UStheater

LIST OF WORKS INCLUDED

2011-11-05T12:03:00.000-07:00

Douglas Messerli "Something Bad Is Happening" (on William Finn's and James Lapine's Falsettos)

2011-11-05T10:44:00.000-07:00

something bad is happening

by Douglas Messerli

William Finn (music and lyrics), William Finn and James Lapine (book) Falsettos / Third Street Theater, Los Angeles (the performance I saw was a matinee on Sunday, October 16, 2011)

There have been numerous revivals of William Finn’s operetta-like musical since its long 1992 run on Broadway (487 performances). Unlike most American musicals, Finn’s work, broken into two parts—March of the Falsettos and Falsettoland—has basically no spoken words, the story being told through the music and lyrics.

Finn’s story, of the late 1970s and early 1980s in New York is almost a textbook of social issues and expression of correct attitudes towards its two major focuses, American Jews and gays, and for that reason the story was highly appreciated by its audiences (including the performance I attended) and, with its further introduction of AIDS, along with the difficulties the characters face with marital relationships—a young son being very much at the center of this work—it elicited more than its share of empathy resulting in tears (falling even from own eyes).

The work begins with the main character, Marvin (Jesse Einstein), his son Jason (the talented young Major Curda), his psychiatrist Mendel (Chip Phillips) and his lover, Whizzer (Richard Hellstern) singing “Four Jews In a Room Bitching,” a piece laying out the difficulties each are facing. Marvin has left his wife, Trina (Lani Shipman) for Whizzer, but continues to insist upon a “tight-knit family,” demanding that both he and Whizzer continue to play an important role in Jason’s life.

For her part, Trina is obviously hurt by the series of events, but still attempts to create a conciliatory relationship with her for husband and boyfriend. A trip to the psychiatrist, Mendel, however creates a new series of events, as Mendel, singing “Love Is Blind,” attempts to help her while at the same time falling in love. When Mendel demands to know more about Marvin’s relationship with Whizzer, in “Marvin at the Psychiatrist, a Three-Part Mini-Opera” Marvin details his relationship with Whizzer, concluding that he is in love with him, Mendel moving the conversation to Trina’s bedroom habits, as Marvin and Jason reply in counterpoint.

Jason, in turns out, is having his own difficulties, wondering whether his father’s homosexuality can be inherited (“My Father’s a Homo”). Whizzer suggests that Jason also visit Mendel, who now is in what might be described as personal relationships with the entire family.

Meanwhile, tension is building between Marvin and Whizzer, as the former attempts to put Whizzer in the position of homemaker. At the same time, Trina is increasingly feeling alienated by the situation, growing fearful that she is becoming less and less prominent in her family’s life (“I’m Breaking Down). A visit from the psychiatrist for dinner and therapy results in further involvement between Mendel and Trina, and before long he has made a marriage proposal to Trina.

Trina has mixed feelings which she expresses in “Trina’s Song,” but she realizes that Mendel’s love is sincere, and, in need of support, she realizes she could do worse. The men, all realizing their failures, together sing “The March of the Falsettos,” admitting that their roles as “masculine” examples represent a great deal of bluff.

Trina and Mendel announce their marriage plans, and Marvin reacts with anger, violently slapping his ex-wife, both painfully singing “I Never Wanted to Love You,” a sentiment Whizzer repeats to Marvin, and Marvin relays even to his innocent son.

By the end of the first part, Marvin has broken with Whizzer and created a gap between him and Trina. Attempting to salvage his connections with his son, he sings “Father to Son,” reassuring Jason that he will love always love him, however he turns out.

If the first part has been almost brittle with the dilemmas Finn presents us with, the second part is even more distressing. It is now 1981, two years later. The cast has now grown by two others, lesbian neighbors of Marvin, Dr. Charlotte, an internist, and Cordelia, a kosher caterer. These two women offer support and love to the lonely Marvin, but create new problems of their own.

Although Marvin has grown wiser (“About Time” being a song about growing up and getting over his selfish behavior), and has managed to retain a close relationship with Jason, the issue of his son’s Bar Mitzvah creates new tensions between Trina and him, she attempting to plan a large event, while Mendel (and Jason) encourage a more simple party. Caught in the middle, Jason is furious with both parents, which Mendel assures him is absolutely natural (“Everyone Hates His Parents").

Both parents, Cordelia and Dr. Charlotte attend a baseball game in which Jason is playing, and in “The Ball Game,” all make fun of themselves of watching Jewish boys “who can’t play baseball,” and getting caught up in the event. To everyone’s surprise, Whizzer shows up—invited by Jason—which creates new tensions and reveals to Marvin just how much he has missed him.

In the midst of these adult dilemmas, Jason somehow manages to hit the ball, but is so nonplussed that he forgets to run!

Another “falsetto” piece relates their new traumas. And soon after Marvin and Whizzer return to their relationship. The war between Trina and Marvin, however, continues, until suddenly, in a racquetball game, Whizzer collaspses, and is taken to the hospital. Dr. Charlotte has already warned us through song that “Something Bad Is Happening,” young men increasingly becoming ill and dying. And we soon discover that Whizzer has AIDS.

In the trauma of the new situation, both parents offer Jason the option of “Canceling the Bar Mitzvah,” while all four of the gay figures, Marvin, Whizzer, Charlotte and Cordelia musically muse on how their love can last, “Unlikely Lovers.”

As Whizzer’s condition worsens, Marvin turns to God, singing—a bit like Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof—“Miracle of Judaism.” Suddenly all break into Whizzer’s hospital room, Jason having decided that the Bar Mitzvah should be celebrated there, with Cordelia catering the event. For a few happy moments, “The Bar Mitzvah,” lifts everyone’s spirits, but suddenly Whizzer can no longer continue in their company, and is wheeled from the celebrations.

Left alone, Marvin sings his major love song of the work, “What Would I Do If You Had Not Been My Friend?” a piece which might melt away all the icebergs in Greenland, as we hear the news that Whizzer has died.

Marvin and his friends surround him to bid the audience farewell without another round of “Falsettoland.”

Finn’s work is, as I mention above, often touching and certainly affecting. The audience with whom I saw the production, clearly loved the work. But the constant stereotypes of both Jewish and gay issues the musical presents often transform it from a serious dialogue of its concerns into a kind a saccharine and even sanctimonious affair. At their best the lyrics remind one of Stephen Sondheim, with their cleverly satiric purposefulness, but just as often they can’t hold up the significance they attempt to portray, and the music—never reaching the heights of Sondheim in works such as Follies, Merrily We Roll Along (which is closest in spirit to Finn’s work) or Sweeney Todd—seem all to be of one piece without creating the variance of sound and structure that would lend the musical a richer sheen.

The cast I saw were all quite capable, at moments even wondrous, with the small musical combo on stage creating a feeling of a much larger cast than the work actually entails. Their acting also created a sense of absolute delight. So what, it’s not a perfect work? It certainly is worth a visit to the theater any night.

Los Angeles, November 4, 2011

Gertrude Stein and Al Carmines | IN CIRCLES

2011-10-12T13:51:00.000-07:00

For a link to hear Gertrude Stein's and Al Carmines In Circles of 1967,
click here:
http://www.ubu.com/sound/stein_circles.html

J. M. Barrie THE OLD LADY SHOWS HER MEDALS (printed edition)

2011-09-02T08:17:00.001-07:00

For a printed copy of J. M. Barrie's play "The Old Lady Shows Her Medals," click here:
http://openlibrary.org/books/OL24357802M/The_old_lady_shows_her_medals

J. M. Barrie THE OLD LADY SHOWS HER MEDALS (radio performance)

2011-09-02T08:11:00.000-07:00

For a radio performance of Barrie's "The Old Lady Shows Her Medals," with the Barrymores, click below:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EM28okGT5J4
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_A5X3_spDcU
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KgxxnnLoSdk

Douglas Messerli "Bond of Age" (on J. M. Barrie's "Rosalind" and "The Old Lady Shows Her Medals")

2011-09-02T08:02:00.000-07:00

BOND OF AGE
by Douglas Messerli

J. M. Barrie "Barrie: Back to Back," Rosalind and The Old Lady Shows Her Medals / Los Angeles, Pacific Resident Theatre (the production I saw was on Sunday, August 28, 2011)

If Barrie's Peter Pan can be described as the refusal of youth to become old, a play about the attempt of the young to remain that way forever, the two short plays I saw this past Sunday— although still very much centered on the issues of young and old—might be said to hint at strange bonds between the two. One might almost be tempted to take that further and suggest a "bondage." After all, if Wendy and her brothers had not been surrounded by loving, if sometimes disapproving adults, there would have been no need to seek another world. Indeed, in Barrie's works, the desire for new adventures is not at all like Dickens' world, peopled with tortured children and waifs who must escape simply to survive. In Barrie's child-like fables, the figures reach out to other worlds simply for solace and psychological needs. As in our own youth-obsessed culture, so Barrie's adults and children simply prefer to stay young.

It is that relationship between the young and the old that is the focus of these two slightly sentimental, but still entertaining short plays. In "Rosalind," a middle-aged woman (Mrs. Page) sits in a country home which she has rented with her slightly older landlady (Dame Quickly) in attendance as they gossip—Mrs. Page greedily eating bon-bons or nuts while they speak. The conversation mostly centers on Mrs. Page's satisfaction about being middle-aged, her feeling that it is wonderful to be aging and much more enjoyable than the activities of her actor-daughter who, at the moment, so we hear, is in Monte Carlo. The somewhat disheveled, graying Mrs. Page is obviously proud of her daughter, Beatrice—she has her photograph prominently displayed—but she is not at all distressed that she seldom gets the opportunity to see her, and, she later admits, has never seen the girl upon stage.

Into this quaint tea-time setting stumbles a young man, Charles Roche, seeking, improbably, a short respite from the rain before his train returns to the city. At first he is refused by the landlady, as Mrs. Page pretends to sleep, but gradually he wiggles his way to the warm hearth, intending to read and leave the tenant to herself. But all that changes when he spots Beatrice's photograph! The actress is at the center of his attentions, and, we soon discover, he has met her and dined with her, unable to comprehend, accordingly, why her photograph should appear on the mantel of the "far from London" setting. Gradually he awakens the sleeping Mrs. Page, and, little by little, discovers that the woman he has just met is the actresses' mother.

So obsessed with Beatrice is Charles that he feels equally strong attachments to her mother, and opens his heart to her, telling the older woman how much he is in love with her daughter. Surprisingly Mrs. Page puts these sentiments and the trinkets that go with them (a photograph he keeps in his wallet across from the picture of his sister) into perspective, even mocking them. And in a quick dismissal of his emotions, Mrs. Page rips up the cherished photograph.

He is horrified, shocked by her behavior. But gradually discovers, through her knowledge of him and growing revelations (dear reader, go no further if you will not have the plot revealed) that the middle-aged woman before him and his beloved Beatrice are one and the same. Beatrice, it appears is not at all in Monte Carlo, but has escaped as Mrs. Page to be able for one of the few times in her life to discover herself at her true age instead of the eternally young figure she must play upon the stage.

Charles is stunned, disheartened, even perhaps horrified. How could such a beauty have been transformed into the woman standing before his eyes? Yet, as she reveals her's—and every young star's dilemma—he gallantly offers her marriage—in order to protect her in her old age! The gesture may be gallant but, of course, is ridiculous! It is also, perhaps, somewhat obscene. It is quite impossible that the young, handsome boy come out of the rain, can sit for the rest of his life gossiping with his aging wife.

Barrie, fortunately, has another surprise up his sleeve, as Beatrice/Mrs. Page is called back to London to play Rosalind in Shakespeare's As You Like It. Suddenly the actress is in a flurry, running to pack, to change clothes and accompany her potential "lover" back to the city. Her entry after dressing says it all: she is now young again, not a real human being plagued with age, but something of the stage, a made-up simulacrum of a young beauty for all her audience to love. In a sense, Mrs. Page has become her own Peter Pan, a reimagining of her own being.

The second of these solidly staged plays is simpler in plot, but far more complex emotionally than the first play. After bearing through a recitation of four charwoman's recountings of their sons, all at war (acted, unfortunately, as he have come to expect from small companies, with a babble of unfocused English accents), the play turns to the central character, Mrs. Dowey (excellently performed by Penny Safranek), whose son, so the vicar reports, has just returned for a leave from the front. His arrival is almost breathtaking, as a handsome, brawny, kilted man from the "Black Watch" enters Mrs. Dowey's basement hovel, while the other women are sent scurrying off.

The actor playing Kenneth Dowey (Joe McGovern) has the Scottish brogue down rather well, and is stunningly handsome enough that, despite his overly self-confident sense of being, his presence almost does take away the breath. Certainly, his appearance seems to have startled his mother. Rightfully so, for as we soon discover, although they share last names, they are no relation to one another. Mrs. Dowey has "stolen" his name and address from the local paper, and having herself no son or even previous husband, has felt so alien from the "war effort," and so excluded from her friends, all of whom have boys in service, that she has "made him up," so to speak, sending him cakes and other treats under a different name, and following his wartime adventures through the papers. The stack of letters she has shown her friends that he has written her are all blank.

At first the soldier is justifiably angry with the lying woman, but gradually, as he discovers the extent with which she had deceived everyone, including himself, and her explanations for her acts, he grows more tolerant. He, we soon discover, is himself an orphan, and her desperate interest in his being suits his high impression of himself. When she offers him a bed and clean sheets he cannot resist.

A few nights later, we discover, they have dined out each evening, he buying her a astrakhan, she serving as a doting and somewhat gay confidant for a lonely man in the city. By the end of the play, Kenneth kneels before her, as if about to propose, and does so: will she accept the role of his mother? It is a beautifully conceived, if sentimental, gesture. But it is also so revealing of the author's strange entanglements of youth and age. As in "Rosalind," youth bows to age always, although it understands itself as the superior. But it is just its own shining being that so attracts the old to it. There is a whiff here almost of "pedophilia," and given Barrie's own relationship with his mother—for whom he often played his preferred dead brother—and his deep (and apparently detrimental) involvement with the boys of the Davies family, there is certainly much more to be said about this "bond between the ages."

As Kenneth tearfully leaves, however, we are awarded the delightful sight of the old woman opening the package of trinkets, a hat, medals, etc., which he has awarded her. And we feel, despite her lies and, now, perhaps his self-deceptions, this bonding of the two has been nearly inevitable, and is surely a good thing.

Los Angeles, August 31, 2011

Karel Čapek R.U.R. (Rossum's Universl Robots)

2011-09-01T15:09:00.000-07:00

To read Karel Čapek’s drama R. U. R. (Rossum’s Universal Robots) of 1921, click here:
http://www.greeninteger.com/pdfs/capek-rur.pdf

____
Czech dramatist Karel Čapek, writing several times in collaboration with his brother Josef, became one of the most noted names of Czech Expressionist drama. Among his works are R.U.R (1921)., The Insect Play (1921), and The Makcropoulous Affair (1923) , later transformed into an opera.

Claudio Magris | VOICES: THREE PLAYS

2011-08-13T11:34:00.001-07:00

To purchase a copy of Claudio Magris' Voices: Three Plays, click below:
http://www.greeninteger.com/book.cfm?-Claudio-Magris-Voices-Three-Plays-&BookID=247

Armand Gatti | TWO PLAYS

2011-08-13T11:31:00.001-07:00

To order Armand Gatti's Two Plays, click here:
http://www.greeninteger.com/book.cfm?-Armand-Gatti-Two Plays-7-Possibilities-and-Public-Song-&BookID=71

Djuna Barnes | THE ANTIPHON

2011-08-13T11:29:00.000-07:00

To order Djuna Barnes' play The Antiphon, click here:
http://www.greeninteger.com/book.cfm?-Djuna-Barnes-Antiphon-&BookID=34

Kier Peters THE CONFIRMATION

2011-08-13T11:26:00.000-07:00

To order Kier Peters' play The Confirmation, click here:
http://www.greeninteger.com/book.cfm?-Kier-Peters-The-Confirmation-&BookID=113

Gertrude Stein MEXICO

2011-08-13T10:56:00.000-07:00

To order a copy of Gertrude Stein's play Mexico, click below:
http://www.greeninteger.com/book.cfm?-Gertrude-Stein-Mexico-A-Play-&BookID=28

Douglas Messerli "In Control" (on Eugene O'Neill's Long Day's Journey into Night)

2011-08-13T07:49:00.001-07:00

IN CONTROL
by Douglas Messerli

Eugene O’Neill Long Day’s Journey into Night, The National Theatre, Stockholm, 1956 New York, 1956
Eugene O’Neill Long Day’s Journey into Night (New Haven, Connecticut: Yale University Press, 1956)
Eugene O’Neill (w), Sidney Lumet (d) Long Day’s Journey into Night / 1961
Eugene O’Neill Long Day’s Journey into Night, Plymouth Theatre, New York, May 6, 2003

Unable to travel to New York to see the production of Long Day’s Journey into Night starring Vanessa Redgrave, I determined to reread the play. It had been a long time since my last reading, and I had forgotten how specific O’Neill is in most of his plays—and particularly in this one—with regard to the description of scene, and of characters and their actions. One does not usually encounter such lengthy—one might say exhaustive—descriptions. I often trim my comments to the minimum in my own plays, presuming that any director worth his or her salt would interpret the setting and movement of the actors in his or her own way. There is almost a sense of O’Neill attempting to recreate his actual family members on stage.

At the same time, the specificity of O’Neill’s descriptions (this, for example from his description early in the play of Mary Tyrone: “What strikes one immediately is her extreme nervousness. Her hands are never still. They were once beautiful hands, with long, tapering fingers, but rheumatism has knotted the joints and warped the fingers, so that now they have an ugly crippled look. One avoids looking at them….”) reminded me of the appropriateness of the acting in the movie version with Katherine Hepburn, Ralph Richardson and Jason Robards, Jr. I know that many feel that Hepburn’s performance of the “dear drugged mother” was, so to speak, “over the top.” But I have only to recall how she stroked her long, gnarled fingers to feel how precise was that performance—one I recall as the most brilliant of her career. I wish I had been able to see Redgrave’s interpretation, if only to free me from imagining Mary Tyrone as Katherine Hepburn. Or, for that matter, to free me from conjuring up Ralph Richardson’s golden trumpet of a voice in every word of James Tyrone and of hearing the cynical, side-mouthed sentences of Robard’s version of James Tyrone, Jr., the often drunken Jaimie.

I almost always forget the name of the actor who played Edmund, not because Dean Stockwell did not play him well, but because of the triumvirate of remarkable performers, Hepburn-Richardson-Robards, hardly give him any room. And, although I have heard that Robert Sean Leonard’s recent stage performance brought new dimension to the role of Edmund, I have always presumed—and did so through my newest reading of the play—that, in part, he was a less defined character because O’Neill had made him so. He was weaker than the others precisely because he was weak, was in ill health. And in the hothouse environment of the three raving,lunatic ghosts, he was an outsider, a figure standing apart. They—the unholy trio—are in control of the show.

And it is a show, a spectacle they are presenting for the young Hamlet-like prince; their representation of each other and themselves. Because he is so clearly a repre¬sentative to them of the potentialities of the future—as consumptive as that future may be—they all adore him, and, because they are doomed not to participate in that future, they hate him as well. He represents all their hopes and all their fears, and, accordingly each member of this addicted family reach out to love him and to corrupt him, offering—at a time when he is clearly ill and visibly weak—the temptation of something to drink.

The year, we are told, is 1912, the end of a golden age that with the rise of World War I will end the significance of their generation and will irreparably change American culture. One must also remember that, although all four characters of O’Neill’s family tragedy are ill (Mary, as we have mentioned, is an incurable morphine addict; James has destroyed his life and career through his petty greed, refusing to chance any role other than the romantic drama that has made him popular; and Jamie is a determined drunk), Edmund, diagnosed in the course of the play as
having tuberculosis, is the only one with any significant chance of being cured; the others are all doomed. Mary names the problem quite straightforwardly when her husband demands that she forget the past:

Why? How can I? The past is the present, isn’t it? It’s the future too. We all try to lie out of it but life won’t let us. (p. 87)

Given this situation, I have now come to realize that, far from being the weak link of this family, Edmund is nearly completely in control. And the family’s long slide into the unbearable night of their lives is orchestrated by Edmund’s actions and statements, most particularly his aloofness, his seeming noninvolvement. He is their audience, and in this sense—as the receiver and recorder of their lives—he is their only salvation, is the only one who has the potential to present them—to represent them—to the future, and in so doing possibly redeem the lives they have squandered.

It is perhaps for this reason that O’Neill is so exactingly particular in his dramatic instructions. As the playwright he also must be in complete control. For without his precise recreation of them, the characters would be only so much silent matter, the lives merely forgotten histories among the millions of such American self-destructions. Edmund/O’Neill allows them to haunt the American imagination, helps to rediscover the spirituality that Mary sought.

Los Angeles, January 2004

Grzegorz Wróblewski | TURNING POINT

2011-08-08T08:25:00.000-07:00

TURNING POINT
by Grzegorz Wróblewski
Translated from Polish by Adam Zdrodowski

Characters

GUNNAR, 70, a retired bank employee
JOANNA, 72, his sister, a former shoe-shop owner

Year 2000.
A small town on the island of Falster, Denmark.
Gunnar’s old, ruined villa.

1.

