stranglin' ol' men? I don't strangle nobody.

(NANNY looks horrified. DRAKE looks offstage where SNATCH would be. SWITCH keeps watching the flashing lights.)

SNATCH (off): Hey! Leggo me, man. I ain't done no stranglin'. (screaming) I'm innocent!

(The commotion lessens. A car door slams shut. The lights gradually disappear with the sounds of cars pulling away. Then silence. SWITCH is standing stage center staring at nothing. NANNY collapses at DRAKE'S feet. He bends down to comfort her.)

SWITCH: The angel of death is innocent too. No messenger out of time can be blamed for an act of mercy. (raising his arms) The flight back to God is silent and swift. And the darkness receives us like the arms of a divine mother. I am here to tell thee. I come alone. I go alone. But in between two nights, another soul takes wing. Praise the Lord!

(Curtain.)

Scene Five

(Morning. Same as Scene One, except SWITCH'S doorway is empty. A siren. NANNY'S head pops up in her doorway.)

NANNY: God damned alarm!

(The siren fades but city noises are heard continually. NANNY crawls over to BAGS'S doorway, gently lifts a blanket, and peers into the jumble of dirty bedding.)

NANNY (whispering): 'T's awright, little one. Only the city callin' good mornin' to us.

(A person under the covers turns over and whimpers.)

NANNY: There, there now--you sleep awhile longer. Ain't no hurry. Sleep till breakfast if ya want.

(She puts the blanket down gently and sits back.)

NANNY: Out o' the sack, ya bums. Come on an' greet the day. Plenty o' time for sleepin'. Plenty o' darkness to come.

DRAKE (rising): Curiously strange without ol' Switcheroo singing his weird morning matins.

NANNY: Rise 'n' shine, Snatch. We got a young mouth to feed, now. Try to get some milk.

SNATCH: Milk. Coffee's what I need. Lots o' dark shit.

NANNY: An' watch yer mouth too. We got innocent ears nearby.

DRAKE: Too innocent for these foul streets.

NANNY: Too innocent to go back to that rotten family o' her's too, Drake. An' don't worry--I ain't gonna let anyone drag her into the dirt.

(SNATCH puts on his coat and ambles away, exiting.)

NANNY: Don't forget the milk, son.

(He mumbles something offstage.)

DRAKE: Guess somebody'll be takin' Switch's place soon, Nan.

NANNY: Yeah, a good doorway don't stay vacant for long.

DRAKE (contemplating): Never would've figured him for a killer. He seemed so gentle.

NANNY: It's the madness, Drake. If not the darkness, it's the madness. One or the other gits to all of us down here sooner than later.

(Silence as they get themselves together for another day. SNATCH returns with arms full of breakfast, which he distributes.)

SNATCH: Trash treasures richer than usual today.

NANNY: Good. The little one needs nourishment.

(SNATCH gobbles his food and drink and ambles off, exiting again. DRAKE eats his portion while assembling his painting boards. NANNY takes some food to the doorway. Gently pulling back the covers, she offers the food to the person under them.)

NANNY: Come on, little one. Nanny's got some breakfast for you.

(The disheveled head of a girl about sixteen appears.)

NANNY: That's my girl.

(The girl wolfs the food.)

NANNY: My, my, child. You must be starvin'. Good thing of Nanny found you. Be safe with me.

(The girls looks at her and smiles slightly but seems frightened.)

DRAKE: Nanny looks after all of us, young lady--like a mother. Stick with her and you'll be all right.

(NANNY puts her arm around the girl. She is wary but acquiescent. DRAKE packs his things.)

DRAKE: See you two when the black comes back.

NANNY: Try to get home before it does.

DRAKE (knowingly): I will, Nan. I'll be back in time.

(He exits. NANNY hugs the girl and returns to her doorway. Taking out her harmonica and cup, she steps to stage left and blows a rapid scale.)

NANNY: Come on over here, sweetie. The suits'll be comin' soon. We want to be ready.

(The girl in dirty jeans and sweatshirt finishes her food and walks over to NANNY. She hands the girl the cup and sits her down at her feet.)

NANNY: Now, be especially nice to the ladies.

(She starts playing a cheerful tune. The girl looks up at her and smiles. Approaching footsteps offstage.)

(Curtain.)

THE CONFERENCE

One Scene

Characters

JONATHAN CUTTER

TONY

SIRENA HEET

POLICEMAN

(A middle-aged teacher, CUTTER, is sitting at a desk in front of a big case full of books. There are two empty chairs: one next to his desk and the other beside him. He is reading and marking student papers. He shakes his head slowly as though he has seen bad material so many times his dismay has become automatic. He hears a loud knock offstage and without looking up speaks.)

CUTTER (barely audible): Open.

TONY (offstage): What?

CUTTER: The door, of course--it's open.

(TONY, a student, sticks his head in and enters slowly. He is carrying a backpack out of which protrudes part of a pistol silencer. CUTTER does not notice it, nor does he look at the student's face, but motions for the student to sit down. TONY drops his pack on the floor away from the teacher and sits apprehensively.)

TONY: I, I couldn't hear you, Mister Cutter.

(CUTTER says nothing but keeps looking at the papers on his desk.)

TONY: Have, have you read my...?

CUTTER: Your paper? Yes, yes I read it. That is, I tried to read it. Tell me, uh--

TONY: Tony.

CUTTER: Yes, Tony. Tell me, were you attempting to invent a new dialect in English by writing that paper?

TONY: I, I don't know what you mean.

CUTTER: Well, to be honest with you, and I'm nothing if not brutally honest--I couldn't make head or tail of that composition in confusion.

TONY (tittering): I did the best I could.

CUTTER: Maybe so, but it's not good enough for this class. You're in college English now, Tony. So it would help if you wrote college essays in actual English.

TONY: I do write in English.

CUTTER: Not the English I know and love.

TONY: Well, (chuckling) maybe there's another kind of English you don't know about.

CUTTER (glaring at him): I know everything about English, Tony.

TONY: I've been writing papers for years. All through high school. Well, a couple of times anyway. And I always got good grades on them. You know what I mean, Mister Cutter. Now you're telling me I don't know how to write in English. Well, I'm telling you I was in Honors English during my senior year.

CUTTER: And what were they honoring, your good looks?

TONY (tittering): No, my English. I always got top grades from my teachers in high school.

CUTTER: Why? You a jock?

TONY: Yeah, well, I am an athlete--but that wasn't the only reason. I worked my butt off. And I did very well--straight A's--mostly.

CUTTER: Whatever you thought you were doing in high school wasn't English. Your paper is full of more errors than a Shakespeare comedy.

TONY: A what?

CUTTER: Never mind. I'm glad to be able to talk with you privately, Tony, because you should know you may not pass this class--

(TONY reaches for his backpack.)

CUTTER:--if you don't improve in a major way.

TONY (relaxing): I've got to pass this class, Mister Cutter. I want to transfer to the university next fall.

CUTTER: The university.

(TONY nods.)

CUTTER: Next fall.

(TONY nods again. CUTTER hoots. TONY grasps the pack tightly.)

CUTTER: If you continue to write this way, young man, you won't even be able to get back into high school.

(TONY starts to lift the pack.)

CUTTER: Here--

(He pushes papers in front of the student.)

CUTTER:--let me show you what I mean.

(TONY relaxes his grip on the pack.)

CUTTER: Look at this paragraph. The assignment was to argue for or against the death penalty, right?

TONY: Right.

CUTTER: While you seem to be saying, if I am correctly deciphering your fragmented ideas that persons who commit serious crimes ought to be tortured and executed in the most excruciating way, you do not make clear what those crimes are that would demand such punishment. In fact, at one point I can't even comprehend what you mean at all. Here--look at this line. You wrote: "Any person which commit serious crimes like to take another life shoulda had their head blown off besides being tortured if they're guilty."

TONY: Yeah, I mean....

CUTTER: You mean murderers ought to suffer and die. Right?

TONY: Right.

CUTTER: Well, let's look at exactly what you stated here. First of all, to how many persons are you referring?

TONY: To....

CUTTER: Because you use the verb, "commit", in the third person present tense plural. Yet your subject is "person"--in the singular.

TONY: Oh.

CUTTER: Follow me. Second, in using the word "like" you are comparing crimes to murder, an impossibility, instead of using the proper words "such as" to exemplify them.

(TONY stares at him blankly.)

CUTTER: Then, you refer to the singular perpetrator of these crimes as plural pronouns. I ask you, Tony, how many dastardly criminals are we talking about here?

TONY: A lot.

CUTTER: Then enumerate them.

(TONY nods.)

CUTTER: Finally, two questions remain: Are these killers of yours, Tony, to be tortured before or after they are killed?

TONY (tisking): Before.

CUTTER: And does their torturing depend on their guilt? In other words, I ask you, is a guilty man to be both killed and tortured but an innocent man to be merely tortured?

TONY: Anyone who kills should be killed.

(CUTTER contemplates the young man.)

CUTTER: Yes, you make that point in your paper. By your species of logic, all killers are to be killed.

TONY: Yes.

CUTTER: Then who kills the killer of the killer who kills?

TONY: Huh?

CUTTER: Listen carefully and watch my mouth move. (deliberately) If any person who kills another person should be killed, then who is to kill that person?

TONY (tightening on the pack): Uh--the state.

CUTTER: But is not the state then to be killed?

TONY: (tittering) What do you mean?

CUTTER: The state killed the killer, did it not?

TONY: How?

CUTTER: By executing him, right?

TONY: Well, yeah, I guess it did.

CUTTER: Do not guess. You know it did. So the state is a killer too. Right?

TONY: Uh, yeah--

CUTTER: And the killer must be killed. Right?

TONY: Uh-huh.

CUTTER: Then, my young student--who is to kill the state?

TONY: I, I don't know.

CUTTER (contemplating him further): Do you want revolution, Tony?

TONY: I....

CUTTER: Do you want to overthrow the state?

TONY: I....

CUTTER: Start a rebellion?

TONY: I only....

CUTTER: Chop off some official heads?

TONY: No, I....

CUTTER: Activate a reign of terror?

TONY: No.

CUTTER: Bring chaos to the civilized world?

TONY: No, no--

CUTTER: Incur the wrath of a vengeful deity?

TONY (upset): No, Mister Cutter, I....

CUTTER: Of course you don't, Tony, because you did not think about what you were writing. You simply scribbled some fundamental notions in mixed up sentences without trying to make sense of it all. Yet you expected the reader to figure it out for himself--a reader who has been inundated for years with garbage like this in the guise of language. And you want a good grade?

TONY: Well--

CUTTER: Hah! You do not deserve a good grade, Tony--not even a bad grade, for writing such trash. You deserve a good thrashing.

(The teacher tears up the student's paper and throws it at him. TONY becomes choked with violent emotion and his eyes fill with tears. Removing the gun from his pack, he lays it on his lap and stares at it. CUTTER abruptly sits back in his chair.)

TONY (fingering the gun): You know, Mister Cutter--I was hoping I could work this out with you.

CUTTER: Oh--I'm sure we can, Tony. Yes. Of course. In fact, I think your writing has great potential. I know I've been a little hard on you, lad. But you know me--all bark and no bite, heh-heh. In fact, I bark at all my students, even the good ones. I mean even students like you, Tony.

(TONY raises the gun.)

CUTTER: But you should let me finish, Tony. I never got to the content of your very interesting paper. Despite a few insignificant, inadvertent, unimportant mistakes, which can easily be overlooked, you speak profoundly about the need for capital punishment in our society. Your words are so powerful, Tony, so persuasive that even my mind has been changed. I used to be one of those "wimpy liberals" you mention later in your paper. But you made me stand up and see what's right. No kidding! I'm a changed man.

TONY: Well, it's in your hands, Mister Cutter. You have the power to pass or fail me.

CUTTER: Oh, but it's also at least partly a little in your hands too, Tony. I mean....

TONY: Well, yes, I suppose your right. (chuckling) I do have some power in my hands, don't I?

CUTTER: Some.

TONY: And I'll use it if....

CUTTER: Now, don't be rash, Tony. Don't do anything stup--er, anything you may regret.

TONY: I don't give a shit, Mister Cutter. I had nothin' to live for if I didn't pass this class.

CUTTER: But you....

TONY: My girlfriend just dumped me for somebody old enough to be my father. My sister's sellin' tricks to buy a new car. My father left my mother for one of my sister's friends. My mother's been to rehab so many times she gets her mail there. And my football scholarship hangs on the grade I get in this stupid class. You see, Mister Cutter, my life, and yours too by the way, are in your hands--the hands that hold the pen that marks the paper.

CUTTER: Well, I can fix that, Tony my boy.

TONY: How? You tore it up.

CUTTER: Here--let me....

TONY: And you threw it at me, Mister Cutter.

CUTTER: Now, I didn't really throw it at you, Tony. It just sort of flew out of my hands in your direction--accidentally.

TONY: A piece hit me in the eye, Mister Cutter.

CUTTER: Oh, I am sorry. Here, let me look at it.

TONY: It hurts, Mister Cutter.

CUTTER: I know it does, Tony. I'm really sorry--

TONY: You hurt me, Mister Cutter.

CUTTER: Well, I--you know I didn't mean to hurt you, Tony. I would never hurt one of my students. I love my students, especially....

TONY: So I'm gonna have to hurt you back, Mister Cutter.

CUTTER: Now, I--you don't need to feel that way, Tony. No real damage has been done.

TONY: Oh, yeah? Look at my paper.

CUTTER: Yes, well, here--I can put that back together for you--good as new.

(He collects the pieces of the composition and fumblingly tries to tape them back together. In his anxious haste, he makes the paper into something resembling a ransom note.)

TONY: Look at that mess, Mister Cutter. Just look at it!

CUTTER: No, no--here's the page where the title should, er, could have been. And, well, (tittering) since you decided not to number the pages I can't be sure--let me see, your last line on this one continues over here I think. That's right, isn't it, Tony?

(TONY knocks the paper out the teacher's hand with the gun.)

TONY Forget it, Mister Cutter. You called my paper trash. Now it is trash.

CUTTER (picking up the paper): I didn't....

TONY: Yes, you did, Mister Cutter. You wasted it. And now I'm gonna waste you.

CUTTER (raising his hands): Tony, don't--

TONY: Why not?

CUTTER: Well, uh, well--because of what you wrote.

TONY: That's exactly why I'm gonna do it.

CUTTER: No, I mean what you said in your paper.

TONY: Yeah--what?

CUTTER: About the killer being killed.

TONY: Yeah. What about it?

CUTTER: As you stated so eloquently in your essay, if I can find it here--(fumbling with the patchwork) I think you said something--and you said it quite well, I may add--something to the effect that--yes, here it is--you said that anyone who murders someone ought to have his head blown off--after being tortured of course.

(TONY glares at him.)

CUTTER: Well, let me put it more succinctly. Murderers should suffer and die. Right?

TONY: That's what I said.

CUTTER: Well, then, Tony--

TONY: Yeah?

CUTTER: Y-you wouldn't want to suffer and die, would you?

TONY: I won't.

CUTTER: But if you m-murder m-me or anyone, Tony, well, at least according to what you say, you'd have to, uh, die yourself, you know.

TONY: Maybe.

CUTTER: But....

TONY: Maybe I won't get caught.

CUTTER: Uh-huh.

TONY: And if I did, no jury would convict me for killing an asshole like you, Mister Cutter.

CUTTER: Now, now, Tony--you need not be abusive. I'm only saying--should you get caught, then....

TONY: I shouldn't.

CUTTER: I mean, in case for some unlikely reason they apprehend you....

TONY: They won't.

CUTTER: I'm only suggesting the possibility--remote as it may be.

TONY: They won't get me, because I'd kill myself first. The killer must be killed. Right?

CUTTER: I see.

TONY: Good. Now that we have that settled, you can prepare to die.

CUTTER (breaking down): No, Tony, don't....

TONY: I have to, Mister Cutter--you gave me no choice.

CUTTER: You have a choice. We always have choices.

TONY: Not a chance.

CUTTER: Give yourself a chance.

TONY: Too many changes.

CUTTER: Things can change for the better.

TONY: How?

CUTTER: Well, for starters, I can change your grade.

TONY: From an F? Whaddya gonna change it to--a D? Not good enough, Mister Cutter.

CUTTER: Let me read it again. Maybe I was too hasty in my judgment. I read a lot of papers, you know. I get tired. Sometimes I don't see them clearly. A good paper can actually slip by me. It's happened before. I'm not perfect. I'm only human, Tony. Just like you. I'm a human being. Both of us are human beings. And I, we deserve to live.

(TONY looks at him sardonically and points the gun at his head.)

TONY: I deserved a passing grade on that paper, but you didn't give it to me.

CUTTER: That's different, Tony.

TONY (cocking the gun): Not to me.

CUTTER (falling to his knees): For God's sake, Tony, please don't....

TONY: Why for God's sake? What has God done for me?

CUTTER: Given you life.

TONY: My parents did that and I hate 'em for it.

CUTTER: Well, you don't have to take mine. I want to live.

TONY: And I wanted a good grade.

CUTTER: You can have a good grade--just let me live.

TONY: Funny how the power has changed hands, eh, Mister Cutter? I mean, you had the power to pass or fail me with the flick of a pen--now I have the power to pass or fail you with the jerk of a trigger.

CUTTER: Oh, no, Tony, don't--

TONY: It's all relative, ain't it?

CUTTER: Think about my relatives, Tony. Think about yours.

TONY: To hell with them.

CUTTER: I have an ex-wife and children who need my support.

TONY: What you do--desert your wife for another woman?

CUTTER: Well, yes, I did recently leave my wife, but....

TONY: Oh, lemme guess. Your new girlfriend is young enough to be your daughter. Right?

CUTTER: Well, she is....

TONY: Young enough to be my girlfriend. Right?

CUTTER: I don't think she....

TONY: What? Your new chick is too good for me?

CUTTER: No, no--I didn't mean that.

TONY: Guys like you make me sick. You have as much as any one should expect but you aren't satisfied. You want it all twice. What happened--your first wife start lookin' too old? You had to find some teenager to make you feel young again?

CUTTER: She's almost twenty.

TONY: 'Bout as old as your son. Right?

CUTTER: No, my son's a little older.

TONY: Yeah. 'Bout my age. Right?

CUTTER: I guess so.

TONY: Well, you might also guess I'm not exactly sympathetic to you, Mister Cutter, 'cause like I told you, my girlfriend, Sirena, left me recently too--for some guy your age.

CUTTER: Sirena?

TONY: Yeah, you know her. She's in one of your classes.

CUTTER: Yeah--I do, that is, I think I do. Sirena--?

TONY: Sirena Heet.

CUTTER: Oh, yeah, that's right--Sirena Heet. I believe she is in one of my classes. Lovely girl.

(TONY stares at him.)

CUTTER: Not that I ever really noticed her.

TONY: Oh, you noticed her all right. She's gorgeous. Everybody notices her.

CUTTER: Yes, well, I suppose so, but you know, Tony, as a teacher I try not to pay more attention to one student than to another. It's a matter of ethics. And if I paid any special attention to a beautiful girl like Sirena, I'd hear from the chair of my department about complaints of favoritism lodged by others in the class. No, regardless of how seductive and incredibly sensual Sirena may be, I should not--and of course, I really do not have anything to do with her--

TONY: Uh-huh.

CUTTER: Outside of class.

TONY: Uh-huh.

CUTTER: As far as I'm concerned, she's just another body, er, face, er, head, er, number in one the seats in front of me. Besides, she would not be interested in an old fogey like me.

TONY: I told ya--she's sleepin' with a guy just about your age, Mister Cutter.

CUTTER: Well, that may be, Tony, but there's no reason to think your girlfriend would....

TONY: My ex-girlfriend.

CUTTER: Yes. I'm sorry--your ex-girlfriend. Anyway, there's no reason at all to think she left a good-looking young man like you just for an old codger. Maybe she simply decided to move on. Maybe you and she grew apart.

You know that happens all the time, Tony. Maybe she felt that a more mature man could offer her what she needs in a mate.

(TONY eyes him suspiciously.)

CUTTER (continuing): Not that you aren't man enough for her. Why, certainly you are. And I'm quite sure that you made her very happy with all the football games you dedicated to her.

TONY: How did you know about that, Mister Cutter?

CUTTFR: Oh, well, she, she must have written about you in one of her papers.

TONY: Written about me!

CUTTER: Yes, well, I don't really know for sure. You kids write about so many personal things. Maybe she happened to mention....

TONY: How much did she tell you about me, Mister Cutter?

CUTTER: Nothing, really. And it's not really my business.

TONY: No, it isn't. But I have a feeling you've made it your business and you know more than you're telling.

(He points the gun at the teacher's forehead.)

TONY: What exactly did she tell you, Mister Cutter?

CUTTER: Well, she might have said, er, written a few words about your relationship.

TONY (motioning with the gun): Go on.

CUTTER: I don't really--

TONY: Go on, Mister Cutter. Or do I have to loosen your memory with the barrel of this gun?

CUTTER: No, no, I remember quite well. (contemplating) Well, Tony, it seems, if I remember correctly--and I'm sure I do--it seems she, uh, it may have something to do with, uh, (tittering) well, intelligence. But I think it's quite arrogant of her to, uh--

TONY: What in hell do you mean?

CUTTER: I mean she's got--or she seems to have this crazy idea that you're, that is, she's too smart for you. (tittering) Isn't that silly?

TONY: Silly?

CUTTER: Why, you are an extremely bright young fellow, Tony--anyone can see that.

TONY: She thinks I'm not smart enough for her?!

CUTTER: No, no--

TONY: That I'm too stupid to be her boyfriend?!

CUTTER: Tony, no--

TONY: Why, that god damned whore! Who in hell does she think she is? (fuming) I wish she was here right now--I'd....

CUTTER: Now, now, Tony--(choking up) you don't really mean that.

(TONY fires a burst at the bookcase over CUTTER'S head. He covers himself and screams, as books fall around him.)

TONY: Don't worry. You're still alive, old man. (sniffing) But I'm tellin' you that you better change your shorts.

CUTTER (whimpering): No--that's all right. I'm just a little flatulent.

TONY: A little what?

CUTTER: Just a bit gaseous from all the....

TONY: Fear?

CUTTER: Well, that too, yes.

TONY: I always knew you were full of hot air but I never guessed poison gas. Whew! I shoulda brought a mask.

CUTTER: Yes, well, that aside--I guess I have opened my big mouth too much, haven't I?

TONY: Big enough for me to stick the barrel of my gun into.

(CUTTER looks down as if praying. Knocking offstage. TONY motions for CUTTER to be quiet.)

SIRENA (offstage, sweetly): Jonathan?

(TONY and CUTTER look at each other and both react: the former with anxiety, the latter with surprise. TONY mouths the name Jonathan curiously.)

SIRENA (offstage): Jonathan?

(TONY motions for CUTTER to answer.)

CUTTER: Y-yes, Sirena--Miss Heet. I-I'm very busy right now. Can you come back tomor...?

(TONY shakes his head and motions with the gun for CUTTER to let her in. CUTTER at first resists but relents when TONY puts the muzzle of the gun on the chair between CUTTER'S legs.)

CUTTER: Uh--Miss Heet, can you wait till--?

SIRENA (offstage): Yes?

(CUTTER stares at TONY confoundedly. The teacher looks desperate but trapped.)

CUTTER: Miss....

SIRENA: Jonathan? It's Sirena.

(TONY pokes the muzzle into CUTTER'S groin.)

CUTTER (flinching): O-okay, Miss Heet. C-come in.

(SIRENA enters enthusiastic to see CUTTER and is about to tease him for keeping her waiting when she sees TONY and stops short. At first, she does not notice the gun. Awkwardly aware of the triangle among them, she nevertheless tries to appear glad to see TONY.)

SIRENA: Tony. I didn't know you would be--What's that smell? (spotting the gun) Ton--what are you do--?

(She tries to flee but TONY jumps in front of her to block her way. She eyes the gun fearfully.)

TONY: Have a seat, Sirena. We were just talking about you.

SIRENA: Tony, I....

TONY (waving the gun at her): Sit down, Sirena.

(Terrified, she stumbles back into the chair in which TONY was sitting.)

TONY: That's my seat.

SIRENA: Oh.

(She jumps up and sits in another chair.)

TONY: There--that's your place--next to your new boyfriend.

SIRENA: My God, Tony--have you gone crazy?!

TONY: First of all, apparently, I'm not your God anymore. And, yes, as a matter of fact, I am crazy. I'm totally out of my mind. Insane. Far too sick to be convicted of killing anybody.

SIRENA: K-kill--?

(Again, she breaks to escape. But TONY grabs her arm and yanks her close to him. CUTTER starts from his chair to assist her, but TONY simply points the gun at him to stop his action.)

TONY: Oh, you gonna show off for Sirena now, Mister Cutter. Protecting a student? Defending the fair maiden? Hah! That's a joke! Sirena hasn't been a maiden since the sixth grade. (snickering) And she isn't so fair either. But she means something to you, doesn't she, Mister Cutter?

(CUTTER and SIRENA look at each other. In unison, they shake their heads.)

TONY: My, my--your devotion to each other is inspirational.

CUTTER: She's only my student.

SIRENA: He's only my teacher.

TONY: Your teacher, maybe, but not mine. What grade did you get on your last paper, Sirena?

SIRENA: An A of course.

TONY: What a surprise.

CUTTER: She's a fine writer, Tony.

TONY: And I'm not.

CUTTER: No, no--you're a good writer--

SIRENA: Yes, Tony--you're almost as good as I am.

TONY: Then why does my paper look like a jigsaw puzzle?

SIRENA: Your paper?

TONY: He tore it up.

SIRENA (to CUTTER): You tore up his paper?

CUTTER: I told you it was an accident, Tony.

(TONY fires over their heads. CUTTER and SIRENA dive to the floor. Books fall around them.)

TONY: Oh, sorry--that was an accident. (snickering) Accidents will happen of course. I just hope I don't kill you by accident.

(SIRENA starts whimpering. CUTTER reaches to comfort her, and she scrambles into his arms.)

TONY: I guess you two would like to be alone. Maybe I should leave now.

(He gets up without his backpack, walks to the door, and exits. CUTTER and SIRENA remain momentarily motionless, look at each other, listen, and smile. Suddenly TONY re-enters.)

TONY: Sorry, I forgot my pack. 'T's got the extra clip in it. Can't forget that, can I? (tittering) I'll just get my stuff and be on my way.

(He picks up the pack and exits. CUTTER and SIRENA look after him for a moment. Then they regard each other with much relief and embrace. Suddenly TONY re-enters.)

TONY: Well, well--I guess the mystery is solved. (raising the gun) Now for the murder--

(CUTTER and SIRENA cover their heads and scream.)

TONY: Oh, but one thing more. Would you mind doing me a favor, Mister Cutter?

CUTTER (fearful but hopeful): Huh--yeah, sure, Tony--¬anything. What is it?

TONY: I'd like you to change the grade on my paper--nothing extravagant--just to a C, maybe a B-. Just so I can pass this class and keep playing football.

SIRENA: Oh, yeah, you can do that, can't you Jona--Mister Cutter?

CUTTER: Sure, Tony, no problem. Just rewrite the....

TONY: Sorry, Mister Cutter, but I don't have time to rewrite it.

CUTTER: Sure you....

TONY: Actually, you don't have time.

CUTTER: Oh--

(SIRENA whimpers.)

TONY: So, you see--I need the favor right away.

CUTTER: But, Tony--

TONY: Yeah.

CUTTER: If you insist on your grade being changed now, well, it may not work out.

TONY: How's that?