Gunnar is sitting on the floor. In front of him, a reproduction of Jan van Eyck’s painting “The Arnolfini Marriage”.
JOANNA (tapping a glass with a fork) Give it a break! Say something to your sister at last! We see each other so rarely.
GUNNAR (to himself) And yet she wasn’t pregnant. I’m sure she wasn’t. Nowadays sunken cheeks and dried breasts are fashionable, but then “pregnant look” was all the rage. Nothing’s changed. That is... everything’s changed, seemingly. A common fraud...
JOANNA Men and women. What do you know about it?
GUNNAR Giovanni and Jeanne...
JOANNA Remember that fashion was always controlled by calculating men.
GUNNAR Women... I never understood you.
JOANNA That’s why worms have infested your shutters. Just look at the floor! Completely ruined...
GUNNAR Can one ever understand a woman?
JOANNA A question of input.
GUNNAR Could it be that Jeanne has put a bag of sawdust under her skirt?
JOANNA You can still walk on your own, Gunnar. You should finally do something about this floor. She stands up and walks around the room. What a creak! What a horrible creak!
GUNNAR Interesting, where does all the perfidy come from?
JOANNA sits on the floor next to Gunnar.
GUNNAR (nervous) Be careful!
JOANNA Let me see what troubles you so much. Is it the same picture from the National Gallery that I saw last time? Oh, yesss! But you do have a character.
One motive, all week long.
GUNNAR I’m studying it.
JOANNA You’re drifting away from reality.
GUNNAR Cunning and hypocrisy!
JOANNA I think they look happy. But on the other hand, no...
GUNNAR (thoughtful) Happiness is an unattainable thing.
JOANNA There is something sickly about this painting. Something disquieting.
GUNNAR Giovanni let himself be taken in. It must have been all about his money.
He was a wealthy merchant, he had loads of money.
JOANNA Money complicates everything.
GUNNAR Money is essential!
JOANNA (to herself) To be retired and to burden your head unnecessarily with absurd paintings...
GUNNAR Merchants are always the most exposed. A common fraud and the lack of honesty. Common fraud...
JOANNA Merchants have no idea about what is going on in their own house.
GUNNAR Right. The enemy is always near.
JOANNA Whom do you mean in this case?
GUNNAR Everyone is suspected.
JOANNA (ironically) Even the maid and the maid’s cats.
GUNNAR The attack usually comes from where you don’t expect it...
JOANNA (concerned) But you’ve worked too long at the bank. You should have retired earlier. They’ve finished you off... (yawning) And what if she really was pregnant?
GUNNAR It’s one of the possibilities...
JOANNA (surprised) One of the possibilities? What do you mean exactly?
GUNNAR (in a animated voice) Look! She isn’t even looking into his eyes!
JOANNA Psychology.
GUNNAR She’s concentrated on something else altogether.
JOANNA Painterly technique. Ordinary painterly technique. You’ve always been a naïve man, Gunnar. She caresses his head. Everyone took advantage of you, little brother.
GUNNAR There’s something vague in the air.
JOANNA Yolk on oil.
GUNNAR Painterly technique is one thing, and a specific scene... He screams. A specific scene!!! I know this is a specific scene!!!
JOANNA Is there any proof to it???
GUNNAR A specific scene, I can swear!
JOANNA (soothingly) All right, a specific scene, all right. Have it your own way – it’s a specific scene. Almost like a contemporary photograph! Have it your own way...
GUNNAR It’s not a photograph, you don’t understand anything.
JOANNA I’m sorry. I forgot about this shift in time...
GUNNAR And what if Giovanni had a vision?
JOANNA (to herself) Jeanne doesn’t matter, of course.
GUNNAR Maybe Giovanni predicted everything? It could have been a well-thought-out tactic on his part. After all, he isn’t looking in her eyes, either. Maybe he’s patiently awaiting further developments?
JOANNA Love and pregnancy. Nothing but complications.
GUNNAR It’s not absolutely sure that it was pregnancy...
JOANNA It’s absurd.
GUNNAR A conspiracy, probably.
JOANNA When was the last time you went out? Tell me!
GUNNAR Giovanni was patiently waiting.
JOANNA I don’t like this fellow.
GUNNAR Business means sacrifice.
JOANNA He tried to be too cunning.
GUNNAR He predicted everything...
JOANNA With you it’s likewise. Have you ever had time to spend your money? Then why did you work so much? For idealistic reasons? Working in a bank for idealistic reasons?
GUNNAR Modesty is essential.
JOANNA But meanness doesn’t lead to anything sensible.
GUNNAR You have to keep something in reserve in case an unpredicted cataclysm should happen.
JOANNA I’d recommend a sea cruise for you. You’d meet some interesting people on board. Somebody from the bank, perhaps? I’m dreaming of it. Binoculars and dancing.
Drinks... You cannot live and breathe art, endlessly. Suddenly she glances at the reproduction.
Look at these horrid clogs! An obvious lack of style! They could, at least,
have hidden them under the couch. (to herself) They could have maintained appearances...
GUNNAR It surely is an important sign. They knew very well what they were doing, I can assure you.
JOANNA (laughing) Nothing has changed since their times! Dirt is nothing new.
She sits at the table again and pours herself some fruit juice. After a while she begins to snore silently.

2.

Gunnar is still on the floor. He turns the reproduction sideways and gently strokes the glossy paper.
GUNNAR (to himself) You’ve got a wonderful cap, top hat, hat... This cap explains a lot, Giovanni. It stresses the traits of your unique character. I bet it was the object of admiration and envy of mediocre people. Let alone Jeanne! She prayed to your headgear. (pause) I wonder if you ever took it off. It would be a great mistake. In a cap, even in bed in a cap! It matches your face. It matches everything. It’s just ideal! He screams. Can you hear?! It matches everything! Wake up, you vile men in the street, his cap matches everything! Wake up!!!
JOANNA (opening an eye) He can’t let you take a nap even for a second...
GUNNAR Giovanni! What a personality, what an inspiration!
JOANNA (opening another eye) Is it still Giovanni?
GUNNAR (in an excited voice) He walked the streets in it. There, people would bow to him with respect, they looked up to him, his opinion was important.
JOANNA Maybe he wasn’t a merchant at all?
GUNNAR It’s possible that he earned some extra money as the king’s adviser. It’s possible!
JOANNA (yawning) The streets used to be calm before.
GUNNAR All women would look when he was passing by. And only this fraudster...
JOANNA They let too many Turks in.
GUNNAR He had a personality...
JOANNA I’m afraid to go shopping alone.
GUNNAR ‘Cause there are no more knights in the world. Look at his eyes! Look and remember them carefully!
JOANNA I’m not talking about knights, but about a new government that would finally take some interest in its citizens.
GUNNAR But you must look at the eyes!
JOANNA I think they’re too small. It’s characteristic of cheaters.
GUNNAR Nonsense.
JOANNA Giovanni looks like our chemist.
GUNNAR Look at him carefully!
JOANNA A stinge.
GUNNAR Would you prefer dreamy, unintelligent cow’s eyeballs? Remember that we come from the city. (pause) Animals are fascinating, but only from a certain distance.
JOANNA I’ve always dreamed about a Persian cat.
GUNNAR You’d become allergic immediately. The place of origin is essential. One has it in one’s blood.
JOANNA These times are over... from country or from city. It doesn’t really matter now. What counts is a pension! What counts is an appropriate pension. Net receipts, Gunnar.
GUNNAR (firmly) Net receipts, of course. But we come from the city. Remember the posts our father held.
JOANNA But we’ve landed close to the countryside. Very close.
GUNNAR What are you talking about? What about the post office, the bank, and the bookshop?
JOANNA (trickily) And a hat shop? Is there a hat shop here?
GUNNAR (to himself) I know something about it...
JOANNA They don’t have enough clean tables in the café. Have you noticed how they serve coffee here?
GUNNAR But there is the post office, the bank, and the bookshop...
JOANNA From here, it’s far away even to Amsterdam. And what is Amsterdam, compared to, say, Paris?
GUNNAR There is the bank and the bookshop!
JOANNA Does it mean that it’s a genuine city? A bank and a bookshop? Do you think they have Faulkner’s The Wild Palms? I don’t even feel like going inside.
GUNNAR They have a lot of other interesting titles.
JOANNA Cultivation and pig breeding...
GUNNAR (thoughtful) Before cities weren’t as crowded as today.
JOANNA Before I wasn’t afraid to go out in the street alone.
GUNNAR There is the post office...
JOANNA And Turks...
GUNNAR You’ve aged.
JOANNA Suddenly you don’t like me any more?
GUNNAR Your views, I mean your views.
JOANNA Life in the provinces has a bad effect on me.
GUNNAR Stop concentrating on cosmetics, and you may feel relieved.
JOANNA We live far from any civilization...
GUNNAR (embarrassed) One must go to the end of the world to buy a reasonable hat. That’s a fact. You don’t buy hats in just any button shop. Think about Giovanni. I bet it wasn’t serial production. He must have got it from abroad. (pause) But after all, our post office functions well.
JOANNA In those days everything was made to order. And don’t change the subject. Admit it! You don’t like me anymore, do you?
GUNNAR These are matters one shouldn’t discuss aloud... Why do women always demand public declarations?
JOANNA Experienced women, remember.
GUNNAR Experienced, experienced! I forgot that you’re in your seventies.
JOANNA I can feel that you don’t like me anymore.
GUNNAR The external appearance is not everything.
JOANNA It only seems so to you. Think about the hunchbacks. No social life, complete isolation...
GUNNAR The hunchbacks are an extreme.
JOANNA I’m waiting for your answer.
GUNNAR But you know it.
JOANNA We’re alone. (cheerfully) There’s no one in the room apart from us.
GUNNAR I like you, I always did. Are you satisfied now?
JOANNA Yes. And I am really thankful to you, Gunnar.
GUNNAR You’re in good shape. You look like a teenager, like a movie star, like Norma Baker towards the end of her stormy life...
JOANNA And I’m still interested in handsome men.
GUNNAR You’re never going to change.
JOANNA Handsome and eloquent. They’re difficult to find in the countryside.
GUNNAR Falster is good for your complexion! In Copenhagen you’d only get exhaust fumes.
JOANNA I feel fresh. Daily walks, skimmed milk... I care about myself. (pause) Does anyone drop in on you to play bridge?
GUNNAR Cards don’t intrigue me any more.
JOANNA You’re becoming eccentric.
GUNNAR I’m developing.
JOANNA And the colour of my hair? What do you think about it?
GUNNAR I can’t see anything... He starts observing the reproduction again.
JOANNA (to herself) Natural ingredients. There’s no risk that the hair will start falling out... The colour perfectly suits my evening dresses. Everything’s well thought-out!
GUNNAR I’m bald, just as he is. I always wanted to go bald and it happened after some years. (pause) Small eyes mean cunning and wisdom. You have to act concretely in life. No compromises!
JOANNA The bald always have some arguments. A bald one can only understand another bald one. (She is laughing) A solidarity of the bald. I wonder if Giovanni really was bald?
GUNNAR It emanates from the painting. I can assure you that he was bald.
JOANNA She looks at herself in the mirror. Everyone thinks I’m only 60.
GUNNAR I’m convinced that he discovered it early on. He took a look at her when she was asleep. And then he pretended that he didn’t know anything. Maybe he was even happy when she solemnly announced she was pregnant. Since then he had no illusions and was secretly working out his plan...
JOANNA How can you know, maybe she really was pregnant?
GUNNAR Yet another variant...
JOANNA Remember, women are a mystery.
GUNNAR (slowly) Was she... or wasn’t she?
JOANNA Does it bother you so much?
GUNNAR It torments me. You don’t even realize...
JOANNA But you can’t plunge into depression because of that.
GUNNAR He took action in an appropriate moment.
JOANNA (surprised) Who?
GUNNAR What do you mean, who? Giovanni.
JOANNA (suddenly) Why have you never married?
GUNNAR A marriage is a definitive thing. It’s a question of mutual confidence, the sharing of incomes and expenses. Unforeseen expenses and, God forbid... children. (in a whisper) Children empty your pantry and furtively take small change out of your purse. (pause) Just think of the Arnolfini. Do you think it was a planned pregnancy?
JOANNA Get back down to the earth.
GUNNAR Her gigantic belly!!!
JOANNA Gunnar, I beg you!
GUNNAR (thoughtful) It’s suspected.
JOANNA One has rights to something at this age. For so many years you’ve been slogging your guts out. Why concentrate on some sickly paintings?
GUNNAR At this age you cannot make any mistakes. One has to analyze, analyze, analyze...
JOANNA Do you think I should have a beauty spot painted? I thought of having it on the left cheek.
GUNNAR (to himself) The sharing of the income!
JOANNA Nobody has any idea about elegance and taste in this hole. (pause) A post office! That’s a strong argument!
GUNNAR I’m perfectly aware how it looks like in reality. I’m not solely a theoretician. One has heard a bit, one has also seen a bit. And some appropriate reading, works of art... That’s why I can voice my opinion.
JOANNA (she screams) Gunnar! Come out of this lethargy! We can do many things together!
GUNNAR (interested) What do you mean exactly?
JOANNA For example, we can stay together for the rest of our lives.
GUNNAR (cheerfully) Would you like to be my kept woman?
JOANNA I would like to put this house and you in order, and you, for your part...
GUNNAR I think... He starts scratching his bald head nervously. I think we once had the same mother and father. And we lived together. Did it lead to anything reasonable?
JOANNA You don’t understand anything. She approaches the window. Look, how beautiful the sun is today. Carefree birds...
GUNNAR I feel best in gloomy rooms. Nothing distracts me there.
JOANNA You don’t have children, who’s going to take care of you if you should suddenly become seriously ill?
GUNNAR (clutching at his heart) There’s nothing wrong with me.
JOANNA You don’t have children.
GUNNAR There are state run institutions. I’ve paid taxes for so many years... Besides, we see each other regularly.
JOANNA Would you like to end up like the majority of our friends?
GUNNAR Nursing homes aren’t so hopeless after all. Have you seen the programme about the orphans in Romania? One has to be happy with what one has.
JOANNA You’ve always been a minimalist, Gunnar.

3.

Gunnar smokes a cigar and still carefully examines the reproduction of van Eyck’s painting.
Joanna arranges the plates and cutlery.
JOANNA Could you put out this stinker at last?
GUNNAR (to himself) Johannes de Eyck fuit hic... Jan van Eyck, Jan van Eyck...
was here!
JOANNA And put these papers down! It’s time for your favourite dish.
She goes out into the kitchen. Gunnar busy with the Arnolfini.
GUNNAR He must’ve been Giovanni’s partner. Giovanni confided his personal problems to him. And in those days they didn’t have cameras yet.
He wanted to have proof. He wanted to have a witness. Poor guy, he didn’t know how to be alone. He had to share it with somebody... That’s for sure. Van Eyck was his friend. Businessmen and artists must stick together. The world was, is and always will be, against them. People are envious. They envy money, talent and intellect. He slowly puts out the cigar. For decent citizens vintage tobaccos. He flicks the crystal ashtray several times. Businessmen and artists! An interesting combination... Joanna returns from the kitchen and puts scrambled eggs on the table.
JOANNA Stop philosophizing and get down to eating. You won’t say that you don’t feel like scrambled eggs?
GUNNAR (content) You always know how to please me. You’re so deceptively similar to our mother.
JOANNA She wasn’t as good in the kitchen as I am!
GUNNAR You shouldn’t tell bad things about a dead person.
JOANNA At least not aloud.
GUNNAR Mother was as she was...
JOANNA She surely won’t feel offended because of that.
GUNNAR (thoughtful) She always warned me about strangers. She was right, home should be essential...
JOANNA She isolated us.
GUNNAR (pushing away his plate) She only wanted our good.
JOANNA She isolated us and that’s why you ended up alone with woodworms! She knocks on the floor. Soon you will get through to the cellar.
GUNNAR I could study.
JOANNA Look at the cracked ceiling.
GUNNAR (pause) And your legendary excesses? Remember how you ran away to Aalborg with Kaspar.
JOANNA Apparently, there must have been important reasons.
GUNNAR Interesting. I would gladly learn something new on this subject.
JOANNA One thing is certain. At least I’ve never become indolent. I still have a joy of the spirit in me.
GUNNAR (angrily) A joy of the spirit. And what is, for Christ’s sake, a joy of the spirit? Does a joy of the spirit mean a change of tax, a higher pension?
JOANNA And the heart?
GUNNAR What heart...
JOANNA Only the converting of money, minuses and percentages! She pushes the plate towards him. Finish your dish before it gets completely cold.
GUNNAR I don’t complain about anything. As you get older, you get more and more mature and acquire dignity, you have a proper distance. Joanna moves closer to Gunnar. Be careful!
JOANNA (whispers) You make me feel good. You always have. Despite your hopeless rationalism. You don’t even know how much you mean to me...
GUNNAR (slightly surprised) Did you win something in a lottery yesterday or what?
JOANNA If I won, if only I won! Then we’d immediately go to Ibiza... She begins to ponder.
GUNNAR Personally, I’d prefer to stop off at the National Gallery or go to the Saint Bavo Cathedral! There I could additionally explain certain things to myself. Going to the tropics doesn’t make any sense. Dactyls and ice-breaking parties... A loss of time. It’s not for me. (pause) Would you like to leave Denmark for a while?
JOANNA Unfortunately, my bank account is empty. But you... you must have some secret nest eggs, do you?
GUNNAR (frightened) Don’t talk about it out loud.
JOANNA Are you afraid?
GUNNAR We don’t have the right to money. The pension, you know...
JOANNA The state can’t control you all the time.
GUNNAR You have always rebelled unnecessarily.
JOANNA Look! She shows her silver ring to him. Do you like it?
GUNNAR Certainly... He again concentrates on the scrambled eggs.
JOANNA Ordinary, average silver for a few hundred crowns. I deserve something much better though. Gunnar! Look in my eyes, immediately! Don’t I deserve something better?!
GUNNAR (embarrassed) Certainly, you do.
JOANNA Just so!!!
GUNNAR It’s your own fault to a large extent.
JOANNA (sadly) Nobody took care of me.
GUNNAR You sold our parents’ china. You squandered the last family mementoes...
JOANNA I was put away.
GUNNAR Give it a break. Nobody put you away.
JOANNA In the end... I’m a woman.
GUNNAR (surprised) Of course you’re a woman.
JOANNA (whispers) Our mother was jealous of me.
GUNNAR Do you mean your shoeshop? But she chipped in towards the starting up of it.
JOANNA Our mother was envious of everything. When our father read us fairy tales she told him that it was not pedagogical, that he was spoiling us, that toughening children up is most effective.
GUNNAR Incomprehensible! My beloved mother...
JOANNA You see, how much difference two years can make!
GUNNAR I have completely different memories.
JOANNA And she lent me the money at high interest. Can you imagine?
GUNNAR I would never have suspected. And you’re telling me about it only now! Though... the interest is not such a bad idea. Family is one thing, and percentages a different thing altogether. (suddenly) Do you think that Giovanni didn’t have a problem with that?
JOANNA And why should I care about Giovanni...
GUNNAR Jeanne nosed out that he had some small capital put aside.
JOANNA This is about real life. Gunnar, she lent it to me at 25 percent interest!!!
GUNNAR I would have to know all the details. Perhaps it was justified after all.
JOANNA Are you crazy? Do you know what the consequences were? Had it not been for the interest, we would now be sitting in your Ghent, maybe I could buy you the original canvas...
GUNNAR (thoughtful) Ghent...
JOANNA (angrily) Falster!
GUNNAR A proper interest is always a guarantee...
JOANNA I could import Italian shoes to Denmark then! Overrun the whole of Scandinavia. (suddenly) What are you talking about?! What guarantee??? A family should trust one another.
GUNNAR And as it is, you wonder... if, by any chance, I don’t have some banknotes hidden under the pillow.
JOANNA If we had money, we could have some fun.
GUNNAR (seriously) Joanna, I am really grateful for a delicious meal! I beg your pardon! I’ll go back to my work. He sits down on the floor in front of the reproduction.

4.

Joanna in the kitchen.
JOANNA (to herself) Old fool. He only saved money for his coffin. He didn’t invest in anything reasonable. He bought a cheap reproduction of this lunatic, van Eyck... a squalid, ruined hut. What a comedown! So many years of hard, idiotic work at the bank only to pay for the coffin. And no pleasures, no entertainment. A hopeless hoarder. And what’s the use of all that? Dust and vermin. That’s what the wonderful men really are. Kaspar was identical. When I asked him for a new fur coat the coward immediately stopped informing me about his stock exchange speculations. He thought I was going to ruin him. I wonder where Gunnar has hidden his precious pearls? He must have hidden something somewhere. Maybe, if he had a drink, maybe he would become more talkative then.
She delicately opens the drawers and the cupboards. She looks into the sugar bowl and into the tea can. A fiasco! The kitchen’s not the right place after all. Maybe in the toilet, behind the mirror? Or, really, under the quilt? He’s seen a lot of stupid detective films, read loads of cheap love-stories... He could have hidden it under the quilt. Of course, he also hid the bottles! Liqueur, liqueur is indispensable... (she screams) Gunnar! Do you happen to have some liqueur? A glass of liqueur and some chocolate would do us good! (to herself) Alcohol cures everything.
GUNNAR (from the room) There’s still some pear aperitif left! It’s under the sink, next to the brown dish sponge.
JOANNA (to herself) So we end up drinking cheap aperitifs... But let it be a pear aperitif. Maybe he’ll finally wake up and disclose his secrets. She takes out the glasses and a half-empty bottle. She returns to the room. Gunnar, a short break! Something to stimulate your blood circulation.
GUNNAR (in an absent-minded voice) Do I really have to participate in all that?
JOANNA Your emergency supply! Fermented pears.
Gunnar reluctantly rises up from the floor.
GUNNAR You’re interrupting me at the most important moment. Joanna pours the liqueur into their glasses. I was just wondering why they had only one candle lit.
JOANNA Cheers!
GUNNAR Cheers, cheers! (pause) A single candle probably stands for God. Giovanni was a pious man.
JOANNA Why a single candle? It’s just meanness.
GUNNAR (angrily) He was a merchant. He knew very well how difficult it is to take care of hard-earned money.
JOANNA Shall I pour you some more?
GUNNAR Half a glass.
JOANNA (to herself) I won’t beat him.
GUNNAR Alcohol distracts.
JOANNA You live too ascetically.
GUNNAR There’s still a lot to do when you’re old.
JOANNA I suggest you start from your own dump. She stands up and begins to walk around the room.
GUNNAR I feel exceptionally good here. All the books and art albums stand in their places.
JOANNA The father’s picture is covered with dust.
GUNNAR There are so-called priorities.
JOANNA She approaches the wardrobe. You should do a quick wash at least. Look, dirty shirts are sticking out of your wardrobe. (to herself) I wonder what else he keeps there...
GUNNAR (tetchily) Feel free! This is an improbable freedom in someone else’s house.
JOANNA In my own brother’s house. She plunges into the wardrobe. What do you need so many unfashionable ties for?
GUNNAR Would you like me to check your bag?
JOANNA (cheerful) I don’t mind at all. You’ll only find some change in the purse...
Gunnar takes Joanna’s bag from the back of the chair. Interested, he looks inside. He takes out a lipstick.
GUNNAR (to himself) Women’s landscapes... I could have expected.
JOANNA Red ties were worn in the seventies. I think I must buy you several navy blue ones.
GUNNAR (trying her lipstick on his hand) Do you mean you still use make-up? JOANNA (indignant) Haven’t you noticed yet?
GUNNAR At your age...
JOANNA (interrupting him) At our age!
GUNNAR All right, let it be. At our age...
JOANNA What do you mean, at our age?
GUNNAR (slowly) At our age it is not becoming to use make up.
JOANNA At our age it is not becoming to use make up?
GUNNAR We have too many wrinkles, make-up won’t help...
JOANNA You, certainly, shouldn’t use it.
GUNNAR I think it is unbecoming...
JOANNA Tell me then, what is becoming, at our age? She pulls out a long, green dress from the wardrobe. Surprised, she examines it silently. Gunnar nervously lights a cigar. Joanna rubs her eyes and bursts out laughing. This is what our well-behaved Gunnar is secretly doing... Storing women’s clothes in his wardrobe! (to herself) At our age it is not becoming to use make-up.
GUNNAR (embarrassed) As you know... I’m currently studying...
JOANNA Tell me. Whose dress is this?
GUNNAR It’s mine.
JOANNA What do you mean, yours?
GUNNAR Bought with my own money.
JOANNA I don’t understand. A sex change, or, perhaps, a new type of dressing gown?
GUNNAR (in a hushed voice) A dress for the chosen one...
JOANNA For the chosen one? You’re fibbing!
GUNNAR Let me explain.
JOANNA In the wardrobe of the innocent and women-avoiding Gunnar... Unbelievable.
GUNNAR You don’t understand anything. What I meant is the atmosphere at the Arnolfini’s. The atmosphere in their house, Jeanne who certainly wanted to exploit Giovanni.
JOANNA What does it have to do...
GUNNAR I’m examining the matter meticulously.
JOANNA (worried) Maybe you should see a psychologist?
GUNNAR They wanted five hundred for it, but I beat them down to three hundred...
JOANNA Who am I to suspect?
GUNNAR (confused) Jeanne and Giovanni...
JOANNA Is it only the dress? Or do you have perhaps any other interesting props? She laughs.
GUNNAR Do you want to know everything? He takes a deep drag on his cigar.
JOANNA I would never have expected it of you. And I still can’t entirely believe that it was all about the reproduction.
GUNNAR But you don’t want to say you suspect me of a relationship with a woman???
JOANNA Gunnar and a woman? You’re right, it’s rather impossible!
GUNNAR Let me explain it then.
JOANNA On the other hand... it wouldn’t be so stupid. After so many years! I would have someone to talk to about fashion.
GUNNAR I’m studying a particular situation. (pause) I think I have a vocation to do it.
JOANNA You’re in a bad way. And it’s getting worse and worse. I’ve always been telling you to go out more often.
GUNNAR There are important things going on in my life at the moment.
JOANNA I can hear.....
GUNNAR Can we be honest?
JOANNA Are you guilty of something else?
GUNNAR The dress... it’s not all.
JOANNA Nothing but revelations!
GUNNAR It so happened that...
JOANNA A bra?
GUNNAR I didn’t think about a bra.
JOANNA If you have a dress, you have to have a bra...
GUNNAR (whispers) I also have a pair of clogs and a hat.

5.

Gunnar and Joanna next to each other on the floor.
JOANNA (cheerfully) There’s something lacking in here, for sure. She glances at the reproduction. Can you guess what I mean?
GUNNAR The candle is in the kitchen.
JOANNA There is the candle... but no chandelier. You’ve always been contented with half measures.
GUNNAR (surprised) You’re right.
JOANNA A chandelier would change a lot.
GUNNAR A chandelier... Where could I get a chandelier?
JOANNA I shouldn’t have mentioned it to you.
GUNNAR There is the candle and no chandelier...
JOANNA We’ll manage somehow.
GUNNAR After all we have the dress.
JOANNA You can put the candle on the table.
GUNNAR (suddenly) You’re still an attractive woman.
JOANNA (satisfied) Finally you’re talking sensibly. (pause) Sometimes one has to talk more seriously... Do you have any savings?
GUNNAR I knew what I was doing.
JOANNA You didn’t travel anywhere... You have to spend it on something.
GUNNAR Travel is a waste of time.
JOANNA Will you bequeath them to the cats?
GUNNAR (indignant) How dare you?!
JOANNA To the nuns?
GUNNAR There is still a lot to be done before us.
JOANNA Before us... Interesting.
GUNNAR If only you knew how to save, your life would have been different...
JOANNA Do you mean my Italian shoes? That was a series of unfavourable events. Bad luck, simply.
GUNNAR You didn’t have a proper adviser.
JOANNA There were too many of them and this is what knocked me down.
GUNNAR You didn’t know how to invest reasonably.
JOANNA And you, instead, wore the same gray suit for thirty seasons.
GUNNAR I provided for my old age... and I did something more, apart from that.
JOANNA I can just see, a dress, a hat... But you don’t have any idea about shoes. Instead of clogs, you should buy some reasonable court shoes. Even Portuguese, though they’re of poor quality.
GUNNAR Everything has to be original, no concessions. Just like in Jan van Eyck’s painting.
JOANNA Original?
GUNNAR Like at Giovanni’s...
JOANNA But they had tailors! It was real craftsmanship and not what we have now!
GUNNAR Handicraft! We must return to this era...
JOANNA (pointing at the dress) What do you want to do with it?
GUNNAR (clearly disconcerted) We need to talk, Joanna.
JOANNA I’m waiting for it all the time! Tell me at last.
GUNNAR We must have a serious conversation.
JOANNA (interested) Yes? And what have we been doing until now? What have we been doing for the last several dozen years? We need to talk to each other, that’s a good one! Tell me quickly what you actually mean.
GUNNAR Since you already discovered the dress...
JOANNA A woman’s eye.
GUNNAR Since you already discovered...
JOANNA Clothes are my specialty, you know that very well. She laughs. You didn’t have the slightest chance, I had to put my hand into the right hiding place!
GUNNAR I wanted to inform you about it myself.
JOANNA But I nailed you earlier.
GUNNAR Such was the destiny.
JOANNA Aren’t you ashamed?
GUNNAR But this is all about something else. You don’t even expect it.
JOANNA Do you put it on in front of the mirror at night?
GUNNAR (outraged) What are you talking about! Where did you get this idea from?
JOANNA We have proof here.
GUNNAR I’m still normal.
JOANNA (cheerfully) A retired clerk... One could never have expected it of him...
GUNNAR The matter is unusually important.
JOANNA You haven’t had any contact with the outside world for too long. You overdid it.
GUNNAR It won’t be for free, of course.
JOANNA (interested) This already sounds much better.
GUNNAR I’ll pay you handsomely.
JOANNA Amazing!
GUNNAR As you rightly suspect, I’m in possession of some reserves...
JOANNA Yes. This subject is of great interest to me. Continue, Gunnar!
GUNNAR My savings...
JOANNA Well, what about them?
GUNNAR But first, I would like to explain to you certain delicate matters connected with the Arnolfini.
JOANNA I’m at your service, though I have no idea what you mean in this case. What does your Giovanni have to do with it? You mentioned economy. You’ve always been good at it. Do you want to remunerate me? So?
GUNNAR I would pay you in cash or by cheque.
JOANNA (agitated) It can even be by cheque.
GUNNAR So it will be by cheque then.
JOANNA For sure?
GUNNAR I can sign it any time.
JOANNA By cheque?
GUNNAR By cheque.
JOANNA By cheque! You’ve changed beyond recognition. Maybe it’s because of the cigar? You shouldn’t drag on it. But wait a minute, what do you actually want to pay me for? After all, it’s so unlike you. Make a confession, immediately, Gunnar.

6.
Joanna in the green dress. Gunnar touches her belly with pleasure.
JOANNA (ironically) Are you satisfied?
GUNNAR I think the size’s too small...
JOANNA You have to raise the stakes then.
GUNNAR (embarrassed) Even more?
JOANNA (laughing) Do you know what that involves?
GUNNAR I can realize that.
JOANNA We’ll add another zero...
GUNNAR Do you want to ruin me?
JOANNA But it’ll remain in the family.
GUNNAR (worried) Another zero...
JOANNA You won’t deny that these are exceptional circumstances?
GUNNAR (to himself) The spitting image of Jeanne de Cename.
JOANNA The belly will be enlarged...
GUNNAR (suddenly agitated) Really?
JOANNA But, I repeat, you’ll have to add something to this business.
GUNNAR Money, nothing but money!
JOANNA A large, wonderful belly...
GUNNAR A bottomless pit! All right then. Let’s be specific. How much?
Joanna whispers the sum into his ear.
JOANNA Does that suit you?
GUNNAR Ruin...
JOANNA Nothing’s for free!
GUNNAR (flushed) But it has to be like a balloon.
JOANNA I’ll do it professionally, don’t worry.
GUNNAR Twins or triplets.
JOANNA No problem.
GUNNAR Just tell me, I’ll turn away.
JOANNA You’re getting rid of your secret nest eggs in a strange manner... I can’t remember you going to the theatre.
GUNNAR So don’t think about it!
JOANNA Is it set?
GUNNAR Let it be.
JOANNA But first the right signature.
Gunnar writes out the cheque. Joanna moves towards the wardrobe.
GUNNAR Giovanni also had to pay. Such is the lot of an honest man. Nothing’s for free, even among your closest family. I wonder how she will look? (pause) He didn’t have the right to enter her bedroom. He couldn’t check anything. Maybe she was preparing to run away? One of the servants? Quite possible...
JOANNA (with a huge, stuffed belly) I look as if I was in the last month of pregnancy.
GUNNAR I’m impressed.
JOANNA I can barely move.
GUNNAR What a beautiful belly!
JOANNA A suit of armour.
GUNNAR This is exactly it...
JOANNA In that case everyone’s happy. You’ve got your Arnolfini, and I, at last, new stilettos. (looking at the cheque) It should probably be enough...
GUNNAR We have to celebrate it somehow.
JOANNA I think so too.
GUNNAR (lighting a cigar) A goose?
JOANNA What has come to your mind? What goose?
GUNNAR A roast goose.
JOANNA A goose? Out of the question.
GUNNAR Goose is a delicacy!
JOANNA I’d prefer grapes.
GUNNAR Do you think that in those days they didn’t eat goose? I’m sure they could afford such a luxury. Not every day perhaps, but once in a while... Whichever way you look at it, we have a celebration day today.
JOANNA You’re changing beyond recognition. I’m beginning to worry a bit. My mean Gunnar and a goose?
GUNNAR It’s an occasion.
JOANNA Do you know how much fat...
GUNNAR We’ll survive.
JOANNA Didn’t you like the scrambled eggs? Didn’t you have enough?
GUNNAR Forget it.
JOANNA It’s always been your favourite dish. I don’t understand anything.
GUNNAR It is a special occasion!
JOANNA And how much money...
GUNNAR You only live once!
JOANNA Mister Giovanni has a disastrous influence on you.
GUNNAR I can already see a beautifully set table.
JOANNA (arranging her dress) OK, let’s have a goose... Call the restaurant and order a goose. (to herself) Jeanne surely must have liked geese. He has paid. So one has to adapt.
GUNNAR After so many years on a diet, a little fat won’t do you any harm.
JOANNA Do you really think it’s worth spending so much money?
GUNNAR I put it aside especially for the occasion...
JOANNA Nothing but surprises.
GUNNAR (proud) We too come from higher social circles.
JOANNA I can take the skin off.
GUNNAR It’s our holiday!
JOANNA Don’t forget about something for dessert. For example, a good Spanish wine!
GUNNAR (resolutely) Alcohol is out of the question for obvious reasons! There will be, however, elaborate fruit and ice cream.
JOANNA For what reasons?
GUNNAR You mentioned grapes. There’ll be grapes then.
JOANNA A feast without wine?
GUNNAR If a belly... then no wine.
JOANNA (to herself) He’s starting to worry about the belly. She comes over to the reproduction with the Arnolfini. You got tangled up, Gunnar. You’re beginning to be off the wall. It’s typical for men at your age...
GUNNAR Don’t be afraid. You’d better think about your court shoes.
JOANNA I wouldn’t have agreed otherwise.
GUNNAR Think about wonderful, golden court shoes. (in a lofty voice) I pronounce that you’re beautiful!
JOANNA So many years of fruitless attempts, and now, suddenly, a stuffed dress... At last I feel appreciated.
GUNNAR Then be happy.
JOANNA The cheque raised my spirits.
GUNNAR There are many wonderful days and nights before us.
JOANNA Curious. Even nights...
GUNNAR Be happy!
JOANNA I’m doing my best, but, on the other hand, I’m slightly worried about you.
GUNNAR And this is how it should be exactly! In every decent relationship... a certain measure of worry.
JOANNA (surprised) Did you say... relationship?
GUNNAR I said, goose! Long live the goose and the desserts!
JOANNA Where shall I stuff it, I can barely breathe...
GUNNAR And maybe, indeed, triplets?
JOANNA You’re going to shoot the works.
GUNNAR There are priorities.
JOANNA It’s a pity there’ll be no wine.
GUNNAR Get out the best cutlery.
JOANNA The cutlery that our parents left us?
GUNNAR I’m giving you a free hand. From now on it’s your home as well! Plates and cutlery! Everything should be world-class!
JOANNA It hasn’t been used for ages. I’d forgotten you still have it. I must ask at the antique shop. They could be interested.
GUNNAR Is it possible that Giovanni counted on triplets?
JOANNA He was rather hoping that he’d have diamonds spawning.
GUNNAR And suddenly such a surprise!!!
JOANNA (to herself) Plates and cutlery... When I am at it, I’ll check what’s in the dresser.
Gunnar orders the goose by telephone.

7.

Set table. Silver cutlery, Chinese plates and cups... The main item of the programme – a huge, roasted goose. Joanna in a stuffed dress, Gunner in a hat.
GUNNAR (looking at the platter) A delicacy.
JOANNA Pure cholesterol.
GUNNAR These stories aren’t proven. Some doctors claim that fat is also of use. After all, nobody thought about diet in the old days...
JOANNA (ironically) Beetroots and potatoes, beetroots and potatoes... They couldn’t afford anything else.
GUNNAR In this case we’re talking about an affluent social group...
JOANNA But they didn’t have dentists. She touches her teeth. Imagine a world without dentists.
GUNNAR Instead, they had craftsmen, painters and merchants.
JOANNA Pulling out teeth without anaesthetics!
GUNNAR They could go hunting.
JOANNA They could collect wild birds’ feathers. An interesting hobby...
GUNNAR So let’s get down to it! He starts to cut the goose.
JOANNA I’m not sure about this goose. After all, diet is essential.
GUNNAR It’ll do you good, you’ll see.
JOANNA I’ll act contrary to what they advise in the how-to books.
GUNNAR You need a lot of proteins now. Smiling, he glances at the reproduction of the painting. Then he examines Joanna’s stuffed belly.
JOANNA For me a microscopic portion without skin. And something to wash it down with to make it move quickly in the body.
GUNNAR (taking his hat off) It’s not becoming at the table, though I don’t feel comfortable without it.
JOANNA Sometimes you can act like a gentleman.
GUNNAR A question of motivation...
JOANNA If you didn’t have any secret nest eggs, there would be no show.
GUNNAR I know what I’m doing.
JOANNA (sulky face) Nothing but fat...
GUNNAR You’ll get used to it, slowly you’ll get used to it.
JOANNA A cheque for each session?
GUNNAR There’s a long evening before us.
JOANNA Think how suddenly your character has changed. Instead of eggs... a goose!
GUNNAR I didn’t spare any expense on the goose. He swallows a piece of thigh. The goose arouses my desires.
JOANNA A goose! You’ve no idea about real expenses. A good shoe and a suitable stocking! You don’t even realize what a good Italian shoe means. What is a bare female leg adorned with an Italian shoe.
GUNNAR It so happens that I’m only interested in your belly.
JOANNA It has grown slightly, but just at the thought of the cheque...
GUNNAR (suddenly) How do you feel?
JOANNA Terrible. More vegetables, Gunnar. At our age one has to eat more vegetables. Outdoor exercise, sea cruises. At least a minimum of luxury...
GUNNAR Just think how it was in Giovanni’s times. A carriage and bumpy roads! Cruel robbers in the woods and you have to complete orders, to deliver goods, you have to earn your living. (pause) One has to support the family...
JOANNA And meanwhile, here, they’ve chopped down the last groves. We have a pension and dust on the floor.
GUNNAR (joyfully) It’s going to change soon. There’s the goose! Here, (there’s) yet another well roasted piece.
JOANNA Enough! I’ve had enough. I’m beginning to feel a pain in my stomach. I told you it was not for me...
GUNNAR (thoughtful) The stomach ache doesn’t have to be necessarily caused by the bird.
JOANNA I think I should pull several rags out... She massages her stuffed belly. But an agreement is an agreement.
GUNNAR You have to hold on until the end.
JOANNA I’m doing what I can.
GUNNAR Giovanni sacrificed himself too. He risked. (bangs his fist on the table) He counted on his Jeanne! (slowly drawling his words) On his Jeanne de Cename...
JOANNA Calm down. Everything is going according to your plan.
GUNNAR Forgive me, men can get nervous sometimes. Especially, in the present situation.
JOANNA (to herself) He’s getting more and more mad...
GUNNAR One had to wait so long for the answer to the riddle that one can sometimes lose control of oneself.
JOANNA Loneliness and meanness upset you. And I didn’t have luck with shoes. That’s the whole riddle.
GUNNAR Your perfect belly... The work in the bank turned out to be of some use. He glances at the reproduction. Look how delicately they’re holding hands.
JOANNA (pushes away her plate) Awful! I’ve had enough.
GUNNAR It only seems so to you. A stomach upset is nothing unusual in this situation.
JOANNA You know a lot even about that?
GUNNAR I prepared myself in advance.
JOANNA Did you work out everything?
GUNNAR You know, I’m a professional.
JOANNA I think I must loosen it a bit.
GUNNAR (frightened) You’d better drink some mint!
JOANNA We overdid it, we should have made do with the scrambled eggs and gone to bed.
GUNNAR One doesn’t eat a goose on just any occasion.
JOANNA Gunnar, but the pain’s getting stronger and stronger.
GUNNAR Everything’s going to change soon.
JOANNA But I would like to live a little more.
GUNNAR (suddenly) Look, what wonderful teaspoons!
JOANNA I guess it’s the first time since our mother’s death...
GUNNAR It’s the first time.
JOANNA Don’t change the subject. I’m in pain.
GUNNAR Beautiful, especially for our evening.
JOANNA I feel as if I had a brick there.
GUNNAR (to himself) A good sign.
JOANNA Hadn’t it been for this wretched piece of paper with your signature...
GUNNAR Herbal tea is recommended.
JOANNA You did away with your sister.
GUNNAR Sister?
JOANNA (surprised) What do you mean? Don’t you remember who I am? Did it have a bad effect on you, too?
GUNNAR Right, sister. He puts his hat on.
JOANNA Take this ugly thing off. It’s not becoming at the table. I praised you too soon.
GUNNAR Don’t get upset about anything. No unnecessary emotions...
JOANNA (looking at the belly) It’s going to blow up any minute.
GUNNAR Have patience!
JOANNA Think of nothing but the cheque, think of nothing but the cheque...
GUNNAR (unexpectedly) I’ll even give you a small shop.
JOANNA He’s gone mad, completely mad!
GUNNAR Of course, I’ll be in control of it.
JOANNA A small (shoeshop)...
GUNNAR We could of course expand our offer. (seriously) What do you think about hats?
JOANNA First a renovation of your dump! That’ll be the beginning of our common activity!
GUNNAR My experience in bookkeeping...
JOANNA Gunnar, where were you half a century ago?
GUNNAR A woman should have a decent job, but she has to be controlled so that she doesn’t forget about knitting. The division of activities...
JOANNA Where were you thirty, twenty, ten years ago? I still had some energy then. And now, pensioner’s fantasies! A shoe-shop!
GUNNAR Women... Don’t let them spend money carelessly. Many honest merchants went down because of that.
JOANNA (getting up) I won’t hold on like this much longer.
GUNNAR You’ll be able to buy yourself Italian shoes.
JOANNA Why did I consent to it at all? I could have refused to eat the goose! The dress and the belly would have been enough.
GUNNAR (worried) Should I call a specialist?
JOANNA Give me a break. I have simply put too much in there. If I took out several layers, I’d immediately feel much better.
GUNNAR Typical hysteria, but it’ll soon pass.
JOANNA If it doesn’t go away if I sit in the armchair...
Gunnar takes her by the hand and walks her to the armchair.
GUNNAR How is it?
JOANNA It doesn’t help.
GUNNAR One should get accustomed to fowl.
JOANNA Gunnar, I can’t hold on anymore.
GUNNAR (taking the hat off his head) You’ll see, I’ll buy you a shop. All you have to do is hold on until the end...
JOANNA I can even give up the cheque.
GUNNAR Many women have gone through the same thing. You’re not the first.
JOANNA Well, maybe not the whole cheque... You’ve seen your Jeanne, what else do you need?
GUNNAR Be patient, I beg you, be patient!
JOANNA (to herself) It’s my fault.
GUNNAR (whispering) Think about the future...
JOANNA I’m bursting with the goose and the rags and you keep fantasizing all the time!
GUNNAR One doesn’t eat a goose on just any occasion!
JOANNA Loosen it, just a little bit...
GUNNAR Shall I call the doctor?
JOANNA Call a psychiatrist when you’re at it.
GUNNAR You have no right to even touch your belly, it’s out of the question.
JOANNA (groaning) You’re merciless, but you won’t make it with me!
GUNNAR I rewarded you.
JOANNA Think in different terms sometimes. Money cannot buy you everything.
GUNNAR Life has taught me to be consistent...
JOANNA Gunnar, calm down. I only have to unbutton my dress, take out the rags, breathe some air. The goose was exceptionally bad for me.
GUNNAR (to himself) I’ve never fully trusted her.
JOANNA I’m hereby backing out from our agreement. The game’s over!
GUNNAR You’re feverish, you don’t know what you’re saying.
JOANNA I know that I’m already exploding. She’s holding her belly.
GUNNAR Herbal tea or the doctor. Decide!
JOANNA A madman...
GUNNAR Just think, you’re going to have everything. Shoes, carriage rides in the wood, wild bird hunting. You’re going to have things your friends haven’t even dreamed of.
JOANNA In what carriage, what wood?
GUNNAR The servants are going to serve you at the table.
JOANNA Scrambled eggs or geese?
GUNNAR Sometimes even geese...
JOANNA (ironically) Welfare workers distributing geese among pensioners... It would become a serious scandal! A larger political affair!
GUNNAR (with a glint in the eye) We could go dancing!
JOANNA Go dancing? With you, Gunnar?
GUNNAR You don’t know me so well.
JOANNA It’s true, you can still surprise me.
GUNNAR Shoes, a carriage... What else do you need to be lucky?
JOANNA You need love to be lucky.
GUNNAR There’s no time for love.
JOANNA Indeed.
GUNNAR But money can compensate for everything. Good intentions and money.
JOANNA (sighing) You’re a wonderful man, Gunnar. But the goose was an exaggeration in the end. I can feel it flying away out of my stomach...
GUNNAR (proudly) A goose! Bought specially to celebrate our holiday!
JOANNA (decidedly) I’m going to sit on the floor and get rid of the load.

8.