CUTTER: Well, it may go against you.

TONY: In what way?

CUTTER: You know, killing us and all.

TONY: I see.

SIRENA: Yes, Tony. Wouldn't it look bad--not so good on your record I mean, if you....

CUTTER: I doubt the Registrar would be much inclined to....

TONY: Yes, yes, I see your point. You don't have to rub it in.

CUTTER and SIRENA: Sorry.

TONY: So, what am I gonna hafta do to get my grade--let you live?

CUTTER and SIRENA: Well--

TONY: I'm not going to be able to kill you?

SIRENA: Uh--

CUTTER: Maybe not, Tony.

TONY: Damn.

CUTTER: Sorry.

TONY: I've really screwed up, haven't I? I went to all this trouble to buy this gun and ammo--well, that wasn't too difficult--but then to shoot my parents, then sneak in here for a conference with you, and then right when I thought I was going to be lucky enough to be able to kill Sirena along with her new lover, you have to go and tell me that I probably won't get a good grade if I go through with my plan. Damn! This is so unfair.

SIRENA (absently touching him): Sorry, Tony.

TONY: Yeah, yeah--I know.

CUTTER: Tony?

TONY: Uh-huh?

CUTTER: What was that you said about, uh, about your parents?

TONY: What about 'em?

CUTTER: Did you...?

TONY: Kill 'em? Yeah. I put 'em outta my misery.

SIRENA (horrified): Tony!

CUTTER: That may not have been wise.

TONY: They're better off. I know I am.

(SIRENA starts to sob quietly.)

TONY: We're all better off dead. Only thing better--never born.

CUTTER: Well, we were, so despite the unhappiness we have in our lives, we should be able to live them out good or bad, don't you think?

TONY: No.

(SIRENA starts to cry.)

TONY: Most of us are wasting space.

CUTTER: But everybody has something to contribute.

TONY: Yeah, a lotta shit.

CUTTER: Yes, that, but a lot more.

TONY: Tell me one thing my parents contributed.

SIRENA: You.

TONY: Hah! That's a laugh. I can't even play football very well.

CUTTER: You got a scholarship.

TONY: My dad pulled some strings. He was a good puppeteer.

SIRENA: You're a good football player, Tony. I love watching you play.

TONY: Yeah? Maybe the only thing you ever liked about me.

SIRENA: That's not true, Tony. I also like your....

CUTTER: Tony, you've got a lot to live for.

TONY: Yeah?

CUTTER: Well, maybe not so much now--but....

TONY: Death, prison, or a nut house--that's what lies ahead for me. Not much of a choice, huh?

CUTTER: Well, if you can get acquitted because of insanity--

TONY: But that would sort of go against my thesis, right?

SIRENA: Your thesis?

TONY: Yeah, that all killers should be killed.

SIRENA: What?

TONY: In my paper, the one patched up on Misters Cutter's desk there.

SIRENA: Oh.

CUTTER: Those are only words, Tony--they don't....

TONY: Words enough to get me an F in your class, Mister Cutter. I oughta at least live up to them, don't you think? Just so I don't die a complete failure.

SIRENA: Why do we--why do you have to die at all?

TONY: The killer must be killed.

SIRENA: Huh?

CUTTER: His thesis.

SIRENA: Oh, yeah.

CUTTER: It's not written in stone, Tony.

TONY: No, but it is written in blood.

SIRENA (anxiously): Not yet.

TONY: My parents' blood. Soon yours. Eventually mine.

(CUTTER and SIRENA fall silent. She starts to cry again. He tries to comfort her.)

TONY: I know. It's a sad case but--well, I guess it's time.

SIRENA (more anxiously): For what?

TONY: For this play to end.

SIRENA: What do you mean?

TONY: It's all a big drama, isn't it?

CUTTER: A tragic melodrama.

SIRENA: Why does it have to end?

TONY: It's time for the last act. The climax. The rest is an endless falling off, an unconscious cascade into oblivion.

(SIRENA sobs breathlessly.)

CUTTER: Maybe this play should be rewritten, Tony.

TONY: I told you the time has run out.

CUTTER: But we're still talking.

TONY: We're wasting breath--air that some other poor bastard could use till his day of judgment comes. (aiming at them) Say your prayers, boys and girls.

(SIRENA crawls into CUTTER'S arms, and together they crawl under the desk.)

TONY: You know there's no place to hide. The devil can always find you.

SCREAMING (screaming): Tony, please don't!

(CUTTER tries to console her, but she is inconsolable. When TONY is on the verge of shooting them, a voice offstage.)

POLICEMAN (off): Mister Cutter--Jonathan Cutter? You in there, sir? Campus police here.

(CUTTER starts to respond, but TONY motions for him to be silent. However, even with the gun in her face SIRENA cannot be stifled completely.)

POLICEMAN (off): We have--a report--of a disturbance in this building. Mister Cutter? What's going on in there?

SIRENA (screaming): Help, help--he's going to kill me! For God's sake--help!

POLICEMAN (off): What?!

TONY: Now you've done it.

(He rushes to the door before anyone can enter and exits. Gunfire offstage punctuating a melee of scuffling and screaming voices. Suddenly all is quiet. CUTTER and SIRENA look at each other apprehensively.)

SIRENA: Do you think--?

CUTTER: I don't know.

(A long pause, while SIRENA and CUTTER seem afraid to speak or to move. Then the door opens slowly, and TONY'S bloody body falls onto the floor at the edge of the stage, gun still in hand. SIRENA gasps, falters, and then runs to him in horror.)

SIRENA (screaming): Tony!

(She falls down beside his prostrate body, bends over him as if in prayer, and weeps uncontrollably. The POLICEMAN enters and stands over the body. His own gun still poised to shoot, he is shaking convulsively. CUTTER instinctively puts his hands up.)

POLICEMAN: Mister Cutter?

CUTTER (shakily): Yes, officer.

POLICEMAN: Wh-what in hell happened here?

CUTTER (pondering a moment): The death penalty, officer--it was all about the death penalty.

(SIRENA looks at CUTTER quizzically. The POLICEMAN looks down at the corpse and shakes his head.)

(Curtain.)

SUNSET ON PARADISE

One Scene

Characters

ADAM

MARY

MARY: I was calling you.

ADAM: I didn't hear you.

MARY: Well, you must've seen me.

ADAM: Uh--

MARY: You must've seen me waving my arms.

ADAM: I did.

MARY: I needed your help.

ADAM: No, you didn't.

MARY: I was drowning.

ADAM: You don't look drowned.

MARY: No thanks to you.

ADAM: I thought you could take of yourself.

MARY: How could you have thought that?

ADAM: You're a woman.

MARY: What?

ADAM: Women are strong, aren't they?

MARY: Well, yes, but what made you think I was a woman?

ADAM: Actually, I wasn't sure.

MARY: Look, regardless of my gender you should have helped me.

ADAM: I couldn't.

MARY: Why in hell not?

ADAM: Sex.

MARY: What has sex got to do with it?

ADAM: Almost everything, especially in this case.

MARY: Well, I can assure you I would've had no intention of....

ADAM: Maybe not but you might've thought I would. If I'd tried to help you, you might've thought I was trying to cop a feel.

MARY: What if you'd thought I was a man? Wouldn't you have helped me then?

ADAM: No.

MARY: Why not?

ADAM: Same thing.

MARY: You're sexually phobic or repressed or something.

ADAM: Look, I just want to avoid trouble.

MARY: You seem to want to avoid everything.

ADAM: Impossible unfortunately. But I thought I might've been getting close to it out here.

MARY: Well, despite your inhospitality I'm glad to find another human being alive.

ADAM: You may be better off alone. I would.

MARY: Well, I'm sorry to interrupt your solitude but I was desperate.

ADAM: Uh-huh. Where'd you come from?

MARY: Hell on Earth. You?

ADAM: Same place.

MARY: Maybe together we can....

ADAM: Don't get any ideas.

MARY: Hah! Don't flatter yourself.

ADAM: Humph.

MARY: Say, I'm starved. Anything to eat?

ADAM: See for yourself.

MARY: I will, thanks. How long you been here?

ADAM: A while.

MARY: If you've been here for a few hours or more you must have an appetite--unless you've eaten recently.

ADAM: Are you trying to pry it out of me?

MARY: What?

ADAM: The location of food.

MARY: Why not? We need to eat and drink. How about water?

ADAM: Plenty of ocean out there.

MARY: You know what I mean. God, you're damned difficult.

ADAM: Invoking a supreme being won't make me easy.

MARY: You're a weird bird.

ADAM: If I called you that, you'd be insulted. Besides, I thought you looked upon me as human.

MARY: That was a figure of speech.

ADAM: So you don't really think I'm human.

MARY: God, you're exasperating!

ADAM: I told you--invoking a....

MARY: I'll invoke the devil if you don't start behaving with civility.

ADAM: You don't have to.

MARY: Don't have to what?

ADAM: Invoke evil. It's already here.

MARY: It is beginning to seem like the isle of the damned.

ADAM: Where's that?

MARY: You're too literal.

ADAM: Just trying to know the truth.

MARY: Well, the truth is we're lost on an island together.

ADAM: We're not together.

MARY: No, not even close to the fantasy.

ADAM: What fantasy?

MARY: The one about being stranded on a desert island with--oh, forget it.

ADAM: How can I?

MARY: I'm too hungry to try to answer that question.

ADAM: So eat.

MARY: Okay. Know any good restaurants in the neighborhood?

ADAM: Sarcasm won't feed you.

MARY: No, but it may help to alleviate the stress.

ADAM: Just relax and accept it.

MARY: What? A slow lonely death with a crab on a small patch of sand in the middle of the ocean?

ADAM: That's about it.

MARY: Unacceptable.

ADAM: You'd prefer a quick death with a bunch of crabs on a big slab of concrete in the middle of a city?

MARY: So now you're a philosopher.

ADAM: No. Only thoughtful since I may be the last man on Earth.

MARY: You think you're all that's....

ADAM: Of my half of the whole, perhaps.

MARY: And I'm....

ADAM: Of course.

MARY: So you think we're the last couple on Earth.

ADAM: Could be.

MARY: Ridiculous.

ADAM: You saw it, didn't you? The blinding flashes. You heard the head-cracking explosions. You felt the waves of searing heat.

MARY: Yes, but....

ADAM: You think anybody could've survived all that?

MARY: We did.

ADAM: We were lucky--or unlucky, depending on your perspective.

MARY: I prefer lucky.

ADAM: You think you're lucky?

MARY: I'm alive.

ADAM: Unless we both died and went to hell. You said this place seems like the isle of the damned.

MARY: I've always expected to go to heaven.

ADAM: We had our chance at heaven but we blew it.

MARY: Oh, really? When?

ADAM: A long time ago.

MARY: You think you know it all, don't you?

ADAM: Some of it.

MARY: Has it ever occurred to you that you might've missed something--something important?

ADAM: Often.

MARY: Well, I'm too tired, thirsty, and hungry to think about it right now.

ADAM: Fasting focuses the mind.

MARY: Yeah, on food and water. I'm going to look for some.

ADAM: Help yourself.

MARY: You think I'll fail, don't you?

ADAM: Maybe, maybe not.

MARY: You've already looked for food and water, haven't you?

ADAM: Yes.

MARY: No sun-ripened tropical fruit, no milk-swollen coconuts, no sparkling pools of rainfall?

ADAM: Nope.

MARY: What about flowers and leaves or bugs and things?

ADAM: See for yourself.

MARY: How about fish? We could catch...

ADAM: Go ahead.

MARY: As wary as I am of the notion, I think we should cooperate.

ADAM: Why?

MARY: To survive. Look, we're going round in circles.

ADAM: Like everything else.

MARY: God. The last man on Earth and he has to be a guy who thinks he's Plato or someone.

ADAM: I may not be a philosopher but I am king.

MARY: Of what!

ADAM: I rule this island.

MARY: And what about me. Maybe I'm queen.

ADAM: Not mine you're not.

MARY: Agreed. And I'm not your subject either. Nor am I your other half.

ADAM: I didn't say you were. But you are an intruder.

MARY: Then let's divide the island.

ADAM: Okay. But it's actually an atoll, and I want this half because the sun sets over there.

MARY: Good. I prefer the sunrise anyway.

ADAM: Of course you do.

MARY: Shall I draw a line in the sand?

ADAM: Draw it from here to there.

MARY: Don't you want to measure it first, in case I'm trying to cheat you?

ADAM: I know where the median is located. I've paced it many times. Draw from here to there.

MARY: How's that?

ADAM: Good enough till the tide rises and washes it away.

MARY: The tide rises that high?

ADAM: Yes. Or till a tsunami hits.

MARY: A tsunami! Looks pretty calm out there to me.

ADAM: Watch for a sudden drop in water level.

MARY: You're trying to scare me--to get the upper hand.

ADAM: I already have it, physically anyway. Emotionally too. I'm not sure yet about mentally. You're a sharp cookie.

MARY: I'm not a cookie. Nor am I a cupcake, sugar, sweet, or anything else resembling candy or pastry.

ADAM: That was only a figure of speech, as you ought to know.

MARY: Yeah. I wonder what time it is.

ADAM: Early evening, but what difference does it make?

MARY: I'm only trying to get my bearings.

ADAM: Bearings! We're stranded on a tiny circle of sand in the middle of the ocean with the sun baking us without fresh water, and you're worried about bearings. What are you going to do--swim home? Good luck. When you get there, send me a postcard.

MARY: Careful. You'll lose the emotional upper hand.

ADAM: You're right. But someone going blithely about her business after we've destroyed the world infuriates me.

MARY: We? I don't know about you but I had nothing to do with it.

ADAM: Oh really?

MARY: I'm not taking the blame for the actions of a bunch of stupid men.

ADAM: Women were involved too.

MARY: I wasn't.

ADAM: Maybe not, but we all let it happen.

MARY: I didn't. I tried to stop it.

ADAM: How?

MARY: I'm not accountable to you. But if you must know, I voted conscientiously, recycled regularly, sent internet messages to congress, and occasionally marched in the streets.

ADAM: It wasn't enough, though, was it?

MARY: Apparently not.

ADAM: We should have....

MARY: Please don't lecture me. I'm too tired and....

ADAM: Hungry and thirsty.

MARY: Yes. Look, you may not care if we live or die, but I do.

ADAM: Then what?

MARY: Huh?

ADAM: What if we live? Then what happens? We start the whole damned mess all over again?

MARY: Not with me, you don't!

ADAM: See what I mean about sex?

MARY: It's not the same.

ADAM: How so?

MARY: Forget it. I'm going to sit right here in the middle of this atoll and watch for a ship or a plane.

ADAM: Wishful thinking.

MARY: It's better than giving up hope.

ADAM: We're both still alive so we haven't given up hope yet.

MARY: I thought you didn't care.

ADAM: I care and I hope but I'm afraid it's futile.

MARY: Then why not kill yourself?

ADAM: If I did, you could eat me.

MARY: That's disgusting.

ADAM: But true.

MARY: I don't want to eat you. I don't want you to die. I want us both to be saved.

ADAM: This isn't a movie with a happy ending, you know.

MARY: No, but it's becoming a nightmare.

ADAM: Well, technically it's not, unless we were....

MARY: Oh, shut up!

ADAM: I was only....

MARY: Just stay on your half of the island, and I'll stay on mine.

ADAM: Okay.

MARY: I should be watching for rescuers anyway.

ADAM: Uh-huh.

MARY: If there were stones, I could make a sign in the sand.

ADAM: Yep.

MARY: If there were wood, I could build a signal fire at night.

ADAM: You could.

MARY: But there's nothing on this God-forsaken patch of sand, nothing but....

ADAM: You and I.

MARY: Yes.

ADAM: Until one of us dies.

MARY: Yes.

ADAM: Then the other will be alone.

MARY: Yes.

ADAM: Until he or she dies.

MARY: Or someone finds us.

ADAM: Have you seen any boats or planes?

MARY: I haven't even spotted a fish or a bird.

ADAM: See what I mean?

MARY: No, I don't see it your way.

ADAM: Of course you don't.

MARY: I'll just sit her, watch, and think about a way to catch fish.

ADAM: You won't have to catch them.

MARY: What?

ADAM: Dead ones wash onto the beach sometimes.

MARY: What?! Why didn't you tell me that?

ADAM: I thought you'd find out for yourself. Besides, I haven't seen any for a long time. And they're probably toxic.

MARY: I'd eat them anyway. Better than dying of starvation.

ADAM: Well, if you want to take the chance, here--

MARY: What's that?

ADAM: Jellyfish.

MARY: It looks like a plastic baggie.

ADAM: It's dried up. I was saving it. It's not worth much, but you can have it if you want.

MARY: Thanks. Will it sting me?

ADAM: Try it.

MARY: It's salty.

ADAM: Naturally.

MARY: Want some?

ADAM: I'm not hungry right now.

MARY: You're so damned stoic.

ADAM: No, just damned. We both are, you know.

MARY: Speak for yourself.

ADAM: Face it.

MARY: Where there's life there's....

ADAM: Humph.

MARY: You gave me hope with that fish.

ADAM: Too bad I can't make it multiply. Maybe if we pray....

MARY: Don't ruin it.

ADAM: What?

MARY: I mean the moment. I was starting to--

ADAM: Starting to what?

MARY: Never mind.

ADAM: The sun is setting.

MARY: The tide is rising.

ADAM: Yes.

MARY: Is this the end?

ADAM: Could be.

MARY: Will we drown?

ADAM: I doubt it, but we will be wet all night.

MARY: Are you afraid?

ADAM: A little. I was more frightened when it happened.

MARY: So was I. It was horrible. Do you think we have a chance?

ADAM: I don't know.

MARY: What if the tide washes us away while we're sleeping?

ADAM: Then we tread water till it ebbs.

MARY: I don't want to suffer.

ADAM: Either do I.

MARY: Thank you for the fish. But I'm still hungry.

ADAM: I wish I had more. Perhaps we'll find some tomorrow.

MARY: Perhaps.

ADAM: The sun is setting.

MARY: Yes. Under different circumstances, I'd think it was pretty. Now I see it as a final curtain.

ADAM: Maybe we'll see a sunrise.

MARY: Maybe. What's your name?

ADAM: Adam.

MARY: You're kidding.

ADAM: No. Really. What's yours?

MARY: It's not Eve.

ADAM: I could've guessed.

MARY: It's Mary.

ADAM: Close enough. I like that name.

MARY: I've always thought it was too common. What did you mean--close enough?

ADAM: Nothing.

MARY: I think you meant....

ADAM: It's getting dark. We ought to try to sleep while we can.

MARY: I'm afraid I won't wake up.

ADAM: Uh-huh.

MARY: Will it be cold?

ADAM: No, but very, very dark.

MARY: The tide is rising.

ADAM: I know.

MARY: Am I keeping you awake?

ADAM: No.

MARY: It's going to cover the island, isn't it?

ADAM: Yes.

MARY: I'm too tired to swim.

ADAM: Float on your back.

MARY: What if we drift away from land?

ADAM: We may find it again when the tide ebbs.

MARY: I'm drifting already.

ADAM: Take my hand.

MARY: Aren't you afraid I'll....

ADAM: No.

MARY: It's really dark.

ADAM: Yes.

MARY: So many stars.

ADAM: Yes.

MARY: But no moon.

ADAM: Not tonight.

MARY: Maybe tomorrow night.

ADAM: Maybe.

(Lights down.)

(Curtain.)

SWAN DIVE

One Scene

Characters

MELISSA

KNOT

CHORUS

(Spotlight on KNOT sitting on the edge of the stage up center. MELISSA appears in a window down left. CHORUS hollers unintelligible words intermittently throughout the play.)

MELISSA: Don't listen to them.

KNOT: Jeez! You scared me.

MELISSA: Sorry.

KNOT: What are they saying? I can't hear with the damned sirens.

MELISSA: I think some of them are shouting for you to jump. But don't listen. They're sick.

KNOT: Of course they are. But so am I--sick to death.

MELISSA: Why would you be sick to death? You're young with most of your life ahead of you.

KNOT: Not if I jump.

MELISSA: Don't think that way. Besides, you're up only two storeys. You might merely cripple yourself. Be stuck in a wheelchair the rest of your life. Have to piss in a bag you carry on your....

KNOT: Hey! Aren't you supposed to be making me feel better? What kind of officer are you? An unpaid intern or what?

MELISSA: I'm not a cop or anything. I work in this building, saw you on the ledge, and thought I'd....

KNOT: Oh, great! A do-gooder. Just what I need.

MELISSA: What's wrong with doing good? At least I....

KNOT: Look, lady. You don't give a damn about me anymore than those people down there watching the show, waiting for the main event. If you had passed me on the street yesterday, you wouldn't have smiled, said hello, or even noticed my existence.

MELISSA: I might have smiled.

KNOT: Sure, you probably smile at everyone but mean nothing by it. An empty gesture from an empty heart.

MELISSA: A smile is the shortest distance between two people. Who said that? I think it was Edgar Bergen.

KNOT: It was Victor Borge.

MELISSA: Wasn't it Edgar Bergen?

KNOT: No, it was Borge.

MELISSA: It was Bergen.

KNOT: Borge.

MELISSA: Bergen.

KNOT: So what do you want to do--argue with me about who uttered a clever little platitude or save my life? Victor Borge said it, and it's bullshit anyway. Most of what people say is bullshit--or cowshit, as the gender may be.

MELISSA: I find that remark offensive.

KNOT: Well, excuse me. The man on the ledge should not offend the bleeding heart bitch in the window.

MELISSA: Call me names and I'm going to walk away from here and not look back.

KNOT: Good. Then you'll live with failure the rest of your life. Like me.

MELISSA: I'm actually a fairly successful person.

KNOT: Of course you are. And saving me would put another merit badge on your chest.

MELISSA: I don't seek reward. I have a duty to help other people in trouble. That's being civilized.

KNOT: Hah! What a fantasy! You help yourself like everyone else. Difference between you and me is--I know it, you don't. And this human disaster you euphemistically call civilization is nothing but institutionalized hell. A madhouse decorated to look like a mansion.

MELISSA: I'm happy with it.

KNOT: Lucky you. But I bet you're actually no happier than I am. You're simply deluding yourself. I tried that too for a while, but repeated punches in the belly burst my bubble. Yours will burst too, depending on your threshold for punishment.

MELISSA: Even if that were true, I wouldn't kill myself, no matter how bad things got.

KNOT: How do you know I'm going to kill myself? How do you really know that? Maybe I sat here to enjoy the view. Did you think of that? Maybe I like to watch endless crowds of people and traffic, listen to the earsplitting, nerve-shattering noise of the city, and inhale the dust, fumes, and smoke. Maybe if I sit here long enough I won't have to jump, your civilization will kill me anyway.

MELISSA: It's your civilization too.

KNOT: Don't blame me for this mess.

MELISSA: I'm not. But you can make it better if you don't like the way it is.

KNOT: Sure, if I had hundreds of thousands of people with me in the effort, but that isn't going to happen. Not in my lifetime. Not till a whole lot of people suffer a whole lot of misery for a hell of a long time.

MELISSA: People try to make a difference.

KNOT: How?

MELISSA: By voting, writing congress members, marching in the streets--

KNOT: Hah! A lot of good that does.

MELISSA: We're better off now than we were in the past.

KNOT: How do you know that? Do you live in the past?

MELISSA: No. I live in the present. But I've learned from the past and I plan for the future. As you should.

KNOT: I planned. I planned on this day as the last day of the rest of my life. Say--why don't you join me; sit here beside me? We can jump together.

MELISSA: No, thanks, I have a lot to live for.

KNOT: What? Trouble with your family? An oft broken heart? A deadend job? Too little time to enjoy life? An aging body? Fear of disease--disaster, or a violent death? What?

MELISSA: You should talk. Splattering yourself all over the sidewalk seems violent to me.

KNOT: True--but at least I can choose my death. And it'll be quick.

MELISSA: How do you know? As I said, you're up only two....

KNOT: I'll make sure to land on my head.

MELISSA: How will you do that? You might tumble crazily like a drunken marionette.

KNOT: I'll do a swan dive.

MELISSA: But you could easily lose control and flip over, land on your ass.

KNOT: I'm a good diver. I would calculate the trajectory and the rate of descent, adjusting the aerial position of my body for balance and windage. I would land headfirst like entering the deep end of a pool

MELISSA: Except there's no water in that pool, unless it rains a lot, but it won't, 'cause it's summer. And it's not a pool anyway but a hard, flat, bone-crushing horizontal surface.

KNOT: You really aren't much of a negotiator, are you?

MELISSA: I told you I wasn't.

KNOT: Yes, you did.

MELISSA: Uh-huh.

KNOT: What's the matter? You bored?

MELISSA: Just thinking.

KNOT: About what?

MELISSA: What you said about my life.

KNOT: I didn't mean to make you sad.

MELISSA: Well, you did.

KNOT: I was only puking words--the way everyone does. They meant nothing.

MELISSA: Maybe my life means nothing to you, but it means something to me.

KNOT: Of course it does.

MELISSA: I've been having a lot of trouble lately.

KNOT: Come. Sit beside me and tell me all about it.

MELISSA: I'm afraid of falling.

KNOT: I won't let you fall.

MELISSA: I'm afraid of heights.

KNOT: As you told me, we're up only two storeys. Take my hand and close your eyes.

MELISSA: How do I know I can trust you?

KNOT: You have my word.

MELISSA: How do I know I can trust your word?

KNOT: You don't unless you try me.

MELISSA: You could grab me and throw me off the ledge.

KNOT: Look--this is going to be a suicide, not a homicide. I want oblivion, not prison.

MELISSA: You know they'll probably arrest you if you don't jump.

KNOT: I know. And attempted suicide is a crime, so they'll probably execute me.

MELISSA: No. I don't believe that. You're kidding.

KNOT: Yeah, I'm trying to lighten the mood, so you'll relax. Here--take my hand. There--that's it. Now sit. I've got you. Don't worry. Good. Now, you're safe beside me. Let your feet dangle. Imagine you're sitting on the edge of a beautiful pond with your toes dallying in reflected stars.

MELISSA: You make it sound like heaven.

KNOT: Do I? I've no idea of heaven. Never heard from anybody who's been there. Have you?

MELISSA: Of course not. Stop teasing me.

KNOT: Anyway, I won't be going to heaven if I jump. They don't take suicides.

MELISSA: How do you know?

KNOT: I heard somewhere. Come closer.

MELISSA: I'm close enough. God! What am I doing? Sitting next to a stranger on a ledge twenty feet above the street, chatting about eternity. I don't even know your name.

KNOT: Knot.

MELISSA: What?

KNOT: My name's Knot.

MELISSA: Nut?

KNOT: Knot.

MELISSA: Like no?

KNOT: No, like Knot. K-N-O-T.

MELISSA: Oh, Knot. That's a strange name. A stranger with a strange name.

KNOT: It's short for Knottingham.

MELISSA: So that's your last name.

KNOT: No, my first. See--you're laughing. Now you know one reason I want to kill myself.

MELISSA: I'm sorry. I couldn't help thinking of....

KNOT: Robin Hood and his merry men.

MELISSA: Yes.

KNOT: That's only one of the jokes, jibes, teases, and taunts I've suffered all my life.

MELISSA: You could've changed it.

KNOT: No, I couldn't. Coming from a long line of Knottinghams, I'm expected to carry the name proudly--till I die.

MELISSA: Wait. You're last name is Knottingham? Or your first?

KNOT: Both.

MELISSA: Both!

KNOT: Knottingham P. Knottingham--the Fourth. See--you're laughing again.

MELISSA: I'm so sorry but....