Joanna and Gunnar on the floor. Gunnar nervously smokes his cigar.
GUNNAR I beg you, don’t do it.
JOANNA Do you want to bury me under the table?
GUNNAR You must understand that many women have been in a similar position.
JOANNA I pity them.
GUNNAR (to himself) Triplets...
JOANNA I’m on the verge of an explosion. And don’t blackmail me with triplets. The solution is simple, I’m getting rid of the rags.
GUNNAR They’ve got to be saved. It’s my duty!!!
JOANNA You’d better save your sister.
GUNNAR (surprised) What sister?
JOANNA (ironically) We’re probably talking about me.
GUNNAR Sister...
JOANNA It’s me, Joanna. Your sister. Of the same father and mother.
GUNNAR You’ve got everything mixed up in your head.
JOANNA I can’t catch my breath.
GUNNAR Try.
JOANNA Pensioners should avoid eating fat.
GUNNAR You’re being delirious.
JOANNA The explosion is due any moment now...
GUNNAR I can write out an additional cheque for you.
JOANNA But it won’t help me now.
GUNNAR But it’ll soothe the pain a little. Think about the cheque and the money, don’t give up. Something like a bonus.
JOANNA Money! My weak point...
GUNNAR Trolleys full of cosmetics, liqueur, fashionable pullovers!
JOANNA I’ll remind you about it in the nearest future.
GUNNAR But you know very well that for you I’d give up everything!
JOANNA (to herself) I made a fool of myself. I could have refused to eat the goose...
GUNNAR Everything your heart desires! Pearls, shoes, trinkets.
JOANNA At some other time. She puts her hand under the dress.
GUNNAR (menacingly) I categorically forbid you!
JOANNA The only thing that counts now is how I feel...
GUNNAR Refrain from it!
JOANNA I still have a couple of years before me.
GUNNAR You can’ even imagine what the consequences may be!
JOANNA Consequences? I’ll feel a relief at last.
GUNNAR We’ve been waiting for it for so long.
JOANNA Nobody’s been waiting for anything.
GUNNAR I wrote out a cheque for you...
JOANNA You could have written it out without making an effigy of me.
GUNNAR (shouts) I forbid you!
JOANNA And then we’ll send you to a sanatorium to tune down your nerves a bit.
She takes out the first piece of material. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have agreed...
GUNNAR A traitor!
JOANNA But nothing has happened, we can repeat the show tomorrow.
GUNNAR You’re off your head, you don’t know what you’re doing! He grabs her by the shoulder. Try to take a deep breath, not everything’s lost!
JOANNA Back away immediately! Gunnar presses her to the floor.
GUNNAR (unconsciously) She came from a false family, I’ve always felt that she’d bring me to ruin...
JOANNA Let go or I’ll start to shout. Do you realize what embarrassment it’ll be?!
GUNNAR Jeanne, I beg you...
JOANNA My name’s Joanna.
GUNNAR And now she’s showing her real face. She wants to deprive me of my only treasure! She cheated me...
JOANNA Let go off me immediately!
GUNNAR I’m lost!
JOANNA Speak quieter or the neighbours will come...
GUNNAR I should’ve listened to the inner voice!
JOANNA (petrified) He’s going to strangle me!
A tussle. Joanna bites Gunnar’s forearm.
GUNNAR So it has come to that, to that! The woman in my life, my love... and she bit me...
JOANNA (panting) Self-defence...
GUNNAR She bit me and I took her for carriage rides in the wood.
JOANNA This reproduction has made your brain a complete mess!
GUNNAR (desperate) And what am I to live for now?!
JOANNA My own brother! Incomprehensible!!! She manages to free herself from the stuffed dress. Smiling, she stands over Gunnar.
GUNNAR (unconsciously) She cheated me...
JOANNA Gunnar, look in my eyes. It’s me, your sister.
GUNNAR She bit me...
JOANNA It’s me, Joanna.
GUNNAR Who?
JOANNA Joanna.
GUNNAR I don’t understand...
JOANNA You’ve had an attack.
GUNNAR Treason.
JOANNA The goose has flown away. There’s no goose. The damned Arnolfini are gone...
GUNNAR (mumbles) She stuffed her belly... They weren’t triplets at all.
JOANNA You don’t fix triplets with a cheque. Remember that in the future.
GUNNAR I ordered the goose especially for the occasion...
JOANNA Promises were made, so she stuffed her belly. It’s logical!
GUNNAR (amazed) Stuffed her belly, just like that?
JOANNA And what else did you expect? You wanted to pay yourself! You wrote out the cheque, wake up at last. She wets his forehead.
GUNNAR (in a whisper) Did I have a vision?
JOANNA You kept a dress and clogs in the wardrobe so I wanted to help you.
GUNNAR What actually happened? He looks around the room nervously.
JOANNA It may be the beginning of a psychosis. Who knows...
GUNNAR (scarred) God... but it’s so unlike me.
JOANNA Everyone can get it.
GUNNAR Where’s Jeanne?
JOANNA You wrote out the cheque, so I wanted to help you.
GUNNAR Your wonderful belly...
JOANNA (to herself) It’s still keeping hold of him.
GUNNAR (shaking) Tell me, where’s Jeanne?
JOANNA Jeanne miscarried.
GUNNAR It can’t be!
JOANNA You landed again on Falster.
GUNNAR (surprised) Is it possible that we’re in Denmark?
JOANNA In the social democratic, notoriously foggy Denmark.
GUNNAR (coming to his senses) On Falster?
JOANNA Exactly.
GUNNAR And you are...
JOANNA Yes, it’s me, Joanna. Your sister, Joanna.
GUNNAR Sometimes strange thoughts can absorb one’s head...
JOANNA You need a change of climate.
GUNNAR (looking at his hat) Giovanni, it seems, has died?
JOANNA And he has done well.
GUNNAR (coming to) What shall we do now with the dress and the clogs?
JOANNA Is it the most important thing at the moment? Just think, you could have strangled your beloved sister...
GUNNAR (firmly) We’ll sell the dress in the market place!

9.

Joanna sets the reproduction of the painting on fire in the sink. Gunnar sits at the table, drinks tea and does a crossword.
JOANNA We’ll organize a Monet for you now.
GUNNAR (absent) A Monet...
JOANNA We’ll do something about the dust and scare the spiders out of your room. You’ll revive, I promise.
GUNNAR Quieter, I can’t concentrate!
JOANNA (whispering) We’ll set to work on the floor and the cupboards in the kitchen.
GUNNAR Only two answers left.
JOANNA The windows also need cleaning...
GUNNAR The last two answers and we’re sending the solution!
JOANNA I can see that you’ve returned to your old form.
GUNNAR Maybe I’ll draw for a book voucher?
JOANNA (to herself) He’ll be engrossed in the crosswords for the rest of his life.
GUNNAR Do you remember the name of the capital city of Mali?
JOANNA In every decent house there’s a Monet hanging on the wall...
GUNNAR Mali, Mali... It seems to me that I could remember it not long ago. Africa is always the most difficult part.
JOANNA We have to use up our time in a reasonable manner. Tomorrow, I’m going to buy some clothes for you... Maybe an attractive tour? She turns on the tap. The rubbish is finally liquidated! Who would want to paint such rubbish?! It’s a pity that the inquisition didn’t burn him. Perversion... Were he alive, I’d immediately take him to court! Maybe one should write to the National Gallery? Protect innocent children! (pause) And adults too.
GUNNAR Mambuko, Mamuko? I’ve got to look it up in an encyclopedia.
JOANNA I bet that this painting has driven a lot of people crazy...
GUNNAR I think I’m almost on the track.
JOANNA Monet would never create anything so disgusting.
GUNNAR (nervous) Stop raving!
JOANNA You’ve worked so hard all your life... She comes up to Gunnar and lights his cigar. You could do with a new pair of shoes.
GUNNAR (smiling) Bamako! Of course, it’s Bamako.
JOANNA You’re so intelligent!
GUNNAR I’m developing all the time.
JOANNA I’ve always looked up to you, Gunnar.
GUNNAR Several dozen years in the bank hasn’t come to nothing. The selection of information, the experience in contacts with people...
JOANNA (in a whisper) A little cheque?
GUNNAR (indignant) What has come to your mind? One has to save in one’s old age. You’d better learn it at last!

THE END

For a biography of Grzegorz Wróblewski, click here:
http://pippoetry.blogspot.com/2010/06/grzegorz-wroblewski-polandlives-denmark.html
____
English language version, copyright (c)2008 by Adam Zdrodowski. Original copyright
(c)2006 by Grzegorz Wróblewski

Allan Graubard "Comment of Gellu Naum's Taus Watch Repair Shop"

2011-08-07T08:00:00.000-07:00

Gellu Naum’s Taus Watch Repair Shop is a world unto itself, with its own laws and characteristics that seem as much part of the world Naum lived in when he wrote the play in 1966 as part of somewhere uniquely Naum’s. That is its charm and something of its directness and humor, qualities which Naum uses to curious effect time and again throughout the several acts. That a watch repair shop not only sustains but doctors time, keeping us ever in time, is also Naum’s way of appealing to our desire to create our own time in any way we see fit. This might not seem so bold a gesture, given our various capacities and relative freedoms, but we should recall that in 1966 Romania was ruled by a dictatorship led by quite enervating pressures to conform. And, during this period, of course, Naum was prevented from pursuing his public life as a poet, and certainly not as a surrealist, but made his bare living as a translator and children’s author.

I did not know Naum personally and cannot say how well or poorly the mask fit him, or the anguish and pleasure it gave him, but I can see its use in this play and enjoy it. I imagine that Naum enjoyed it as well, doubling characters, inviting invisible characters into the dialogue, dividing the space into three playing areas from different times and rarely allowing the play to settle down enough for the audience to accept with its usual complacency any sequence of events. Noticeable as well is the running joke on romantic love, which because of, or despite, the laughter we give it, endures; this possibility reclaiming the irrational hope that love instills in us despite everything that would crush it.

The other theatrical qualities in the play are evident enough, including an undertone of giddiness bordering on vertigo. In the end, we have a comedy of manners of sorts spiced with wit, innuendo, suggestion and high fancies of play that leave their mark and then effervesce.

Allan Graubard
July 2011, New York

Gellu Naum THE TAUS WATCH REPAIR SHOP

2011-08-07T05:20:00.000-07:00

To view Gellu Naum's The Taus Watch Repair Shop, click below:
http://greeninteger.com/pdfs/naum-taus-watch-repair-shop.pdf

William Butler Yeats LOVE AND DEATH

2011-07-30T13:39:00.000-07:00

For a manuscript version of Yeats's play "Love and Death," his first plays, rediscovered
among his manuscripts, click below:
http://www.bc.edu/sites/libraries/loveanddeath/

Gertrude Stein DO LET US GO AWAY

2011-07-27T08:00:00.000-07:00

To read Gertrude Stein's play "Do Let Us Go Away," click below
http://www.greeninteger.com/pdfs/stein-do-let-us-go-away.pdf

Ilse Aichinger AT NO PARTICULAR TIME

2011-07-25T15:13:00.000-07:00

For a posting of the Austrian fiction writer and poet Ilse Aichinger's radio play, "At No Particular Time," click here:
http://researchclub.posterous.com/ilse-aichinger-translation-at-no-particular-t-0

Known primarily as a novelist, Ilse Aichinger is a major representative of the first generation after World War II in German literature. Half-Jewish, Aichinger served in forced labor during World War II and was not allowed to graduate from the University of Vienna until after the war. After finishing several semesters, she left the University to become a reader for the German publishing house, S. Fischer Verlag.

Her first major contribution was to the postwar Austrian journal, Plan. “Aufruf zum Mißtrauen” (“Call to Mistrust”) was a major statement of mistrust of the postwar period in Austria. She emerged as a major figure, however, with her novel, Die größere Hoffnun (Herod’s Children) in 1948. Its use of dream and verisimilitude to create an atmosphere of fear of distrust is reminiscent, in some ways, of the works of Kafka.

In 1953 she published her collection of stories Der Gefesselte, translated as The Bound Man and Other Stories. The same year she married the German poet Günter Eich moving with him to Bavaria. In the 1963 she published her first poetry in a book that combined poetry, stories, and dialogues. Her major book of poetry, Verschenkter Rat was published in 1978. She has also published a number of radio plays.

Aichinger was the recipient of the Georg Trakl Prize in 1979, the Franz Kafka Prize in 1983, and the Großen Österreichischen Staatspreis für Literature in 1995.

F. T. Marinetti and others "The Futurist Synthetic Theater"

2011-07-25T12:32:00.000-07:00

for F.T. Marinetti’s “The Futurist Synthetic Theater,” click below:
http://www.greeninteger.com/pdfs/marinetti-futurist-synthetic-theater.pdf

Marjorie Perloff "Harm's Other Way: Some Notes On Mac Wellman's Theater" (on Mac Wellman)

2011-07-14T14:38:00.001-07:00

For an essay on Mac Wellman's plays, "Harm's Other Way: Some Notes on Mac Wellman's Theater, by Marjorie Perloff, click below:
http://marjorieperloff.com/articles/mac-wellman/

Douglas Messerli "More Than Zero?" (on Elmer Rice's The Adding Machine)

2011-07-11T12:49:00.000-07:00

MORE THAN ZERO?
by Douglas Messerli

Elmer Rice The Adding Machine, Garrick Theatre, New York / 1923
Elmer Rice The Adding Machine (New York: Samuel French, 1929)
Jason Loewith and Joshua Schmidt (libretto), based on the play by Elmer Rice, Joshua Schmidt (music) The Adding Machine, Minetta Lane Theatre, New York, opened November 14, 2007 / the performance I attended was the matinee of May 11, 2008

My determination expressed in my 2002 essay on Billy Wilder’s The Apartment that I would revisit Elmer Rice’s play The Adding Machine has stayed with me over the five years since, and when I saw that a musical version of the 1923 expressionist play had opened in New York in 2007, I seized the opportunity to attend on my May visit to the city.

I was surprised, I must admit, by the dramatic and musical intensity of this chamber-like piece. Indeed, I found it a much more fascinating work than the blockbuster musical revivals, South Pacific and Gypsy, I revisited during the same trip. Certainly this work outshines the more predictable feel-good and block-party celebration that won the Tony for the best musical of 2008, In the Heights, but the legendary Minetta Lane Theatre is not on Broadway!

As I had remembered the play, it is certainly a devastating portrait of the workplace; but unlike Wilder’s film, Rice’s play is not centered in the office, but focuses on the entire life of its anti-hero, Mr. Zero, who is abused and dismissed not as much by his boss—who after all does nothing more than fire him on a day Mr. Zero thought he might get a raise—but by his wife and friends, by the community outside his workplace.

The play and musical begin in the bedroom, the musical version raising the bed to an upright position so that Mr. and Mrs. Zero are parallel to the audience itself. The uncomfortable positioning of the bed only reiterates the discomfort of its inhabitants, and particularly Mr. Zero as his wife complains loudly not only about his behavior and lack of drive (“I was a fool for marryin’ you. If I’d ‘a’ had any sense, I’d ‘a’ known what you were from the start”) but of the quality of the movies she has been attending in the afternoons. Joshua Schmidt’s music, influenced clearly by Kurt Weill and Marc Blitzstein, reiterates her sermons with sharp, staccato chords and jarring rhythms that perfectly point up the kind of assembly-line atmosphere of Zero’s entire existence.

Indeed, we discover in the next scene at the office that Zero himself is the adding machine, a man who adds figures in his head, demanding that his assistant, Daisy, speed up her call of the numbers of each and every sale. When, after 25 years at the job, his boss asks to speak with him, Zero cannot imagine anything but that his employer has had “his eye on him,” and intends to reward his dedication.

In fact, the boss intends to replace Zero with a mechanical adding machine. Unable to even fathom what he is being told, Zero is enveloped, in the original play, with loud noises, a swelling of music, the sound of wind, waves, the galloping of horses, a locomotive whistle, sleigh bells, an automobile siren, the crash of a glass, a peal of thunder.

The third scene of the play, wherein all the other “numbers,” friends of Zero and his wife, have gathered at his home for a party, is one of the best of the play. With the men on one side of the room and the woman on the other, Rice treats us to a delicious parody of the prejudicial attitudes of the working class, and underlines the near impossibility of any individual act. The scene ends with his arrest, as Zero admits the murder of his employer and meekly allows the police to take him away.

In a sense, this is the only possible way that Zero could escape his humdrum existence. In the original play, this fact is almost immediately revealed, directly after a powerful courtroom scene, in a frightening and comic graveyard. But under David Cromer's excellent direction, Zero encounters a fellow murderer—a young man who, in carving up a turkey on Sunday afternoon, applies the knife to the throat of his beloved mother instead—in his prison cell; as the two are literally forced to carry their cells with them as they move about, we recognize that even murder has allowed them little respite.

The gods of the universe Rice presents seem at first more forgiving than human folk. Instead of a scene of fire and brimstone that the young murderer Shrdlu has prepared for, both he and Zero find themselves in the pleasant landscape of the Elysian Fields, where they are permitted to experience all the pleasures previously disallowed. Daisy, the young woman with whom Zero had worked, is also there, having committed suicide upon her colleague’s arrest. Together they discover their unspoken love for each other. But like Shrdlu, Zero is unprepared for the pleasures now facing him. From his completely bourgeois perspective, he can only imagine that a world which awards crimes such as his own is not one in which he can partake; he will not live in a society of “drunkards, thieves, vagabonds, blasphemers, adulterers,” a world filled with “a lot of rummies an’ loafers an’ bums.”

Damned to mediocrity, Zero “lives out” the rest of his afterlife adding figures on a new adding machine given him by the gods.

These “gods,” moreover, are evidently no more forgiving than the earthbound society he has left, as it is ultimately revealed that all souls are used over and over again, and that he is to be sent back to the world which he has thought he escaped. For century after century he has been returned to the living, becoming worse and worse as a vital human being each time around.

The play closes accordingly, with the reincarnated hero, a “poor, spineless, brainless boob,” once again facing his brave new world. One can only pray that this time he may become more than a zero—even if he rises only to become a simple number in the human race.

Both Wilder’s film and Rice’s play, accordingly, end with the possibility of transcendence, but while we surely believe that Baxter and Kubelik have escaped the world that formerly imprisoned them, we are fearful that Zero will embrace the prison of his blind ignorance once again.

Los Angeles, June 27, 2008
Reprinted from Green Integer Review (October 2009).
Copyright (c) 2008 by Douglas Messerli.

Elmer Rice THE ADDING MACHINE

2011-07-11T12:24:00.000-07:00

THE ADDING MACHINE
A Play in Seven Scenes
By Elmer Rice

The cast of the theatre guild production as originally presented at the garrick theatre, March 19th, 1923

production directed by Philip Moeller
settings and costumes by Lee Simonsen
incidental music by Deems Taylor

CHARACTERS (in order of appearance)

Mr. Zero Dudley Digget
Mrs. Zero Helen Westley
Daisy Diana Dorothea Devore Margaret Wycherly
The Boss Irving Dillon
Mr. One Harry McKenna
Mrs. One Marcia Harris
Mr. Two Paul Hayes
Mrs. Two Theresa Stewart
Mr. Three Gerald Lundegard
Mrs. Three Georgiana Wilson
Mr. Four George Stehli
Mrs. Four Edith Burnett
Mr. Five William W. Griffith
Mrs. Five Ruby Craven
Mr. Six Daniel Hamilton
Mrs. Six Louise Sydmeth
Policeman Irving Dillon
Judy O'Grady Elise Bartlett
Young Man Gerald Lundegard
Shrdlu Edward G. Robinson
A Head Daniel Hamilton
Lieutenant Charles Louis Calvert
Joe William W. Griffith

scene 1 A bedroom
scene 4 A place of justice
scene 2 An office
scene 5 A graveyard
scene 3 A living room
scene 6 A pleasant place
scene 7 Another office

stage manager, lewis barrington

the theatre guild, inc.

Board of Managers

Theresa Helburn, Philip Moeller, Lee Simonson, Lawrence Langner, Maurice Wertheim, Helen Westley

Executive Director: Theresa Helburn

Scenic Director Lee Simonson
Business Manager Warren P. Munsell
Press Representative Ruth Benedict
Technical Director Carolyn Hancock
Play Reading Dept. Courtenay Lemon, Ernest Boyd
Stage Manager Robert L. Cook
CAST OF CHARACTERS

mr. zero
THE ADDING MACHINE

SCENE ONE

[SCENE: A bedroom.
A small room containing an "installment plan" bed, dresser, and chairs. An ugly electric light fixture over the bed with a single glaring naked lamp. One small window with the shade drawn. The walls are papered with sheets of foolscap covered with columns of figures.
Mr. Zero is lying in the bed, facing the audience, his head and shoulders visible. He is thin, sallow, under-sized, and partially bald. mrs. zero is standing before the dresser arranging her hair for the night. She is forty-five, sharp-featured, gray streaks in her hair. She is shapeless in her long-sleeved cotton nightgown. She is wearing her shoes, over which sag her ungartered stockings.]
mrs. zero: [As she takes down her hair]: I'm gettin' sick o' them Westerns. All them cowboys ridin' around an' foolin' with them ropes. I don't care nothin' about that. I'm sick of 'em. I don't see why they don't have more of them stories like "For Love's Sweet Sake." I like them sweet little love stories. They're nice and wholesome. Mrs. Twelve was sayin' to me only yesterday, "Mrs. Zero," says she, "what I like is one of them wholesome stories, with just a sweet, simple little love story." "You're right, Mrs. Twelve," I says. "That's what I like, too." They're showin' too many Westerns at the Rosebud. I'm gettin' sick of them. I think we'll start goin' to the Peter Stuyvesant. They got a good bill there Wednesday night. There's a Chubby Delano comedy called "Sea-Sick." Mrs. Twelve was tellin' me about it. She says it's a scream. They're havin' a picnic in the country and they sit Chubby next to an old maid with a great big mouth. So he gets sore an' when she ain't lookin' he goes and catches a frog and drops it in her clam chowder. An' when she goes to eat the chowder the frog jumps out of it an' right into her mouth. Talk about laugh! Mrs. Twelve was tellin' me she laughed so she nearly passed out. He sure can pull some funny ones. An' they got that big Grace Darling feature, "A Mother's Tears." She's sweet. But I don't like her clothes. There's no style to them. Mrs. Nine was tellin' me she read in Pictureland that she ain't livin' with her husband. He's her second, too. I don't know whether they're divorced or just separated. You wouldn't think it to see her on the screen. She looks so sweet and innocent. Maybe it ain't true. You can't believe all you read. They say some Pittsburgh millionaire is crazy about her and that's why she ain't livin' with her husband. Mrs. Seven was tellin' me her brother-in-law has a friend that used to go to school with Grace Darling. He says her name ain't Grace Darling at all. Her right name is Elizabeth Dugan, he says, an' all them stories about her gettin' five thousand a week is the bunk, he says. She's sweet, though. Mrs. Eight was tellin' me that "A Mother's Tears" is the best picture she ever made. "Don't miss it, Mrs. Zero," she says. "It's sweet," she says. "Just sweet and wholesome. Cry!" she says, "I nearly cried my eyes out." There's one part in it where this big bum of an Englishman—he's a married man, too—an' she's this little simple country girl. An' she nearly falls for him, too. But she's sittin' out in the garden, one day, and she looks up and there's her mother lookin' at her, right out of the clouds. So that night she locks the door of her room. An' sure enough, when everybody's in bed, along comes this big bum of an Englishman an' when she won't let him in what does he do but go an' kick open the door. "Don't miss it, Mrs. Zero," Mrs., Eight was tellin' me. It's at the Peter Stuyvesant Wednesday night, so don't be tellin' me you want to go to the Rosebud. The Eights seen it downtown at the Strand. They go downtown all the time. Just like us—nit! I guess by the time it gets to the Peter Stuyvesant all that part about kickin' in the door will be cut out. Just like they cut out that big cabaret scene in "The Price of Virtue." They sure are puffin' some rough stuff in the pictures nowadays. "It's no place for a young girl," I was tellin' Mrs. Eleven, only the other day. An' by the time they get uptown half of it is cut out. But you wouldn't go downtown—not if wild horses was to drag you. You can wait till they come uptown! Well, I don't want to wait, see? I want to see 'em when everybody else is seein' them an' not a month later. Now don't go tellin' me you ain't the price. You could dig up the price all right, all right, if you wanted to. I notice you always got the price to go to the ball game. But when it comes to me havin' a good time then it's always: "I ain't got the price, I gotta start savin'." A fat lot you'll ever save! I got all I can do now makin' both ends meet an' you talkin' about savin'. [She seats herself on a chair and begins removing her shoes and stockings.] An' don't go pullin' that stuff about bein' tired "I been workin' hard all day. Twice a day in the subway's enough for me." Tired! Where do you get that tired stuff, anyhow? What about me? Where do I come in? Scrubbin' floors an' cookin' your meals an' washin' your dirty clothes. An' you sittin' on a chair all day, just addin' figgers an' waitin' for five-thirty. There's no five-thirty for me. I don't wait for no whistle. I don't get no vacations neither. And what's more I don't get no pay envelope every Saturday night neither. I'd like to know where you'd be without me. An' what have I got to show for it?—slavin' my life away to give you a home. What's in it for me, I'd like to know? But it's my own fault, I guess. I was a fool for marryin' you. If I'd 'a' had any sense, I'd 'a' known what you were from the start. I wish I had it to do over again, I hope to tell you. You was goin' to do wonders, you was! You wasn't goin' to be a bookkeeper long—oh, no, not you. Wait till you got started—you was goin' to show 'em. There wasn't no job in the store that was too big for you. Well, I've been waitin'—waitin' for you to get started—see? It's been a good long wait, too. Twenty-five years! An' I ain't seen nothin' happen. Twenty-five years in the same job. Twenty-five years tomorrow! You're proud of it, ain't you? Twenty-five years in the same job an' never missed a day! That's somethin' to be proud of, ain't it? Sittin' for twenty-five years on the same chair, addin' up figures. What about bein' store-manager? I guess you forgot about that, didn't you? An' me at home here lookin' at the same four walls an' workin' my fingers to the bone to make both ends meet. Seven years since you got a raise! An' if you don't get one to-morrow, I'll bet a nickel you won't have the guts to go an' ask for one. I didn't pick much when I picked you, I'll tell the world. You ain't much to be proud of. [She rises, goes to the window, and raises the shade. A few lighted windows are visible on the other side of the closed court. Looking out for a moment]: She ain't walkin' around to-night, you can bet your sweet life on that. An' she won't be walkin' around any more nights, neither. Not in this house, anyhow. [She turns away from the window]: The dirty bum! The idea of her comin' to live in a house with respectable people. They should 'a' gave her six years, not six months. If I was the judge I'd of gave her life. A bum like that. [She approaches the bed and stands there a moment]: I guess you're sorry she's gone. I guess you'd like to sit home every night an' watch her goin's-on. You're somethin' to be proud of, you are! [She stands on the bed and turns out the light...A thin stream of moonlight filters in from the court. The two figures are dimly visible. mrs. zero gets into bed]:
You'd better not start nothin' with women, if you know what's good for you. I've put up with a lot, but I won't put up with that. I've been slavin' away for twenty-five years, makin' a home for you an' nothin' to show for it. If you was any kind of a man you'd have a decent job by now an' I'd be gettin' some comfort out of life—instead of bein' just a slave, washin' pots an' standin' over the hot stove. I've stood it for twenty-five years an' I guess I'll have to stand it twenty-five more. But don't you go startin' nothin' with women—[She goes on talking as the curtain falls.]

SCENE TWO

[SCENE: An office in a department store. Wood and glass partitions. In the middle of the room, two tall desks back to back. At one desk on a high stool is zero. Opposite him at the other desk, also on a high stool, is daisy diana dorothea devore, a plain, middle-aged woman. Both wear green eye shades and paper sleeve protectors A pendent electric lamp throws light upon both desks. daisy reads aloud figures from a pile of slips which lie before her. As she reads the figures, zero enters them upon a large square sheet of ruled paper which lies before him.]
daisy: [Reading aloud]: Three ninety-eight. Forty-two cents. A dollar fifty. A dollar fifty. A dollar twenty-five. Two dollars. Thirty-nine cents. Twenty-seven fifty.
zero: [Petulantly]: Speed it up a little, cancha?
daisy: What's the rush? To-morrer's another day.
zero: Aw, you make me sick.
daisy: An' you make me sicker.
zero: Go on. Go on. We're losin' time.
daisy: Then quit bein' so bossy. [She reads]: Three dollars. Two sixty-nine, Eighty-one fifty. Forty dollars. Eight seventy-five. Who do you think you are, anyhow?
zero: Never mind who I think I am. You tend to your work.
daisy: Aw, don't be givin' me so many orders. Sixty cents. Twenty-four cents. Seventy-five cents. A dollar fifty. Two fifty. One fifty. One fifty. Two fifty. I don't have to take it from you and what's more I won't.
zero: Aw, quit talkin'.
daisy: I'll talk all I want. Three dollars. Fifty cents. Fifty cents. Seven dollars. Fifty cents. Two fifty. Three fifty. Fifty cents. One fifty. Fifty cents. [She goes bending over the slips and transferring them from one pile to another. zero bends over his desk, busily entering the figures.]
zero: [Without looking up]: You make me sick. Always shootin' off your face about somethin'. Talk, talk, talk. Just like all the other women. Women make me sick.
daisy: [Busily fingering the slips]: Who do you think you are, anyhow? Bossin' me around. I don't have to take it from you, and what's more I won't. [They both attend closely to their work, neither looking up.]
zero: Women make me sick. They're all alike. The judge gave her six months. I wonder what they do in the work-house. Peel potatoes. I'll bet she's sore at me. Maybe she'll try to kill me when she gets out. I better be careful. Hello, Girl Slays Betrayer, Jealous Wife Slays Rival. You can't tell what a woman's liable to do. I better be careful.
daisy: I'm gettin' sick of it. Always pickin' on me about somethin'. Never a decent word out of you. Not even the time o' day.
zero: I guess she wouldn't have the nerve at that. Maybe she don't even know it's me. They didn't even put my name in the paper, the big bums. Maybe she's been in the work-house before. A bum like that. She didn't have nothin' on that one time—nothin' but a shirt. [He glances up quickly, then bends over again]: You make me sick. I'm sick of lookin' at your face.
daisy: Gee, ain't that whistle ever goin' to blow? You didn't used to be like that. Not even good mornin' or good evenin'. I ain't done nothin' to you. It's the young girls. Goin' around without corsets.
zero: Your face is gettin' all yeller. Why don't you put some paint on it? She was puttin' on paint that time. On her cheeks and on her lips. And that blue stuff on her eyes. Just sittin' there in a shimmy puttin' on the paint. An' walkin' around the room with her legs all bare.
daisy: I wish I was dead.
zero: I was a goddam fool to let the wife get on to me. She oughta get six months at that. The dirty bum. Livin' in a house with respectable people. She'd be livin' there yet, if the wife hadn't o' got on to me. Damn her!
daisy: I wish I was dead.
zero: Maybe another one'll move in. Gee, that would be great. But the wife's got her eye on me now.
daisy: I'm scared to do it, though.
zero: You oughta move into that room. It's cheaper than where you're livin' now. I better tell you about it. I don't mean to be always pickin' on you.
daisy: Gas. The smell of it makes me sick. [zero looks up and clears his throat.]
daisy: [Looking up, startled]: Whadja say?
zero: I didn't say nothin'.
daisy: I thought you did.
zero: You thought wrong. [They bend over their work again.]
daisy: A dollar sixty. A dollar fifty. Two ninety. One sixty-two.
zero: Why the hell should I tell you? Fat chance of you forgettin' to pull down the shade!
daisy: If I asked for carbolic they might get on to me.
zero: Your hair's gettin' gray. You don't wear them shirt waists any more with the low collars. When you'd bend down to pick somethin' up
daisy: I wish I knew what to ask for. Girl Takes Mercury After All-Night Party. Woman In Ten-Story Death Leap.
zero: I wonder where'll she go when she gets out. Gee, I'd like to make a date with her. Why didn't I go over there the night my wife went to Brooklyn? She never woulda found out.
daisy: I seen Pauline Frederick do it once. Where could I get a pistol though?
zero: I guess I didn't have the nerve.
daisy: I'll bet you'd be sorry then that you been so mean to me. How do I know, though? Maybe you wouldn't.
zero: Nerve! I got as much nerve as anybody. I'm on the level, that's all. I'm a married man and I'm on the level.
daisy: Anyhow, why ain't I got a right to live? I'm as good as anybody else. I'm too refined, I guess. That's the whole trouble.
zero: The time the wife had pneumonia I thought she was goin' to pass out. But she didn't. The doctor's bill was eighty-seven dollars. [Looking up]: Hey, wait a minute! Didn't you say eighty-seven dollars?
daisy: [Looking up]: What?
zero: Was the last you said eighty-seven dollars?
daisy: [Consulting the slip]: Forty-two fifty.
zero: Well, I made a mistake. Wait a minute. [He busies himself with an eraser]: All right. Shoot.
daisy: Six dollars. Three fifteen. Two twenty-five. Sixty-five cents. A dollar twenty. You talk to me as if I was dirt.
zero: I wonder if I could kill the wife without anybody findin' out. In bed some night. With a pillow.
daisy: I used to think you was stuck on me.
zero: I'd get found out, though. They always have ways.
daisy: We used to be so nice and friendly together when I first came here. You used to talk to me then.
zero: Maybe she'll die soon. I noticed she was coughin' this mornin'.
daisy: You used to tell me all kinds o' things. You were goin' to show them all. Just the same, you're still sittin' here.
zero: Then I could do what I damn please. Oh, boy!
daisy: Maybe it ain't all your fault neither. Maybe if you'd had the right kind o' wife—somebody with a lot of common-sense, somebody refined—me!
zero: At that, I guess I'd get tired of bummin' around. A feller wants some place to hang his hat.
daisy: I wish she would die.
zero: And when you start goin' with women you're liable to get into trouble. And lose your job maybe.
daisy: Maybe you'd marry me.
zero: Gee, I wish I'd gone over there that night.
daisy: Then I could quit workin'.
zero: Lots o' women would be glad to get me.
daisy: You could look a long time before you'd find a sensible, refined girl like me.
zero: Yes, sir, they could look a long time before they'd find a steady meal-ticket like me.
daisy: I guess I'd be too old to have any kids. They say it ain't safe after thirty-five.
zero: Maybe I'd marry you. You might be all right, at that.
daisy: I wonder—if you don't want kids—whether—if there's any way
zero: [Looking up]: Hey! Hey! Can't you slow up? What do you think I am—a machine?
daisy: [Looking up]: Say, what do you want, anyhow? First it's too slow an' then it's too fast. I guess you don't know what you want.
zero: Well, never mind about that. Just you slow up.
daisy: I'm gettin' sick o' this. I'm goin' to ask to be transferred.
zero: Go ahead. You can't make me mad.
daisy: Aw, keep quiet. [She reads]: Two forty-five. A dollar twenty. A dollar fifty. Ninety cents. Sixty-three cents.
zero: Marry you! I guess not! You'd be as bad as the one I got.
daisy: You wouldn't care if I did ask. I got a good mind to ask.
zero: I was a fool to get married.
daisy: Then I'd never see you at all.
zero: What chance has a guy got with a woman tied around his neck?
daisy: That time at the store picnic—the year your wife couldn't come—you were nice to me then.
zero: Twenty-five years holdin' down the same job!
daisy: We were together all day—just sittin' around under the trees.
zero: I wonder if the boss remembers about it bein' twenty-five years.
daisy: And comin' home that night—you sat next to me in the big delivery wagon.
zero: I got a hunch there's a big raise comin' to me.
daisy: I wonder what it feels like to be really kissed. Men—dirty pigs! They want the bold ones.
zero: If he don't come across I'm goin' right up to the front office and tell him where he gets off.
daisy: I wish I was dead.
zero: "Boss," I'll say, "I want to have a talk with you." "Sure," he'll say, "sit down. Have a Corona Corona." "No," I'll say, "I don't smoke." "How's that?" he'll say. "Well, boss," I'll say, "it's this way. Every time I feel like smokin' I just take a nickel and put it in the old sock. A penny saved is a penny earned, that's the way I look at it." "Damn sensible," he'll say. "You got a wise head on you, Zero."
daisy: I can't stand the smell of gas. It makes me sick. You coulda kissed me if you wanted to.
zero: "Boss," I'll say, "I ain't quite satisfied. I been on the job twenty-five years now and if I'm gonna stay I gotta see a future ahead of me." "Zero," he'll say, "I'm glad you came in. I've had my eye on you, Zero. Nothin' gets by me." "Oh, I know that, boss," I'll say. That'll hand him a good laugh, that will. "You're a valuable man, Zero," he'll say, "and I want you right up here with me in the front office. You're done addin' figgers. Monday mornin' you move up here."
daisy: Them kisses in the movies—them long ones—right on the mouth
zero: I'll keep a-goin' right on up after that. I'll show some of them birds where they get off.
daisy: That one the other night—"The Devil's Alibi"—he put his arms around her—and her head fell back and her eyes closed—like she was in a daze.
zero: Just give me about two years and I'll show them birds where they get off.
daisy: I guess that's what it's like—a kinda daze—when I see them like that, I just seem to forget everything.
zero: Then me for a place in Jersey. And maybe a little Buick. No tin Lizzie for mine. Wait till I get started—I'll show 'em.
daisy: I can see it now when I kinda half-close my eyes. The way her head fell back. And his mouth pressed right up against hers. Oh, Gawd! it must be grand! [There is a sudden shrill blast from a steam whistle.]
daisy and zero [Together]: The whistle! [With great agility they get off their stools, remove their eye shades and sleeve protectors and put them on the desks. Then each produces from behind the desk a hat—zero, a dusty derby, daisy, a frowsy straw... daisy puts on her hat and turns toward zero as though she were about to speak to him. But he is busy cleaning his pen and pays no attention to her. She sighs and goes toward the door at the left.]
zero: [Looking up]: G'night, Miss Devore. [But she does not hear him and exits. zero takes up his hat and goes left. The door at the right opens and the Boss enters—middle-aged, stoutish, bald, well-dressed.]
the boss: [Calling]: Oh—er—Mister—er—[zero turns in surprise, sees who it is and trembles nervously.]
zero: [Obsequiously]: Yes, sir. Do you want me, sir?
boss: Yes. Just come here a moment, will you?
zero: Yes, sir. Right away, sir. [He fumbles his hat, picks it up, stumbles, recovers himself, and approaches the Boss, every fibre quivering.]
boss: Mister—er—er—
zero: Zero.
boss: Yes, Mr. Zero. I wanted to have a little talk with you.
zero: [ With a nervous grin]: Yes sir, I been kinda expectin' it.
boss: [Staring at him]: Oh, have you?
zero: Yes, sir.
boss: How long have you been with us, Mister—er—Mister
zero: Zero.
boss: Yes, Mister Zero.
zero: Twenty-five years to-day.
boss: Twenty-five years! That's a long time.
zero: Never missed a day.
boss: And you've been doing the same work all the time?
zero: Yes, sir. Right here at this desk.
boss: Then, in that case, a change probably won't be unwelcome to you.
zero: No, sir, it won't. And that's the truth.
boss: We've been planning a change in this department for some time.
zero: I kinda thought you had your eye on me.
boss: You were right. The fact is that my efficiency experts have recommended the installation of adding machines.
zero: [Staring at him]: Addin' machines?
boss: Yes, you've probably seen them. A mechanical de-rice that adds automatically.
zero: Sure. I've seen them. Keys—and a handle that you pull. [He goes through the motions in the air.]
boss: That's it. They do the work in half the time and a high-school girl can operate them. Now, of course, I'm sorry to lose an old and faithful employee—
zero: Excuse me, but would you mind sayin' that again?
boss: I say I'm sorry to lose an employee who's been with me for so many years
[Soft music is heard—the sound of the mechanical player of a distant merry-go-round. The part of the floor upon which the desk and stools are standing begins to revolve very slowly.]
boss: But, of course, in an organization like this, efficiency must be the first consideration [The music becomes gradually louder and the revolutions more rapid.]
boss: You will draw your salary for the full month. And I'll direct my secretary to give you a letter of recommendation
zero: Wait a minute, boss. Let me get this right. You mean I'm canned?
boss: [Barely making himself heard above the increasing volume of sound]: I'm sorry—no other alternative—greatly regret—old employee—efficiency—economy—business—business—BUSINESS—[His voice is drowned by the music. The platform is revolving rapidly now. zero and the boss face each other. They are entirely motionless save for the boss's jaws, which open and close incessantly. But the words are inaudible. The music swells and swells. To it is added every off-stage effect of the theatre: the wind, the waves, the galloping horses, the locomotive whistle, the sleigh bells, the automobile siren, the glass-crash. New Year's Eve, Election Night, Armistice Day, and the Mardi-Gras. The noise is deafening, maddening, unendurable. Suddenly it culminates in a terrific peal of thunder. For an instant there is a flash of red and then everything is plunged into blackness.]

[Curtain]

SCENE THREE

[SCENE: The zero dining room. Entrance door at right. Doors to kitchen and bedroom at left. The walls, as in the first scene, are papered with foolscap sheets covered with columns of figures. In the middle of the room, upstage, a table set for two. Along each side wall, seven chairs are ranged in symmetrical rows.
At the rise of the curtain mrs. zero is seen seated at the table looking alternately at the entrance door and a clock on the wall. She wears a bungalow apron over her best dress.
After a few moments, the entrance door opens and zero enters. He hangs his hat on a rack behind the door and coming over to the table seats himself at the vacant place. His movements throughout are quiet and abstracted.]
mrs. zero: [Breaking the silence]: Well, it was nice of you to come home. You're only an hour late and that ain't very much. The supper don't get very cold in an hour. An' of course the part about our havin' a lot of company to-night don't matter. [They begin to eat.]
Ain't you even got sense enough to come home on time? Didn't I tell you we're goin' to have a lot o' company to-night? Didn't you know the Ones are comin'? An' the Twos? An' the Threes? An' the Fours? An' the Fives? And the Sixes? Didn't I tell you to be home on time? I might as well talk to a stone wall. [They eat for a few moments in silence.]
I guess you musta had some important business to attend to. Like watchin' the score-board. Or was two kids havin' a fight an' you was the referee? You sure do have a lot of business to attend to. It's a wonder you have time to come home at all. You gotta tough life, you have. Walk in, hang up your hat, an' put on the nose-bag. An' me in the hot kitchen all day, cookin' your Supper an' waitin' for you to get good an' ready to come home! [Again they eat in silence.]
Maybe the boss kept you late to-night. Tellin' you what a big noise you are and how the store couldn't 'a' got along if you hadn't been pushin' a pen for twenty-five years. Where's the gold medal he pinned on you? Did some blind old lady take it away from you or did you leave it on the seat of the boss's limousine when he brought you home? [Again a few moments of silence.]
I'll bet he gave you a big raise, didn't he? Promoted you from the third floor to the fourth, maybe. Raise? A fat chance you got o' gettin' a raise. All they gotta do is put an ad in the paper. There's ten thousand like you layin' around the streets. You'll be holdin' down the same job at the end of another twenty-five years—if you ain't forgot how to add by that time.
[A noise is heard off-stage, a sharp clicking such as is made by the operation of the keys and levers of an adding machine. zero raises his head for a moment, but lowers it almost instantly.]
mrs. zero: There's the door-bell. The company's here already. And we ain't hardly finished supper. [She rises.]
But I'm goin' to clear off the table whether you're finished or not. If you want your supper, you got a right to be home on time. Not standin' around lookin' at score-boards. [As she piles up the dishes, zero rises and goes toward the entrance door.]
Wait a minute! Don't open the door yet. Do you want the company to see all the mess? An' go an' put on a clean collar. You got red ink all over it [zero goes toward bedroom door.]
I should think after pushin' a pen for twenty-five years, you'd learn how to do it without gettin' ink on your collar [zero exits to bedroom. mrs. zero takes dishes to kitchen talking as she goes.]
I guess I can stay up all night now washin' dishes. You should worry! That's what a man's got a wife for, ain't it? Don't he buy her her clothes an' let her sat with him at the same table? An' all she's gotta do is cook the meals an' do the washin' an' scrub the floor, an' wash the dishes, when the company goes. But, believe me, you're goin' to sling a mean dish-towel when the company goes to-night!
[While she is talking zero enters from bedroom. He wears a clean collar and is cramming the soiled one furtively into his pocket. mrs. zero enters from kitchen. She has removed her apron and carries a table cover which she spreads hastily over the table, The clicking noise is heard again.]
mrs. zero: There's the bell again. Open the door, cancha?
[zero goes to the entrance door and opens it. Six men and six women fie into the room in a double column. The men are all shapes and sizes, but their dress is identical with that of Zero in every detail. Each, however, wears a wig of a different color. The women are all dressed alike, too, except that the dress of each is of a different color.]
mrs. zero: [Taking the first woman's hand]: How de do, Mrs. One.
mrs. one: How de do, Mrs. Zero. [mrs. zero repeats this formula with each woman in turn. zero does the same with the men except that he is silent throughout. The files now separate, each man taking a chair from the right wall and each woman one from the left wall. Each sex forms a circle with the chairs very close together. The men—all except
zero:—smoke cigars, The women munch chocolates.]
six: Some rain we're havin'.
five: Never saw the like of it.
four: Worst in fourteen years, paper says.
three: Y'can't always go by the papers.
two: No, that's right, too.
one: We're liable to forget from year to year.
six: Yeh, come t' think, last year was pretty bad, too.
five: An' how about two years ago?
four: Still this year's pretty bad.
three: Yeh, no gettin' away from that.
two: Might be a whole lot worse.
one: Yeh, it's all the way you look at it. Some rain, though.
mrs. six: I like them little organdie dresses.
mrs. five: Yeh, with a little lace trimmin' on the sleeves.
mrs. four: Well, I like 'em plain myself.
mrs. three: Yeh, what I always say is the plainer the more refined.
mrs. two: Well, I don't think a little lace does any harm.
mrs. one: No, it kinda dresses it up.
mrs. zero: Well, I always say it's all a matter of taste.
mrs. six: I saw you at the Rosebud Movie Thursday night, Mr. One.
one: Pretty punk show, I'll say.
two: They're gettin' worse all the time.
mrs. six: But who was the charming lady, Mr. One?
one: Now don't you go makin' trouble for me. That was my sister.
mrs. five: Oho! That's what they all say.
mrs. four: Never mind! I'll bet Mrs. One knows what's what, all right.
mrs. one: Oh, well, he can do what he likes—'slong as he behaves himself.
three: You're in luck at that, One. Fat chance I got of gettin' away from the frau even with my sister.
mrs. three: You oughta be glad you got a good wife to look after you.
the other women [In unison]: That's right, Mrs. Three.
five: I guess I know who wears the pants in your house, Three.
mrs. zero: Never mind. I saw them holdin' hands at the movie the other night.
three: She musta been tryin' to get some money away from me.
mrs. three: Swell chance anybody'd have of gettin' any money away from you. [General laughter.]
four: They sure are a loving couple.
mrs. two: Well, I think we ought a change the subject.
mrs. one: Yes, let's change the subject.
six: [Sotto voce]: Did you hear the one about the travellin' salesman?
five: It seems this guy was in a sleeper.
four: Goin' from Albany to San Diego.
three: And in the next berth was an old maid.
two: With a wooden leg.
one: Well, along about midnight [They all put their heads together and whisper.]
mrs. six: [Sotto voce]: Did you hear about the Sevens?
mrs. five: They're gettin' a divorce.
mrs. four: It's the second time for him.
mrs. three: They're two of a kind, if you ask me.
mrs. two: One's as bad as the other.
mrs. one: Worse.
mrs. zero: They say that she [They all put their heads together and whisper.]
six: I think this woman suffrage is the bunk.
five: It sure is! Politics is a man's business.
four: Woman's place is in the home.
three: That's it! Lookin' after the kids, 'stead of hangin' around the streets. Two You hit the nail on the head that time.
one: The trouble is they don't know what they want.
mrs. six: Men sure get me tired.
mrs. five: They sure are a lazy lot.
mrs. four: And dirty.
mrs. three: Always grumblin' about somethin'.
mrs. two: When they're not lyin'!
mrs. one: Or messin' up the house.
mrs. zero: Well, believe me, I tell mine where he gets off.
six: Business conditions are sure bad.
five: Never been worse.
four: I don't know what we're comin' to.
three: I look for a big smash-up in about three months.
two: Wouldn't surprise me a bit.
one: We're sure headin' for trouble.
mrs. six: My aunt has gall-stones.
mrs. five: My husband has bunions.
mrs. four: My sister expects next month.
mrs. three: My cousin's husband has erysipelas.
mrs. two: My niece has St. Vitus's dance.
mrs. one: My boy has fits.
mrs. zero: I never felt better in my life. Knock wood!
six: Too damn much agitation, that's at the bottom of it.
five: That's it! too damn many strikes.
four: Foreign agitators, that's what it is.
three: They ought be run outa the country.
two: What the hell do they want, anyhow?
one: They don't know what they want, if you ask me.
two: America for the Americans is what I say! [In unison]: That's it! Damn foreigners! Damn dagoes! Damn Catholics! Damn sheenies! Damn niggers! Jail 'em! shoot 'em! hang 'em! lynch 'em! burn 'em! [They all rise.]
all: [Sing in unison]: "My country' tis of thee, Sweet land of liberty!"
mrs. four Why so pensive, Mr. Zero?
zero: [Speaking for the first time]: I'm thinkin'.
mrs. four: Well, be careful not to sprain your mind. [Laughter.]
mrs. zero: Look at the poor men all by themselves. We ain't very sociable.
one: Looks like we're neglectin' the ladies. [The women cross the room and join the men, all chattering loudly. The door-bell rings.]
mrs. zero: Sh! The door-bell! [The volume of sound slowly diminishes. Again the door-bell.]
zero: [Quietly]: I'll go. It's for me. [They watch curiously as zero goes to the door and opens it, admitting a policeman. There is a murmur of surprise and excitement.]
policeman: I'm lookin' for Mr. Zero. [They all point to zero.]
zero: I've been expectin' you.
policeman: Come along!
zero: Just a minute. [He puts his hand in his pocket.]
policeman: What's he tryin' to pull? [He draws a revolver.] I got you covered.
zero: Sure, that's all right. I just want to give you some-thin'. [He takes the collar from his pocket and gives it to the policeman.]
policeman: [Suspiciously]: What's that?
zero: The collar I wore.
policeman: What do I want it for?
zero: It's got blood-stains on it.
policeman: [Pocketing it]: All right, come along!
zero: [Turning to mrs. zero]: I gotta go with him. You'll have to dry the dishes yourself.
mrs. zero [Rushing forward]: What are they takin' you for?
zero: [Calmly]: I killed the boss this afternoon. [Quick Curtain as the policeman takes him off.]