KNOT: I know it's funny to you and to most everyone else in the world, but not to me.

MELISSA: Of course not. I shouldn't have laughed, especially when you're on this ledge.

KNOT: Yeah, and don't forget you're here too. I could push you off, and you wouldn't be laughing on the way down. Oh, but don't worry. You don't have to move away. I told you--I'm here to kill myself, not someone else.

Come closer. I'm not angry. I'm used to the abuse. So--tell me your name.

MELISSA: Melissa. And I really am sorry for making fun of your name.

KNOT: You mean Knottingham?

MELISSA: Oh, dear!

KNOT: I knew you'd laugh again.

MELISSA: I can't seem to control myself. Maybe it's the situation. Pretty stressful up here, you know. You'll have to forgive me.

KNOT: Nothing to forgive. I know you didn't intend to hurt my feelings. You've been trying to save my life.

MELISSA: Yes, I have. And now that I know you a little, I care even more that you don't jump.

KNOT: We could jump together.

MELISSA: What?

KNOT: Like lovers.

MELISSA: Are you kidding?

KNOT: We'd sure please the crowd.

MELISSA: You must be crazy.

KNOT: I thought you cared about me.

MELISSA: Certainly not enough to kill myself with you.

KNOT: Maybe if we were only one storey up--would you jump then? It would be romantic.

MELISSA: Romantic!

KNOT: What if they set up a net to catch us? Then we wouldn't get hurt but we'd share the thrill.

MELISSA: Thrill!

KNOT: Joy?

MELISSA: Terror!

KNOT: Shhh! Say that too loud enough and they'll arrest us. You know how things are these days.

MELISSA: Maybe I should scream.

KNOT: Why would you scream, Melissa? I'm not hurting you.

MELISSA: Not yet.

KNOT: You don't trust Knottingham P. Knottingham the Fourth.

MELISSA: I think Knottingham P. Knottingham the Fourth may be out of his mind.

KNOT: Don't say that.

MELISSA: Why not? I'm thinking it.

KNOT: You shouldn't always say what you think. For instance, if I were to utter what's on my mind now, you'd slap my face. Ouch! You must be able to read minds.

MELISSA: Sorry. But I had to do that to snap you of it.

KNOT: Well, it hurt. You didn't have to do that. And you didn't have to join me on this ledge and you didn't have to....

MELISSA: I didn't want to join you, Knot. I only wanted to save you. Now, I'm not sure I should've bothered.

KNOT: Humph! We have a little tiff, and you don't like me anymore. Just as I expected. Exactly the reason I'm here. I may as well dive into a better world.

MELISSA: No. It could be worse.

KNOT: What could be worse?

MELISSA: The next world.

KNOT: I doubt it.

MELISSA: It could be hell.

KNOT: Hah! I've already been there. It couldn't be worse than this. Besides, I won't know what happens. I'll fall into oblivion.

MELISSA: You won't know anything?

KNOT: No.

MELISSA: No paradise?

KNOT: No.

MELISSA: No eternal life?

KNOT: No.

MELISSA: No rebirth?

KNOT: No.

MELISSA: No damnation?

KNOT: No.

MELISSA: No fire and brimstone?

KNOT: No.

MELISSA: No eternal misery?

KNOT: No.

MELISSA: Only oblivion.

KNOT: Yes.

MELISSA: Forever.

KNOT: Yes.

MELISSA: How can you be so sure?

KNOT: What else could it be? We're not the god-blessed creatures we think we are. We're breathing, puking, crapping, bleeding animals like all the others.

MELISSA: But we have souls.

KNOT: Hah! I suppose you believe in ghosts too.

MELISSA: No, but I do believe in the human spirit.

KNOT: A fantasy of imagination. Besides, infesting the planet, destroying beauty and life, that's all we do--fantasize.

MELISSA: We have created beauty and life too.

KNOT: Ha-hah! Compared to the ugly devastation we've caused, that's nothing more than a wilted flower in a tank of sewage.

MELISSA: God, you're bitter. No wonder you want to dive off this building. If I listen to you much longer, I'll feel like it too.

KNOT: Good. We can go together, holding hands, hit the ground at the same time, maybe hug and even kiss on the way down.

MELISSA: Now, who's fantasizing? Besides, we wouldn't have time, this close to the street.

KNOT: Let's find a higher ledge then, from where we can really do it well. Entertain all the bloodthirsty monsters down there waiting for a good show.

MELISSA: I think my sitting here was a bad idea.

KNOT: If you leave, I'll jump.

MELISSA: That's not fair.

KNOT: You committed yourself.

MELISSA: Take your hand off me.

KNOT: I can't.

MELISSA: You put it there, you can take it off.

KNOT: We're bonded.

MELISSA: Do I have to fight you?

KNOT: Careful--you'll fall.

MELISSA: See--you made me slip.

KNOT: Stop struggling. I'll let you go if you stop struggling and promise to stay with me.

MELISSA: Okay.

KNOT: Promise?

MELISSA: I promise.

KNOT: Swear on your mother's grave.

MELISSA: My mother's still alive.

KNOT: Your father's then.

MELISSA: He's alive too. What made you think they were dead?

KNOT: You look like a person who has lost someone.

MELISSA: We've all lost someone.

KNOT: True. What about your grandmother's grave?

MELISSA: My grandparents are alive too.

KNOT: Both sets?

MELISSA: Uh-huh.

KNOT: How about your great-grandparents? One of them must be dead.

MELISSA: Nope.

KNOT: You're kidding!

MELISSA: Yep!

KNOT: Huh? Oh, you little devil--teasing me like that--

MELISSA: But one of them really is still alive.

KNOT: Who?

MELISSA: My great-grandmother.

KNOT: Paternal?

MELISSA: Maternal.

KNOT: You have good genes, Melissa.

MELISSA: I'm lucky.

KNOT: Let's mate.

MELISSA: What?

KNOT: Let's reproduce.

MELISSA: You are crazy.

KNOT: We can revitalize the stock.

MELISSA: We? If I do any revitalizing, it won't be with a man who wants to dive off a building.

KNOT: If I dive and survive, will you marry me?

MELISSA: Of course not. Besides, as I said, you'd probably be crippled for life. I don't want to marry a cripple.

KNOT: That's cruel. Many good people are crippled.

MELISSA: I wasn't referring to good cripples. I was talking about people like you--crippled in mind, in spirit.

KNOT: I wasn't always like this.

MELISSA: I know, once you were a sweet, innocent baby.

KNOT: I was.

MELISSA: What happened?

KNOT: People.

MELISSA: People.

KNOT: Sartre was right. Hell is other people.

MELISSA: Other people. And you have nothing to do with it.

KNOT: All right. Hell is all people.

MELISSA: Isn't that a tiny bit of a generality?

KNOT: One can generalize about truth.

MELISSA: But you yourself spoke of exceptions.

KNOT: They only prove the rule.

MELISSA: This is depressing. You're depressing.

KNOT: Makes you want to take a dive, doesn't it?

MELISSA: No. But it makes me want to get up and leave and forget all about you.

KNOT: You'll never forget me, especially if I jump.

MELISSA: I wish you wouldn't but I guess I can't stop you.

KNOT: You could marry me.

MELISSA: We've been through that, and it's ridiculous.

KNOT: Your love would save me.

MELISSA: I'm sorry but I don't love you.

KNOT: You could learn to love me.

MELISSA: I need to learn to mind my own business.

KNOT: You involved yourself in my life--and death. I'll always be grateful, well, at least till I slam into that concrete down there.

MELISSA: Your bones snapping like twigs.

KNOT: My head smashing like a melon.

MELISSA: A watermelon.

KNOT: I prefer cantaloupe.

MELISSA: A cantaloupe wouldn't burst properly.

KNOT: Watermelons are too big and oblong to be like my head.

MELISSA: Some are small and round. And the inside is red like blood.

KNOT: Brain matter is not very bloody.

MELISSA: How do you know?

KNOT: I must have seen it on TV.

MELISSA: Whatever kind of melon, you'd be in bad shape.

KNOT: Not if I land in a way that none of my vital organs got damaged.

MELISSA: You really think you could do that?

KNOT: Sure. I told you I'm a good diver.

MELISSA: You're not only crazy, you're stupid.

KNOT: Want me to show you?

MELISSA: Huh?

KNOT: You want me to show you how well I can dive?

MELISSA: Sure. Hey! Sit down. I meant into a pool.

KNOT: Pretend the street's a pool.

MELISSA: Come on, sit down. Please.

KNOT: See--you've got to position yourself just right for the take off. Bend slightly at the knees. Leap off, up, and out--

MELISSA: Stop!

KNOT: Let go of me. You'll ruin my form.

MELISSA: Form! You're trying to kill yourself and you're worried about form?

KNOT: Form is everything in a good dive.

MELISSA: Yeah, if you're in the Olympics or something, but you're....

KNOT: Watch--

MELISSA: Knot! Don't--

KNOT: You remembered my name.

MELISSA: How can I ever forget it?

KNOT: So you do care about me.

MELISSA: I care that you don't kill yourself.

KNOT: You want me to live.

MELISSA: Yes.

KNOT: You love me.

MELISSA: No. I mean--

KNOT: You don't love me. You don't really care about me. You just want to save me so you can be a hero. So everyone will admire you. So you can be famous. I get arrested for attempted suicide. Disgraced for the rest of my life. People treat me like a weirdo. Keeping their distance for fear I'll kill myself in front of them. Reeking with pity. Meanwhile, you get yourself in the paper, on the local news, probably an official award for service to your fellow man. Well, maybe I'm going to deny you all that attention, Melissa. Maybe I'll keep it for myself--when for two or three moments I'll be an amazement in the eyes of millions of people. And for several minutes, I'll be on their lips. And for a few hours, I'll be on their minds. And those who witness my dive will never forget the image of me arcing through the smoggy air. I'll be immortal.

MELISSA: And you'll be dead or badly injured at best.

KNOT: It's time to put the outcome to the test. Will I die, live in maimed misery, or walk away to dive another day?

MELISSA: Sit down! You'll fall.

KNOT: How ironic that would be. My limbs sprawling, my body twisting and tumbling crazily, smashing into the pavement, my life oozing out of a crumpled heap of flesh and bone.

MELISSA: That's the horrible picture I see, too. And I can't stand it.

KNOT: So save me.

MELISSA: I'm trying to....

KNOT: Well, you better hurry. Police, fire, and rescue are moving closer. And the spectators are growing restless with impatience.

MELISSA: Don't give them the satisfaction of their blood lust.

KNOT: Speaking of lust, you're quite alluring, you know.

MELISSA: Think so. Oh, stop. I'm not going to fall for a line of....

KNOT: Tell you what. I promise I'll give up on death now, if you promise to couple with me.

MELISSA: Couple.

KNOT: Yes, do the beast with two backs, the two-headed monster, the old up and down, humpty-pumpty, the Tijuana Tango, the horizontal rumba, wrestling with the....

MELISSA: Okay, okay--I get it.

KNOT: Then you will?

MELISSA: No.

KNOT: Goodbye.

MELISSA: Goodbye.

KNOT: You mean it?

MELISSA: Yes. You want to jump--go ahead.

KNOT: If you say so--

MELISSA: What are you waiting for?

KNOT: The right gust of wind.

MELISSA: Why? You think you're going to fly?

KNOT: For a while.

MELISSA: For a speck of a second.

KNOT: For a nanosecond.

MELISSA: If that long.

KNOT: Good enough. I've always dreamed of flying.

MELISSA: Please step back from the edge.

KNOT: The cops are closing in--I have to go. Bye.

MELISSA: Wait! Okay! I'll go out with you. Only step back from the edge. Please!

KNOT: You mean it?

MELISSA: Yes.

KNOT: You sure?

MELISSA: Yes.

KNOT: And you'll marry me?

MELISSA: I said I'll go out with you.

KNOT: Then will you marry me?

MELISSA: Maybe.

KNOT: You love me?

MELISSA: Someday perhaps.

KNOT: I don't believe you.

MELISSA: What have you got to lose by believing me?

KNOT: My heart.

MELISSA: As opposed to your whole life, if you jump.

KNOT: Dive.

MELISSA: Dive. As opposed to your whole life, if you dive. Just take my hand.

KNOT: In marriage?

MELISSA: In safety.

KNOT: I don't trust you.

MELISSA: Whom else can you trust? The cops?

KNOT: Myself. I can trust myself to dive or not to dive.

MELISSA: That's the choice, isn't it?

KNOT: Here goes--

MELISSA: Stop!

KNOT: You keep breaking my concentration. I want to make a spectacular flight.

MELISSA: Your landing will be more spectacular.

KNOT: Just watch--

MELISSA: I can't watch.

KNOT: Then you'll see it on the nightly news.

MELISSA: I'll see it in my mind for the rest of my life.

KNOT: Then dive with me--a dive de deux.

MELISSA: A dive de dope.

KNOT: See--you're like everyone else. You mock me to feel superior.

MELISSA: Then don't talk stupidly.

KNOT: Don't be so arrogant.

MELISSA: Look, we're arguing already, and you want to get married.

KNOT: So, will you marry me?

MELISSA: I--

KNOT: To save my life.

MELISSA: Uh--

KNOT: Because you love me and want me to live, right?

MELISSA: I just don't want you to kill yourself.

KNOT: Because you care about me, right?

MELISSA: Yes. I care about you and those people down there and the cops in the windows and anyone else struggling to live in this world.

KNOT: You're beautiful.

MELISSA: I don't believe you.

KNOT: See.

MELISSA: What?

KNOT: Now you know how I feel.

MELISSA: It's not the same.

KNOT: Why? Because you know you're beautiful?

MELISSA: I'm not beautiful.

KNOT: Okay. You're pretty.

MELISSA: I guess I'm a little pretty.

KNOT: You're a lot pretty.

MELISSA: Thanks for saying so, I guess.

KNOT: Now will you marry me?

MELISSA: No. I'll only save you. Then you're on your own.

KNOT: But I've been courting you all this time when I could have taken flight.

MELISSA: Look, why don't you come away from that ledge, go with me, and we'll continue our discussion over coffee.

KNOT: I don't like coffee. Besides, you only want to deliver me to the cops.

MELISSA: How about tea? Do you like tea?

KNOT: Yes.

MELISSA: Then we'll have tea. Come on, Knot. Come with me.

KNOT: I'd love too.

MELISSA: Then do it. Turn around. Take my hand, and we'll....

KNOT: Join in wedlock?

MELISSA: Have coffee.

KNOT: Tea.

MELISSA: Tea.

KNOT (singing): "Come to-ge-ther...."

MELISSA: Don't be nasty.

KNOT: It's only natural.

MELISSA: Just because I'm here talking to you doesn't mean you can be rude.

KNOT: Nude.

MELISSA: Lewd.

KNOT: Wooed.

MELISSA: Crude.

KNOT: I'm running out of rhymes.

MELISSA: I'm running out patience, and you're running out of time.

KNOT: The sun is setting.

MELISSA: Yes.

KNOT: Look how the mountains silhouette against the rosy light of the cloud-dappled sky.

MELISSA: Beautiful.

KNOT: Makes me want to fly.

MELISSA: Me too.

KNOT: Soar like an eagle.

MELISSA: That's the spirit.

KNOT: You believe in spirits?

MELISSA: I was only....

KNOT: I know--you were only being positive, boosting my morale, trying to save my life.

MELISSA: Well, yes.

KNOT: Save it for what? More misery and pain? More struggle and strife?

MELISSA: Life is strife.

KNOT: Cute.

MELISSA: Striving to achieve excellence.

KNOT: That's a truckload of crap. No one cares about excellence, except as one thinks others perceive it in oneself. We all live for a single purpose--personal aggrandizement.

MELISSA: Personal aggrandizement.

KNOT: Yes.

MELISSA: Then why kill yourself?

KNOT: Hah! That's the ultimate in selfishness. For a few seconds I'll be a star and if I could find a way to survive the fall uninjured, I could be rich and famous. The new Houdini.

MELISSA: So that's what it's all about--a grandstand play for attention.

KNOT: Sure. Why not? We all do the same in our own ways. Some mug for the camera. Some run around a playing field. Others murder a lot of people. A few, more and more, jump from high places. One way or another we're all pushing for the spotlight. You too.

MELISSA: I--

KNOT: You think you'll be more important to others by saving my life. You don't really care about me or anyone else.

MELISSA: You don't know what or whom I care about.

KNOT: Well, whatever or whomever, it all reflects on you.

MELISSA: I care about people and I expect them to care about themselves--not take the cowardly way out of trouble.

KNOT: Oh, so now I'm a coward.

MELISSA: Well, yes. Yes, you are--if you kill yourself.

KNOT: You think it takes no courage to jump?

MELISSA: No. Only morbid desperation.

KNOT: Huh.

MELISSA: Did I strike a nerve, Knot?

KNOT: You struck out, Melissa. Goodbye--

MELISSA: No! Wait!

KNOT: For what? Haven't we covered all the alternatives?

MELISSA: They're endless.

KNOT: So is the eternity through which I'll sleep without dreaming.

MELISSA: If so, why not enjoy what you can of temporaneity while you can.

KNOT: Temporaneity?

MELISSA: Yes.

KNOT: Is that a word?

MELISSA: Uh-huh.

KNOT: I don't think it's a word. I think you made it up, just like the so-called happiness of this world. A false, phony, fantasy.

MELISSA: Maybe so, but it's all we have to go on--for now.

KNOT: I'll take eternity.

MELISSA: No, don't--

KNOT: I like it when you hold me.

MELISSA: Promise not to jump?

KNOT: No.

MELISSA: Well, I can't hold you forever.

KNOT: If we jump together, you can.

MELISSA: We're not going to jump together.

KNOT: Then you have to hold me from now on.

MELISSA: I couldn't do that if I wanted to.

KNOT: To have and to hold, till death do we part.

MELISSA: That's figurative language. It means....

KNOT: It means what it says or it means nothing. Look--are you going to hold me or not?

MELISSA: Uh--

KNOT: Well?

MELISSA: I'm thinking.

KNOT: Think with your heart.

MELISSA: I'd rather use my brain or even my gut than my heart. It's gotten me into a lot of trouble.

KNOT: Unlucky in love?

MELISSA: That's none of your business. But look at the mess I'm in now, thanks to my heart.

KNOT: You have a big one.

MELISSA: Too big for my own good.

KNOT: Not for mine. I can feel yours beating. Soothes me. Makes me feel safe.

MELISSA: Safe enough to go on living?

KNOT: As long as I can keep feeling its reassuring rhythm.

MELISSA: And when it finally stops?

KNOT: Then mine stops too.

MELISSA: You need me too much.

KNOT: Just your heart.

MELISSA: What about my mind, my soul?

KNOT: They're good too. So's your body.

MELISSA: I think I'd better let you go.

KNOT: To jump?

MELISSA: No!

KNOT: Then don't let me go.

MELISSA: You've trapped me.

KNOT: I've caught you.

MELISSA: It's not fair.

KNOT: All's fair in....

MELISSA: Don't give me that! And don't get familiar.

KNOT: I'm happy with your heartbeat. Can you feel mine?

MELISSA: Uh-huh. But I don't usually let strangers this close.

KNOT: How do you like it, Melissa?

MELISSA: Not bad--as long as you don't....

KNOT: I won't.

MELISSA: What are they screaming down there?

KNOT: They're cheering us.

MELISSA: Oh, sure.

KNOT: They know lovers when they see them.

MELISSA: Well, you don't.

KNOT: Don't let go. You won't let me go, will you?

MELISSA: Promise you won't jump. I can't hold you forever.

KNOT: Yes, you can. To have and to hold....

MELISSA: Stop going in circles.

KNOT: How about up and down?

MELISSA: I told you to keep it clean.

KNOT: I'm not entirely in control of my actions.

MELISSA: How can you respond that way in such a dire situation?

KNOT: The situation is not dire--nothing to it.

MELISSA: You're actually enjoying this, aren't you, Knot?

KNOT: Aren't you?

MELISSA: No. Let's change position.

KNOT: Don't fall now. This is my show.

MELISSA: Well, the show's over, mister.

KNOT: Not quite. We need a climax.

MELISSA: You'll have to climax alone.

KNOT: But you're my leading lady.

MELISSA: And you're the star alone at the top.

KNOT: Yeah--since I conceived, produced, directed, and acted it, till you came along.

MELISSA: Well, this is my exit.

KNOT: Wait! Don't you want to see how it ends?

MELISSA: This play seems endless.

KNOT: For me it isn't. Watch--

MELISSA: Wait! I can't let you go now.

KNOT: Why not?

MELISSA: Because, well, I know you.

KNOT: So anonymity would have permitted my death?

MELISSA: Something like that.

KNOT: And now you'll never forget me. You said so yourself.

MELISSA: Sadly.

KNOT: Will I be that unpleasant a memory?

MELISSA: Yes.

KNOT: Then I guess I shouldn't jump. You'll think of me fondly then.

MELISSA: Well, I don't....

KNOT: Take my hand.

MELISSA: You sure you won't....

KNOT: Sure. My diving day is over.

MELISSA: I'm so glad to hear that.

KNOT: But you owe me.

MELISSA: I owe you!

KNOT: For saving my life.

MELISSA: Somehow, I think it should be the other way round.

KNOT: When one saves ones life, the saver is responsible for the well-being of the saved for the rest of their lives. I learned that in a movie.

MELISSA: So, I can only escape that responsibility if you jump.

KNOT: No, you'd be responsible for not stopping me.

MELISSA: Damned if I do and damned if I don't.

KNOT: No. Blessed--now that I'm going to live.

MELISSA: Well, I'm certainly not blessed.

KNOT: I don't want you to be holy, just....

MELISSA: Don't say it. It's not that way between us.

KNOT: Okay. I'm happy with the bond we have.

MELISSA: Bond? What bond?

KNOT: The bond of life I told you about. What other bond could there be--besides matrimony?

MELISSA: I don't....

KNOT: But I do.

MELISSA: You can let go of my hand, Knot, now that you're safe.

KNOT: I don't want to let go, Melissa.

MELISSA: The police are coming. You have to let go of me.

KNOT: For now?

MELISSA: For now.

(Lights down.)

(Curtain.)

GARDEN OF DELIGHTS

One Scene

Characters

ADAM

EVE

CAIN

ABEL

EVE: Get off me, Adam!

ADAM: Not till I get off in you.

EVE: That's not funny. I'm sick of this humping and pumping all the time.

ADAM: But we're supposed to do it, Eve.

EVE: Says who?

ADAM: Says God.

EVE: What did He say?

ADAM: He said, "Be fruitful and multiply."

EVE: Of course he would say that. He's just like you.

ADAM: Actually, I'm just like Him.

EVE: Same difference.

ADAM: Don't be smug, Eve. I don't like it when you're smug.

EVE: I think you like nothing about me but my body.

ADAM: I like your hair.

EVE: That's part of my body.

ADAM: I wish you'd cut it, though.

EVE: I thought you like it long.

ADAM: I do, but no so long it hides your--

EVE: Hides my what?

ADAM: Your features.

EVE: My features! No, it doesn't. It falls like this--down the sides of my face--off my cheekbones.

ADAM: Yes, but it hides your, your other features.

EVE: My other--oh, you mean these.

ADAM: Yes, except when you walk fast, run, or bend over.

EVE: See! That's all you think about. You should be ashamed for being so pre-occupied with sex.

ADAM: I have no shame.

EVE: You certainly don't.

ADAM: I mean I don't have to be ashamed. I'm innocent. So are you. That is, unless you've partaken of the tree. Come to think of it, you have been acting strangely. Have you partaken of the tree, Eve?

EVE: What tree?

ADAM: You know. The one there--in the middle of that open space with all the grass.

EVE: You mean the one in the meadow?

ADAM: Yes, that solitary tree in the meadow--the one like none others in the world.

EVE: What do you know about the world, Adam?

ADAM: I've seen enough to know to stay away from that tree.

EVE: Have you been to the eastern edge of the world?

ADAM: Yes. Haven't you?

EVE: No. I've been content to stay here--till now.

ADAM: So have I but I wanted to see what lies beyond. Speaking of lying. Why don't you lie down and let me finish.

EVE: Is that a question, a request, or a command?

ADAM: None. I'm just following orders.

EVE: You've fulfilled your duty for today, Adam. Besides, we've already been fruitful and multiplied.

ADAM: Two times two does not make many, Eve.

EVE: Well, two are enough for me for now.

ADAM: We'll never be able to compete with the others if we don't have more children.

EVE: What others?

ADAM: The other animals.

EVE: We don't have to compete with them.

ADAM: Of course we do.

EVE: And what makes you think we're animals?

ADAM: We're just like them. We eat, piss, shit, fuck, and sleep just as they do.

EVE: We're not like them. And there's plenty for all of us anyway. More than we could eat in a million suns.

ADAM: All I know is what I see. And I see the others reproducing lots of themselves. Like those little furry ones with the long tails.

EVE: Maybe they don't live long and need more replacements.

ADAM: True. We don't seem to be getting much older. But I would like more children. Two simply does not seem respectable in His eyes.

EVE: If you were the one carrying them, birthing them, nursing them, and chasing after them, Adam, you would not be so eager to have more. The two we have drive me crazy, as it is, what with all their squabbling about whom God favors. I tell you there's going to trouble between those two, Adam. And you want more children! Why not more butterflies? They don't cause any trouble. And they're so beautiful.

ADAM: Everything is beautiful around here, Eve. But He didn't create us only to enjoy ourselves. He created us to....

EVE: I know, I know. Be fruitful and multiply. I've heard that refrain too often. It's becoming obsessive. And you're becoming compulsive. You need a distraction, Adam. A hobby or something. You just sit around all day eating fruit and fondling me. I'm tired of it. I want more out of life than eating, fucking, sleeping, fucking, eating, fucking, eating, fucking, and sleeping day after day after day. There must be more to life than this.

ADAM: Life is living. What more should there be?

EVE: Don't be flippant. I don't like it when you're flippant. I want to know things.

ADAM: Shhh! He'll hear you.

EVE: Of course he will. He's omnipotent, omniscient, and omnipresent. Remember? I think it so I may as well say it.

ADAM: You'll get us in trouble, Eve. Don't forget what happened when I stepped too close to that tree.

EVE: You were curious and I admired you for it, Adam.

ADAM: My curiosity nearly killed us.

EVE: Hah! He'd never destroy His precious pets.

ADAM: Are you kidding?! I thought He was going to destroy the whole world with that storm. I'd never seen such an event with such fiery violence in the sky, such driving wind, and hammering rain. It was such a tremendous change from the blue cloudless skies and comfortable constant temperature we have here every day.

EVE: Yes, and I'm sick of that too.

ADAM: How could you be sick of perfect pleasure?

EVE: No challenge, Adam. Isn't that why you approached the tree?

ADAM: I told you. That was simple curiosity.

EVE: Well, I'm not satisfied.

ADAM: You're never satisfied.

EVE: That's not what I mean. You always reduce everything to sex. I wonder if that's just the way you are, or if all men are going to be that way. I sure hope the boys don't grow up to be like that. Cain already acts like you.

ADAM: Yes, and Abel acts like you. I wish he'd play more and put less time into fooling around with the sacrificial altar.

EVE: He's very creative.

ADAM: And sensitive. Too sensitive. Yesterday Cain yelled at him about some little thing, and Abel started crying like a baby.

EVE: I thought he was laughing.

ADAM: He was crying.

EVE: Well, Cain is mean to him.

ADAM: The boy should stand up for himself.

EVE: He's younger, smaller, and weaker. The spiritual type. Cain is more physical. He acts and reacts without thinking. Abel is more thoughtful and kind and....