SCENE FOUR

[SCENE: A court of justice. Three bare white walls without door or windows except for a single door in the right wall. At the right is a jury-box in which are seated messrs. one, two, three, four, five, and six and their respective wives. On either side of the jury box stands a uniformed officer. Opposite the jury box is a long, bare oak table piled high with law books. Behind the books zero is seated, his face buried in his hands. There is no other furniture in the room. A moment after the rise of the curtain, one of the officers rises and going around the table, taps zero on the shoulder. zero rises and accompanies the officer. The officer escorts him to the great empty space in the middle of the court room, facing the jury. He motions to zero to stop, then points to the jury and resumes his place beside the jury-box. zero stands there looking at the jury, bewildered and half afraid. The jurors give no sign of having seen him. Throughout they sit with folded arms, staring stolidly before them.]
zero: [Beginning to speak; haltingly]: Sure I killed him. I ain't sayin' I didn't, am I? Sure I killed him. Them lawyers! They give me a good stiff pain, that's what they give me. Half the time I don't know what the hell they're talkin' about. Objection sustained. Objection over-ruled. What's the big idea, anyhow? You ain't heard me do any objectin', have you? Sure not! What's the idea of objectin'? You got a right to know. What I say is if one bird kills another bird, why you got a right to call him for it. That's what I say. I know all about that. I been on the jury, too. Them lawyers! Don't let 'em fill you full of bunk. All that bull about it bein' red ink on the bill-file. Red ink nothin'! It was blood, see? I want you to get that right. I killed him, see? Right through the heart with the bill-file, see? I want you to get that right—all of you. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve. Twelve of you. Six and six. That makes twelve. I figgered it up often enough. Six and six makes twelve. And five is seventeen. And eight is twenty-five. And three is twenty-eight. Eight and carry two. Aw, cut it out! Them damn figgers! I can't forget 'em. Twenty-five years, see? Eight hours a day, exceptin' Sundays. And July and August half-day Saturday. One week's vacation with pay. And another week without pay if you want it. Who the hell wants it? Layin' around the house listenin' to the wife tellin' you where you get off. Nix! An' legal holidays. I nearly forgot them. New Year's, Washington's Birthday, Decoration Day, Fourth o' July, Labor Day, Election Day, Thanks-givin', Christmas. Good Friday if you want it. An' if you're a Jew, Young Kipper an' the other one—I forget what they call it. The dirty sheenies—always gettin' two to the other bird's one. An' when a holiday comes on Sunday, you get Monday off. So that's fair enough. But when the Fourth o' July comes on Saturday, why you're out o' luck on account of Saturday bein' a half-day anyhow. Get me? Twenty-five years—I'll tell you somethin' funny. Decoration Day an' the Fourth o' July are always on the same day o' the week. Twenty-five years. Never missed a day, and never more'n five minutes late. Look at my time card if you don't believe me. Eight twenty-seven, eight thirty, eight twenty-nine, eight twenty-seven, eight thirty-two. Eight an' thirty-two's forty an' Goddam them figgers! I can't forget 'em. They're funny things, them figgers. They look like people sometimes. The eights, see? Two dots for the eyes and a dot for the nose. An' a line. That's the mouth, see? An' there's others remind you of other things—but I can't talk about them, on account of there bein' ladies here. Sure I killed him. Why didn't he shut up? If he'd only shut up! Instead o' talkin' an' talkin' about how sorry he was an' what a good guy I was an' this an' that. I felt like sayin' to him: "For Christ's sake, shut up!" But I didn't have the nerve, see? I didn't have the nerve to say that to the boss. An' he went on talking sayin' how sorry he was, see? He was standin' right close to me. An' his coat only had two buttons on it. Two an' two makes four an'—aw, can it! An' there was the bill-file on the desk. Right where I could touch it. It ain't right to kill a guy. I know that. When I read all about him in the paper an' about his three kids I felt like a cheap skate, I tell you. They had the kids' pictures in the paper, right next to mine. An' his wife, too. Gee, it must be swell to have a wife like that. Some guys sure is lucky. An' he left fifty thousand dollars just for a rest-room for the girls in the store. He was a good guy, at that. Fifty thousand. That's more'n twice as much as I'd have if I saved every nickel I ever made. Let's see. Twenty-five an' twenty-five an' twenty-five an'—aw, cut it out! An' the ads had a big, black border around 'em; an' all it said was that the store would be closed for three days on account of the boss bein' dead. That nearly handed me a laugh, that did. All them floor-walkers an' buyers an' high-muck-a-mucks havin' me to thank for gettin' three days off. I hadn't oughta killed him. I ain't sayin' nothin' about that. But I thought he was goin' to give me a raise, see? On account of bein' there twenty-five years. He never talked to me before, see? Except one mornin' we happened to come in the store together and I held the door open for him and he said "Thanks." Just like that, see? "Thanks!" That was the only time he ever talked to me. An' when I seen him comin' up to my desk, I didn't know where I got off. A big guy like that comin' up to my desk. I felt like I was chokin' like and all of a sudden I got a kind o' bad taste in my mouth like when you get up in the mornin'. I didn't have no right to kill him. The district attorney is right about that. He read the law to you, right out o' the book. Killin' a bird—that's wrong. But there was that girl, see? Six months they gave her. It was a dirty trick tellin' the cops on her like that. I shouldn't 'a' done that. But what was I gonna do? The wife wouldn't let up on me. I hadda do it. She used to walk around the room, just in her undershirt, see? Nothin' else on. Just her undershirt. An' they gave her six months. That's the last I'll ever see of her. Them birds—how do they get away with it? Just grabbin' women, the way you see 'em do in the pictures. I've seen lots I'd like to grab like that, but I ain't got the nerve—in the subway an' on the street an' in the store buyin' things. Pretty soft for them shoe-salesmen, I'll say, lookin' at women's legs all day. Them lawyers! They give me a pain, I tell you—a pain! Sayin' the same thing over an' over again. I never said I didn't kill him. But that ain't the same as bein' a regular murderer. What good did it do me to kill him? I didn't make nothin' out of it. Answer yes or no! Yes or no, me elbow! There's some things you can't answer yes or no. Give me the once-over, you guys. Do I look like a murderer? Do I? I never did no harm to nobody. Ask the wife. She'll tell you. Ask anybody. I never got into trouble. You wouldn't count that one time at the Polo Grounds. That was just fun like. Everybody was yellin', "Kill the empire! Kill the empire!" An' before I knew what I was doin' I fired the pop bottle. It was on account of everybody yellin' like that. Just in fun like, see? The yeller dog! Callin' that one a strike—a mile away from the plate. Anyhow, the bottle didn't hit him. An' when I seen the cop comin' up the aisle, I beat it. That didn't hurt nobody. It was just in fun like, see? An' that time in the subway. I was readin' about a lynchin', see? Down in Georgia. They took the nigger an' they tied him to a tree. An' they poured kerosene on him and lit a big fire under him. The dirty nigger! Boy, I'd of liked to been there, with a gat in each hand, pumpin' him full of lead. I was readin' about it in the subway, see? Right at Times Square where the big crowd gets on. An' all of a sudden this big nigger steps right on my foot. It was lucky for him I didn't have a gun on me. I'd of killed him sure, I guess. I guess he couldn't help it all right on account of the crowd, but a nigger's got no right to step on a white man's foot. I told him where he got off all right. The dirty nigger. But that didn't hurt nobody, either. I'm a pretty steady guy, you gotta admit that. Twenty-five years in one job an' I never missed a day. Fifty-two weeks in a year. Fifty-two an' fifty-two an' fifty-two an'—They didn't have t' look for me, did they? I didn't try to run away, did I? Where was I goin' to run to! I wasn't thinkin' about it at all, see? I'll tell you what I was thinkin' about—how I was goin' to break it to the wife about bein' canned. He canned me after twenty-five years, see? Did the lawyers tell you about that? I forget. All that talk gives me a headache. Objection sustained. Objection over-ruled. Answer yes or no. It gives me a headache. And I can't get the figgers outta my head, neither. But that's what I was thinkin' about—how I was goin' t' break it to the wife about bein' canned. An' what Miss Devore would think when she heard about me killin' him. I bet she never thought I had the nerve to do it. I'd of married her if the wife had passed out. I'd be holdin' down my job yet, if he hadn't o' canned me. But he kept talkin' an' talkin'. An' there was the bill-file right where I could reach it. Do you get me? I'm just a regular guy like anybody else. Like you birds, now. [For the first time the jurors relax, looking indignantly at each other and whispering.] Suppose you was me, now. Maybe you'd 'a' done the same thing. That's the way you oughta look at it, see? Suppose you was me—
the jurors [ Rising as one and shouting in unison]: GUILTY! [zero falls back, stunned for a moment by their vociferousness. The jurors right-face in their places and file quickly out of the jury-box and toward the door in a double column.]
zero: [Recovering speech as the jurors pass out at the door]: Wait a minute. Jest a minute. You don't get me right. Jest give me a chance an' I'll tell you how it was. I'm all mixed up, see? On account of them lawyers. And the figgers in my head. But I'm goin' to tell you how it was. I was there twenty-five years, see? An' they gave her six months, see? [He goes on haranguing the empty jury-box as the curtain falls.]

SCENE FIVE

[SCENE: A grave-yard in full moonlight. It is a second-rate grave-yard—no elaborate tombstones or monuments—just simple headstones and here and there a cross. At the back is an iron fence with a gate in the middle. At first no one is visible, but there are occasional sounds throughout: the hooting of an owl, the whistle of a distant whippoorwill, the croaking of a bull-frog, and the yowling of a serenading cat. After a few moments two figures appear outside the gate—a man and a woman. She pushes the gate and it opens with a rusty creak. The couple enter. They are now fully visible in the moonlight—judy o'grady and a young man.]
judy: [Advancing]: Come on, this is the place.
young man: [Hanging back]: This! Why this here is a cemetery.
judy: Aw, quit yer kiddin'!
young man: You don't mean to say
judy: What's the matter with this place?
young man: A cemetery!
judy: Sure. What of it?
young man: You must be crazy.
judy: This place is all right, I tell you. I been here lots o' times.
young man: Nix on this place for me!
judy: Ain't this place as good as another? Whaddya afraid of? They're all dead ones here! They don't bother you. [With sudden interest]: Oh, look, here's a new one.
young man: Come on out of here.
judy: Wait a minute. Let's see what it says. [She kneels on a grave in the -foreground and putting her face close to headstone spells out the inscription]: Z-E-R-O. Z-e-r-o. Zero! Say, that's the guy
young man: Zero? He's the guy killed his boss, ain't he?
judy: Yeh, that's him, all right. But what I'm thinkin' of is that I went to the hoose-gow on account of him.
young man: What for?
judy: You know, same old stuff. Tenement House Law. [Mincingly]: Section blaa-blaa of the Penal Code. Third offense. Six months.
young man: And this bird—
judy: [Contemptuously]: Him? He was mama's white-haired boy. We lived in the same house. Across the airshaft, see? I used to see him lookin' in my window. I guess his wife musta seen him, too. Anyhow, they went and turned the bulls on me. And now I'm out and he's in. [Suddenly]: Say—say [She bursts into a peal of laughter.]
young man: [Nervously]: What's so funny?
judy: [Rocking with laughter]: Say, wouldn't it be funny—if—if [She explodes again]: That would be a good joke on him, all right. He can't do nothin' about it now, can he?
young man: Come on out of here. I don't like this place.
judy: Aw, you're a bum sport. What do you want to spoil my joke for? [A cat yammers mellifluously.]
young man: [Half hysterically]: What's that?
judy: It's only the cats. They seem to like it here all right. But come on if you're afraid. [They go toward the gate. As they go out]: You nervous men sure are the limit. [They go out through the gate. As they disappear zero's grave opens suddenly and his head appears.]
zero: [Looking about]: That's funny! I thought I heard her talkin' and laughin'. But I don't see nobody. Anyhow, what would she be doin' here? I guess I must 'a' been dreamin'. But how could I be dreamin' when I ain't been asleep? [He looks about again]: Well, no use goin' back. I can't sleep, anyhow. I might as well walk around a little. [He rises out of the ground, very rigidly. He wears a full-dress suit of very antiquated cut and his hands are folded stiffly across his breast.]
zero: [Walking woodenly]: Gee! I'm stiff! [He slowly walks a few steps, then stops]: Gee, it's lonesome here! [He shivers and walks on aimlessly]: I should 'a' stayed where I was. But I thought I heard her laughin'. [A loud sneeze is heard. zero stands motionless, quaking with terror. The sneeze is repeated.]
zero: [Hoarsely]: What's that?
a mild voice It's all right. Nothing to be afraid of. [From behind a headstone shrdlu appears. He is dressed in a shabby and ill-fitting cutaway. He wears silver-rimmed spectacles and is smoking a cigarette.]
shrdlu: I hope I didn't frighten you.
zero: [Still badly shaken]: No-o. It's all right. You see, I wasn't expectin' to see anybody. shrdlu You're a newcomer, aren't you?
zero: Yeh, this is my first night. I couldn't seem to get to sleep.
shrdlu: I can't sleep, either. Suppose we keep each other company, shall we?
zero: [Eagerly]: Yeh, that would be great. I been feel-in' awful lonesome.
shrdlu: [Nodding]: I know. Let's make ourselves comfortable. [He seats himself easily on a grave. zero tries to follow his example but he is stiff in every joint and groans with pain.]
zero: I'm kinda stiff.
shrdlu: You mustn't mind the stiffness. It wears off in a few days. [He seats himself on the grave beside zero and produces a package of cigarettes.] Will you have a Camel?
zero: No, I don't smoke.
shrdlu: I find it helps keep the mosquitoes away. [He lights a cigarette.]
shrdlu: [Suddenly taking the cigarette out of his mouth]: Do you mind if I smoke, Mr.—Mr.?
zero: No, go right ahead.
shrdlu: [Replacing the cigarette]: Thank you. I didn't catch your name. [Zero does not reply.]
shrdlu: [Mildly]: I say I didn't catch your name.
zero: I heard you the first time. [Hesitantly]: I'm scared if I tell you who I am and what I done, you'll be off me.
shrdlu: [Sadly]: No matter what jour sins may be, they are as snow compared to mine.
zero: You got another guess comin'. [He pauses dramatically]: My name's Zero. I'm a murderer.
shrdlu: [Nodding calmly]: Oh, yes, I remember reading about you, Mr. Zero.
zero: [A little piqued]: And you still think you're worse than me?
shrdlu: [Throwing away his cigarette]: Oh, a thousand times worse, Mr. Zero—a million times worse.
zero: What did you do?
shrdlu: I, too, am a murderer.
zero: [Looking at him in amazement]: Go on! You're kiddin' me!
shrdlu: Every word I speak is the truth, Mr. Zero. I am the foulest, the most sinful of murderers! You only murdered your employer, Mr. Zero. But I—I murdered my mother. [He covers his face with his hands and sobs.]
zero: [Horrified]: The hell yer say!
shrdlu: [Sobbing]: Yes, my mother!—my beloved mother!
zero:, [Suddenly]: Say, you don't mean to say you're Mr.—
shrdlu: [Nodding]: Yes. [He wipes his eyes, still quivering with emotion.]
zero: I remember readin' about you in the papers.
shrdlu: Yes, my guilt has been proclaimed to all the world, But that would be a trifle if only I could wash the stain of sin from my soul.
zero: I never heard of a guy killin' his mother before. What did you do it for?
shrdlu: Because I have a sinful heart—there is no other reason.
zero: Did she always treat you square and all like that?
shrdlu: She was a saint—a saint, I tell you. She cared for 'me and watched over me as only a mother can.
zero: You mean to say you didn't have a scrap or nothin'?
shrdlu: Never a harsh or an unkind word. Nothing except loving care and good advice. From my infancy she devoted herself to guiding me on the right path. She taught me to be thrifty, to be devout, to be unselfish, to shun evil companions and to shut my ears to all the temptations of the flesh—in short, to become a virtuous, respectable, and God-fearing man. [He groans]: But it was a hopeless task. At fourteen I began to show evidence of my sinful nature.
zero: [Breathlessly]: You didn't kill anybody else, did you?
shrdlu: No, thank God, there is only one murder on my soul. But I ran away from home.
zero: You did!
shrdlu: Yes. A companion lent me a profane book—the only profane book I have ever read, I'm thankful to say. It was called "Treasure Island." Have you ever read it?
zero: No, I never was much on readin' books.
shrdlu: It is a wicked book—a lurid tale of adventure. But it kindled in my sinful heart a desire to go to sea. And so I ran away from home.
zero: What did you—get a job as a sailor?
shrdlu: I never saw the sea—not to the day of my death. Luckily, my mother's loving intuition warned her of my intention and I was sent back home. She welcomed me with open arms. Not an angry word, not a look of reproach. But I could read the mute suffering in her eyes as we prayed together all through the night.
zero: [Sympathetically]: Gee, that must 'a' been tough. Gee, the mosquitoes are bad, ain't they? [He tries awkwardly to slap at them with his stiff hands.]
shrdlu: [Absorbed in his narrative]: I thought that experience had cured me of evil and I began to think about a career. I wanted to go in foreign missions at first, but we couldn't bear the thought of the separation. So we finally decided that I should become a proof-reader.
zero: Say, slip me one o' them Camels, will you? I'm gettin' all bit up.
shrdlu: Certainly. [He hands zero cigarettes and matches.]
zero: [Lighting up]: Go ahead. I'm listenin'.
shrdlu: By the time I was twenty I had a good job reading proof for a firm that printed catalogues. After a year they promoted me and let me specialize in shoe catalogues.
zero: Yeh? That must 'a' been a good job.
shrdlu: It was a very good job. I was on the shoe catalogues for thirteen years. I'd been on them yet, if I hadn't——[He chokes back a sob.]
zero: They oughta put a shot o' citronella in that embalmin'-fluid.
shrdlu: [He sighs]: We were so happy together. I had my steady job. And Sundays we would go to morning, afternoon, and evening service. It was an honest and moral mode of life.
zero: It sure was.
shrdlu: Then came that fatal Sunday. Dr. Amaranth, our minister, was having dinner with us—one of the few pure spirits on earth. When he had finished saying grace, we had our soup. Everything was going along as usual—we were eating our soup and discussing the sermon, just like every other Sunday I could remember. Then came the leg of lamb—[He breaks off, then resumes in a choking voice]: I see the whole scene before me so plainly—it never leaves me—Dr. Amaranth at my right, my mother at my left, the leg of lamb on the table in front of me and the cuckoo clock on the little shelf between the windows. [He stops and wipes his eyes.]
zero: Yeh, but what happened?.
shrdlu: Well, as I started to carve the lamb—Did you over carve a leg of lamb?
zero: No, corned beef was our speed.
shrdlu: It's very difficult on account of the bone. And when there's gravy in the dish there's danger of spilling it. So Mother always used to hold the dish for me. She leaned forward, just as she always did, and I could see the gold locket around her neck. It had my picture in it and one of my baby curls. Well, I raised my knife to carve the leg of lamb—and instead I cut my mother's throat! [He sobs.]
zero: You must 'a' been crazy!
shrdlu: [Raising his head, vehemently]: No! Don't try to justify me. I wasn't crazy. They tried to prove at the trial that I was crazy. But Dr. Amaranth saw the truth! He saw it from the first! He knew that it was my sinful nature—and he told me what was in store for me.
zero: [Trying to be comforting]: Well, your troubles are over now.
shrdlu: [His voice rising]: Over! Do you think this is the end?
zero: Sure. What more can they do to us?
shrdlu: [His tones growing shriller and shriller]: Do you think there can ever be any peace for such as we are—murderers, sinners? Don't you know what awaits us—flames, eternal flames!
zero: [Nervously]: Keep your shirt on, Buddy—they wouldn't do that to us.
shrdlu: There's no escape—no escape for us, I tell you. We're doomed! We're doomed to suffer unspeakable torments through all eternity. [His voice rises higher and higher.] [A grave opens suddenly and a head appears.]
the head: Hey, you birds! Can't you shut up and let a guy sleep? [zero scrambles painfully to his feet.]
zero: [To shrdlu]: Hey, put on the soft pedal.
shrdlu: [Too wrought up to attend]: It won't be long now! We'll receive our summons soon.
the head: Are you goin' to beat it or not? [He calls into the grave]: Hey, Bill, lend me your head a minute. [A moment later his arm appears holding a skull.]
zero: [Warningly] Look out! [He seizes shrdlu and drags him away just as the head throws the skull.]
the head: [Disgustedly]: Missed 'em. Damn old tabby cats! I'll get 'em next time. [A prodigious yawn]: Ho-hum! Me for the worms! [the head disappears as the curtain falls.]