ADAM: All right! All right! I'll talk to Cain about it. But I doubt it'll do much good. The boy is headstrong. He'll probably go far someday.

EVE: Speaking of adventure, I think I'll take a walk to that meadow, get a closer look at that tree, and see what's so special about it.

ADAM: I wouldn't do that if I were you, Eve. You know what He can do.

EVE: I only want to have a look.

ADAM: Go near it and you'll cause another big storm.

EVE: Tell you what--I'll approach it very slowly. As soon as I detect a change in the weather, I'll back off. How about that?

ADAM: I don't know, Eve--

EVE: Come with me, Adam. It'll be fun.

ADAM: Fun! You have a scary idea of fun.

EVE: There. Look at it. It's a beautiful tree full of luscious fruit. How could it be harmful just to look at it?

ADAM: As long as we keep our distance, maybe--

EVE: Of course. No harm in looking. Let's get closer to see better.

ADAM: I don't know--

EVE: Look at the gorgeous shape of that tree, how big and shiny its leaves, the broad shade it casts.

ADAM: It is a magnificent specimen.

EVE: And look at that fruit--big, red, and glistening in the sunlight. I've never seen fruit like that.

ADAM: It does look delicious.

EVE: I wonder why He told us not to eat such glorious fruit.

ADAM: Knowledge.

EVE: Knowledge?

ADAM: Knowledge of good and evil. Remember?

EVE: Evil. I wonder what he means by that.

ADAM: Probably opposites.

EVE: I know that, Adam. It's just that I've never seen anything here but goodness. Oh, some of the animals fight and kill each other, but that seems to be their way of life--like the seasons, things growing and dying. And new life always arises from the old.

ADAM: I see what you mean, but God obviously knows something we don't.

EVE: Of course, since he knows everything. But He's not telling, is He?

ADAM: It's a secret.

EVE: A mystery.

ADAM: That fruit sure looks luscious--a lot like your....

EVE: Adam, please--let's have at least one discussion without you turning it into sex.

ADAM: I'm only....

EVE: I know. I know. But this could be important, maybe more important than sex.

ADAM: Nothing is more important than sex, except food.

EVE: Well? How do you know it's not so important unless we try to discover it? Besides, that tree must be very, very special for Him to keep us away from it all the time.

ADAM: True. But I don't know why we both have to find out? Do it alone if you're so curious.

EVE: What happened to yours?

ADAM: My what?

EVE: Your curiosity.

ADAM: That storm blew it away.

EVE: Oh, he was just throwing a tantrum.

ADAM: Well, that tantrum knocked the tops off the mountains, set fire to groves of trees, and flooded our home.

EVE: Yes, but He got over it, didn't He? And things are back to normal, aren't they? No harm done.

ADAM: Okay. You're so brave. You go first.

EVE: I thought you were the adventurous one.

ADAM: I thought you were the cautious one.

EVE: We make a good team.

ADAM: I'd rather just be a good couple. This isn't a game.

EVE: But I have an irresistible urge to know things.

ADAM: So do I, but that urge could get us into a lot of trouble, Eve.

EVE: I can't help it.

ADAM: Don't we know enough right here and now? We have everything we want. We're always happy and content. We have each other and two fine children.

EVE: I just can't stop wondering what's so special about that tree. It seems perfectly normal. Except for its extraordinary beauty, it's like any other tree. And look how the other animals enjoy it. Butterflies flit and flutter among its shiny leaves. Birds bounce and sing on its long graceful boughs. Monkeys relish its abundant fruit. Deer munch on the fallen pieces. All kinds of animals enjoy it. Why shouldn't we?

ADAM: You know the reason. I've told. He's told you. Now let's go see what the boys are doing.

EVE: Look at that, Adam! One of the monkeys knocked a big piece of fruit off the tree. What if I run over there, pick it up, and bring it back without touching the tree?

ADAM: Don't be crazy.

EVE: I just want to see it up close.

ADAM: You can see it from here. Now, let's get out of here before He--Eve! Stop! He'll see you!

EVE: Don't worry, Adam. It'll be all right. See. I have it.

ADAM: Eve!

EVE: Here it is, Adam. And I didn't cause the slightest disturbance. See--the blue sky, the bright sunshine, the balmy breeze. Same as always. He doesn't seem to care.

ADAM: Eve--

EVE: Just look at this big beauty! Have you ever seen such a lovely fruit? And get a whiff of that aroma. It makes me giddy.

ADAM: Eve--is that a snake following you?

EVE: Oh, yes, it is! I like snakes. And that one is particularly interesting, isn't it? Look how big and long and muscular it is, like a great golden vine slipping through the grass, the mosaic of patterns on its back glistening, its

green eyes flashing like jewels. Look! It's coming right up to me. I bet it wants this apple.

ADAM: Or you. It's big enough to eat you.

EVE: Oh, don't be silly. You know nothing eats us.

ADAM: Nothing we've seen yet.

EVE: God wouldn't let that happen to his precious playthings.

ADAM: We're not playthings. I'm a man and you're a woman. He created me in His image and you out of....

EVE: Yes, Adam, I know the story. And if you ask me, it's a load of bull.

ADAM: That's blasphemy, Eve! You seem determined to get us into all kinds of trouble.

EVE: Well, do you see a storm coming? I don't. I see only the same old same old. Sometimes I feel so completely comfortable I could scream. Another storm could be a welcome relief from all this God-blessed perfection.

ADAM: The rain was refreshing, wasn't it? If the wind had not blown so fiercely, the clouds not exploded so violently, and the flood not nearly drowned us, I might have enjoyed it.

EVE: Look at this snake, Adam. It's coiling around my feet.

ADAM: Careful. I've seen one of those things squeeze the life out of a full-grown pig and swallow it whole.

EVE: Maybe it's not hungry right now. It almost looks like it wants to say something to me.

ADAM: Too bad you don't speak snake.

EVE: I'm serious, Adam. You know how the other animals ignore us, as if we didn't exist. Well, this one keeps staring at me, as if I were the most important thing in life.

ADAM: Yes, food.

EVE: It appears to have something else on its mind.

ADAM: I know how it feels.

EVE: Don't be nasty, Adam.

ADAM: I'm only....

EVE: Well, stop what you only do for once and let's see what this animal wants.

ADAM: Maybe it wants the fruit in your hand.

EVE: I've never seen one eat any kind of fruit. Have you?

ADAM: No, but that doesn't mean anything. Snakes are secretive.

EVE: Not this one. It's right in my face. Here, take the fruit. If it wants it, it'll go to you.

ADAM: Why didn't you warn me you were going to throw it?

EVE: I wanted to see the snake's reaction.

ADAM: This is indeed a fine piece of fruit. Like nothing I've seen around here. Smells good, too. Must be perfectly ripe. I wonder how it tastes. Delicious, I bet.

EVE: See, Adam.

ADAM: See what?

EVE: Look at the snake. It's watching you. Now it's moving toward you. Maybe it does want the fruit.

ADAM: I wouldn't be surprised. Anyone would want this luscious-looking piece of fruit.

EVE: What are you doing, Adam?

ADAM: Nothing.

EVE: Did you lick it?

ADAM: I accidentally brushed it against my lips while I was sniffing it.

EVE: Aren't you worried God will rain a terrible storm on your head?

ADAM: No sign of bad weather yet.

EVE: Look, Adam, the snake stopped right next to you, watching. What a friendly animal! Give it the fruit.

ADAM: No.

EVE: Just to see if that's really what it wants.

ADAM: No!

EVE: Don't be selfish, Adam. You have all the fruit you need.

ADAM: I want this one.

EVE: You had better not talk what way.

ADAM: Why not? We're thinking it. As you pointed out, He can read our minds.

EVE: Give the fruit to the snake, and then there won't be any trouble. I didn't hear God tell snakes to stay away from the tree.

ADAM: It would be a kind of test, wouldn't it?

EVE: Of course. We have a lot to learn here. Offer it to the snake. Just put the fruit in front of its mouth so it can sense it. They use their tongues to do that, snakes do.

ADAM: I know, Eve. I'm not as stupid as you seem to think.

EVE: I didn't say you're stupid, Adam. Only-- Oh, look! The snake wants to bite it. Let it have the fruit, Adam.

ADAM: Oh, all right.

EVE: Look, it's only holding it in its mouth and staring at you. What do you think of that?

ADAM: I think it doesn't really want to eat the fruit or it would be swallowing it by now.

EVE: See the way it keeps looking back and forth between us.

ADAM: Maybe it wants to play.

EVE: Do snakes play?

ADAM: I would if I were a snake.

EVE: I told you not to be nasty, Adam. I'm not in the mood.

ADAM: You're seldom in the mood lately.

EVE: I just have something else on my mind right now.

ADAM: Yeah, like disobeying God.

EVE: I obey Him. I haven't eaten the fruit, have I?

ADAM: No, but it sure looks edible, doesn't it?

EVE: Sure does.

ADAM: I wouldn't blame you if you took one small nibble.

EVE: I am hungry. Maybe if we don't eat the whole thing. Only tasted it--

ADAM: I'm hungry, too, so we could end up eating the whole thing.

EVE: Look, the snake seems to be offering it to me. Shall I take a bite?

ADAM: Better let me go first, Eve--in case something happens. Best we both aren't blamed.

EVE: I like your protectiveness, Adam. Makes me feel loved.

ADAM: You know I love you, Eve. You're the best woman in the world.

EVE: Of course. I'm the only woman in the world.

ADAM: Maybe not. Others could be living out there, others we haven't seen yet.

EVE: Maybe, but I doubt it. God seems focused on us alone.

ADAM: He does, doesn't He?

EVE: He's probably watching us right now. And He hasn't raised a ruckus, so you may as well take a bite.

ADAM: May as well.

EVE: Oh! The snake dropped it in front of you.

ADAM: In my lap. It sure feels smooth--like your....

EVE: Bite into it, Adam.

ADAM: Mmm! It is delicious. The best fruit I've ever tasted. Mmm! Think I'll have another bite. See any sign of bad weather yet?

EVE: Not a wisp of a cloud. Aren't you going to let me have a bite?

ADAM: Oh, sure. Sorry.

EVE: Feel any different?

ADAM: Not really. See how you feel.

EVE: Mmm! It is good. I knew it would be. Tastes like nothing I've ever known. Makes me want more.

ADAM: Sure does. Hey! Where's the snake?

EVE: I guess it slipped away. Maybe we made him hungry for pig.

ADAM: Maybe he knows something we don't. Look at those gray clouds in the distance. We angered Him, Eve. You'd better drop that thing and get away from this tree.

EVE: So let Him get mad. It isn't that big of a deal. I'm glad we did it, Adam. Makes me feel like I'm in charge of my life for once.

ADAM: Hurry, Eve! Run for cover! Head for the high ground! Run for your life!

EVE: Wait, Adam. Let's see how bad it gets.

ADAM: Are you crazy?! When I only approached that tree the first time, He nearly blew us out of this world. This time He could destroy us.

EVE: I tell you He won't hurt his pets. He loves us. Wait for me, Adam!

ADAM: Hurry!

EVE: The wind is fierce. I can't stand up against it.

ADAM: Fight it, or it will knock you down. This storm could be bigger than the first one.

EVE: The boys, Adam! We have to find the boys!

ADAM: Cain!

EVE: Abel! Children! Can you hear us?

ADAM: There, Eve, behind that big rock. Come, boys, take our hands. A big storm is coming.

EVE: Oh, my babies! You're safe. Thank God!

ADAM: Come on, Eve. We can't stay here.

EVE: Where are we going?

ADAM: I don't know, but we can't buck this wind for long. Maybe we can find shelter in those mountains. Maybe a cave.

EVE: But we don't know that place, Adam. That's a strange land.

ADAM: Yes, it.

EVE: I don't see any flowers or fruit trees.

ADAM: No. It looks hot and dry.

EVE: What will we eat?

ADAM: I don't know. We'll have to see what we can find. It could be damned difficult.

EVE: I've never heard you curse.

ADAM: I haven't felt the need.

EVE: Have you seen God?

ADAM: Not lately.

EVE: Maybe we should....

ADAM: He knows where we are. You know that, Eve.

EVE: Of course. I only wish we had stopped at the altar before leaving. You know, made a little sacrifice for good luck.

ADAM: We couldn't because of the wind.

EVE: The breath of God.

ADAM: When He's howling with rage.

EVE: You don't blame me, do you?

ADAM: No. But I should have stopped you from fooling around with that tree.

EVE: Well, now I know about it.

ADAM: Yes, now we know.

EVE: Feel any different?

ADAM: Yes. Something I've never felt.

EVE: Kind of self-conscious or something?

ADAM: Yes.

EVE: So do I. Weird, isn't it?

ADAM: Yes.

EVE: Did we really do anything wrong?

ADAM: Apparently.

EVE: What exactly?

ADAM: Disobedience. He hates disobedience.

EVE: We were only trying something new.

ADAM: It appears we are going to discover more that is new than we had expected. I've never seen anything like this part of the world.

EVE: Either have I. Everything is dry and brown.

ADAM: Yes.

EVE: And something else.

ADAM: What?

EVE: Dead.

ADAM: Yes.

EVE: And the wind. So strong. It never stops.

ADAM: Yes.

EVE: I want to go back home.

ADAM: So do I but I doubt we can.

EVE: I'm thirsty. The boys are complaining.

ADAM: Maybe we'll find a place to rest in that hollow in the mountain, maybe a spring, some fruit, and a place to lie down in the shade.

EVE: I hope so. I'm scared.

ADAM: So am I.

EVE: Can you carry Cain? I'll take Abel.

ADAM: Yes.

EVE: Darkness is closing around us.

ADAM: Take my hand so we stay together.

EVE: I'm shaking.

ADAM: It's cold.

EVE: I've never felt cold.

ADAM: We're in a new place.

EVE: We need to cover ourselves. And feed the boys.

ADAM: Food is not easy here.

EVE: Nothing seems easy here.

ADAM: The storm is exploding.

EVE: Is that a hole in the side of the mountain?

ADAM: It is. Let's go in there. Maybe it's warmer.

EVE: I can't see a thing.

ADAM: Either can I.

EVE: The boys keep crying.

ADAM: I know how they feel. Let's rest in here. Sit down.

EVE: Let's huddle together.

ADAM: Stay close.

EVE: What shall we do, Adam?

ADAM: We wait until tomorrow.

EVE: Tomorrow.

ADAM: Tomorrow the light will return.

EVE: Tomorrow we'll find a way.

ADAM: Yes.

(Lights down.)

(Curtain.)

INTERVIEWING THE LUMP

One Scene

Characters

MEL

DON

THE LUMP

(Stage lights up on MEL and DON standing on opposite sides of a man, THE LUMP, bound to a chair. He is battered, bleeding, and unconscious.)

MEL: Is he dead?

DON: Nah, only passed out.

MEL: Are you sure?

DON: Didn't hit him hard enough to kill him.

MEL: How do you know that?

DON: Been doin' this a long time, Mel. I know when to heat it up and when to cool it down. He's still alive. Throw some water in his face.

MEL: You think he'll talk?

DON: He'll talk.

MEL: Maybe he doesn't know anything.

DON: He'll talk anyway. They always do.

MEL: All of them?

DON: Most of 'em.

MEL: Do they tell the truth?

DON: Mebbe, mebbe not. Don't matter to me.

MEL: Why not?

DON: They talk, I done my job. The others can decide if they tellin' the truth.

MEL: The others.

DON: You know. The ones we never see. Big shots in suits.

MEL: The VIPs.

DON: Yeah, them--I guess. Anyways, they think they big shots.

MEL: He's not waking up, Don.

DON: Splash more water on his head.

MEL: It stinks.

DON: Should. From the sewer.

MEL: He's moving.

DON: You see. Hey, wake up, boy!

MEL: He didn't hear you.

DON: Probably a little deaf from the noise we blast at him all night.

MEL: He must be exhausted.

DON: Way we want him. Hit him with the rest in the bucket.

MEL: That's the last of it.

DON: Plenty more where that came from.

MEL: He's soaked.

DON: Most of it's blood.

MEL: He's shivering.

DON: You'd shiver too if you were naked day and night.

MEL: Poor bastard.

DON: Don't go getting' soft on him, Mel. It's unhealthy. 'Sides, he ain't poor. Comes from money.

MEL: How do you know that?

DON: I heard.

MEL: Rich family?

DON: Guess so.

MEL: Maybe they'll try to buy him out of here.

DON: Mebbe. But won't do 'em no good.

MEL: Why not?

DON: Once we get hold of 'em, they don't get out till we're ready to let 'em go. This one's a long way from ready to walk. Ain't ya, boy?

MEL: His eyes are open but he doesn't seem to see us.

DON: This'll make him see us.

MEL: If you keep hitting him like that, Don, he may pass out again.

DON: Ah, he's prob'ly fakin'. I seen it before. They pretend to be unconscious so we'll stop 'terrogatin' 'em, leave 'em alone, let 'em go free. (laughing)

MEL: Why do you laugh? Naturally he'd play dead. Anyone would do anything to protect oneself.

DON: Sure, but it don't work. I see right through that ol' trick.

MEL: Did he say something, Don? I thought I heard him say something.

DON: Prob'ly asked for water, food, or mercy. They all ask for them at one time or 'nother during an interview.

MEL: Interview.

DON: Yeah.

MEL: That's a funny word for it.

DON: For what, Mel?

MEL: For--

DON: For torture? 'At's what you were gonna to say, huh? Torture. (chuckling) This ain't close to torture. This a kid's game compared to torture. This only what we call a CI--concentrated interrogation. Besides, we don't do torture. Torture's against the law. Right?

MEL: Why do you smile, Don?

DON: 'Cause I feel like it. Listen, Mel, if you gonna learn this job, you better get yer head on right. We got a duty here to protect our people from guys like this.

MEL: This poor guy doesn't look like any danger to our people or anyone else.

DON: It ain't what he looks like but what he knows. Ain't that right, boy?

MEL: You're going to knock him out again, Don.

DON: He can take more'n you think. Here--you take a shot at him.

MEL: I'd rather not.

DON: Only wanna watch, huh? Well, you'll go nowhere in this business if you don't step in and get yer feet wet--or in this case yer hands bloody. (laughing)

MEL: I'm not sure I can do this.

DON: Course you can. Smack him around a little. Like this. You just need to break yer cherry on him and you'll be interviewing with the best of us. And don't forget the good money you'll be makin'.

MEL: I don't think I want that kind of money.

DON: What? You think yer too good for it? Look, fella--you joined this club. Now you can't quit. Might find yerself sittin' in that chair one day.

MEL: What do you mean by that, Don?

DON: Nothin' but a little good advice, Mel.

MEL: When I want it, I'll ask for it.

DON: Want what?

MEL: Keeps your hands off me!

DON: Just tryin' to straighten you out. Look, fella, it's us against them. But yer right. I should save my hands for him.

MEL: If you keep hitting him, he'll be unable to tell you anything.

DON: Oh, he'll tell us plenty. He'll spill his guts 'bout everything he remembers from the day he was born, even 'fore he was born. 'Bout every person he ever knew and didn't know. 'Bout every member his family. Mother, wife, kids. When he gets to the next stage, he'll beg us to let him tell us things--anything.

MEL: The next stage.

DON: Yeah, we just soften 'em up in here. Get 'em ready for the big event, so to speak. (chuckling)

MEL: I don't see how he could take any more.

DON: They don't rough 'em up like we do. They use other methods.

MEL: You mean psychological....

DON: No, I mean philosophical. (snickering) How'd you guess?

MEL: It figures.

DON: We hit 'em in both places. What we miss with their bodies we get with their minds. But we're shootin' for their goddamn souls. Kill the spirit and you get a slave.

MEL: Is that what this is really about?

DON: Damn straight. Hey! This piece of meat looks like he's comin' round. Why doncha step up to the plate, Mel. Let's see ya got the right stuff to get this lump to talk.

MEL: Lump.

DON: Lump o' clay. 'At's all they is to us.

MEL: He's a human being like you and me, Don. Well, like me anyway.

DON: What was that?

MEL: Nothing.

DON: You made a crack 'bout me, didn't ya?

MEL: I was only joking.

DON: Well, try yer clever little mind on this guy. Go ahead. Let's see what you got.

MEL: All right. Look, fella.

DON: Fella! He ain't yer fella. 'Less you one of them boys don't know where his dick belongs. Oh, hey! Look at that! He spit at you. Caught you on the cheek there with a gob of bloody mucous.

(MEL slaps THE LUMP hard across in the face.)

DON: Way to go, Mel! That's it! Let the sonovabitch know who's in charge here. What's matter, Mel? You look sick. You gonna puke, don't let the lump see ya. Gives wrong impression. (chuckling)

MEL: I don't know what came over me.

DON: I do. Sight of blood makes you weak in the knees.

MEL: I mean I don't know why I hit him.

DON: Two reasons I can think of. First, you're supposed to. 'At's what we do here. Second, he pissed you off. Now, I can understand that. He spits in your face, you wanna kick his ass. But you gotta control yer temper, Mel.

Sometimes I feel like tearing their heads off, when they give me a hard time. I understand. Believe me. But we gotta keep our cool and do our job. Be professional.

MEL: What? Like robots? I'm not a machine. I'm a human being.

DON: Just like him, right?

MEL: Well--

DON: Right? 'At's what you said earlier.

MEL: I mean--

DON: You see, we gotta keep feelin's outta this kinda work. Let feelin's in and then we start thinkin' 'bout what we're doin'. Think too much and we find ourselves attractin' wrong kind of attention. They two kinds of people these days, Mel--them and us. Who you wanna belong to, Mel--them or us? You don't have to answer. I can see it on yer face. You know where it's safe. You know where the money's good. You know the winning team.

MEL: I didn't join the agency to beat up people.

DON: No. You joined for God and country. Right? So did I. And now we're doin' our duty to both.

MEL: So you think God approves of our actions.

DON: Course he does. Or else you or me would be in that chair, and this guy would be interviewing us.

MEL: It's that simple, huh?

DON: That simple. They's winners and they's losers. Which you wanna be?

MEL: What about right and wrong?

DON: (laughing) Winners is right. Losers is wrong. Which you wanna be, Mel?

MEL: I....

DON: You don't have to answer that. You're standin' here with me, and he's sittin' there alone. Right? Besides, you already showed yer colors. You know what's good for ya. (laughing)

MEL: I wish you'd stop laughing. None of this is funny.

DON: Maybe not, but it's damn amusing.

MEL: Damned for certain.

DON: Speak for yerself--and this bastard bleeding all over himself. That's what the damned look like.

MEL: He's a mirror.

DON: A what?

MEL: He reflects us.

DON: You may see yerself in that lump, but I don't.

MEL: If you don't, you're not looking.

DON: I don't like yer attitude, Mel.

MEL: I'm just trying to get a perspective here.

DON: I got all the perspective I need--us against them. We the good guys, they the bad guys. Simple.

MEL: Black and white.

DON: White and black actually.

MEL: Good and evil.

DON: Damn straight. Which you wanna be?

MEL: You already asked me that.

DON: Yeah, we goin' round in circles, and I got work to do.

MEL: Don't hit him anymore, Don.

DON: Whatsa matter, Mel?

MEL: I can't stand any more. He can't.

DON: Who you worried about--him or you?

MEL: Both of us. You too.

DON: Hah! I can take care of myself. Him too.

MEL: Stop hitting him, Don!

DON: Get off my back, or I'll take care of you too.

MEL: Torturing this man is not only wrong, it's useless.

DON: Told you--it's not torture.

MEL: Call it what you want, you're only forcing a person to comply to keep himself alive. He'll say anything.

DON: Exactly what we want. See--

MEL: Hit him again, and I'll stop you.

DON: You'll what?

MEL: I'll not let you hurt this man anymore.

DON: You nuts? Little while ago, you ready to beat the shit outta him.

MEL: That was an aberration. I went out of my mind for a moment. I was caught in the atmosphere of violence you created.

DON: Don't blame me for yer nature.

MEL: I'm blaming both of us. And I won't let it happen again.

DON: You won't, huh? Well, don't get in my way if you wanna avoid lookin' like the lump.

MEL: I told you. He's a human being! Like me and even you.

DON: Exactly. 'At's why we have to nail him. 'At's why you hit him yerself. 'At's why he'd beat us to death right now if he had the chance. Yeah, we're human, Mel, and humans were born to dominate the earth, especially each other. Survival of the fittest, man. Everyone for himself. It's all a game, a deadly serious game. King of the mountain. If you're smart, you'll do anything to win. If you're stupid, you'll let me win. If you're stupid and soft, you'll let him win. Right now you and me is on top, Mel. Fight me and I'll be on top. Make yer choice.

MEL: I'd rather we both lost than see any more harm to this man.

DON: Well, we ain't both gonna lose. Yer gonna lose, and I goin' for the top of the heap. Now, get outta my way 'fore you get hurt.

MEL: No.

DON: I'm warnin' you, Mel. I'll kick yer damn ass if I have to.

MEL: You'll have to.

DON: Move!

MEL: No.

DON: You god damn wimp! I'll drop you and the lump!

MEL: So that's what it has come to--beating down anyone in your way.

DON: If they're the enemy, yeah. Kill 'em all in the name of the Lord!

MEL: So--God is on your side.

DON: Damn straight, 'cause I'm righteous.

MEL: Oh, you're dripping with righteousness.

DON: You be drippin' with blood, you don't step away from the lump.

MEL: I won't do that, Don.

DON: Then get ready for a good thrashin', my friend.

MEL: I don't want to fight you, Don, but--

(MEL takes a wild swing at him.)

DON: You punch like a girl. Here, take one from an expert.

(Don hits him hard on the nose.)

DON: There--how you like that? Want another? I'll beat you and the lump till yer both nothin' but greasy spots on the floor.

(MEL strikes back with two crushing blows to DON'S throat and chest. DON falls and gasps for breath, unable to speak.)

MEL: Sorry, Don, but I had to defend myself--and this man. Don, you all right? Don. You foolin' with me? Stop foolin', Don. Jesus, Don, breathe! Let me hear that rotten heart of yours. Don! I didn't mean to hit you so hard.

You pushed me too far. Got scared. Lost control. Don! I'm sorry. Don, forgive me. I shouldn't have strike you so hard. But I went crazy when you kept hitting this man. I had to stop you. I had to fight you. I had to, Don. That's all you'd understand. Damn you!

(MEL turns to THE LUMP.)

MEL: Hey, fella. You all right? You can relax now. He's--gone. The one hurting you is not here anymore. Now you can talk freely. Look at me, fella. Take it easy. Tell me anything on your mind. Go ahead. Nobody is going to hurt you. Snap out of it. Wake up. If you're playing possum, forget it. You can open your eyes and talk to me. You can trust me. Snap out of it, man!

(MEL slaps him hesitantly.)

MEL: Sorry, I didn't mean to hit you. I'm still upset, I guess. But you're safe now. Don't wanna hit you anymore. Just want you to know I mean no harm.

(MEL slaps him again.)

MEL: Oh! Forgive me for hittin' you again but I need to know you're all right. You are, ain't you? Talk to me. Tell me what's on yer mind. I'll listen. And I won't--I mean I'll try not to hurt you.

(MEL shakes him violently.)

MEL: Sorry. I shouldn'ta done that. You suffered enough. But you gotta answer me, man. Wake up. Listen to me! Look at me! I just saved yer life, you god damned lump! Pay attention! Pay attention, lump, or I'll....

(Lights dim to darkness.)

(Curtain.)