SCENE SIX

[SCENE: A pleasant place. A scene of pastoral loveliness. A meadow dotted with fine old trees and carpeted with rich grass and field flowers. In the background are seen a number of tents fashioned of gay-striped silks and beyond gleams a meandering river. Clear air and a fleckless sky. Sweet distant music throughout.
At the rise of the curtain, shrdlu is seen seated under a tree in the foreground in an attitude of deep dejection. His knees are drawn up and his head is buried in his arms. He is dressed as in the preceding scene.
A few minutes later, zero enters at right. He walks slowly and looks about him with an air of half-suspicious curiosity. He, too, is dressed as in the preceding scene. Suddenly he sees shrdlu seated under the tree. He stands still and looks at him half fearfully. Then, seeing something familiar in him, goes closer. shrdlu is unaware of his presence. At last zero recognizes him and grins in pleased surprise.]
zero: Well, if it ain't—! [He claps shrdlu on the shoulder]: Hello, Buddy! [shrdlu looks up slowly, then recognizing zero. He rises gravely and extends his hand courteously.]
shrdlu: How do you do, Mr. Zero? I'm very glad to see you again.
zero: Same here. I wasn't expectin' to see you, either. [Looking about]: This is a kinda nice place. I wouldn't mind restin' here a while. shrew You may if you wish.
zero: I'm kinda tired. I ain't used to bein' outdoors. I ain't walked so much in years.
shrdlu: Sit down here, under the tree.
zero: Do they let you sit on the grass?
zero: [Seating himself]: Boy, this feels good. I'll tell the world my feet are sore. I ain't used to so much walkin'. Say, I wonder would it be all right if I took my shoes off; my feet are tired.
shrdlu: Yes. Some of the people here go barefoot.
zero: Yeh? They sure must be nuts. But I'm goin' t' leave 'em off for a while. So long as it's all right. The grass feels nice and cool. [He stretches out comfortably]: Say, this is the life of Riley all right, all right. This sure is a nice place. What do they call this place, anyhow?
shrdlu: The Elysian Fields.
zero: The which?
shrdlu: The Elysian Fields.
zero: Oh, yes. [Dubiously]: Oh! Well, it's a nice place, all right.
shrdlu: They say that this is the most desirable of all places. Only the most favoured remain here.
zero: Yeh? Well, that let's me out, I guess. [Suddenly]: But what are you doin' here? I thought you'd be burned by now.
shrdlu: [Sadly]: Mr. Zero, I am the most unhappy of men.
zero: [In mild astonishment]: Why, because you ain't bein' roasted alive?
shrdlu: [Nodding]: Nothing is turning out as I expected. I saw everything so clearly—the flames, the tortures, an eternity of suffering as the just punishment for my unspeakable crime. And it has all turned out so differently.
zero: Well, that's pretty soft for you, ain't it?
shrdlu: [Wailingly]: No, no, no! It's right and just that I should be punished. I could have endured it stoically. All through those endless ages of indescribable torment I should have exulted in the magnificence of divine justice. But this—this is maddening! What becomes of justice? What becomes of morality? What becomes of right and wrong? It's maddening—simply maddening! Oh, if Dr. Amaranth were only here to advise me! [He buries his face and groans.]
zero: [Trying to puzzle it out]: You mean to say they ain't called you for cuttin' your mother's throat?
shrdlu: No! It's terrible—terrible! I was prepared for anything—anything but this.
zero: Well, what did they say to you?
shrdlu: [Looking up]: Only that I was to come here and remain until I understood.
zero: I don't get it. What do they want you to understand?
shrdlu: [Despairingly]: I don't know—I don't know! If I only had an inkling of what they meant [Interrupting him]: Just listen quietly for a moment; do you hear anything? [They are both silent, straining their ears.]
zero: [At length]: Nope.
shrdlu: You don't hear any music? Do you?
zero: Music? No, I don't hear nothin'.
shrdlu: The people here say that the music never stops.
zero: They're kiddin' you.
shrdlu: Do you think so?
zero: Sure thing. There ain't a sound.
shrdlu: Perhaps. They're capable of anything. But I haven't told you of the bitterest of my disappointments.
zero: Well, spill it. I'm get tin' used to hear in' bad news.
shrdlu: When I came to this place, my first thought was to find my dear mother. I wanted to ask her forgiveness. And I wanted her to help me to understand.
zero: An' she couldn't do it?
shrdlu: [With a deep groan]: She's not here! Mr. Zero! Here where only the most favoured dwell, that wisest and purest of spirits is nowhere to be found, I don't understand it.
a woman's voice: [In the distance]: Mr. Zero! Oh, Mr. Zero! [zero raises his head and listens attentively.]
shrdlu: [Going on, unheedingly]: If you were to see some of the people here—the things they do
zero: [Interrupting]: Wait a minute, will you? I think somebody's callin' me.
the voice: [Somewhat nearer]: Mr. Ze-ro! Oh! Mr. Ze-ro!
zero: Who the hell's that now? I wonder if the wife's on my trail already. That would be swell, wouldn't it? An' I figured on her bein' good for another twenty years, anyhow.
the voice: [Nearer]: Mr. Ze-ro! Yoo-hoo!
zero: No. That ain't her voice. [Calling, savagely]: Yoo-hoo. [To shrdlu]: Ain't that always the way? Just when a guy is takin' life easy an' havin' a good time! [He rises and looks off left]: Here she comes, whoever she is. [In sudden amazement]: Well, I'll foe j Well, what do you know about that! [He stands looking in wonderment, as daisy diana dorothea devore enters. She wears a much-beruffled white muslin dress which is a size too small and fifteen years too youthful for her. She is red-faced and breathless.]
daisy: [Panting]: Oh! I thought I'd never catch up to you. I've been followin' you for days—callin' an' callin'. Didn't you hear me?
zero: Not till just now. You look kinda winded.
daisy: I sure am. I can't hardly catch my breath.
zero: Well, sit down an' take a load off your feet. [He leads her to the tree.] [daisy sees shrdlu for the first time and shrinks back a little.]
zero: It's all right, he's a friend of mine. [To shrdlu]: Buddy, I want you to meet my friend, Miss Devore.
shrdlu: [Rising and extending his hand courteously]: How do you do, Miss Devore?
daisy: [Self-consciously]: How do!
zero: [To daisy]: He's a friend of mine. [To shrdlu]: I guess you don't mind if she sits here a while an' cools off, do you?
shrdlu: No, no, certainly not. [They all seat themselves under the tree. zero and daisy are a little self-conscious. shrdlu gradually becomes absorbed in his own thoughts.]
zero: I was just takin' a rest myself. I took my shoes off on account of my feet bein' so sore.
daisy: Yeh, I'm kinda tired, too. [Looking about]: Say, ain't it pretty here, though?
zero: Yeh, it is at that.
daisy: What do they call this place?
zero: Why—er—let's see. He was tellin' me just a minute ago. The—er—I don't know. Some kind o' fields. I forget now. [To shrdlu]: Say, Buddy, what do they call this place again? [shrdlu, absorbed in his thoughts, does not hear him. To daisy]: He don't hear me. He's thinkin' again.
daisy: [Sotto voce]: What's the matter with him?
zero: Why, he's the guy that murdered his mother—remember?
daisy: [Interested]: Oh, yeh! Is that him?
zero: Yeh. An' he had it all figgered out how they was goin' t' roast him or somethin'. And now they ain't goin' to do nothin' to him an' it's kinda got his goat.
daisy: [Sympathetically]: Poor feller!
zero: Yeh. He takes it kinda hard.
daisy: He looks like a nice young feller.
zero: Well, you sure are good for sore eyes. I never expected to see you here.
daisy: I thought maybe you'd be kinda surprised.
zero: Surprised is right. I thought you was alive an' kickin'. When did you pass out?
daisy: Oh, right after you did—a coupla days.
zero: [Interested]: Yeh? What happened? Get hit by a truck or somethin'?
daisy: No. [Hesitantly]: You see—it's this way. I blew out the gas.
zero: [Astonished]: Go on! What was the big idea?
daisy: [Falteringly]: Oh, I don't know. You see, I lost my job.
zero: I'll bet you're sorry you did it now, ain't you?
daisy: [With conviction]: No, I ain't sorry. Not a bit. [Then hesitantly]: Say, Mr. Zero, I been thinkin'— [She stops.]
zero: What?
daisy: [Plucking up courage]: I been thinkin' it would be kinda nice—if you an' me—if we could kinda talk things over.
zero: Yeh. Sure. What do you want to talk about?
daisy: Well—I don't know—but you and me—we ain't really ever talked things over, have we?
zero: No, that's right, we ain't. Well, let's go to it.
daisy: I was thinkin' if we could be alone—just the two of us, see?
zero: Oh, yeh! Yeh, I get you. [He turns to shrdlu and coughs loudly. shrdlu does not stir.]
zero: [To daisy]: He's dead to the world. [He turns to shrdlu]: Say, Buddy! [No answer]: Say, Buddy!
shrdlu: [Looking up with a start]: Were you speaking to me?
zero: Yeh. How'd you guess it? I was thinkin' that maybe you'd like to walk around a little and look for your mother.
shrdlu: [Shaking his head]: It's no use. I've looked everywhere. [He relapses into thought again.]
zero: Maybe over there they might know.
shrdlu: No, no! I've searched everywhere. She's not here. [zero and daisy look at each other in despair.]
zero: Listen, old shirt, my friend here and me—see?—we used to work in the same store. An' we got some things to talk over—business, see?—kinda confidential. So if it ain't askin' too much—
shrdlu: [Springing to his feet]: Why, certainly! Excuse me! [He bows politely to daisy and walks off. daisy and zero watch him until he has disappeared.]
zero: [With a forced laugh]: He's a good guy at that. [Now that they are alone, both are very self-conscious, and for a time they sit in silence.]
daisy: [Breaking the silence]: It sure is pretty here, ain't it?
zero: Sure is.
daisy: Look at the flowers! Ain't they just perfect! Why, you'd think they was artificial, wouldn't you?
zero: Yeh, you would,
daisy: And the smell of them. Like perfume.
zero: Yeh.
daisy: I'm crazy about the country, ain't you?
zero: Yeh. It's nice for a change.
daisy: Them store picnics—remember?
zero: You bet. They sure was fun.
daisy: One time—I guess you don't remember—the two of us—me and you—we sat down on the grass together under a tree—just like we're doin' now.
zero: Sure I remember.
daisy: Go on! I'll bet you don't.
zero: I'll bet I do. It was the year the wife didn't go.
daisy: [Her face brightening]: That's right! I didn't think you'd remember.
zero: An' comin' home we sat together in the truck.
daisy: [Eagerly, rather shamefacedly]: Yeh! There's somethin' I've always wanted to ask you.
zero: Well, why didn't you?
daisy: I don't know. It didn't seem refined. But I'm goin' to ask you now, anyhow.
zero: Go ahead. Shoot.
daisy: [Falteringly]: Well—while we was comin' home—you put your arm up on the bench behind me—and I could feel your knee kinda pressin' against mine. [She stops.]
zero: [Becoming more and more interested]: Yeh—well—what about it?
daisy: What I wanted to ask you was—was it just kinda accidental?
zero: [With a laugh]: Sure it was accidental. Accidental on purpose.
daisy: [Eagerly]: Do you mean it?
zero: Sure I mean it. You mean to say you didn't know it?
daisy: No. I've been wantin' to ask you
zero: Then why did you get sore at me?
daisy: Sore? I wasn't sore! When was I sore?
zero: That night. Sure you was sore. If you wasn't sore why did you move away?
daisy: Just to see if you meant it. I thought if you meant it you'd move up closer. An' then when you took your arm away I was sure you didn't mean it.
zero: An' I thought all the time you was sore. That's why I took my arm away. I thought if I moved up you'd holler and then I'd be in a jam, like you read in the paper all the time about guys gettin' pulled in for annoyin' women.
daisy: An' I was wishin' you'd put your arm around me—just sittin' there wishin' all the way home.
zero: What do you know about that? That sure is hard luck, that is. If I'd 'a' only knew! You know what I felt like doin'—only I didn't have the nerve?
daisy: What?
zero: I felt like kissin' you.
daisy: [Fervently]: I wanted you to.
zero: [Astonished]: You would 'a' let me?
daisy: I wanted you to! I wanted you to! Oh, why didn't you—why didn't you?
zero: I didn't have the nerve. I sure was a dumb-bell.
daisy: I would 'a' let you all you wanted to. I wouldn't 'a' cared. I know it would 'a' been wrong but I wouldn't 'a' cared. I wasn't thinkin' about right an' wrong at all. I didn't care—see? I just wanted you to kiss me.
zero: [Feelingly]: If I'd only knew. I wanted to do it, I swear I did. But I didn't think you cared nothin' about me.
daisy: [Passionately]: I never cared nothin' about nobody else.
zero: Do you mean it—on the level? You ain't kiddin' me, are you?
daisy: No, I ain't kiddin'. I mean it. I'm tellin' you the truth. I ain't never had the nerve to tell you before—but now I don't care. It don't make no difference now. I mean it—every word of it.
zero: [Dejectedly]: If I'd only knew it.
daisy: Listen to me. There's somethin' else I want to tell you. I may as well tell you everything now. It don't make no difference now. About my blowin' out the gas—see? Do you know why I done it?
zero: Yeh, you told me—on account o' bein' canned.
daisy: I just told you that. That ain't the real reason. The real reason is on account o' you.
zero: You mean to say on account o' me passin' out?
daisy: Yeh. That's it. I didn't want to go on livin'. What for? What did I want to go on livin' for? I didn't have nothin' to live for with you gone. I often thought of doin' it before. But I never had the nerve. An' anyhow I didn't want to leave you.
zero: An' me bawlin' you out, about readin' too fast an' readin' too slow.
daisy: [Reproachfully]: Why did you do it?
zero: I don't know, I swear I don't. I was always stuck on you. An' while I'd be addin' them figgers, I'd be thinkin' how if the wife died, you an' me could get married.
daisy: I used to think o' that, too.
zero: An' then before I knew it, I was bawlin' you out.
daisy: Them was the times I'd think o' blowin' out the gas. But I never did till you was gone. There wasn't nothin' to live for then. But it wasn't so easy to do, anyhow. I never could stand the smell o' gas. An' all the while I was gettin' ready, you know, stuffin' up all the cracks, the way you read about in the paper—I was thinkin' of you and hopin' that maybe I'd meet you again. An' I made up my mind if I ever did see you, I'd tell you
zero: [Taking her hand]: I'm sure glad you did. I'm sure glad. [Ruefully]: But it don't do much good now, does it?
daisy: No, I guess it don't. [Summoning courage.] But there's one thing I'm goin' to ask you.
zero: What's that?
daisy: [In a low voice]: I want you to kiss me.
zero: You bet I will! [He leans over and kisses her cheek].
daisy: Not like that. I don't mean like that. I mean really kiss me. On the mouth. I ain't never been kissed like that. [zero puts his arms about her and presses his lips to hers. A long embrace. At last they separate and sit side by side in silence.]
daisy: [Putting her hands to her cheeks]: So that's what it's like. I didn't know it could be like that. I didn't know anythin' could be like that.
zero: [Fondling her hand]: Your cheeks are red. They're all red. And your eyes are shinin'. I never seen your eyes shinin' like that before,
daisy: [Holding up her hand]: Listen—do you hear it? Do you hear the music?
zero: No, I don't hear nothin'!
daisy: Yeh—music. Listen an' you'll hear it. [They are both silent for a moment.]
zero: [Excitedly]: Yeh! I hear it! He said there was music, but I didn't hear it till just now.
daisy: Ain't it grand?
zero: Swell! Say, do you know what?
daisy: What?
zero: It makes me feel like dancin'.
daisy: Yeh? Me, too.
zero: [Springing to his feet]: Come on! Let's dance! [He seizes her hands and tries to pull her up.]
daisy: [Resisting laughingly]: I can't dance. I ain't danced in twenty years.
zero: That's nothin'. I ain't, neither. Come on! I feel just like a kid! [He pulls her to her feet and seizes her about the waist.]
daisy: Wait a minute! Wait till I fix my skirt. [She turns back her skirts and pins them above the ankles.] [zero seizes her about the waist. They dance clumsily but with gay abandon. daisy's hair becomes loosened and tumbles over her shoulders. She lends herself more and more to the spirit of the dance. But zero soon begins to tire and dances with less and less zest.]
zero:. [Stopping at last, panting for breath]: Wait a minute! I'm all winded. [He releases daisy, but before he can turn away, she throws her arms about him and presses her lips to his.]
zero: [Freeing himself]: Wait a minute! Let me get my wind! [He limps to the tree and seats himself under it, gasping for breath. daisy looks after him, her spirits rather dampened.]
zero: Whew! I sure am winded! I ain't used to dancin'. [He takes off his collar and tie and opens the neckband of his shirt. daisy sits under the tree near him, looking at him longingly. But he is busty catching his breath.] Gee, my heart's goin' a mile a minute.
daisy: Why don't you lay down an' rest? You could put your head on my lap.
zero: That ain't a bad idea. [He stretches out, his head in daisy's lap.]
daisy: [Fondling his hair]: It was swell, wasn't it?
zero: Yeh. But you gotta be used to it.
daisy: Just imagine if we could stay here all the time—you an' me together—wouldn't it be swell?
zero: Yeh. But there ain't a chance.
daisy: Won't they let us stay?
zero: No. This place is only for the good ones.
daisy: Well, we ain't so bad, are we?
zero: Go on! Me a murderer an' you committin' suicide. Anyway, they wouldn't stand for this—the way we been goin' on.
daisy: I don't see why.
zero: You don't! You know it ain't right. Ain't I got a wife?
daisy: Not any more you ain't. When you're dead that ends it. Don't they always say "until death do us part?"
zero: Well, maybe you're right about that but they wouldn't stand for us here.
daisy: It would be swell—the two of us together—we could make up for all them years.
zero: Yeh, I wish we could.
daisy: We sure were fools. But I don't care. I've got you now. [She kisses his forehead and cheeks and mouth.]
zero: I'm sure crazy about you. I never saw you lookin' so pretty before, with your cheeks all red. An' your hair hangin' down. You got swell hair. [He fondles and kisses her hair.]
daisy: [Ecstatically]: We got each other now, ain't we?
zero: Yeh. I'm crazy about you. Daisy! That's a pretty name. It's a flower, ain't it? Well—that's what you are—just a flower.
daisy: [Happily]: We can always be together now, can't we?
zero: As long as they'll let us. I sure am crazy about you. [Suddenly he sits upright]: Watch your step!
daisy: [Alarmed]: What's the matter?
zero: [Nervously]: He's comin' back.
daisy: Oh, is that all? Well, what about it?
zero: You don't want him to see us layin' around like this, do you?
daisy: I don't care if he does.
zero: Well, you oughta care. You don't want him to think you ain't a refined girl, do you? He's an awful moral bird, he is.
daisy: I don't care nothin' about him. I don't care nothin' about anybody but you.
zero: Sure, I know. But we don't want people talkin' about us. You better fix your hair an' pull down your skirts. [daisy complies rather sadly. They are both silent as shrdlu enters.]
zero: [With feigned nonchalance]: Well, you got back all right, didn't you?
shrdlu: I hope I haven't returned too soon.
zero: No, that's all right. We were just havin' a little talk. You know—about business an' things.
daisy: [Boldly]: We were wishin' we could stay here all the time.
shrdlu: You may if you like.
zero: and daisy [In astonishment]: What!
shrdlu: Yes. Any one who likes may remain
zero: But I thought you were tellin' me
shrdlu: Just as I told you, only the most favored do remain. But any one may.
zero: I don't get it. There's a catch in it somewheres.
daisy: It don't matter as long as we can stay.
zero: [To shrdlu]: We were thinkin' about gettin' married, see?
shrdlu: You may or not, just as you like.
zero: You don't mean to say we could stay if we didn't, do you?
shrdlu: Yes. They don't care.
zero: An' there's some here that ain't married?
shrdlu: Yes.
zero: [To daisy]: I don't know about this place, at that. They must be kind of a mixed crowd.
daisy: It don't matter, so long as we got each other.
zero: Yeh, I know, but you don't want to mix with people that ain't respectable.
daisy: [To shrdlu]: Can we get married right away? I guess there must be a lot of ministers here, ain't there?
shrdlu: Not as many as I had hoped to find. The two who seem most beloved are Dean Swift and the Abbe Rabelais. They are both much admired for some indecent tales which they have written.
zero: [Shocked]: What! Ministers writin' smutty stories! Say, what kind of a dump is this, anyway?
shrdlu: [Despairingly]: I don't know, Mr. Zero. All these people here are so strange, so unlike the good people I've known. They seem to think of nothing but enjoyment or of wasting their time in profitless occupations. Some paint pictures from morning until night, or carve blocks of stone. Others write songs or put words together, day in and day out. Still others do nothing but lie under the trees and look at the sky. There are men who spend all their time reading books and women who think only of adorning themselves. And forever they are telling stories and laughing and singing and drinking and dancing. There are drunkards, thieves, vagabonds, blasphemers, adulterers. There is one—
zero: That's enough. I heard enough. [He seats himself and begins putting on his shoes.]
daisy: [Anxiously]: What are you goin' to do?
zero: I'm goin' to beat it, that's what I'm goin' to do.
daisy: You said you liked it here.
zero: [Looking at her in amazement]: Liked it! Say, you don't mean to say you want to stay here, do you, with a lot of rummies an' loafers an' bums?
daisy: We don't have to bother with them. We can just sit here together an' look at the flowers an' listen to the music.
shrdlu: [Eagerly]: Music! Did you hear music?
daisy: Sure. Don't you hear it?
shrdlu: No, they say it never stops. But I've never heard it.
zero: [Listening]: I thought I heard it before but I don't hear nothin' now. I guess I must 'a' been dream-in'. [Looking about]: What's the quickest way out of this place?
daisy: [Pleadingly]: Won't you stay just a little longer?
zero: Didn't yer hear me say I'm goin'? Good-bye, Miss Devore. I'm goin' to beat it. [He limps off at the right. daisy follows him slowly.]
daisy: [To shrdlu]: I won't ever see him again.
shrdlu: Are you goin' to stay here?
daisy: It don't make no difference now. Without him I might as well be alive. [She goes off right. shrdlu watches her a moment, then sighs and seating himself under the tree, buries his head on his arm. Curtain falls.]