Music Plays

TAMALPAIS

Book for a Cantata

Characters

CHIEF (baritone)

SLEEPING LADY (soprano)

POET (tenor)

MIWOK DANCERS

CHORUS

Overture

As the Overture begins, the curtain rises on an empty stage with a backdrop screen. Onto the screen is rear-projected a full size image of sea and sky. As the Overture progresses, a slideshow reveals Mount Tamalpais rising from the sea, reaching its peak at the conclusion of the Overture. Then the stage goes dark, and a spotlight illumines the Poet in the center of the stage before the image of the mountain barely visible in the background.

Song

POET

Here is my song:

a primordial sea

and a mountain born

upon the light of dawn.

The magic in a storm,

the joy of an eagle cry,

where life and death

make men to be

not more or less

than any beast of earth

or bird of sky.

(The POET exits in darkness.)

CHORUS

(offstage)

Oye!

Ballet

(Female MIWOK DANCERS painted and wearing festive robes, skirts, hairpins and feathers dance in a circle signifying creation and the cycles of life.)

CHORUS

(offstage)

Michako!

(The CHIEF appears among the DANCERS wearing a Bearskin robe trimmed with rabbit fur, feathered headdress, paint, necklace, bracelets and earplugs made of teeth and bone. The DANCERS sit in a semi-circle around him.)

CHORUS

(offstage)

Hoipusl

Song

CHIEF

What is my name?

Only my people know me,

that made me who I am.

You see me as the enemy,

heathen born on foreign land.

But I played your game of mysteries

and fought your monstrous hand.

A legend out of histories

no one can understand,

now I come before you

as one you never knew.

(All exit. Lights down. The POET reappears in spotlight. Behind and above him, at the mountain base the SLEEPING LADY reclines on her back. The CHIEF stands above and behind her. Both are barely visible against the mountain.)

CHORUS

(chanting)

Oye!

Trio

POET

Legend.

A story carried by the wind

told by ancient Indians

of a princess cursed by sin

makes a legend.

When a lady lies supine

on a bed of rock and pine

asleep until the end of time

is a legend.

With a promise to remain

until a lover comes again

enduring sun and wind and rain--

that is legend.

SLEEPING LADY

I am the story in the wind,

but my fate is not a sin;

it starts where memories begin.

My soul and body

dwell in mind

that man creates

from dreaming time,

when flesh and earth

would need a sign.

So here I lie

in sun and rain

without regard

for love or pain

where imagination reigns.

CHIEF

You call us Miwok Indians;

you tell your stories in the wind

and then say your tales

with us begin.

But we were people of a time

before you came upon this clime

reforming us to your design.

But now my spirit endures

and the Mewah I reclaim

as their chief without a name.

Song

SLEEPING LADY

Tamalpais!

POET: O Chief of the Miwok--

CHIEF: Speak.

POET: You say the legend of the Sleeping Lady--

CHIEF: No--you say.

POET: You created no part of this story?

CHIEF: None. Coyote created the Mewah four thousand suns ago. From then till now no one of them has told this tale.

POET: Yet she lies upon the mountain.

CHIEF: Your lies upon the mountain.

Song

SLEEPING LADY

Tamalpais!

POET: Your mountain?

CHIEF: The mountain belongs to Mother.

POET: It belongs to us all.

CHIEF: We all belong to Mother.

POET: So we are one people.

(The CHIEF is silent.)

Song

SLEEPING LADY

Tamalpais!

CHIEF: Your people destroyed my people.

POET: We did not know what we were doing.

CHIEF: You brought your blisters that kill--

POET: Yes.

CHIEF: And your weapons of fire.

POET: Yes.

CHIEF: The Mewah knew little of war.

(The Poet is silent.)

CHIEF: But we knew the land as a blessing: the cycles of change in the sky, the endless offering of food. We knew the land as Mother and dwelt with her in the palm of her hand. And we sang and danced in celebration of the gift of our lives in harmony with the sea and sky and land.

POET: Yes, you knew.

CHIEF: You took the land and the people. You killed my people and now you kill the land.

(A bolt of lightning cuts a fissure down the face of the mountain.)

Song

SLEEPING LADY

Tamalpais!

POET: We knew not what we were doing.

CHIEF: Now you do.

POET: Yes.

CHIEF: And you know the story comes from you.

POET: Yes.

CHIEF: Now tell the truth.

POET: In history.

CHIEF: Yes. In that way, you keep my people alive--forever.

POET: Alive in us.

CHIEF: Yes. Keep alive our song, our dance, and our love for the land--Mother.

POET: We too are children of the Earth.

CHIEF: Thus, may we unite for the future--a fusion of both our peoples--all people.

Finale

CHORUS (offstage)

POET, SLEEPING LADY, CHIEF

Now, will this ancient mountain

erupt in fearful vengeance

to burn our dearly cherished memory

into a violent scream?

Or will all people come together

and start a brand new story

to turn the horror of this nightmare

into a peaceful dream?

(The DANCERS return to the stage and dance in a rotating circle around the POET, the CHIEF, and the SLEEPING LADY. The CHORUS remains offstage. Lightning flashes behind the mountain, silhouetting the peak against a background sky. The DANCERS snake, unwind, and file offstage, followed by the CHIEF, the SLEEPING LADY, and the POET. Lights down.)

(Curtain.)

TIMOTHY OF ASPEN

Book for Music in Five Acts

Gratitude to Shakespeare

Characters

TIMOTHY, tenor

FIDEO, bass

CHORUS

GUESTS/FRIENDS/PILGRIMS/PRESS/PAPARAZZI

SERVANTS/MESSENGERS

Overture

Act I

(The stage is semi-circled by a panorama of the Rocky Mountains as viewed from a mountaintop. Stage center is dominated by a castled mansion cutaway to show a vast banquet hall. A glorious chandelier radiates not only light, but also emits background music, and projects around the room holograms of historical figures: Amenhotep, Nebuchadnezzar, Alexander, Nero, Saladin, Kublai Khan, Elizabeth I, Louis XIV, Napoleon, and Hitler. FIDEO in formal attire scurries onstage in a flurry of imperious impatience, casting inaudible commands in all directions to unseen SERVANTS in the wings.)

FIDEO: What a mess! What confusion! Twenty minutes till the party starts, yet nothing done. Only ten pounds of brie to feed a hundred pigs, the champagne fountain merely spurts in weak ejaculations. Must I do everything? What disorganization! Where are all the delicacies? The eagle eggs, the bear tongue, the rare fish caviar, the fricassee of butterfly, the songbird soup? How can I do everything when so much must he done? How can one man, even one as efficient as I, satisfy the unsatisfiable? What a completely unprepared event!

(He dashes offstage to scold the servants and then scurries back frantically.)

FIDEO (peeking into auditorium): Oh, my lord above--the guests have arrived!

(As the guests enter from the rear of the auditorium, they join in greeting each other. All are dressed to the gilded hilt; all act as though they are celebrating the host day of their lives.)

GUESTS (variously): Hello, hello--my dear, dear friends. How nice to see you all so beautifully attired. How lucky we are to meet together here enjoying the generosity of good and gracious Timothy--the benefactor of our ken.

(Before the chorus ends, the servants start pushing onto the stage carts laden with gifts and gustatory fare. They form a U shape open upstage center and place a royal chair in the middle. When the shape is complete and the guests have gathered round, TIMOTHY descends from the flies to the chair in the center of the tables. Dressed in formal white, a silver-haired corpulent man of middle age with rosy elfin cheeks, he is smiling broadly, as he greets his guests with enthusiastic warmth.)

TIMOTHY: Welcome, dear friends. Welcome to my castle on the mount. Feast your epicurean tastes on these gourmet delights. And when you've filled your bellies, I will fill your hands with gifts to beat the Magi. So gather round, my friends, to find your dreams fulfilled. Let no one go away without a wish come true. Come, gather round, my friends--my dear, dear friends. Fideo--prepare the gifts!

(The GUESTS proceed around the tables in a long moving line like a centipede, picking up choice handfuls of food as they pass. Once around the table, each stops in front of TIMOTHY to ask a favor. He grants every one and sends them to FIDEO for fulfillment.)

Recitative

FIRST GUEST

O, Timothy, if you please--

a new face

of youthful grace for me.

SECOND GUEST

Sweet, Timothy---

a trip to paradise

would satisfy my soul.

THIRD GUEST

Dear, Timothy--

a body tuck and liposuck

would 'suage my gustatory guilt.

FOURTH GUEST

Good, Timothy--
my gambling debtors threaten

to break my bones, if I don't--

FTFTH GUEST

Kind, Timothy--

a new fox fur coat

to keep off the chill

when shopping I do go.

SIXTH GUEST

Timothy, my friend--

development in Yellowstone

would make me rich,

if you could stake me for the start.

GUESTS

Hail, our dear, dear friend!

How generous you are!

How fortunate are we

to have a friend in one

so good as you.

Timothy, O, Timothy--

the hero of our ken.

(As TIMOTHY rises from his high-back chair, the GUESTS form a semicircle around the tables.)

TIMOTHY

How fortunate am I

to be living in this capitalistic dream

where government acknowledges

the royalty of the rich,

and rightly so.

How fortunate am I!

CHORUS

Aye!

TIMOTHY

How fortunate am I

to have made a fortune selling loans

and cashing in on junk bonds.

I made a killing!

How madly thrilling!

How fortunate am I!

CHORUS

Hurrah!

TIMOTHY

How fortunate am I

to be living on a mountain

as king of all I see,

to be able in this luxury

to help so many people,

needing money for their dreams:

be they man, woman, or child--

sick or poor,

traveler or troubled,

saint or sinner,

artist, fool, or fanatic,

I receive them all

and send them off satisfied.

Come one, come all

to my mansion in the clouds!

How fortunate am I!

Chorus

Halleluya!

TIMOTHY

How fortunate am I,

dear friends,

to be surrounded by all of you.

A man is small without his friends.

Hail to you, good people,

and let the dance begin.

Chorus

Aye, aye, hurray!

Ballet

(Curtain.)

Prelude

ACT II

(An expensive bedroom, a la Citizen Kane. Late morning in late summer. FIDEO awakens TIMOTHY for brunch catered by SERVANTS. But the assistant's face betrays bad news. TIMOTHY, while eating, notices the shadow over his aide's demeanor.)

TIMOTHY: What, old friend--do the revels of last night haunt you this morning? I noticed you quaffed quite a few glasses of champagne throughout the soiree. Here--perhaps a taste of mimosa will perk you up.

(FIDEO declines the drink and refrains from responding, while TIMOTHY enjoys his meal.)

TIMOTHY: No? Well, suit yourself as you always do. (pause) Ah, what a bash it was, eh? Everybody well watered and fed. Satisfied too, eh? You think? I hope so. Does this old heart good to see so many friends happy--

(Musing cheerfully for a moment, TIMOTHY then finishes breakfast with a slight flourish.)

TIMOTHY: Well, now, good and faithful friend--tell me the news of the hour. And what good works for humankind shall we perform today? What aid to the ailing?

FIDEO: Physician, heal thyself.

TIMOTHY: Huh? (tittering) A riddle for me so early in the day?

FIDEO: More a clue. And it's later than you think.

TIMOTHY: Fido--I have not seen you so intense since that last temblor threatened to topple my castle off my mountaintop.

FIDEO: The rift lies closer to home and is far more threatening than any recent seismic quiver.

TIMOTHY: Why, Fido, all this dark mysterious talk threatens to upset my breakfast.

FTDEO (aside): Would that were all to be upset.

(TIMOTHY stares intensely at his aide, as if to read his mind.)

TIMOTHY: Now, good friend, enough with the clever comments. Tell me--what's on your mind?

FIDEO: More than's in the bank.

(TIMOTHY laughs nervously.)

FIDEO: We--that is, you are broke.

(TIMOTHY looks speechless at first, then angry.)

TIMOTHY: Your jokes are usually funnier--

FIDEO (sighing): I'm not joking.

TIMOTHY (surprised): What?!

FIDEO: Sadly, it's true.

TIMOTHY: I don't believe it.

FIDEO: I wish you were so justified.

TIMOTHY: But, Fidelio! How?!

FIDEO: Simple--you spent too much too fast.

TIMOTHY: But why didn't you warn me? That's what I pay you for.

FIDEO: I tried, sir--many times.

TIMOTHY: I don't remember. If you did say something, I didn't hear you.

FIDEO: Of course not. Who would want to hear such bad news?

TIMOTHY: Well--can't we borrow...?

FIDEO: We've borrowed to the max. And that's the other half of the problem.

TIMOTHY: There's more? What could possibly he more serious than being poor? It's positively un-American.

FIDEO: Yet, what's more American than debt?

(The CHORUS grumbles ominously offstage. TIMOTHY falls back onto the bed.)

FIDEO: And now they're calling in their tabs. Word's out we're, that is, you are broke, and your creditors are clamoring at the gate for their money.

(TIMOTHY sits up and peers into the auditorium.)

TIMOTHY: At the gate?

(The CHORUS again grumbles offstage.)

FIDEO: At the very front door.

TIMOTHY (falling back): Oh, my God!

FIDEO: Even He may hold a line against you, my friend.

TIMOTHY: Funny. (pausing) Now let me think--(sitting up) I know! My friends! I'll go to all my friends. Of course! Why didn't I think of that immediately? My friends--all my good and loyal friends will help me.

(FIDEO, looking skeptical, saunters over to a window and peers out.)

Duet

TIMOTHY

My friends!

My good and faithful friends.

A man cannot invest more wisely

than counting on his friends.

For all the money, gifts, and fetes

I've bestowed on them

surely, they will aid me in my need.

My good and faithful friends.

My friends!

FIDEO

Humans!

We selfish human kind.

A man cannot invest more foolishly

than counting on humanity.

For all the money, gifts, and fetes

one bestows on men,

one should be aided in his need.

Oh, selfish humankind.

Humans!

TIMOTHY: It would he the proper, honorable, and loving thing to do.

FIDEO: Would it were so.

(Curtain.)

Prelude

ACT III

Scene One

(Against a background of Rocky Mountains, a semi-circle of building facades behind a large desk upstage center. As dark clouds gather over the peaks, the lighting gradually dims. TIMOTHY is making continual telephone calls at the desk, while his MESSENGERS in a semi-ballet knock on doors along the facades. When each door is struck, a head peeks out from behind it, through a peephole, or at a window. As each MESSENGER delivers the request for aid, each head shakes a negative response and disappears. At each dialing, TIMOTHY is on hold, fidgets until his patience wanes, and then makes another futile call.)

Recitative

TIMOTHY

Timothy calling Marmadese--

(Hangs up.)

Timothy calling Alfan--

(Hangs up.)

Timothy calling Vervibuns--

(Hangs up.)

Timothy calling Jongaling--

(Hangs up.)

Timothy calling....

(FIDEO enters morosely. TIMOTHY drops the phone in eager anticipation of good news, but senses bad news.)

TIMOTHY: I welcome you, dear Fidelio, but not the words I fear you bear.

FIDEO: I cannot bear to tell you.

TIMOTHY: Tell it all, old friend--the story must be told--of generosity and gratitude divorced upon the altar of greed--told to the final chapter--however it may be--joy, sadness, or tragedy.

FIDEO: Timothy--perhaps a party--

TIMOTHY: Hah! Parties have been the media of my pain.

FIDEO: But one more party, sir--one huge cotillion of charity, hut this time the gifts should come this way.

(TIMOTHY rises from his desk and steps into a solitary spotlight. The MESSENGERS encircle him.)

Song

TIMOTHY

I shall throw a party

to end all,

to celebrate the destitute--

sans food,

sans drink,

sans favors,

sans music.

A CAPELLA CHORUS, FIDEO, and MESSENGERS

Sans everything?

TIMOTHY: Everything but bitter soup and sour wine.

CHORUS

Bitter soup and sour wine?

TIMOTHY (affecting French): Ug-xactement.

(Curtain.)

Scene Two

(The same set as in the opening of ACT I, except clouds enshroud the mountain panorama, the chandelier is dark, holograms as ghosts float around the stage to melancholy music, and the tables are empty. TIMOTHY sits in his chair backed only by the SERVANTS standing downstage.)

FIDEO (offstage): The guests have arrived.

(He leads them from the auditorium. They are at first cheerful until they see the dark, dreary hall. As soon as they realize the atmosphere more funereal than festive, they murmur nervously among themselves.)

Recitative

GUESTS

Alas, old friends.

How sad to see the hall so dark

where Christmas used to happen

several times a year.

Our Timothy's a different man

than he who used to be so generous,

the hero off our lives.

SERVANTS

A different man.

FIDEO

Yes, he was so generous--

to greedy gluttonous ingrates.

GUESTS

Greedy?

Gluttonous?

Ingrates?

What insulting words for guests

invited to your home!

We come with joy to share

the happiness of good and gracious Timothy--

a man now destitute of cheer.

SERVANTS

Destitute of cheer.

FIDEO

More destitute of dear friends

loyal in his need.

GUESTS

Friends.

FIDEO

Loyal.

SERVANTS

Need.

(TIMOTHY jumps to his feet and bellows in protest.)

TIMOTHY

ENOUGH!

You come to me,

I go to you.

My coffers are as empty

as your hearts.

Come taste my fare of bitterness,

my milk of generosity soured

by your selfishness.

Come on--

my good and dear old friends,

find another handout

if you can.

Go--

find another benefactor

to suck for wealth

and laughter in the light.

Find another giving friend

for this one has been bled

to bankruptcy and poverty

and left alone in his lonely spire.

Go--

the party has been cancelled

for lack of love.

(The GUESTS sullenly exit, murmuring angrily among themselves.)

TIMOTHY

Fideo!

Dismiss the servants

and close it down.

My creditors can have the castle

as it stands.

I shall endure it no longer.

Close it down and go.

FIDEO: And you?

TIMOTHY: Oh, I shall go too

FIDEO: Where, good Timothy? Your home is here.

Song

TIMOTHY

My home, my home--

I wonder where I'll find a home again.

I thought I'd found it in my wealth

and friends of a favored class.

But now I know I must retreat

away from dire humanity

to find solace in the Earth.

Duet

TIMOTHY

I go!

FIDEO

You go?

TIMOTHY

I go into the wilderness

to find some peace of mind.

FIDEO

You go?

TIMOTHY

I go as far away from man

as I can be.

FIDEO

You go?

TIMOTHY

I go

and leave it all.

I go. I go. I go!

(TIMOTHY, followed by a pleading FIDEO, exits. The chandelier dims and the stage darkens.)

(Curtain.)

Prelude

ACT IV

Scene One

(A high canyon just below tree line. Peaks in the background carry snow. The wind howls across an abandoned mine downstage center, causing a low moaning sound. TIMOTHY'S voice howling. Suddenly, bearded and dressed in dirty clothes, he appears at the cave entrance and sings for joy, his voice echoing in the canyon.)

Song

TIMOTHY

O, Canyon!

you call to me

in the echo of my mind--

the only conversation I have

that pleases me.

Alone

among rocks and trees and beasts

at home

where I bear the weather beating me

than endure the cruelty of my fellow men.

At home now

I dwell alone among the mountains--

castle and cathedral--

all the home I need.

O, Canyon,

you alone answer me.

You alone call me name--

Timothy!

(The name reverberates. Then another voice calls from offstage and continues the echo.)

FIDEO: Timothy!

(The name reverberates again. TIMOTHY starts and looks around in wonder.)

TIMOTHY: The canyon does call my name. O, Canyon!

FIDEO (off): O, Timothy!

TIMOTHY: The canyon answers me. O, Canyon!

FIDEO (entering): Oh, Timothy!

TIMOTHY (embarrassed): Oh! Fido--I--

FIDEO: I know, old friend--you thought I was the God of the Canyon come to bless you for the holidays.

TIMOTHY: Well--

FIDEO: But it is only I, come to warn you of other visitors.

TIMOTHY: Who? More friends with more to ask?

FIDEO: No--more like fans.

TIMOTHY: Fans?

FIDEO: Yes, your fame escapes these mountains and travels farther round the globe than ever did your fortune.

TIMOTHY: Fame?

FIDEO: Yes, your life has fanned the flames of fame, and people are coming from all over the world to see you--the man who gave it all away to live just as a wild animal.

TIMOTHY: But I didn't give it away----it was taken away.

FIDEO: Of course, but people create the images they want for their heroes.

TIMOTHY: Heroes? Then I'm...?

FIDEO: I'm afraid so. Yes, they've found you out and they pilgrimage here as we speak.

TIMOTHY: A hero. Then perhaps I can do some good after all.

FIDEO: Would you could.

Duet

TIMOTHY

A hero the common man

wants for me--

then a hero I shall be.

FIDEO

First a savior,

now a hero--

what next will this eccentric be?

TIMOTHY

I knew the people needed me.

FIDEO

The people want a clown.

TIMOTHY

I shall be renowned

for words of wisdom to advise

the pilgrim sore in need.

FIDEO

He should be wise

to their shenanigans.

TIMOTHY

I'll be an oracle!

FIDEO

A miracle

if I live to see

a single day of sanity.

TIMOTHY

New Delphi!

FIDEO

And you a new Apollo, I suppose.

TIMOTHY

A simple man

who knows the end of vanity.

FIDEO

(sarcastically)

A sage.

TIMOTHY

A prophet of simplicity,

the man to turn this world around--

a man of seasoned years.

FIDEO

Surrounded by such lunacy,

how can I stand up to it

while laughing through my tears?

VOICE (off): O, Timothy!

TIMOTHY: The canyon calls to me again?

FIDEO: The canyon carries pilgrims to your cave.

TIMOTHY: To my oracle.

FIDEO (aside): More a debacle.

VOICES (off): O, Timothy! Timothy of Aspen! Timothy, where are you?

Song

TIMOTHY

I am here!

Upon this mountain I stand

ready to receive you, my people.

Come to me!

PILGRIMS

We come to you for answers.

TIMOTHY

I know the way.

PILGRIMS

We ask--

Recitative

TIMOTHY

The question is of things.

PILGRIMS

Things?

TIMOTHY

Things to let alone.

PILGRIMS

Let alone?

TIMOTHY

Let alone.

(The PILGRIMS murmur nervously to each other.)

TIMOTHY: Give your things away and follow me.

(More murmuring.)

TIMOTHY: That's the way to riches.

(Confused murmuring. The PILGRIMS'S attention wavers. A few turn away in disapproval.

PILGRIMS: But we have come to you for happiness.

Recitative

TIMOTHY

That is the way.

PILGRIMS

To happiness?

TIMOTHY

Yes, to happiness.

PILGRIMS

To give away our things?

TIMOTHY

Yes. I am happy!

ONE PILGRIM

You are crazy!

(The others murmur loudly in approval. They laugh mockingly. FIDEO moves to quell a growing mob.)

FIDEO: How dare you mock this man!

(TIMOTHY waves him off.)

TIMOTHY: All they need is love.

(FIDEO turns away dismayed. The PILGRIMS laugh.)

Song

TIMOTHY

I give you love

that you can share.

Deny the quest for gold,

a mind for worldly things

to gratify the flesh.

Deny the hate.

And take the love

I give without a price

yet dear beyond the world.

I know the way.

I lead the way.

So follow me to paradise.

PILGRIMS: You know the way to lunacy. We want the way to luxury.

(Derisive laughter rolls through the PILGRIMS. FIDEO looks about to weep. And TIMOTHY grins until his childlike demeanor gradually changes to a sardonic look of terror.)

TIMOTHY (bellowing): To hell! You're on the one-way road to hell. You do not see, you do not hear. The words you speak are idiocy. You're on the way to hell--the willful blind--deaf, dumb, and blind.

(Nervous laughter from the PILGRIMS. FIDEO tries to calm him, but the prophet rants.)

TIMOTHY: You'll make the world a hell, and chaos will be the way there, instead of order generated from wise nobility of soul.

PILGRIMS (laughing): What a fool!

Recitative

TIMOTHY

Chaos!

Earth will turn against you.

Your selfishness and greed

will poison your domain.

Your walls will fall around you

in chaos.

PILGRIMS

Lunacy!

TIMOTHY

Chaos!

The tide will turn

and leave you dry to burn

in retributory fire.

Chaos!

PILGRIMS

Lunacy!

FIDEO

Madness!

TIMOTHY

Earth will burn

to purify the world

and sacrifices will be numberless.

The good and innocent

will follow you to hell.

Chaos!

(The PILGRIMS turn away and leave.)

PILGRIMS

Lunacy!

(Their voices echo down the canyon as they go. TIMOTHY retreats into his cave.)

TIMOTHY: The reign of retribution will absolve us of our sins--too late to change.

(Darkness falls upon the stage as if a huge dark cloud stretches across the sky. FIDEO stands alone on the cliff.)

FIDEO: Madness.

(Curtain.)

Scene Two

(Another day. FIDEO rushes breathlessly to the cave.)

FIDEO: TIMOTHY!

(No answer. Close behind him a swarm of PRESS & PAPARAZZI, chanting.)

PRESS & PAPARAZZI

TIM-O-THY!

TIM-O-THY!

(More haggard, unkempt, and bedraggled than before, TIMOTHY appears at the mouth of the mine. He looks wild, mystically mad. Cameras click and flash like fireworks. Several of the PRESS call to him.)

Recitative

ONE VOICE

Strike it rich, old man?

TIMOTHY

Yes, but only in the mind.

ANOTHER VOICE

The mine is still rich?

TIMOTHY

Not yours. Mine.

ANOTHER VOICE

Words to the wise?

TIMOTHY

No.

ANOTHER

Just words?

TIMOTHY

No, wise.

VOICE

Except for you.

TIMOTHY

How would you know?

VO I CE.

Tell us what you know.

TIMOTHY

I know that I do not know.

(The PRESS makes notes; the PAPARAZZI take photographs.)

VOICE

Tell us more.

TIMOTHY

More is less.

(More note making, photo taking.)

VOICE

The less you say, the more you mean?

TIMOTHY

No. The more I say, the less I mean.

VOICE

And now, any advice for your fans?

TIMOTHY

Follow the way.

VOICE

The way?

Song

TIMOTHY

Piety, duty, and love.

Revere Earth,

follow her law,

and do to all living things

as you would they to you.

(Note making, photo taking.)

Recitative

VOICE

And for the rest of us?

(TIMOTHY raises his arms and hollers down the canyon.)

TIMOTHY

Prepare for hell on Earth!

(Note making, photo taking. TIMOTHY returns to his cave. Joking and laughing, the PRESS & PAPARAZZI depart.)

Song

FIDEO

How rare the air

so close to the sky

where minds go giddy

like windblown clouds.

With feet of clay,

hearts of stone

the spirit would fly

these canyon walls

and soar to distant stars.

How far the light!

How near the night,

the dark pool

of countless tears.

(FIDEO reluctantly, sadly departs. The stage slowly darkens.)

Prelude

ACT V

(Morning in the canyon.)

FIDEO (offstage): Timothy!

(No answer.)

FIDEO (entering): Timothy, old friend! Come out. I have good news. Timothy!

(TIMOTHY appears like a specter in the cave entrance. Rags appear to have replaced his flesh on his protruding bones. His hair and beard hang in long, thin, dirty strings around his emaciated face. His gaunt eyes seem to have receded into his brain.)

TIMOTHY: Is that you again, Fido--or is the canyon calling?

FIDEO: It is I, old man--with news from the people.

TIMOTHY: The people?

FIDEO: You have become a celebrity.

TIMOTHY: Again?

FIDEO: A hero.

TIMOTHY: Again?

FIDEO: A folk hero. Everyone knows of you and your stony wisdom.

TIMOTHY (turning away): Then no one knows me.

FIDEO: Presidents and Prime Ministers quote your words.

TIMOTHY: Fools for fame.

FIDEO: Publishers and producers are offering millions for your life story.

TIMOTHY: Fools for fortune.

(Rumbling beneath the stage.)

FIDEO: But your honor....

TIMOTHY: A forgotten virtue--like all the others.

FIDEO: But your life...

TIMOTHY: A worthless piece of trash.

(Rumbling again from the canyon. FIDEO is startled. TIMOTHY perks up.)

Duet

TIMOTHY

O, Canyon!

CHORUS

(offstage)

Canyon!

FIDEO

Timothy!

CHORUS

(off)

Timothy!

TIMOTHY

O, Canyon!

You call to me.

And I hear

your great heart

pounding.

(The rumbling grows louder, vibrating the stage.)

FIDEO

Timothy!

CHORUS

(off)

Timothy!

TIMOTHY

I hear you!

(More rumbling, building to a strong quake.)

TIMOTHY

I'm coming home.

The great Earth's core

calls to me.

I was lost

but now I'm found.

I'm going home

to Mother's womb.

My journey of joy and sorrow

finally done.

I'm going home.

(TIMOTHY turns and steps into the cave.)

FIDEO

Timothy!

CHORUS

(off)

Timothy!

(FIDEO scrambles off the stage. The earthquake hits hard and the mountain collapses onto the mine. Boulders conceal the entrance.)

(Final curtain.)

APPLESEED JOHN

Eight Scenes

Characters

APPLESEED JOHN CHAPMAN, tenor

SENECA NATIVES

PIONEERS

BROTHER-IN-LAW

NEIGHBOR BOY

Overture

(On a large screen downstage is projected an apple seed germinating in the earth--a seedling breaking ground--the seedling growing into a tree--the tree flowering--the tree bearing fruit.)

(Curtain.)

Scene One

(In the mid-19th century, JOHN CHAPMAN as a white-bearded old man is lying on a cot by a fire. His face looks feverish and he is coughing violently. Apparently delirious, he mumbles incoherently.)

(Curtain.)

Scene Two

(CHAPMAN as a slight but wiry young man. Dark hair falls over his shoulders; his beard is close-clipped. His face is gaunt but the skin swarthy. His eyes are dark and deep. Although dressed in tattered clothes, he in clean. He is shoeless. Carrying a full knapsack, he heads upstage and sings cheerfully.)

Song

CHAPMAN

God, thou lends this land

for the deer, the cat, the bear

and the bird and all

to use for your glory.

Thou lends this land

to all of us, Lord.

And I thank thee.

(He stops at the edge of the stage, takes some apple seeds from his knapsack, and plants them.)

CHAPMAN

God lends this land

to thee and me,

And I thank thee.

(Seeing SENECA NATIVES passing by, he sings to them.)

CHAPMAN

Hail to thee

my brothers in the trees.

All Hail!

(The SENECAS respond in chorus.)

SENECAS

Hail and fare you well,

brother of the seeds.

(As CHAPMAN cultivates his little garden, he sings.)

CHAPMAN

The fruit and the seed

and the appletree--

wonders of the world

wonders indeed.

(Curtain.)

Scene Three

(Tableaux: PIONEERS buying seedlings from CHAPMAN--some planting them, some working under apple trees in bloom, some picking apples, a few eating them with gusto. Women are cooking apple pies, hanging cut apples from rafters, and cooking them in brass kettles. Men are storing ripe apples in the earth and hauling the rest away by wagon. Men unload wagons fall of ripe apples and then load them into cider presses. CHAPMAN is collecting more seed. And the men haul barrels of cider away. Families in wagons tote dried apples and barrels of vinegar offstage.)

Chorus

Apples from trees, apples to eat,

apples for pies and apples to dry,

apples to store, apples for cider and sour

to keep fruit and pickles and meats,

apples to trade, apples to eat, apples to keep,

apples to make everything sweet.

Ballet

(Curtain.)

Scene Four

(Tableaux: In a small trade store women exchange apple goods for eggs, chickens, and deerskin. CHAPMAN joins men in drinking hard cider around a hot stove.)

FIRST MAN: Good apple crop this season, John.

(The other men murmur and nod in agreement.)

CHAPMAN: It's all in the seeds, my friends.

SECOND MAN (drinking): Mighty juicy little buggers.

(Agreeable chortling. The men toast one another and sing together.)

Song

CHAPMAN

All in the seeds--

delight in the flower,

joy in juice--

bringing us together

as friends.

CHORUS

The seeds, the flower, the juice, the friends.

(Curtain.)

Scene Five

(CHAPMAN is sitting in a hollow tree as if on a river in a boat laden with seeds. As waterfowl call overhead, he sings.)

Song

CHAPMAN

O, I am a poor man

powerless against the moneyed men

to hold my land for planting

but I am free to come and go

as I please,

and well I please--

a simple gatherer of apple seeds,

a plain planter of apple trees.

Scene Six

(Evening. CHAPMAN is lying in a gently swaying hammock among his growing apple trees. While reading and eating honey, he gazes up at the sky. Wolves howl in the distance.)

Song

CHAPMAN

I could not he a happier man.

For as I look up at the stars

I see the angels praising God

for all things good.

And I know my work is righteous.

I could not be a happier man.

(An owl overhead hoots softly.)

(Curtain.)

Scene Seven

(CHAPMAN as an old man, with his BROTHER-IN-LAW and a NEIGHBOR BOY, is looking at a great black oak tree. The tree is shattered, and pieces of same-sized wood like rails lie strewn around its splintered trunk.)

BROTHER-IN-LAW: There--the tree I told you about--struck by lightning--making all these rails.

CHAPMAN (deliberating): I see God has taken pity on you and helped you with your fence building.

(The BROTHER-IN-LAW smiles.)

NEIGHBOR BOY: Look, a rabbit!

(The BOY raises a rifle to fire at the animal, but CHAPMAN gently stops him.)

CHAPMAN: You would sin by shooting that rabbit, son. All life belongs to God who alone gives it and who alone takes it away.

(The BOY lowers his rifle and looks offstage. CHAPMAN and his BROTHER-IN-LAW begin stacking the readymade rails.)

(Curtain.)

Scene Eight

(CHAPMAN, an old man lying on the cot by a fire, silently closes his eyes and dies. On the rear screen is projected an aerial tracking shot of apple orchards. Then a lone appletree appears on a distant hill. As the tree looms into view, it is old, huge, and laden with big bright apples.)

CHORUS

(offstage)

God lends Earth to everyone:

the deer, cat, wolf, and bear,

bird, fish, and butterfly--

all just for the greater glory.

The Lord lends Earth to everyone--

all for the greater glory.

God lends the land for the apple tree

and the fruit upon its bough

He lends the land for the appletree

Supporting thee and me.

Now the mind of God,

the apple seed,

the hand of man,

the tree.

(Curtain.)

MAN ON THE MOUNTAIN

Two Scenes

(based on life and words of John Muir)

Characters

JOHN MUIR, tenor

CHORUS

Overture

(A video of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, especially Yosemite. Stage darkens.)

Scene One

(A spotlight shows JOHN MUIR in black like a priest. A mature man with a beard, he is standing alone upstage and facing the audience.)

Song

MUIR

Come an' see,

my fellow sinners,

come an' see

God's mountains.

I know o' altars

high in the wilderness

where faith is in the rocks

an' beauty in the trees.

Come an' see,

my brither'n,

come a' climb ae tree wi' me

to find salvation in the sky.

(The image of a vast forest projects across MUIR and onto a wide screen mid-stage. He looks at the projected image and speaks in the Scottish dialect.)

MUIR

(gesticulating)

The way to paradise

is thro ae forest wildness.

Come an' see, m' friends.

Come an' see.

(As he walks toward the screen, it rises, revealing a mountainous structure downstage.)

CHORUS

(offstage)

Come and see.

(MUIR begins climbing the mountain.)

Song

MUIR

I listen to the wind

singin' thro' the peaks.

I breathe the fragrance

o' the deep green forest.

O Mountain! My Mountain!

My God!

CHORUS

(off)

O Mountain!

(MUIR kneels, joins his hands as if in prayer, looks down, then stands, raises his hands above his head, and looks to the sky.)

MUIR

I shall be baptized!

I'll climb up thro' the firs an' pines

an' ride the wind waves

o' er the mountains.

Then I'll dip my soul into the sky--

an' I shall be baptized.

(The stage darkens.)

Scene Two

CHORUS

(off)

Ye must he born again!

(Behind the mountain a panoramic projection of a sunrise as seen from high. MUIR is standing on the peak, his arms outspread.)

MUIR: Will ye gaze at the glory!

CHORUS

(off)

Gloria in excelsis!

(The stage brightens as if in full daylight.)

MUIR: Guid news! Guid news!

(He sits upon the peak and regards the audience.)

MUIR (cheerfully): Howdy, folks! I am John Muir o' planet Earth. The mountains are my hame. They are fountains o' glaciers an' rivers an' the fertile soil. There one can spend hours w' his head up in the sky, soaring among the stars. I might ha' become a millionaire but I chose to become a tramp. An' I found a new hame. Guidness shall prevail. Evil canno last. Guid must always come in the end.

CHORUS

(off)

Good will always come.

Song

MUIR

Come to the mountains

to know the news.

(CHORUS files onto the stage and encircles the mountain with MUIR on top. He stands and spreads his arms again.)

Song

MUIR and CHORUS

Come and see,

m' fellow sinners,

come and see m' mountains.

Kneel at the altars of my God

to find your faith

among the trees

and salvation in the sky.

Come, m' friends,

and see the glory!

Finale

(The projection of the Sierra Nevada Range plays across MUIR, the CHORUS, and the mountain. While they continue singing, the screen drops down in front of them as a curtain reflecting the entire projection of the mountains. The stage darkens.)

(Final Curtain.)

AUDUBON

Five Acts

Characters

JOHN JAMES AUDUBON, tenor

LUCY BAKEWELL AUDUBON, soprano

DAUGHTER-IN-LAW, soprano

CHORUS/DANCERS/MEMBERS OF THE ROYAL INSTITUTION

AUDUBON SONS, two

AUDUBON GRANDCHILDREN, several

PIANO PUPIL

Overture

(Projected onto a downstage screen are migrating birds in great numbers. Then an aerial view of land covered with trees. Then shots of beavers, foxes, and bison. Shots of rivers and lakes full of fish. And shots of fresh water and clean skies. The screen and stage darken.)

ACT ONE

Scene One

(A Spring day. Young AUDUBON is walking upstage as though along a creek between forested cliffs.)

Song

JOHN

O river, trees, and sky!

What an abundant land to roam.

America! My America!

My newly found, my beloved new home.

America! America!

My beloved home.

(Looking along one of the cliffs, he spies a phoebe nest in a tree. And peering more closely he finds a cave behind the tree. He crawls into the cave and watches the birds and listens to them sing. The stage darkens.)

Scene Two

(Making the cave his hideaway, AUDUBON watches the birds tending their young; he sketches them and handles the nestlings. Relaxing, he reads La Fontaine's Fables and recites The Grasshopper and the Ant.)

Recitative

JOHN

Until fall, a grasshopper

Chose to chirr;

With starvation as foe

When northeasters would blow,

And not even a gnat's residue

Or caterpillar's to chew,

She chimed a recurrent chant

Of want beside an ant,

Begging it to rescue her

With some seeds it could spare

Till the following year's fell.

"By August you shall have them all,

Interest and principal."

Share one's seeds? Now what is worse

For any ant to do?

Ours asked, "When fair, what brought you through?"

"I sang for those who might pass by chance--

Night and day, an't you please."

"Sang, you say? You have put me at ease.

A singer! Excellent. Now dance."

(He lies back in the cave and daydreams.)

(Curtain.)

Scene Three

JOHN leads young LUCY into the phoebe's cave and shows her the birds in the nest. He shares his dreams and courts her.

Song

(with phoebe song)

JOHN

(holding a nestling in his hand)

Oh, Lucy--

look at this sweet little bird.

How quietly it rests,

how tenderly it nestles

in my hand.

(With his other hand, he takes hers.)

How beautiful thy hand,

a tiny little wing,

rests so tenderly in mine.

(The adult phoebes take flight, but the nestling remains in his hand.)

Duet

JOHN

My spirit soars into the air

while the wonderful pulse of life

lies trembling in my hands.

LUCY

I know, I know.

I feel the little heart

throbbing in your palm.

Oh, John,

the psalm of love

is like a singing bird.

JOHN

The psalm of life, Lucy,

becomes a holy word--

LUCY

Our song becomes a holy word--

sung upon a feathered wing.

JOHN

I sing!

LUCY

I sing!

JOHN and LUCY

We sing!

(Curtain.)

Scene Four

(At home with LUCY, now his wife, JOHN perches a broad-winged hawk on a stick attached to a table. When he gently smoothes the feathers, the hawk does not move. So he proceeds to draw the bird, while LUCY reads. She pauses and stares at the bird.)

LUCY: Wonderful how she sits for you, as if knowing your need to picture her.

(Finished, JOHN raises the window and sets the bird free. The hawk flies offstage.)

Song

JOHN

Fly, fly, my friend--

and thank you

for some moments of your time.

You've let me give you life

without end, dear friend.

Now, fly, fly, fly.

Scene Five

(JOHN comes home to LUCY with a dead Canada goose and his rifle over his arm.)

JOHN: A feast for supper, Lucy.

LUCY: Here, give me the poor creature.

(While preparing the bird she finds an egg inside the carcass.)

LUCY: John--look!

JOHN: Oh, she is with egg. Let me take it--

(He grabs the egg, cradles it in his hands, and rushes outside. She continues preparing for supper. He returns.)

LUCY: What did you do with the egg?

AUDUBON: I put it under a hen. Perhaps it will live--as it should.

(She laughs. He embraces her.)

(Curtain.)

ACT TWO

Scene One

(New Orleans. JOHN'S studio. Pictures of birds, quadrupeds, plants, and portraits of people line the walls. He is looks well, full of enthusiasm.)

Song

JOHN

When a bird is well fed

and well dressed

real living he enjoys

as though blessed.

(The stage darkens.)

Scene Two

(Natchez. JOHN'S studio. Pictures are stacked against one wall. He looks tired and poor.)

Song

JOHN

But how wearisome the world

when fortunes fall.

Too much have I been

in its thrall.

(Curtain.)

Scene Three

(The Ohio River. JOHN, obviously poor, is lying on a riverboat heading downstream; he is gazing into the sky.)

Song

JOHN

They say I am a madman.

But were I to lose

my vision of this world

for their view of sanity

and lose my humanity,

I would not want to live.

If this be madness,

I am glad to be mad,

glad to be mad.

(Curtain.)

ACT THREE

Scene One

(JOHN returns to LUCY. The Canada goose that had been an egg greets him, as he holds LUCY and kisses her. He shows her his beautiful pictures.)

Recitative

JOHN

I dream--

LUCY

You dream--

JOHN

I dream of being grand,

great in my art of Nature.

LUCY

You are grand.

JOHN

Join me in my work.

LUCY

I have my own work to do

but I will help you in my way.

JOHN

Join me in my dream.

LUCY

Oh, I fear for your dream

but I do believe.

JOHN

Oh, Lucy, my Lucy!

You are my savior.

LUCY

Oh, John, my John!

I'm not the one to save you.

JOHN

But I dream.

LUCY

And I believe.

Scene Two

(Dance hall in town. JOHN and LUCY are dancing together among others.)

Ballet

(JOHN plays his violin and with his long hair flowing, dances alone to his own music. When exhausted he is applauded and cheered by everyone.)

(Curtain.)

ACT FOUR

Scene One

(England. At the Royal Institution in Liverpool, JOHN, playing the role of the American woodsman, is received well and his work is praised and admired by the members.)

CHORUS

Audubon, Audubon--

an American man of the woods.

A man of brush and heart--

an American man of art.

(Curtain.)

Scene Two

(London and Louisiana at Christmas. Divided stage. JOHN sits alone in his room, writing a letter. LUCY is alone in her room, reading it simultaneously.)

LUCY (reading aloud): Wert thou here, the comfort I would feel, I am afraid, my Lucy, I will never feel alive without thee. How often have I told thee how dearly I love thee? Well, my Lucy, I feel now more attached, more devoted to thee than ever. Honors, hopes of wealth, even the education of our children--all are for thy own sake. Come to me or stay, I will be thy friend, thy lover, thy faithful husband.

(The stage darkens.)

Scene Three

(Spring. Same divided stage. JOHN, still sad, writes again; LUCY reads.)

LUCY (reading aloud): Whenever I am in this London, all is indifferent to me. I cannot conceive why, but my spirits have been much too low for my own comfort. The same feelings still exist this year that I felt last year. I hate

it, yes, I cordially hate London, and yet cannot escape from it. I neither can write in my journal nor draw well, and if I walk to the fields around, the very voice of the sweet birds I hear no longer has any charm for me, the

pleasure too much mingling with the idea that in another hour all will again be bustle, filth, and smoke.

(Curtain.)

Scene Four

(Louisiana. JOHN disembarks from a riverboat at Bayou Sarah. In darkness he wanders joyfully through the woods. At dawn he hears the sound of a piano played as by a child. Without saying a word, he looks into the

room. At the piano, a pupil is running her fingers along the keys. Beside the piano stands LUCY, illumined by the early morning light flowing through a curtained window. For a moment, he watches them in silence. Then he gently speaks.)

JOHN (murmuring): Lucy.

(She looks up. He steps forward, his arms opening to her. She runs to him. They embrace and look at each other. Overcome with emotion they weep together without words.)

(Curtain.)

ACT FIVE

Scene One

(New York. Minnie's Land--a new house built on the Hudson River. Now in his sixties and white-haired JOHN is finally content. He plays with his grandchildren and sings French songs of his childhood.)

Song

JOHN

(French folk song from late 18th century)

(Curtain.)

Scene Two

(JOHN with LUCY reading beside him in the house and gazing over the river to the misty cliffs along the far bank. His easel stands before him. When he begins to paint, he must strain to see his picture. Realizing he cannot see,

he lays down his brush. His heart broken, he sits back and listens to LUCY reading the poem, Israfel, by Edgar Allan Poe.)

LUCY

(reading)

In Heaven a spirit doth dwell

Whose heartstrings are a lute,

None sings so wildly well

As the angel Israfel,

And the giddy stars (so legends tell)

Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell

Of his voice, all mute....

(Curtain.)

Scene Three

(JOHN at night is lying in bed listening to his DAUGHTER-IN-LAW sing to him in Spanish.)

Song

DAUGHTER-IN-LAW

("Buenos Noches")

(Curtain.)

Scene Four

(A light shows JOHN lying in bed surrounded by LUCY and his two grown SONS. He turns to gaze at them wistfully as if saying farewell. Then he quietly dies. LUCY gently and lovingly closes his eyes. The stage darkens.)

Finale

(On the downstage screen, geese, ducks, avocets, whooping trances, and other birds painted by Audubon. Slide projections of his paintings of the birds of America replace the motion pictures.)

(Curtain.)

TWAIN'S WOMEN

One Scene with Music

(based on words of Samuel Clemens)

Characters

SAMUEL CLEMENS

JANE CLEMENS, alto

MRS. HORR, contralto

LAURA WRIGHT, contralto

LIVY LANGDON CLEMENS, alto

SUSY CLEMENS, soprano

JEAN CLEMENS, soprano

CLARA CLEMENS, soprano

Overture

(The stage is dark. When the Overture ends, a spotlight illumines old SAMUEL CLEMENS sitting in an easy chair upstage center. He glances around the audience.)

CLEMENS (narrating): My parents removed to Missouri in the early 1830s; I do not remember just when, for I was not born then and cared nothing for such things. Some one in Missouri sent me a picture of the house I was born in. I had always stated that it was a palace but I'm more guarded now. We had a little slave boy whom we had hired from some one in Hannibal. He was a cheery spirit, innocent and gentle, and the noisiest creature that ever was, perhaps. All day long, he was singing. One day I lost my temper, went raging to my mother, and said Sandy had been singing for an hour without a break, I couldn't stand it, and wouldn't she please shut him up. The tears came into her eyes and her lip trembled.

(A spotlight on JANE CLEMENS, Sam's mother, upstage right--the first of seven characters to appear clockwise across the stage.)

Song

JANE

Poor thing, poor thing,

when he sings

he's not remembering.

But when he's still

I fear he's thinking.

He will never see

his mother again.

So if he can sing

I must not hinder him,

but be thankful for his song.

CLEMENS (narrating): Sandy's noise was not a trouble to me any more. My mother lived to reach the neighborhood of ninety years and was capable with her tongue to the last--especially when meanness or an injustice roused her spirit. She came handy to me several times in my books, where she figures as Tom Sawyer's Aunt Polly.

(Music.)

CLEMENS (narrating): My school days began when I was four years and a half old. Mrs. Horr taught the children in a small log house. I broke one of the rules and was warned not to do it again and that the penalty for a second breach was a whipping. I presently broke the rule again and Mrs. Horr told me to go out and find a switch. I was glad she appointed me, for I could select a switch suitable to the occasion. In the mud, I found a cooper's shaving of the old-time pattern. There were nice new shavings close by but I took this one, although it was rotten. I carried it to Mrs. Horr, presented it, and stood before her in an attitude of meekness and resignation, which seemed to me to win favor and sympathy, but it did not happen. She divided a long look of strong disapprobation equally between me and the shaving; then she called me by my entire name.

(A spotlight on MRS. HORR, next to Clemens's mother.)

MRS. HORR: Sam-u-el Lang-horn Clem-ens.

CLEMENS (narrating): When a teacher calls a boy by his entire name, it means trouble.

MRS. HORR: Shame! Shame on you, Sam Clemens!

CLEMENS (narrating): She said she would try to appoint a boy with better judgment in the matter of switches. It saddens me to remember how many faces lighted up with the hope of getting that appointment. Jim Dunlap got it and when he returned with the switch of his choice, I recognized he was an expert. Mrs. Horr always opened school with prayer and a chapter from the New Testament; also, she explained the chapter with a brief talk. In one of these talks, she dwelt upon the text.

MRS. HORR: "Ask and ye shall receive." Whosoever prays for a thing earnestly, desirously need not doubt his prayer will be answered.

(The light on MRS. HORR fades out.)

CLEMENS (narrating): I was so forcibly struck by this information and so gratified by the opportunities it offered that I thought I would give it a trial. I believed in Mrs. Horr thoroughly and had no doubts. I prayed for gingerbread. Margaret Kooneman, the baker's daughter, brought a slab of gingerbread to school every morning; she had always kept it out of sight before but when I finished my prayer and glanced up, there it was in easy reach and she was looking the other way. In all my life, I believe I never enjoyed an answer to a prayer more than I enjoyed that one; and I was a convert, too.

But this dream was like almost all the other dreams we indulge in life, there was nothing in it. I did as much praying during the next two or three days as any one in that town and I was very sincere about it too, but nothing came of it. I found that not even the most powerful prayer was competent to lift that gingerbread again, and I concluded that if a person remains faithful to his gingerbread and keeps his eye on it he need not trouble himself about your prayers.

Something about my conduct troubled my mother and she questioned me concerning it with much solicitude. I was reluctant to reveal to her the change that had come over me, for it would grieve me to distress her kind heart, but at last, I confessed, with many tears, that I had ceased to be a Christian.

JANE (sadly): Oh, Sam, why?

CLEMENS (narrating): I said it was because I had found out that I was a Christian for revenue only and I could not bear the thought of that, it was so ignoble.

Recitative

JANE

Come to me,

my poor child,

and let me comfort you.

Even if you go on doing so

you will never be alone.

CLEMENS (narrating): My mother died in the summer of 1890.

(The spot fades out on JANE CLEMENS and in on SAM.)

CLEMENS (narrating): One day a chance remark called to my mind an early sweetheart of mine. I hadn't seen her for forty-eight years, but I found I remembered her quite vividly. She wasn't yet fifteen when I knew her. It was in the summertime and she had gone down the Mississippi from St. Louis to New Orleans.

That comely child, that charming child, was Laura Wright, and I could see her with perfect distinctness in the unfaded bloom of her youth, with her plaited tails dangling from her young head and her white summer frock puffing about in the wind of that ancient Mississippi time. I never saw her afterward.

Forty-eight years after that parting I found a letter from Laura Wright. It shook me to the foundations. The plaited tails fell away; the peachy young face vanished; the fluffy short frock along with it; and in the place of that

care-free little girl of forty-eight years ago, I imagined the world-worn and trouble-worn widow of sixty-two.

She wrote a charming letter full of character. I found in her, once more, the little girl of fourteen of so long ago. And the thought carried me so far back into the hoary past that for the moment I was living it over again and was again a heedless and giddy lad, with all the vast intervening stretch of years abolished--and along with it my present condition and my white head. And so, when I presently came upon the following passage in her letter it hit me with an astonishing surprise and seemed to be referring to somebody else.

(Spotlight on LAURA WRIGHT next.)

LAURA: I must not weary you, Sam, nor take up your time. I really forget that I'm writing to one of the world's most famous of men. This shows you I'm still roaming the Forest of Arden.

CLEMENS (narrating): Laura's letter was an appeal for pecuniary help for herself and for her disabled son. She was a schoolteacher. She was in need of a thousand dollars and I sent it.

(The light on LAURA WRIGHT fades out. Music.)

CLEMENS: (narrating) In February 1870, I was married to Miss Olivia Langdon. I saw her first in the form of an ivory miniature in her brother Charley's stateroom in the steamer Quaker City in the Bay of Smyrna, in the summer of 1867, when she was in her twenty-second year. I saw her in the flesh for the first time in New York the following December. She was slender and beautiful and girlish--and she was both girl and woman. She remained both girl and woman to the last day of her life. Under a grave and gentle exterior burned inextinguishable fires of sympathy, energy, devotion, enthusiasm, and limitless affection. She was always frail in body and she lived upon her spirit, whose hopefulness and courage were indestructible.

Perfect truth, perfect honesty, and perfect candor were qualities of my wife's character, which were born with her. Her judgments of people and things were sure and accurate. Her intuitions almost never deceived her. In her judgments of the characters and acts of both friends and strangers there was always room for charity, and this charity never failed. Hers was the most perfect character I ever met. And she was the most winningly dignified person I knew.

She was always cheerful and always able to communicate her cheerfulness to others. During the nine years we spent in poverty and debt, she was always able to reason me out of my despairs, find a bright side to the clouds, and make me see it. In all that time, I never knew her to utter a word of regret, nor did I know her children to do the like. For she taught them and they drew their fortitude from her. The love, which she bestowed upon those whom she loved, took the form of worship, and in that form, it was returned.

It was a strange combination, which wrought into one individual by marriage--her disposition and character and mine. She poured out her prodigal affections in kisses and caresses and in a vocabulary of endearments, whose profusion was always an astonishment to me. I was born reserved as to endearments of speech, and caresses and hers broke upon me as the summer waves break upon Gibraltar. I was reared in that atmosphere of reserve. I never knew my father's family to kiss another member of it except once, and that at a deathbed.

Livy had the heart-free laugh of a girl. It came seldom, but when it broke upon the ear, it was as inspiring as music.

(Music.)

CLEMENS (narrating): Our marriage did not happen in a smooth and comfortable way. There was a deal of courtship--three or four proposals of marriage and just as many declinations. But at last help and good fortune came and from a most unexpected quarter--where the hand of Providence is in it.

I was ready to leave for New York. I went out and climbed into a wagon back of the coachman on the seat, which was toward the end of the wagon and not fastened in its place; a fact which--most fortunately for me--we were not aware of. The coachman touched the horse with the whip. He made a sudden spring forward. I went over the stern of the wagon backward. I struck exactly on the top of my head and stood up that way for a moment, then crumbled down to the earth unconscious. It was a very good unconsciousness for a person who had not rehearsed the part. My head struck in a dish formed by the conjunction of four cobblestones. That depression was half-full of fresh new sand and this made a competent cushion. My head did not touch any of those cobblestones. I got not a bruise. I was not even jolted. Nothing was the matter with me at all.

The whole Langdon family swarmed out. It was very pleasant to hear the pitying remarks trickling around over me. That was one of the happiest half dozen moments of my life.

They set me up in an armchair in the parlor and sent for the family physician. Mrs. Theodore Crane brought a bottle of some kind of liquid fire to reduce contusions. She poured this on my head and pawed it around with her hand, stroking and massaging, the fierce stuff dribbling down my backbone and marking its way, inch by inch, with the sensation of a forest fire.

When she was getting worn out, her husband suggested that she rest and let Livy carry on the assuaging for a while. That was very pleasant. I should have been obliged to recover presently if it hadn't been for that. But under Livy's manipulations,--if they had continued--I should probably be unconscious to this day. It was very delightful, those manipulations. So delightful, so comforting, so enchanting that they even soothed the fire out of that fiendish liquid.

(A spotlight at downstage center illumines LIVY.)

Song

LIVY

Oh, poor, Sam--

I am

so sorry

for your fall.

Here, let me rub it

where it hurts.

Let me take your pain away,

poor Sam.

Let me rub it,

let me soothe it,

let me take your pain away.

CLEMENS (narrating): I got a good three-day extension out of that adventure and it helped a good deal. It pushed my suit forward several steps. A subsequent visit completed the matter and we became engaged.

In the beginning of our engagement, the proofs of my first book, The Innocents Abroad, began to arrive and she read them with me. She also edited them. She was my faithful, judicious, and painstaking editor until her death.

(Music.)

CLEMENS (narrating): Susy was born at the new home in Hartford, Connecticut. Like other children, she was blithe and happy, fond of play; unlike the average of children, she was at times much given to retiring within herself and trying to search out the hidden meanings of the deep things that make the puzzle and pathos of human existence and in all the ages have baffled the inquirer and mocked him.

(Spotlight on SUSY downstage left of center.)

CLEMENS (narrating): A year later Susy explained that the governess had been teaching her about the Indians and their religious beliefs, whereby it appeared that they had not only a god, but several. This had set Susy to thinking. Because of this thinking, she had stopped praying; that is, she modified it.

SUSY: Oh, mamma--I do not pray in the same way anymore.

LIVY: Susy, dear, tell me.

SUSY: Mamma, the Indians thought they knew, but we know they were wrong. By and by, we may be wrong. So now I pray there may be a God or something better still in heaven.

CLEMENS (narrating): Susy would break her heart over what seemed vast disasters--a broken toy, a picnic canceled by thunder and lightning and rain; the mouse that was growing tame and friendly in the nursery caught and killed by the cat.

(SUSY cries and LIVY comforts her.)

LIVY: There, there, my Susy, dear--you mustn't cry over little things.

SUSY: Mamma, what is "little things?"

CLEMENS (narrating): Then Susy tried to help her mother out--with an illustration. Mother was getting ready to buy a long-promised toy watch for Susy.

SUSY: If you forget the watch, mamma, would that be a little thing?

CLEMENS (narrating): She was hoping the answer would unriddle the riddle and bring rest and peace to her perplexed little mind. The hope was disappointed, of course. A verdict was reached and Susy was granted leave to measure her disasters thereafter with her own tapeline.

From her earliest days, Susy was given to examining things and thinking them out by herself. She was not trained to this; it was the make of her mind. In matters involving questions of fair or unfair dealing she reviewed the details patiently and surely arrived at a right and logical conclusion.

In Munich, when she was six years old, she was harassed by a recurrent dream, in which a ferocious bear figured. She came out of the dream each time sorely frightened and crying. She set herself the task of analyzing this dream. The reasons of it? The purpose? The origin? No--the moral aspect of it. Her verdict arrived at after candid and searching investigation, exposed it to the charge of being one-sided and unfair.

Song

SUSY

I was never the one

who ate the bear

in my nightmare

but always the one

who was eaten.

CLEMENS: (narrating) In the summer of 1880 when Susy was just eight years of age, the family was at Quarry Farm. Hay-cutting time was approaching and Susy and Clara were counting the hours, for the time was big with a great event for them; they had been promised that they might mount the wagon and ride home from the fields on the summit of the hay mountain. This perilous privilege, so dear to their age and species, had never been granted them before. Their excitement had no bounds. They could talk of nothing but this epoch-making adventure now. But misfortune overtook Susy on the very morning of the important day.

In a sudden outbreak of passion, she corrected Clara--with a shovel, stick, or something of the sort. At any rate, the offense was clearly beyond the limit allowed in the nursery. In accordance with the rule and custom of the house, Susy went to her mother to confess and to help decide upon the size and character of the punishment due.

It was quite understood that as a punishment could have but one rational object and function--to act as a reminder and warn the transgressor against transgressing in the same way again--the children would know about as well as anyhow to choose a penalty, which would be rememberable and effective. Susy and her mother discussed various punishments but none of them seemed adequate. This fault was an unusually serious one and required the setting up of a danger signal in the memory that would not blow out or burn out but remain a fixture there and furnish its saving warning indefinitely. Among the punishments mentioned was deprivation of the hay-wagon ride. Noticeably, this one hit Susy hard.

Finally, in the summing up, the mother read the list.

LIVY: Which one do you think it ought to be, Susy?

SUSY: Which one do you think, mamma?

LIVY: Well, Susy, I would rather leave it to you. You make the choice.

SUSY: The hay wagon, mamma, because the other things might not make me remember not to do it again. If I don't get to ride on the hay wagon, I can easily remember.

CLEMENS (narrating): When Susy was thirteen and perhaps the busiest bee in the household hive, she secretly and of her own motion and out of love added another task to her labors--the writing of a biography of me. She did this work in her bedroom at night and kept her record hidden. Susy began the biography in 1885, when I was in my fiftieth year.

SUSY (reading): We are a very happy family. We consist of Papa, Mamma, Jean, Clara, and me. It is papa I am writing about, and I shall have no trouble in not knowing what to say about him, as he is a very striking character.

Papa's appearance has been described many times, but very incorrectly. He has beautiful gray hair, not any too thick or any too long, but just right; a Roman nose, which greatly improves the beauty of his features; kind blue eyes and a small mustache. He has a wonderfully shaped head and profile. He has a very good figure--in short, he is an extraordinarily fine looking man. All his features are perfect, except he hasn't extraordinary teeth. His complexion is very fair, and he doesn't wear a beard. He is a very good man and a very funny one. He has a temper, but we all of us have in this family. He is the loveliest man I ever saw or ever hope to see--and oh, so absent-minded. He does tell perfectly delightful stories. Clara and I used to sit on each arm of his chair and listen while he told us stories about the pictures on the wall.

CLEMENS (narrating): I remember the story-telling days vividly. They were a difficult and exacting audience--those little creatures. As a romancer to the children, I had a hard time, even from the beginning. If they brought me a picture in a magazine and required me to build a story to it, they would cover the rest of the page with their pudgy hands to keep me from stealing an idea from it. The stories had to be absolutely original and fresh. Sometimes the children furnished me simply a character or two, or a dozen, and required me to start over at once on that slim basis and deliver those characters up to a vigorous and entertaining life of crime. If they heard of a new trade or an unfamiliar animal or anything like that, I was pretty sure to have to deal with those things in the next romance.

(Spotlight on young CLARA next in the semi-circle.)

Song

CLARA

Papa, papa,

make me a story

'bout a plumber

and a bawgun strictor.

CLEMENS (narrating): I had to do it. She didn't know what a boa constrictor was until he developed in the tale--then she was better satisfied with it than ever.

SUSY (reading): Papa's favorite game is billiards, and when he is tired and wishes to rest himself he stays up all night and plays billiards, it seems to rest his head. He smokes a great deal, almost incessantly. He has the mind of an author exactly, some of the simplest things he can't understand. Our burglar alarm is often out of order, and papa had been obliged to take the mahogany room off from the alarm altogether for a time, because the burglar alarm had been in the habit of ringing even when the mahogany-room window was closed. At length he thought that perhaps the burglar alarm might be in order and he decided to try to see; accordingly, he put it on, then went down, and opened the window; consequently, the alarm bell rang. Papa went despairingly upstairs.

CLEMENS: Livy, the mahogany room won't go on. I just opened the window to see.

LIVY: Oh, Youth--if you open the window, of course the alarm will ring!

CLEMENS: That's what I opened it for; why I just went down to see if it would ring!

SUSY (reading): Mamma tried to explain to papa that when he wanted to go and see whether the alarm would ring while the window was closed he mustn't go and open the window--but in vain, papa couldn't understand, and

got very impatient with mamma for trying to make him believe an impossible thing true.

CLEMENS (narrating): This is a frank biographer and an honest one; she uses no sandpaper on me. That burglar alarm which Susy mentions led a gay and careless life and had no principles. It was generally out of order at one point or another and there was plenty of opportunity, because all the windows and doors in the house from the cellar up to the top floor were connected with it. However, in its season of being out of order it could trouble us for only a very little while: we quickly found out it was fooling us and that it was buzzing its blood-curdling alarm merely for its own amusement. Then we would shut it off and send for the electrician. When the repairs were finished, we would set the alarm again and reestablish our confidence in it.

It never did any real business except upon one single occasion. All the rest of its expensive career was frivolous and without purpose. Just that one time it performed its duty and its whole duty--gravely, seriously, admirably. It let fly about two o'clock one black and dreary March morning and I turned out promptly because I knew it was not fooling this time. The bathroom door was on my side of the bed. I stepped in there, turned up the gas, looked at the annunciator, and turned off the alarm--so far as the door indicated was concerned--thus stopping the racket. Then I came back to bed. Mrs. Clemens opened the debate.

LIVY: What was it?

CLEMENS: It was the cellar door.

LIVY: Was it a burglar, do you think?

CLEMENS: Yes, of course it was. Did you suppose it was a Sunday-school superintendent?

LIVY: No. What do you suppose he wants?

CLEMENS: I suppose he wants jewelry, but he is not acquainted with the house and thinks it is in the cellar. I don't like to disappoint a burglar whom I am not acquainted with and who has done me no harm, but if he had had common sagacity enough to inquire, I could have told him we kept nothing down there but coal and vegetables. Still, it may be that he is acquainted with this place and that what he really wants is coal and vegetables. On the whole, I think it is vegetables he is after.

LIVY: Are you going down to see?

CLEMENS: No. I could not be of any assistance. Let him select for himself; I don't know where the things are.

LIVY: But suppose he comes up to the ground floor!

CLEMENS: That's all right. We shall know it the minute he opens a door on that floor. It will set off the alarm.

(A loud alarm offstage.)

CLEMENS: He has arrived. I told you he would. I know all about burglars and their ways. They are systematic people.

(narrating) I went into the bathroom to see if I was right, and I was. I shut off the dining room and came back to bed.

(The alarm stops.)

LIVY: What do you suppose he is after now?

CLEMENS: I think he has got all the vegetables he wants and is coming up for napkin rings and odds and ends for the wife and children. They all have families--burglars have--and they are always thoughtful of them, always take a few necessaries for themselves, and fill out with tokens of remembrance for the family.

LIVY: Are you going down to see what it is he wants now?

CLEMENS: No. I am no more interested than I was before. They are experienced people--burglars; they know what they want. I should be no help to him. I think he is after ceramics, bric-a-brac, and such things. If he knows the house, he knows that that is all he can find on the dining-room floor.

LIVY: Suppose he comes up here!

CLEMENS: It is all right. He will give notice.

LIVY: What shall we do then?

CLEMENS: Climb out of the window.

LIVY: Well--what is the use of a burglar alarm for us?

CLEMENS: You have seen, dear heart, it has been useful up to the present moment, and I have explained to you how it will be continuously useful after he gets up here. He is disappointed, I think. He has gone off with the vegetables and the bric-a-brac and I think he is dissatisfied.

(narrating) We went to sleep. In the morning I was out and hurrying, for I was to take the 8:29 train for New York. I found the gas burning brightly all over the first floor. My new overcoat was gone; my old umbrella was gone; my new patent-leather shoes, which I had never worn, were gone. The large window, which opened into the umbra at the rear of the house, was standing wide.

I passed out through it and tracked the burglar down the hill through the trees; tracked him without difficulty, because he had blazed his progress with imitation-silver napkin rings and my umbrella, and various other things, which he had disapproved of; and I went back in triumph and proved to my wife that he was a disappointed burglar. I had suspected he would be, from the start, and from his not coming up to our floor to get human beings.

The word "Youth" was my wife's pet name for me. It was gently satirical but also affectionate. I had certain mental and material peculiarities and customs proper to a much younger person that I was.

SUSY (reading): Papa is very fond of animals particularly of cats. We had a dear little gray kitten once that he named "Lazy" (papa always wears gray to match his hair and eyes) and he would carry him around on his shoulder.

It was a mighty pretty sight! The gray cat sound asleep against papa's gray coat and hair. The names that he has given our different cats, are really remarkably funny, they are namely Stray Kit, Abner, Motley, Fraeulein, Lazy, Buffalo Bill, Soapy Sall, Cleveland, Sour Mash, and Pestilence and Famine.

Papa uses very strong language, but I have an idea not nearly so strong as when he first married mamma. Papa doesn't like to go to church at all; why I never understood until just now. He told us the other day he couldn't bear to hear any one talk but himself, but that he could listen to himself talk for hours without getting tired. Of course he said this in joke, but I've no doubt it was founded on truth.

CLEMENS (narrating): Susy's remark about my strong language troubles me and I must go back to it. All through the first ten years of my married life, I kept a constant and discreet watch upon my tongue while in the house, and went outside and to a distance when circumstances were too much for me and I was obliged to seek relief. I prized my wife's respect and approval. I dreaded the day when she should discover that I was but a whited sepulcher partly freighted with suppressed language. I was so careful, during ten years, that I had not a doubt that my suppressions had been successful. Therefore, I was quite as happy in my guilt as I could have been if I had been innocent.

But at last, an accident exposed me. I went into the bathroom one morning to make my toilet and carelessly left the door two or three inches ajar. It was the first time I had ever failed to take the precaution of closing it tightly. I knew the necessity of being particular about this, because shaving was always a trying ordeal for me, and I could seldom carry it through to a finish without verbal helps. Now this time I was unprotected and did not suspect it. I had no extraordinary trouble with my razor on this occasion and was able to worry through with mere mutterings and growlings of an improper sort but with nothing noisy or emphatic about them--no snapping and barking. Then I put on a shirt.

My shirts are an invention of my own. They open in the back and buttoned there--when there are buttons. This time the button was missing. My temper jumped up several degrees in a moment and my remarks rose accordingly in both loudness and vigor of expression. But I was not troubled, for the bathroom door was a solid one and I supposed it was firmly closed. I flung up the window and threw the shirt out. It fell upon the shrubbery where the people on their way to church could admire it if they wanted to; there was merely fifty feet of grass between the shirt and the passers-by. Still rumbling and thundering distantly, I put on another shirt. Again, the button was absent. I augmented my language to meet the emergency and threw that shirt out of the window. I was too angry--too insane--to examine the third shirt, but put it furiously on. Again, the button was absent, and that shirt followed its comrades out of the window. Then I straightened up, gathered my reserves, and let myself go like a cavalry charge. In the midst of that great assault, my eye fell upon that gaping door and I was paralyzed.

It took me a good while to finish my toilet. I extended the time unnecessarily in trying to make up my mind as to what I would best do in the circumstances. I tried to hope Mrs. Clemens was asleep but I knew better. I could not escape by the window. It was narrow and suited only to shirts. At last I made up my mind to boldly loaf through the bedroom with the air of a person who had not been doing anything. I made half the journey successfully. I did not turn my eyes in her direction, because that would not be safe. It is very difficult to look as if you have not been doing anything when the facts are the other way, and my confidence in my performance oozed steadily out of me as I went along. I was aiming for the left-hand door because it was farthest from my wife. It had never been opened from the day that the house was built but it seemed a blessed refuge for me now.

I had to stop in the middle of the room. I hadn't the strength to go on. I believed I was under accusing eyes--that even the carved angels on the old elaborately carved black Venetian bedstead were inspecting me with an unfriendly gaze. You know how it is when you are convinced somebody behind you is looking steadily at you. You have to turn your face--you can't help it. I turned mine. I turned, because, I couldn't help it--and my memory of what I saw is still vivid after all these years.

Against the white pillows, I saw the black hair, saw that young and beautiful face, and I saw the gracious eyes with a something in them, which I had never seen there before. They were snapping and flashing with indignation.

I felt myself crumbling; I felt myself shrinking away to nothing under that accusing gaze. I stood silent under that desolating fire for as much as a minute, I should say--it seemed a very, very long time. Then my wife's lips parted and from them issued--my latest bathroom remark.

LIVY: Damn it to hell!

CLEMENS (narrating): The language perfect, but the expression velvety, unpractical, apprentice-like, ignorant, inexperienced, comically inadequate, absurdly weak, and unsuited to the great language. In my lifetime, I had never heard anything so out of tune, so inharmonious, so incongruous, so ill suited to each other as were those mighty words set to that feeble music. I tried to keep from laughing, for I was a guilty person in deep need of charity and mercy. I tried to keep from bursting, and I succeeded--until--

LIVY (gravely): There, now you know how it sounds.

CLEMENS: Oh, Livy, if it sounds like that, God forgive me, I will never do it again!

(LIVY laughs. They both convulse with laughter and go on laughing until exhausted and reconciled.)

CLEMENS (narrating): The children were present at breakfast--Clara, aged six, and Susy, eight--and mother made a guarded remark about strong language; guarded because she did not wish the children to suspect anything--a guarded remark which censured strong language.

CLARA and SUSY: Why, mamma--papa uses it!

CLEMENS (narrating): I was astonished. I had supposed that that secret was safe in my own breast and that its presence had never been suspected.

SUSY (reading): Clara and I are sure that papa played the trick on Grandma about the whipping related in The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. And we know papa played "Hooky" all the time. And how readily would papa pretend to be dying so as not to have to go to school!

CLEMENS (narrating): These revelations and exposures are just. If I am as transparent to other people as I was to Susy, I have wasted much effort in this life.

SUSY (reading): Grandma couldn't make papa go to school, so she let him go into a printing office to learn the trade. He did so, and gradually picked up enough education to enable him to do about as well as those who were more studious in early life.

CLEMENS (narrating): It is noticeable that Susy does not get overheated when she is complimenting me but maintains a proper judicial and biographical calm. It is noticeable also and it is to her credit as a biographer that she distributes compliment and criticism with a fair and even hand.

Susy passed from life in the Hartford home the 18th of August, 1896. With her when the end came was her sister, Jean. Clara and her mother and I had arrived in England from around the world on the 31st of July and took a house in Guildford. A week later, when Susy and Jean should have been arriving from America, we got a letter instead.

It explained that Susy was slightly ill--nothing of consequence. But we were disquieted and began to cable for later news. No answer--and the ship to leave Southampton next day. Clara and her mother began packing to be ready in case the news should be bad. We sat silent at home till one in the morning, waiting--waiting for we knew not what. Then we took the earliest morning train and when we reached Southampton, the message was there.

It said the recovery would be long but certain. This was a great relief to me but not to my wife. She was frightened. She and Clara went aboard the steamer at once and sailed for America to nurse Susy. I remained behind.

Three days later, when my wife and Clara were about halfway across the ocean, I was standing in our dining room, thinking of nothing in particular, when a cablegram was put into my hand. It said, "Susy was peacefully released today."

The mother and the sister were out there in mid-Atlantic, ignorant of what was happening, flying to meet this incredible calamity. All that could be done to protect them from the full force of the shock was done by relatives and good friends. They went down the Bay and met the ship at night but did not show themselves until morning and then only to Clara. When she returned to the stateroom, she did not speak and did not need to.

Song

LIVY

Susy--

Susy, my Susy--

Susy is dead.

CLEMENS (narrating): At half past ten o'clock that night, Clara and her mother drew up at Elmira by the same train and in the same car, which had borne them and me westward from it one year before. And again, Susy was

there--not waving her welcome in the glare of the lights as she had waved her farewell to us thirteen months before, but lying white and fair in her coffin in the house where she was born.

The last thirteen days of Susy's life had been spent in our own house in Hartford, the home of her childhood and always the dearest place in the earth to her. Jean was there. At the hour when my wife and Clara set sail for America, Susy was in no danger. Three hours later, there came a sudden change for the worse. Meningitis set in and it was immediately apparent that she was death-struck.

(Spotlight on JEAN next in the semi-circle.)

JEAN: That evening she took food for the last time.

CLEMENS (narrating): The brain fever was raging. She had found hanging in a closet a gown that she had seen her mother wear. She thought it was her mother, dead, and she kissed it and cried.

SUSY: Mamma!

CLEMENS (narrating): She walked the floor a little in her pain and delirium, then succumbed to weakness and returned to her bed. About noon she became blind.

SUSY: Oh, my God--I cannot see!

JEAN: About one in the afternoon, Susy spoke for the last time.

SUSY: Mamma! Mamma!

CLEMENS (narrating): How gracious it was that in that forlorn hour of wreck and ruin, with the night of death closing around her, she should have been granted that beautiful illusion--that the latest vision which rested upon the clouded mirror of her mind should have been the vision of her mother, and the latest emotion she should know in life the joy and peace of that dear imagined presence. About two o'clock she composed herself as if for sleep and never moved again.

(The spotlight on SUSY fades out.)

CLEMENS (narrating): She fell into unconsciousness and so remained two days and five hours, until the release came. She was twenty-four. Her mother and her sisters saw her laid to rest--she that had been our wonder and our worship.

(The light on SUSY fades out.)

(Music.)

CLEMENS (narrating): The fifth of June marks the disaster of my life--the death of my wife. It occurred in Florence, Italy, whither we had taken her in the hope of restoring her broken health.

LIVY: I am dying!

CLEMENS (narrating): At our home in Riverdale, Clara stood a daily watch of three or four hours, and hers was a hard office indeed. Daily she sealed up in her heart a dozen dangerous truths and thus saved her mother's life, hope, and happiness with holy lies. It was fortunate for us all that Clara's reputation for truthfulness was so well established in her mother's mind. It was our daily protection from disaster. The mother never doubted Clara's word. Clara could tell her large improbabilities without exciting any suspicion, whereas if I had tried to market even a small and simple one the case would have been different. I was never able to get a reputation like Clara's. But my protection lay in the fact that I was allowed in the bedchamber only once a day, then for only two minutes.

My room was next to Mrs. Clemens's, with a large bathroom between. I could not talk with her, but I could correspond by writing. Every night I slipped a letter under the bathroom door that opened near her bed--a letter that contained no information about current events and could do no harm. She responded once or twice a day--at first at some length, but as the months dragged along and her strength grew feebler, she put her daily message of love in trembling characters upon little scraps of paper, and this she continued until the day she died.

I mentioned that Clara's post was difficult, and indeed, it was. Some days before Christmas, Jean came in from a long romp in the snow, and she sat down, perspiring, and was presently struck with a violent chill. She fell into the doctor's hands at once and by Christmas Eve was become very ill. The disease was double pneumonia. From that time onward, her case was alarming. During all this time her mother never suspected anything was wrong. She questioned Clara every day concerning Jean's health, spirits, clothes, employments and amusements, and how she was enjoying herself; and Clara furnished the information right along, in minute detail--every word

of it false, of course. Every day she had to tell how Jean dressed; and in time she got so tired of using Jean's existing clothes over and over again and trying to get new effects out of them that finally, as relief to her hard-worked invention, she got to adding imaginary clothes to Jean's wardrobe, and would probably have doubled it and trebled it if a warning note in her mother's comments had not admonished her that she was spending more money on these spectral gowns than the family income justified.

During the middle of January, Jean had become able to be about, and the doctor ordered a change of scene for her. During the whole of Jean's absence Mrs. Clemens was happy in the thought that she was on the premises; that she was in blooming health; that she was having as joyous a time as any young girl in the region. Clara kept her mother posted every day concerning Jean's movements. On one day, she would report Jean as being busy with her woodcarving; the next day she would have Jean hard at work at her language-studies; the day after, she would report Jean as being busy typewriting literature for me. In the course of time, she got as tired of these worn stage-properties as she had of Jean's clothes before.

You will get an idea of what a time that poor child had every day, picking her way through traps and pitfalls, and just barely escaping destruction two or three times in every hour. Clara did not go to her lesson in New York, on Jean's account--but judiciously forgot that fact, and entered her mother's room toward train time, dressed in a wrapper.

LIVY: Why Clara, aren't you going to your lesson?

CLARA (almost caught): Yes.

LIVY: In that costume?

CLARA: Oh, no.

LIVY: Well, you can't make your train, it's impossible.

CLARA: I know, but I'm going to take the other one.

LIVY: Indeed that won't do--you'll be ever so much too late for your lesson.

CLARA: No, the lesson-time has been put an hour later.

LIVY (satisfied, then suddenly): But Clara, that train and the late lesson together will make you late to Mrs. Hapgood's luncheon.

CLARA: No, the train leaves fifteen minutes earlier than it used to.

LIVY (satisfied, then reflectively): What is that name? Tobin--Toby--no, it's Tobin--Miss Tobin.

CLEMENS (narrating): Clara turned cold to the marrow, but exhibited nothing--Miss Tobin was Jean's trained nurse.

CLARA: What about Tobin--or Miss Tobin? Who is it?

LIVY: A nurse--trained nurse. They say she is very good and not talkative. Have you seen her?

CLEMENS (narrating): Clara did not know anything to say in this mysterious emergency.

CLARA (desperately): Seen her? A Miss Tobin? No. Who is it?

LIVY: Oh, I don't know.

CLEMENS (narrating): Clara was vastly relieved.

LIVY: The doctor spoke of her--and praised her. I suppose it was a hint that we need another. But I didn't respond, and he dropped the matter. Miss Sherry is enough; we don't need another. If he approaches you about it, discourage him. What is Jean doing?

CLARA: She said she was going to do a little typewriting.

CLEMENS (narrating): A lie, of course; Jean being barely alive.

LIVY: Has she been out today?

CLARA: Only a moment, right after luncheon. She was determined to go out again, but--

LIVY: How did you know she was out?

CLARA (saving herself in time): The housekeeper told me. She was determined to go out again in the rain and snow, but I persuaded her to stay in.

LIVY (with grateful admiration): Clara, you are wonderful! The wise watch you keep over Jean and the influence you have over her; it's so lovely of you, and I tied here and can't take care of her myself.

CLEMENS (narrating): She went on with these undeserved praises till Clara was expiring with shame.

LIVY: How did John Howells seem yesterday?

CLARA: Oh, he was very well. Of course it seemed desolate in that big dining room with only two at table.

LIVY: Why only two?

CLARA (stupidly): Well, er, papa doesn't count.

LIVY: But doesn't Jean count?

CLARA (almost caught again): Why, yes, she counts of course--makes up the number--but she doesn't say anything--never talks.

LIVY: Did she walk with you?

CLARA: A little way. Then we met the Dodges and she went off coasting with them.

LIVY (wonderingly): Sunday?

CLARA (up a stump for a moment): Well, they don't every Sunday. They didn't last Sunday.

CLEMENS (narrating): Livy was apparently satisfied.

Toward the end of October in nineteen-o-three, we carried Mrs. Clemens aboard ship. When we reached Florence, she was conveyed to the Villa di Quarto. Mrs. Clemens was doomed from the beginning but she never suspected it--we never suspected it. She had been ill many times in her life but her miraculous recuperative powers always brought her out of these perils safely. We were full of fears, anxieties, and solicitudes all the time but I do not think we ever really lost hope. At least, not until the last two or three weeks. It was not like her to lose hope. We never expected her to lose it.

LIVY: You believe I shall get well?

CLEMENS (narrating): I sat by her bedside, and she bright and cheerful. I was deceived by her inspiriting life and animation and far over-stayed my privilege. Only a word and a kiss were permissible, but I stayed a full half hour. Then I blamed myself and said I had done wrong.

LIVY: No harm.

CLEMENS (narrating): She lavished caresses upon me in her old natural way, the way, which had been hers for thirty-four years.

LIVY: You will come back.

CLEMENS: Yes, to say goodnight.

CLEMENS (narrating): As usual, I stood a minute in the door, bending inward and throwing kisses, she throwing kisses in response, and her face all bright with that newfound smile--I not dreaming that I was looking upon that dear face for the last time in life. Yet, so it was.

For a time I sat in my room musing, filled with a deep contentment, my heart-burdens strangely gone, and my spirit at peace for the first time in so many heavy months. Then that uplift came again, and grew to an exaltation; and under its influence I did a thing which I have hardly done since we lost our incomparable Susy eight years ago, whose death made a wound in her mother's heart which never healed--I went to the piano and sang the old songs, the quaint negro hymns which no one cared for when I sang them, except Susy and her mother. When I sang them Susy always came and listened; when she died, my interest in them passed away; I could not put force and feeling into them without the inspiration of her approving presence. But now the force and feeling were all back in full strength, and I was all alive, and it was if eight years had fallen from me.

In the midst of one of those songs, Jean crept into the room and sat down, to my astonishment and--embarrassment; and I stopped.

JEAN: Oh, no--go on.

CLEMENS (narrating): When she asked me to go on, only the astonishment remained, and it was a pleasant one and inspiring. With great difficulty, I brought up little by little the forgotten words of many songs, and Jean remained.

(He sings the hymn: "The Lord He Calls Me, He Calls Me by the Thunder.")

LIVY: Oh, listen! He is singing a goodnight carol for me.

CLEMENS (narrating): After a little, I went to my room, and it was now getting toward time to go downstairs and say goodnight. At that moment, Livy was breathing her last!

On my way down, I framed a remark: "Livy, Jean has paid me a compliment which I have not had since we last--" But no, I must not say that; Susy's name would bring the heartbreak, and she would not sleep. She was already sleeping--and I never suspected!

Livy was sitting up in bed, with her head bent forward. Clara and Jean were standing near the foot of the bed, looking dazed. I went around, bent over, and looked into Livy's face, and I think I spoke to her, I do not know; but she did not speak to me, and that seemed strange, I could not understand it. I kept looking at her and wondering--and never dreaming of what had happened!

CLARA: But is it true? Is it true? It can't be true!

CLEMENS (narrating): Then for the first time I knew. In an instant, she was gone from this life. How grateful I was that she had been spared the struggle she had so dreaded. And that I, too, had so dreaded for her. Mercifully she was granted the gentlest and swiftest of deaths--and she never knew, she never knew! She was the most beautiful spirit, and the highest and the noblest I have known. And now she is dead. She was my life, and she is gone; she was my riches, and I am a pauper.

(The light on LIVY fades out. Music.)

CLEMENS (narrating): Jean is dead! Last night Jean, all flushed with splendid health, and I the same, from the wholesome effects of my Bermuda holiday, strolled hand in hand from the dinner table and sat down in the library

and chatted and planned and discussed, cheerily and happily, then went upstairs, Jean's friendly German dog following.

JEAN: I can't kiss you good night, father: I have a cold and you could catch it.

CLEMENS (narrating): I bent and kissed her hand. She was moved--I saw it in her eyes--and she impulsively kissed my hand in return.

JEAN: Sleep well, dear, sleep well!

CLEMENS: Sleep well, dear! (narrating) This morning I woke and heard voices outside my door. I said to myself, "Jean is starting on her usual horseback flight to the station for the mail. Then our housekeeper entered, stood quaking and gasping at my bedside a moment, then found her tongue and said, "Miss Jean is dead!"

(The light on JEAN fades out.)

CLEMENS (narrating): In her bathroom she lay; the fair young creature stretched upon the floor and covered with a sheet. And looking so placid, so natural and as if asleep. We knew what had happened. She was an epileptic: she had been seized with a convulsion and heart failure in her bath.

I lost Susy; I lost her mother--her incomparable mother! Clara has gone away to live in Europe; and now I have lost Jean. How poor I am, who was once so rich! We kissed hands good-by last night--and it was forever, we never suspecting it.

I looked upon her again. I wonder I can bear it. She looks just as her mother looked when she lay dead in that Florentine villa so long ago. The sweet placidity of death! It is more beautiful than sleep.

Jean was on the dock when the ship came in only four days ago. She was at the door, beaming a welcome, when I reached this house the next evening. We played cards and she tried to teach me a new game called "Mark Twain." We sat chatting cheerily in the library last night and she wouldn't let me look into the loggia, where she was making Christmas preparations. She said she would finish them in the morning--the surprise would follow; the surprise she had been working over for days. While she was out for a moment, I disloyally stole a look.

The loggia floor was clothed with rugs and furnished with chairs and sofas; and the uncompleted surprise was there: in the form of a Christmas tree that was drenched with silver film in a most wonderful way; and on a table was a prodigal profusion of bright things, which she was going to hang upon it.

And now she lies yonder, and cares for nothing any more. Strange--marvelous--incredible! I have had this experience before; but it would still be incredible if I had had it a thousand times.

"Miss Jean is dead!"

I have been to Jean's parlor. Such a turmoil of Christmas presents for servants and friends! They are everywhere; tables, chairs, sofas, and the floor--everything is occupied and over occupied. It is many and many a year since I have seen the like. In that ancient day, Mrs. Clemens and I used to slip softly into the nursery at midnight on Christmas Eve and look over the array of presents. The children were little then. And now here is Jean's parlor looking just as that nursery used to look. The presents are not labeled--the hands are forever idle that would have labeled them today. Jean's mother always worked herself down with her Christmas preparations. Jean did the same yesterday and the preceding days, and the fatigue cost her life.

Would I bring her back to life if I could do it? I would not. If a word would do it, I would beg for strength to withhold the word. And I would have the strength; I am sure of it. In her loss I am almost bankrupt and my life is bitterness, but I am content; for she has been enriched with the most precious of all gifts--that gift which makes all other gifts mean and poor--death. I felt this way when Susy passed away; and later my wife.

Why did I build this house, two years ago? To shelter this vast emptiness? How foolish I was! But I shall stay in it. The spirits of the dead hallow a house for me. It was not so with other members of my family. Susy died in the house we built in Hartford. Mrs. Clemens would never enter it again. But it made the house dearer to me. I have entered it once since when it was tenantless and silent and forlorn, but to me it was a holy place and beautiful. It seemed to me that the spirits of the dead were all about me and would speak to me and welcome me if they could: Livy and Susy. How good and kind they were and how lovable their lives! I shall stay in this house. It is dearer to me tonight than ever it was before. Jean's spirit will make it beautiful for me always.

Her dog has been wandering about the grounds today, comradeless and forlorn. I have seen him from the windows. She got him from Germany. He has tall ears and looks exactly like a wolf. He was educated in Germany and knows no language but German. Jean gave him no orders save in that tongue. The dog will not be neglected.

There was never a kinder heart than Jean's. From her childhood up, she always spent the most of her allowance on charities of one kind and another. After she became my secretary and had her income doubled, she spent her money upon these things with a free hand. She was a loyal friend to animals and she loved them all, birds, beasts and everything--even snakes--an inheritance from me. She knew all the birds: she was high up in that lore. She became a member of various humane societies when she was still a little girl and she remained an active member to the last. She founded two or three societies for the protection of animals, here in and in Europe.

She was an embarrassing secretary, for she fished my correspondence out of the wastebasket and answered the letters. She thought all letters deserved the courtesy of an answer. Her mother brought her up in that kindly error. She could write a good letter and was swift with her pen. Her tongue took to languages with an easy facility. She never allowed her Italian, French, and German to get rusty through neglect.

For many and many a day to come, wherever I go in this house, remembrancers of Jean will mutely speak to me of her. Who can count the number of them?

She was in exile two years with the hope of healing her malady. There are no words to express how grateful I am that she did not meet her fate in the hands of strangers, but in the loving shelter of her own home.

It is true. Jean is dead.

I went to Jean's room and turned back the sheet and looked at the peaceful face and kissed the cold brow and remembered that heart-breaking night in Florence so long ago in that cavernous and silent vast villa, when I crept downstairs so many times and turned back a sheet and looked at a face lust like this one--Jean's mother's face--and kissed a brow that was just like this one. And I saw again what I had seen then--that strange and lovely miracle--the sweet, soft contours of early maidenhood restored by the gracious hand of death! When Jean's mother lay dead, all trace of care and trouble and suffering and the corroding years had vanished out of the face, and

I was looking again upon it as I had known and worshipped it in its young bloom and beauty a whole generation before.

About three in the morning, while wandering about the house in the deep silences, as one does in times like these, when there is a dumb sense that something has been lost that will never be found again, yet must be sought,

if only for the employment the useless seeking gives, I came upon Jean's dog in the hall downstairs, and noted that he did not spring to greet me, according to his hospitable habit, but came slow and sorrowfully; also I

remembered that he had not visited Jean's apartment since the tragedy. Poor fellow, did he know? I think so. Always when Jean was abroad in the open he was with her; always when she was in the house he was with her, in the night as well as in the day. Her parlor was his bedroom. Whenever I happened upon him on the ground floor, he always followed me about, and when I went upstairs, he went too--in a tumultuous gallop. But now it was different: after patting him a little I went to the library--he remained behind; when I went up stairs, he did not follow me, save with his wistful eyes. He has wonderful eyes--big and kind and eloquent. He can talk with them.

He is a beautiful creature. I do not like dogs, because they bark when there is no occasion for it; but I have liked this one from the beginning, because he belonged to Jean and because he never barks except when there is occasion--which is not oftener than twice a week.

In my wanderings, I visited Jean's parlor. On a shelf, I found a pile of my books and I knew what it meant. She was waiting for me to come home from Bermuda and autograph them, and then she would send them away. If I only knew whom she intended them for! But I shall never know. I will keep them. Her hand has touched them--it is an accolade--they are noble now.

And in a closet, she had hidden a surprise for me--a thing I have often wished I owned: a noble big globe. I couldn't see it for the tears. She will never know the pride I take in it and the pleasure.

Today the mails are full of loving remembrances for her: full of those old, old kind words she loved so, "Merry Christmas!" If she could only have lived one day longer!

At last she ran out of money and would not use mine. So she sent to one of those New York homes for poor girls all the clothes she could spare--and more, most likely.

On Christmas night, they took her away from her room. As soon as I might, I went down to the library and there she lay in her coffin, dressed in exactly the same clothes she wore when she stood at the other end of the same room as Clara's chief bridesmaid.

Her face was radiant with happy excitement then; it was the same face now, with the dignity of death and the peace of God upon it.

They told me the first mourner to come was the dog. He came uninvited and stood up on his hind legs and rested his fore paws upon the trestle and took a last long look at the face that was so dear to him, then went his way as silently as he had come.

At mid-afternoon, it began to snow. The pity of it--that Jean could not see it! She so loved the snow.

The snow continued to fall. At six o'clock, the hearse drew up to the door to bear away its pathetic burden. As they lifted the casket, Albert Bigelow Paine began playing on the orchestrelle Schubert's Impromptu, which was Jean's favorite. Then he played the Intermezzo; that was for Susy! Then he played the Largo for their mother.

From my windows, I saw the hearse and the carriages wind along the road and gradually grow vague and spectral in the falling snow and presently disappear. Jean was gone out of my life and would not come back any more. She was to lie by her mother's side once more, in the company of Susy.

The dog came to see me at eight o'clock in the morning. He was very affectionate, poor orphan! My room would be his quarters thereafter.

The storm raged all night. It raged all the morning. The snow drove across the landscape in vast clouds, superb, sublime--and Jean not there to see.

The funeral was four hundred miles away, but I can see it all just as if I were there. The scene is the library in the Langdon homestead. Jean's coffin stands where her mother and I stood, forty years ago, and were married; and where Susy's coffin stood; where her mother's stood; and where mine will stand, after a little time.

(The light on CLEMENS fades out. CLARA bows her head and then the light on her fades out. The stage is dark. Musical finale.)

(Curtain.)

ALL TO DUST

Five Scenes

Characters

DON

WOMAN'S VOICE

GIRL'S VOICE

MAN'S VOICE

IMAGE VOICE (Don's)

PIT VOICE (Don's)

BEAUTY PAGEANT CONTESTANTS

ANNOUNCER'S VOICE

DON JUAN

AUDIENCE VOICES

CROWD

SOPRANO'S VOICE

Scene 1

(Stage dark. Spotlight on a near naked man, DON, up center, facing upstage. He is handsome, muscular, and slightly effeminate. Standing before an invisible mirror, he is preparing himself for the day as though a priest performing a ritual. Apparently just finished shaving, he scoops imaginary water into his hands and bathes his face as if in purification. He stares at the imaginary mirror, while blotting his face with an imaginary towel. He lifts his chin and turns his head from side to side. He sucks in his cheeks, smiles, opens and closes his mouth, bares his teeth, widens his eyes, lifts his chin, cocks his head left and right. Then he looks down at his chest and flexes his muscles. He frowns and sighs. Stepping close to the "mirror", he examines his face carefully, touching his cheeks tenderly. DON'S thoughts sound on tape as voice-over.)

DON (offstage, softly): What a face!

(He hums long and low. On a large downstage screen, rear-projected images flash momentarily, images subliminally recognized as faces and flowers. They could correlate to his thoughts but have no obvious connection. He stops humming and shakes his head slowly.)

DON (off): But I could use a makeover--artistry more than science. Making a good thing better.

(He draws in his belly with a long breath swelling his chest. Holding it, he smiles at what he sees. Then, exhaling slowly he bows his head and examines his hair in the "mirror". He frowns again.)

DON (off): Oh no--

(Offstage a WOMAN'S VOICE calls to someone far away.)

WOMAN'S VOICE: Don't forget, Donny--don't forget--

(DON looks startled, as if caught in the act of doing something shameful. He freezes to listen. Hearing nothing more, he resumes the ritual. Examining his eyebrows carefully he acts as if to pluck a few stray hairs. He wipes the circles under his eyes with his fingers and squeezes his cheeks to redden them. After combing his hair carefully, he applies imaginary makeup to his eyes, lips, and cheeks. He stops and scrutinizes himself in the "mirror". More images flash on & off the screen: faces again and neighborhood scenes. None can be defined. Another voice sounds from offstage--that of a GIRL.)

GIRL (off, sweetly): No, Donny, I can't--

(DON starts again and holds to listen. But nothing more. He shakes his head to clear his senses. More images flash, and another voice is heard--this one of a MAN.)

MAN (off): Don, you must--

(DON wheels around quickly and hollers into the flies.)

DON: Damn it! Who's there?

(His voice echoes, but no answer. The set starts rattling as though an earthquake were striking. DON reaches upward and screams.)

DON: Oh God! Not now!

(The stage darkens. A rumbling bass reaches a peak, holds for several seconds, and then slowly fades. The stage remains dark, still, and silent for several seconds.)

(Curtain.)

Scene 2

(Curtain opens on a colorfully lighted stage full of people partying. Dressed fashionably, they talk loudly in groups or pairs, most holding drinks, some smoking. Amid the throng, a few dance to loud rock music. Most of the dialog cannot be heard clearly, but the word "I" repeatedly rises from the cacophony. DON is spotlighted among the crowd. He is fastidiously dressed in silk, gabardine, and leather. Obviously intoxicated, he gesticulates exuberantly while talking to anyone around him, as though indifferent to who is listening. Nevertheless, he seems to be the center of attention. Suddenly, a particularly rhythmical tune begins. DON grabs a young woman by the hand, draws her gracefully into the center, and proceeds to dance with her in a flourish. A spotlight falls on him as the other dancers back away and he flings the woman to one side. Then he dances solo. For a few moments, those encircling him clap in time to his steps. As his pace quickens, they fall upon him, as if he were a magnet and they about to adhere to him, to smother him. He screams and pirouettes; at which they are drawn back as if in a centrifuge. The stage goes dark.)

Scene 3

(A spotlight shows DON huddled alone in the center of the stage. After a few moments, he peeks out from behind his sheltering arms and sees no one around him. He weeps momentarily, sighs deeply, and then stands straight up in the light. The spotlight dims simultaneously as a projected image of DON appears high above him downstage. The image stares down at him and smiles beatifically.)

DON'S IMAGE (gently): Do you know what you are doing?

(DON too shocked to reply.)

IMAGE: Don't worry, Don. I'm your best friend. I know you better than anyone else. So you can't fool me with your razzle-dazzle.

(DON starts to turn away but is held fast by an invisible power, as though paralyzed by the image.)

DON: Who--? What are you doing to me?

IMAGE: I told you not to worry. You need not fear--me least of all. I look after you. Why, if not for me, you'd have gone to hell long ago.

(Low sound rumbles under the stage. DON tries to step back but is held.)

DON: God!

IMAGE: No, I'm not a deity, Don--though you have often thought of me as an angel.

DON: An angel of mercy, I hope.

IMAGE: Beyond you, I'm afraid--at least at this time. But if I can get you to believe in something other than....

DON: I believe in things.

IMAGE: Illusions, Don, illusions. Obviously you don't know the words of the old wise man.

DON: Ronald Reagan?

IMAGE: No. Ecclesiastes, fool.

DON: Oh.

IMAGE: As I was saying--if I can get you to believe in something like, say--yourself--then you may have a chance.

DON: A chance for what? And what do you mean myself? I believe wholeheartedly in myself--that's all I do believe in.

IMAGE: Exactly.

DON: I don't get it.

IMAGE (sadly): I know.

DON: Hey--is this a joke? Somebody from the party? One of my friends...?

IMAGE: You have no friends, Don.

DON: Say, what do you mean? I have friends, dozens of friends. At this party--you should have seen them.

IMAGE: I saw lots of people just like you--lonely in a crowd.

DON: Bullshit. I'm not going to listen to your crap. Some simple figment isn't going to put me down.

IMAGE: On the contrary, dear one--I'm only trying to lift you up. Plenty of others are trying to drag you down, not the least of them--yourself.

(Another rumbling from below stage, louder.)

IMAGE: And that would be most of them.

DON: Who?

IMAGE: And the worst of them.

DON: What? Oh, come on now. I know it's a gag. And I tell you, I don't like it. I hate practical jokes and I hate surprises and I hate....

IMAGE: I know, I know. You're full of hate.

(Rumbling below stage grows threatening. Again, DON tries to step back in vain. His IMAGE looks upstage behind DON. From the pit, a glow of indigo emanates with an annunciating roar. DON spins around to face this new distraction but is unable to move. The IMAGE fades out in silence as the glow brightens. DON double takes on both the disappearing apparition and the flaring pit at his feet.)

DON: Oh, God--!

(A VOICE from the pit booms.)

PIT VOICE (off): No. Wrong again. Only another kind of angel--demoted by circumstances beyond my control.

DON: I don't believe you guys. All these theatrics for a lousy joke.

VOICE: Hey, no kidding. This is for the greater honor and glory of Young Goodman Don.

DON (suddenly appeased): Well--

VOICE: Look, I alone am on your side. Always have been. That other guy up there--don't believe a word he says. Namby-pamby little fairy. Listen to him and you'll be flagellating yourself before long.

DON: Oh--

VOICE: No, Donny, my boy--you should be stroking yourself more. You worry too much. You deserve the best of all possible worlds.

(DON stands taller, as though about to receive a medal for valor.)

VOICE: Now, my son--step a little closer.

DON: But I--

VOICE: Sure you can. Don't let fear keep you from greatness. (roaring) Step forward!

(DON shrinks.)

VOICE: Sorry. I do come on strong when I get excited. Although my means may be harsh, all's hell, er, well in the end. Trust me.

(The glow brightens and flares like flames, and the hint of laughter heard from below. DON tries to turn away but cannot move.)

DON: If you mean so well, why are you holding me here? Both of you?

(The image brightens then fades.)

IMAGE (off): Don't blame me.

PIT VOICE (off): No one is holding you, Don. You're free to go and do as you please.

(DON again tries to move. The flaring from the pit lessens, so he finds himself able to step forward. Curious about the pit, now less threatening, he approaches the edge cautiously and peers into it. Suddenly, the blue glow flares up again and shows DON'S face in terror-stricken shock. Losing his balance, he teeters momentarily on the edge and then falls into the pit. When he disappears, a tremendous roar rises from below, accompanied by a scream and loud laughter. DON'S IMAGE reappears. And as the pit glow fades, the IMAGE reaches out futilely for DON. Then only the IMAGE seen flickering high downstage. Finally, it flickers out, and the stage darkens.)

(Curtain.)

Scene 4

(Curtain opens on a row of three adolescent beauty pageant contestants standing in front of the facade of a huge skyscraper from the top of which falls a light rain of confetti. Their extremely scanty costumes glitter in garish lighting. They prance and pose like female quail enticing a mate. Maudlin music sounds, nearly drowning out the voice of an offstage ANNOUNCER.)

ANNOUNCER (off, melodramatically): Today, on this stage--one of these six beauteous babes will be crowned Goddess of Love--to reign till the dew of youth falls from her tender brow.

(The girls giggle and beam like children at an amusement park.)

ANNOUNCER (off): In a moment the judge will decide the winner.

(Rumbling again from below stage.)

ANNOUNCER (off): And the lucky charm shall adorn our new Queen of the May.

(More rumbling, louder, louder, and then a cracking noise. The pit flares up again. A deep shudder and sigh heard. Steam rises from below. A spotlight falls on one of the contestants. She shrieks for joy. The other girls scream and gather around her, pretending favor like ladies in waiting. Suddenly, they pick her up and, carrying her aloft, take her to an elevator door at the building front. It opens at their arrival, and they carry her inside. An indicator over the elevator shows the car ascending. In the pit, the lights flare up and the steam billows out with indecipherable words from the booming PIT VOICE. A crowd gathers at the base of the skyscraper and looks up, staring in silence. When the elevator indicator stops, excited VOICES heard from far above, but none of them understood: simply a babbling of languages. The crowd stares in wonder, as the confetti falling around them thickens. Someone in the crowd begins to chant, a primitive ritualistic repetition that the others pick up, and it develops into a chorus. They continue staring upward while chanting as if in devotional prayer before a temple of their deity. At one point a word of the incantations seems to sound like "money", at another time like "mommy", at another like "memory". Their chanting rises to a peak, and at that moment an offstage scream heard from the top of the building. The stage goes dark. The scream turns into a plaintive cry like that of a bird soaring over a canyon. The cry becomes a song in the VOICE of a lyric SOPRANO.

SONG

Where is the love

you promised me,

where is the throne

fit for a queen?

I followed where

you showed the way,

followed your dream

and heard you say

that this would be

heaven on Earth.

As a goddess

I'd find rebirth

in glorious love

beneath a crown

of diamonds

and a starry gown.

But now I fly

alone so high

that no one cares

if I live or die.

Where is the love

you promised me,

where is my throne

to be your queen?

(Curtain.)

Scene 5

(The pit flares up again, and DON JUAN ascends from it amid a blue cloud of steam. Wearing a full-length black cape, he turns to address the audience but only stares at them until they become uneasy. Then he paces back & forth across the stage while continuing to glance at them with expressions varying from contempt to amused curiosity to dismay. Halting, he again stares at the audience.)

DON JUAN: You look at me and see a man who died and went to hell for his mortal sins, "sent to the devil somewhat ere his time", yet you persist in making me a hero for want of one. Ah! You think power is all it takes to gain greatness. Ha hah! Each hundred years I must return to my accursed species, since all fails to prevent your decadence, and wake you to reality. At risk of pedantry, I must tell you, though you will not listen, that the joys of self-gratification are as false as fruit on ornamental trees. You smile and think me glad for having lived in luxury and lust. Well, be not fooled by fools' delights, for I have dwelt in hell alone without even memories of love to keep me company. Only lust occupies my mind eternally, while my cold eyes ever-open stare at images of me centered in a hollow sphere lined with mirrored glass. Returning to a womb like this I never wanted, even though I poked around in many passages reminiscent of whence I came. Young females were for me but fodder for my vanity; I saw my goal to conquer women's hearts as one above all other missions men could seek. So profligacy my theme in life. I used the whims of wealthy women bent on fantasy, amassed a fortune spent on decorating my demeanor, and then, Mephistopheles for my guide, set out to satisfy my senses. Ladies from eighteen to eighty fell before me in all centuries.

AUDIENCE VOICES (variously): Oh, Don Juan! You Serpent! You wretch!

DON JUAN: Discrimination never caused me to reject the tender taste of any size or shape or color, though I often preferred the tender buds agleam with morning dew. I pointed virgins out as favorite targets for Love's penetration. Cupid's arrows never struck my heart but glanced off me as feathers off a stone; no man can win the hearts and holes of women lest he guard against the wound that would dither his mind and leave him kneeling at the mercy of his prey. The man is the hunter of the game and must not let his pride deflate. The woman is the icon who commands combatants to and fro, so she must paint her face, preserve a youthful allure, and stay one-step ahead of men to keep the species going. Yes, the game is good when played for productivity, yet I never wanted goodness but only pleasure for my vanity. And you are all the same. Oh, you speak of truth and love as means to live by but you fail to go beyond their promises and sit self-satisfied for having merely said the words. Thus, they float away on air as light as bubbles on a wistful sigh. I dare to preach to you for I have lived a master of the form. A patron saint of profligates am I. You pray to me in secret while pretending to be pious. Fool the others if you will but you fool not me and least of all yourselves. The day will come when you will wish you had lived better lives. It happens to us all. And then you'll face hell. But hell is not what you've been led to think. Hell is not a place of fire and ice. Hell is but the awareness of no second chance. And the heaven that you all fanatically desire lies not in the stars but here on Earth where the driving force is life and the bonding force is love.

(Grumbling noise below stage.)

DON JUAN: Alas! "Eternal Powers!" My break from loneliness is over. Now I must again descend into myth.

(He steps to the edge of the pit and pauses for a last look at the audience. The flaring blue light amid rising steam illumines his face from below.)

DON JUAN (softly): If you should miss me, look into the mirror. I reside with you whenever you think of yourself alone without a care in the world for any other living soul.

(Grumbling grows to a roar; the blue brightens, as if a giant mouth were opening in the pit.)

DON JUAN (shouting): You shall remember me!

(He leaps into the pit amid a cloud of steam. The grumbling subsides. The blue light diminishes and the steam dissipates. Finally, the curtain opens on a giant mirror reflecting the audience, as house lights come up. Faint laughter mixed with weeping emanates from below stage. Something frail and glittery falls from the flies. The stage darkens.)

(No curtain.)

###

Surviving early life in Los Angeles, Jack Forge has been creating art since childhood. After college, he taught English for many years. His poems, stories, graphic art, and novels have been published on the internet; one novel as a paperback. Despite the storm and stress of the world, Jack lives for art, nature, and love.

Cover by Jack Forge.

Sample Jack's other writing and connect with him at  Smashwords.

*Written for the music of Sean Damon.