SCENE SEVEN

[SCENE: Before the curtain rises the clicking of an adding machine is heard. The curtain rises upon an office similar in appearance to that in scene two except that there is a door in the back wall through which can be seen a glimpse of the corridor outside. In the middle of the room zero is seated completely absorbed in the operation of an adding machine. He presses the keys and pulls the lever with mechanical precision. He still wears his full-dress suit but he has added to it sleeve protectors and a green eye shade. A strip of white paper-tape flows steadily from the machine as zero operates. The room is filed with this tape—streamers, festoons, billows of it everywhere. It covers the floor and the furniture, it climbs the walls and chokes the doorways. A few moments later, lieutenant charles and joe enter at the left. lieutenant charles is middle-aged and inclined to corpulence. He has an air of world-weariness. He is bare-footed, wears a Panama hat, and is dressed in bright red tights which are a very bad fit—too tight in some places, badly wrinkled in others. joe is a youth with a smutty face dressed in dirty blue overalls.]
charles: [After contemplating zero for a few moments]: All right, Zero, cease firing.
zero: [Looking up, surprised]: Whaddja say?
charles: I said stop punching that machine.
zero: [Bewildered]: Stop? [He goes on working mechanically.]
charles: [Impatiently]: Yes. Can't you stop? Here, Joe, give me a hand. He can't stop. [joe and charles each take one of zero's arms and with enormous effort detach him from the machine. He resists passively—mere inertia. Finally they succeed and swing him around on his stool. charles and joe mop their foreheads.]
zero: [Querulously]: What's the idea? Can't you lemme alone?
charles: [Ignoring the question]: How long have you been here?
zero: Jes' twenty-five years. Three hundred months, ninety-one hundred and thirty-one days, one hundred thirty-six thousand—
charles: [Impatiently]: That'll do! That'll do!
zero: [Proudly]: I ain't missed a day, not an hour, not a minute. Look at all I got done. [He points to the maze of paper.]
charles: It's time to quit.
zero: Quit? Whaddye mean quit? I ain't goin' to quit!
charles: You've got to.
zero: What for? What do I have to quit for?
charles: It's time for you to go back.
zero: Go back where? Whaddya talkin' about?
charles: Back to earth, you dub. Where do you think?
zero: Aw, go on, Cap, who are you kiddin'?
charles: I'm not kidding anybody. And don't call me Cap. I'm a lieutenant.
zero: All right, Lieutenant, all right. But what's this you're tryin' to tell me about goin' back?
charles: Your time's up, I'm telling you. You must be pretty thick. How many times do you want to be told a thing?
zero: This is the first time I heard about goin' back. Nobody ever said nothin' to me about it before.
charles: You didn't think you were going to stay here forever, did you?
zero: Sure. Why not? I did my bit, didn't I? Forty-five years of it. Twenty-five years in the store. Then the boss canned me and I knocked him cold. I guess you ain't heard about that
charles: [Interrupting]: I know all about that. But what's that got to do with it?
zero: Well, I done my bit, didn't I? That oughta let me out.
charles: [Jeeringly]: So you think you're all through, do you?
zero: Sure, I do. I did the best I could while I was there and then I passed out. And now I'm sittin' pretty here.
charles: You've got a fine idea of the way they run things, you have. Do you think they're going to all of the trouble of making a soul just to use it once?
zero: Once is often enough, it seems to me.
charles: It seems to you, does it? Well, who are you? And what do you know about it? Why, man, they use a soul over and over again—over and over until it's worn out.
zero: Nobody ever told me.
charles: So you thought you were all through, did you? Well, that's a hot one, that is.
zero: [Sullenly]: How was I to know?
charles: Use your brains! Where would we put them all? We're crowded enough as it is. Why, this place is nothing but a kind of repair and service station—a sort of cosmic laundry, you might say. We get the souls in here by the bushelful. Then we get busy and clean them up. And you ought to see some of them. The muck and the slime. Phoo! And as full of holes as a flour-sifter. But we fix them up. We disinfect them and give them a kerosene rub and mend the holes and back they go—practically as good as new.
zero: You mean to say I've been here before—before the last time, I mean?
charles: Been here before! Why, you poor boob—you've been here thousands of times—fifty thousand, at least.
zero: [Suspiciously]: How is it I don't remember no thin' about it?
charles: Well—that's partly because you're stupid. But it's mostly because that's the way they fix it. [Musingly]: They're funny that way—every now and then they'll do something white like that—when you'd least expect it. I guess economy's at the bottom of it, though. They figure that the souls would get worn out quicker if they remembered.
zero: And don't any of 'em remember?
charles: Oh, some do. You see there's different types: there's the type that gets a little better each time it goes back—we just give them a wash and send them right through. Then there's another type—the type that gets a little worse each time. That's where you belong!
zero: [Offended]: Me? You mean to say I'm gettin' worse all the time?
charles: [Nodding]: Yes. A little worse each time.
zero: Well—what was I when I started? Somethin' big?—A king or somethin'?
charles: [Laughing derisively]: A king! That's a good one! I'll tell you what you were the first time—if you want to know so much—a monkey.
zero: [Shocked and offended]: A monkey!
charles: [Nodding]: Yes, sir—just a hairy, chattering, long-tailed monkey.
zero: That musta been a long time ago.
charles: Oh, not so long. A million years or so. Seems like yesterday to me.
zero: Then look here, whaddya mean by sayin' I'm gettin' worse all the time?
charles: Just what I said. You weren't so bad as a monkey. Of course, you did just what all the other monkeys did, but still it kept you out in the open air. And you weren't women-shy—there was one little red-headed monkey Well, never mind. Yes, sir, you weren't so bad then. But even in those days there must have been some bigger and brainier monkey that you kowtowed to. The mark of the slave was on you from the start.
zero: [Sullenly]: You ain't very particular about what you call people, are you?
charles: You wanted the truth, didn't you? If there ever was a soul in the world that was labelled slave it's yours. Why, all the bosses and kings that there ever were have left their trademarks on your backside.
zero: It ain't fair, if you ask me.
charles: [Shrugging his shoulders]: Don't tell me about it. I don't make the rules. All I know is you've been getting worse—worse each time. Why, even six thousand years ago you weren't so bad. That was the time you were hauling stones for one of those big pyramids in a place they call Africa. Ever hear of the pyramids?
zero: Them big pointy things?
charles: [Nodding]: That's it.
zero: I seen a picture of them in the movies.
charles: Well, you helped build them. It was a long step down from the happy days in the jungle, but it was a good job—even though you didn't know what you were doing and your back was striped by the foreman's whip. But you've been going down, down. Two thousand years ago you were a Roman galley-slave. You were on one of the triremes that knocked the Carthaginian fleet for a goal. Again the whip. But you had muscles then—chest muscles, back muscles, biceps. [He feels zero's arm gingerly and turns away in disgust]: Phoo! A bunch of mush! [He notices that joe has fallen asleep. Walking over, he kicks him in the shin.]
charles: Wake up, you mutt! Where do you think you are! [He turns to zero again]: And then another thousand years and you were a serf—a lump of clay digging up other lumps of clay. You wore an iron collar then—white ones hadn't been invented yet. Another long step down. But where you dug, potatoes grew and that helped fatten the pigs. Which was something. And now—well, I don't want to rub it in—
zero: Rub it in is right! Seems to me I got a pretty healthy kick comin'. I ain't had a square deal! Hard work! That's all I've ever had!
charles: [Callously]: What else were you ever good for?
zero: Well, that ain't the point. The point is I'm through! I had enough! Let 'em find somebody else to do the dirty work. I'm sick of bein' the goat! I quit right here and now! [He glares about defiantly. There is a thunder-clap and a bright flash of lightning.]
zero: [Screaming]: Ooh! What's that? [He clings to charles.]
charles: It's all right. Nobody's going to hurt you. It's just their way of telling you that they don't like you to talk that way. Pull yourself together and calm down. You can't change the rules—nobody can—they've got it all fixed. It's a rotten system—but what are you going to do about it?
zero: Why can't they stop pickin' on me? I'm satisfied here—doin' my day's work. I don't want to go back.
charles: You've got to, I tell you. There's no way out of it.
zero: What chance have I got—at my age? Who'll give me a job?
charles: You big boob, you don't think you're going back the way you are, do you?
zero: Sure, how then?
charles: Why, you've got to start all over.
zero: All over?
charles: [Nodding]: You'll be a baby again—a bald, red-faced little animal, and then you'll go through it all again. There'll be millions of others like you—all with their mouths open, squalling for food. And then when you get a little older you'll begin to learn things—and you'll learn all the wrong things and learn them all in the wrong way. You'll eat the wrong food and wear the wrong clothes and you'll live in swarming dens where there's no light and no air! You'll learn to be a liar and a bully and a braggart and a coward and a sneak. You'll learn to fear the sunlight and to hate beauty. By that time you'll be ready for school. There they'll tell you the truth about a great many things that you don't give a damn about and they'll tell you lies about all the things you ought to know—and about all the things you want to know they'll tell you nothing at all. When you get through you'll be equipped for your life-work. You'll be ready to take a job.
zero: [Eagerly]: What'll my job be? Another adding machine?
charles: Yes. But not one of these antiquated adding machines. It will be a superb, super-hyper-adding machine, as far from this old piece of junk as you are from God. It will be something to make you sit up end take notice, that adding machine. It will be an adding machine which will be installed in a coal mine and which will record the individual output of each miner. As each miner down in the lower galleries takes up a shovelful of coal, the impact of his shovel will automatically set in motion a graphite pencil in your gallery. The pencil will make a mark in white upon a blackened, sensitized drum. Then your work comes in. With the great toe of your right foot you release a lever which focuses a violet ray on the drum. The ray playing upon and through the white mark, falls upon a selenium cell which in turn sets the keys of the adding apparatus in motion. In this way the individual output of each miner is recorded without any human effort except the slight pressure of the great toe of your right foot.
zero: [In breathless, round-eyed wonder]: Say, that'll be some machine, won't it?
charles: Some machine is right. It will be the culmination of human effort—the final triumph of the evolutionary process. For millions of years the nebulous gases swirled in space. For more millions of years the gases cooled and then through inconceivable ages they hardened into rocks. And then came life. Floating green things on the waters that covered the earth. More millions of years and a step upward—an animate organism in the ancient slime. And so on—step by step, down through the ages—a gain here, a gain there—the mollusc, the fish, the reptile, them mammal, man! And all so that you might sit in the gallery of a coal mine and operate the super-hyper-adding machine with the great toe of your right foot!
zero: Well, then—I ain't so bad, after all.
charles: You're a failure, Zero, a failure. A waste product. A slave to a contraption of steel and iron. The animal's instincts, but not his strength and skill. The animal's appetites, but not his unashamed indulgence of them. True, you move and eat and digest and excrete and reproduce. But any microscopic organism can do as much. Well—time's up! Back you go—back to your sunless groove—the raw material of slums and wars—the ready prey of the first jingo or demagogue or political adventurer who takes the trouble to play upon your ignorance and credulity and provincialism. You poor, spineless, brainless boob—I'm sorry for you!
zero: [Fatting to his knees]: Then keep me here! Don't send me back! Let me stay!
charles: Get up. Didn't I tell you I can't do anything for you? Come on, time's up!
zero: I can't! I can't! I'm afraid to go through it all again.
charles: You've got to, I tell you. Come on, now!
zero: What did you tell me so much for? Couldn't you just let me go, thinkin' every thin' was goin' to be all right?
charles: You wanted to know, didn't you?
zero: How did I know what you were goin' to tell me? Now I can't stop thinkin' about it! I can't stop think-in'! I'll be thinkin' about it all the time.
charles: All right! I'll do the best I can for you. I'll send a girl with you to keep you company.
zero: A girl? What for? What good will a girl do me?
charles: She'll help make you forget.
zero: [Eagerly]: She will? Where is she?
charles: Wait a minute, I'll call her. [He calls in a loud voice]: Oh! Hope! Yoo-hoo! [He turns his head aside and says in the manner of a ventriloquist imitating a distant feminine voice]: Ye-es. [Then in his own voice]: Come here, will you? There's a fellow who wants you to take him back. [Ventriloquously again]: All right. I'll be right over, Charlie dear. [He turns to zero]: Kind of familiar, isn't she? Charlie dear!
zero: What did you say her name is?
charles: Hope. H-o-p-e.
zero: Is she good-lookin'?
charles: Is she good-looking! Oh, boy, wait until you see her! She's a blonde with big blue eyes and red lips and little white teeth and—
zero: Say, that listens good to me. Will she be long?
charles: She'll be here right away. There she is now! Do you see her?
zero: No. Where?
charles: Out in the corridor. No, not there. Over farther. To the right. Don't you see her blue dress? And the sunlight on her hair?
zero: Oh, sure! Now I see her! What's the matter with me, anyhow? Say, she's some jane! Oh, you baby vamp!
charles: She'll make you forget your troubles.
zero: What troubles are you talkin' about?
charles: Nothing. Go on. Don't keep her waiting.
zero: You bet I won't! Oh, Hope! Wait for me! I'll be right with you! I'm on my way! [He stumbles out eagerly.] [joe bursts into uproarious laughter.]
charles: [Eyeing him in surprise and anger]: What in hell's the matter with you?
joe: [Shaking with laughter]: Did you get that? He thinks he saw somebody and he's following her! [He rocks with laughter.]
charles: [Punching him in the jaw]: Shut your face!
joe: [Nursing his jaw]: What's the idea? Can't I even laugh when I see something funny?
charles: Funny! You keep your mouth shut or I'll show you something funny. Go on, hustle out of here and get something to clean up this mess with. There's another fellow moving in. Hurry now. [He makes a threatening gesture. joe exits hastily. charles goes to chair and seats himself. He looks weary and dispirited.]
charles: [Shaking his head]: Hell, I'll tell the world this is a lousy job! [He takes a flask from his pocket, uncorks it, and slowly drains it.]

CURTAIN

Douglas Messerli "Barnyard Philosophers" (on Lee Breuer's Summa Dramatica and Porco Morto)

2011-06-27T07:39:00.000-07:00

BARNYARD PHILOSOPHERS
by Douglas Messerli

Lee Breuer (text and direction) Pataphysics Penyeach: Summa Dramatica and Porco Morto / performed as part of the Under the Radar festival, New York, Mabou Mines / the performances I saw were on a matinee on Sunday, January 18, 2009

After the weak performances I had witnessed one night earlier in a Broadway theater, I was delighted to witness actor Ruth Maleczech's marvelous acting as Sri Moo Parahamsa, the first bovine to lecture at the Gifford lectures of William James in Scotland. As if she herself had four stomachs, each with a different voice attached, Maleczech divertingly argues, in pure pataphysical nonsense, that the post-performance animal should take acting lessons, and proceeds in a heady mix of scientific jargon and an oddly logical argument based on the existence of the "triune brain," that all animals should "Know Thyself":

As an academic, a mammal, and a cow, I know I have a soul
And since I do not have a neocortex, it must not reside
therein
It's my thesis—and I'll go to the mat with a lizard on this
point—that psyche lives in the limbus
Reality is not real, it is virtual
Each mind has its game and virtualities are subject each to their own laws
The neocortex to the laws of reason, the reptilian spinal stem adheres
to chaos theory
and as for the hedonic—limbic laws are, in the vulgate vernacular, showbiz
"Know Thyself" says the Delphic oracle
Well, to "know itself" the post-performance animal should take an acting lesson

The school, of course, is her own: The Institute for the Science of the Soul, a fully accredited acting conservatory ranked in the top ten by US News and World Report!

A zany satire on various acting methods ("A Strasburg, a Meisner and an Adler may differ in approach, But Methodists generally agree that the spiritual script breaks into actions and objectives") "Summa Dramatica" ends with a recovering animation, Marge Simpson, testifying on screen to the value of Sri Moo Parahamsa's Institute, loosing an hilarious send up of phrases such as "truth is beauty." This delicious monologue (or, if we count Marge as a "true" character, we must describe it as a dialogue) ends with the new barnyard post-performance conclusion that "The Greeks have been in denial for 3,000 years / The Truth is not beautiful."

Poor Porco, the wonderful puppet of Breuer's loony imagination, has just committed suicide, and in a valedictory ode from the grave admits that he could no longer stand living, obsessed as he had become with the great Grey Lady, The New York Times. Although he attended the famed bovine-run "Institute" for a while, he left it doomed by the "Sick Fiction Syndrome," destined to end its days as a replay of a subplot to The Lion King.

Breuer's satire here at times seems so broad-reaching that it does not always hit its mark, but when Breuer's language does hit home, it takes us all aback, as we are shamed by our easy acceptance of mediocre journalism as a "true" presentation of life. Recalling his feelings upon first meeting The Grey Lady, Porco proclaims:

What did I feel, Grey lady I felt vivid!
O the torture, the spins, the needles, the pins. The creative dilemmas...
What music of my heart should underscore what angle of your face?
What did I feel Grey Lady? I felt "life-like"
The Times was a beautiful vagina that in my hubris I engorged
with every cunilingual wag of my tongue
Your vibrations were histronic!
There was drama in the air—tragedy—and it was generational
The New York Times was going through menopause
....

Later:

I am a New York Times creation, American un-emancipated
I am a tabloid's love slave.

How hilarious, accordingly, to have read a few days lady, in the Grey Lady herself, a review expressing the following:

So there's this pig, see, and he lives The New York Times. After a romantic affair with the Gray Lady, they commit suicide together with a "Diamond Sutra dagger," but not before the pig, played by a puppet, offers a few sweet nothings to a stack of newspapers.

...If you're trying to figure out what is going on here in "Porco Morto," ...you're not the only one. ...It stars animal puppets and features a lot of bad puns, pretentious jargon ("normative soulfulness"?), some jokey video and barely coherent mockery of commercialism and this news organization.

Lucky Porco's no longer around to engage in conversation with his former love. Breuer couldn't have written a sillier response. As Mac Wellman once admitted, the surreal events of his plays are generally based on news articles; "you couldn't make them up!"

I was happy to verbally admit, upon Sri Moo Parahamsa's urging: "I pledge allegiance to the hype."

Los Angeles, February 15, 2009
Reprinted from Green Integer Blog (February 2009).

Lee Breuer PORCO MORTO

2011-06-26T11:24:00.000-07:00

To read Lee Breuer's play Porco Morto, please clink on the link below:

http://greeninteger.com/pdfs/Porco_Morto_6-1-08.pdf

James Sherry "The Poet's Theater of Fiona Templeton: An Eniornmental View" (on Fiona's Templeton's You, the City)

2011-06-26T10:52:00.001-07:00

The link below connects with our posting of James Sherry's essay on Fiona Templeton's play, You the City, "The Poet's Theater of Fiona Templeton: An Enviornmental View"

http://greeninteger.com/pdfs/Sherry_You_the_City.pdf

Douglas Messerli "Celebration of Suppression" (on George Cram Cook's and Susan Glaspell's Suppressed Desires)

2011-06-24T15:16:00.000-07:00

CELEBRATION OF SUPPRESSION
by Douglas Messerli

George Cram Cook and Susan Glaspell Suppressed Desires / Provincetown Playhouse, July 15, 1915

George Cram Cook's and Susan Glaspell's satire on Freudian analysis was first produced in Provincetown in July of 1915, as the very second play performed by the company. There is some question whether Cook and Glaspell arrived in Provincetown with the play in hand, or whether, naive as they were about theater, they presumed that, since they themselves were to be the major actors, they could simply ad lib the work. What that might mean for the character of Mabel, played in Provincetown by Lucy Huffaker, is not clear. But perhaps, since she was a close friend of Glaspell's, she knew the subject intimately.

Certainly the issues which the play satirized were well known throughout Greenwich Village, where psychoanalyst A. A. Brill had introduced Freud's and Jung's theories, and numerous essays had been written and published, particularly Max Eastman's two-part article in June and July in Everybody's Magazine. Theater historian Jeff Kennedy argues that the playwright couple had obviously read Eastman's piece—which gives further credence to the idea that they were writing the play at the very time of the production—because of its reference to a Freudian case in which a woman had repressed feelings for her brother-in-law as well as Eastman mentioning a quote from A. A. Brill about a woman who dreamt she was in a street with a flock of chickens.

Some critics argue that the performance occurred before Glaspell actually wrote down most of the play's best lines, but the couple would have had to be brilliantly clever performers to ad lib some of the most hilarious of the psychoanalysts' interpretations, namely that the command Mabel hears, "Step hen," actually calls up her brother's-in-law's first name, Stephen, and that the whole image of a hen derives from her sister-in-law's first name, Henrietta. And the play, although at times no more than a one-line joke about psychoanalysis, is overall far more sophisticated than its structure might suggest.

Henrietta may be laughed at for her complete immersion in and belief of Freud's and Jung's theories, but she is also presented as an intelligent, strong-willed, and free-wheeling woman, able—even with great pain—to give up her husband if he truly feels walled-in by their relationship. What she cannot endure is that her sister might also be in love with him and all too willing to run off with the man for whom the psychiatrist has convinced her she is repressing her love.

This short play is a long ways from almost any other work of its day in presenting a woman who is able to speak intelligently on psychology and even write layman essays on the subject. Although Henrietta is not trained as a psychologist, she nearly is as convincing in her interpretations of her sister's dream as the psychiatrist; and she is most perceptive in observing her own husband's disenchantment with his life, part of which involves her compulsion to awaken him several times each night, demanding to hear his dreams. The situation reminds me of the incidents in Marianne Hauser's novel, Dark Dominion, a work which did not appear until 1947!

Even if upon discovering that those around her have been suppressing desires that exclude her-- Henrietta changes her entire viewpoint of the psychoanalytic world too quickly--the play still reveals that she is open-minded about life, and if, at play's end, both she had Stephen suggest that Mabel should suppress her desires, the irony of their statement is that they are not at all celebrating suppression. For is it is clear that the couple at the heart of the play will continue being quite forthright about their likes and dislikes.

If Suppressed Desires is not a great satire, seeming at times to be more a skit than a one-act play, it is an intelligent skit, witty and, in some ways, far ahead of its time.

Los Angeles, June 24, 2011

George Cram Cook and Susan Glaspell SUPPRESSED DESIRES

2011-06-24T14:26:00.000-07:00

SUPPRESSED DESIRES
A Freudian Comedy

By George Cram Cook and Susan Glaspell

"Suppressed Desires" was originally produced by the Provincetown Players, New York City on July 15, 1915

Original Cast:

Henrietta Brewster... Susan Glaspell
Stephen Brewster... George Cram Cook
Mabel... Mary Pyne

SUPPRESSED DESIRES

SCENE I

The stage represents a studio, used as living and dining room in an upper story, Washington Square South. Through an immense north window in the back watt appear tree tops and the upper part of the Washington Arch. Beyond it you look up Fifth Avenue. There are rugs, bookcases, a divan. Near the window is a big table, loaded at one end with serious-looking books and austere scientific periodicals. At the other end are architects drawings, blue prints, dividing compasses, square, ruler, etc. There is a door in each side wall. Near the one to the spectator's right stands a costumer with hats and coats, masculine and feminine. There is a breakfast table set for three, but only two seated at it—namely Henrietta and Stephen Brewster. As the curtains withdraw Stew pushes back his coffee cup and sits dejected.

HENRIETTA. It isn't the coffee, Steve dear. There's nothing the matter with the coffee. There's something the matter with you.
STEVE (doggedly). There may be something the matter with my stomach.
HENRIETTA (scornfully). Your stomach! The trouble is not with your stomach but in your subconscious mind.
STEVE. Subconscious piffle!
[Takes morning paper and tries to read.
HENRIETTA. Steve, you never used to be so disagreeable. You certainly have got some sort of a complex. You're all inhibited. You're no longer open to new ideas. You won't listen to a word about psychoanalysis.
STEVE. A word! I've listened to volumes!
HENRIETTA. You've ceased to be creative in architecture—your work isn't going well. You're not sleeping well—
STEVE. How can I sleep, Henrietta, when you're always waking me up in the night to find out what I'm dreaming?
HENRIETTA. But dreams are so important, Steve. If you'd tell yours to Dr. Russell he'll find out exactly what's wrong with you.
STEVE. There's nothing wrong with me.
HENRIETTA. You don't even talk as well as you used to.
STEVE. Talk? I can't say a thing without you looking at me in that dark fashion you have when you're on the trail of a complex.
HENRIETTA. This very irritability indicates that you're suffering from some suppressed desire.
STEVE. I'm suffering from a suppressed desire for a little peace.
HENRIETTA. Dr. Russell is doing simply wonderful things with nervous cases. Won't you go to him, Steve?
STEVE (damming down his newspaper). No Henrietta, I won't!
HENRIETTA. But, Stephen—!
STEVE. Tst! I hear Mabel coming. Let's not be at each other's throats the first day of her visit.
[He takes out cigarettes. Enter Mabel from door left, the side opposite Steve, so that he is facing her. She is wearing a rather fussy negligee and breakfast cap in contrast to Henrietta, who wears "radical" clothes. Mabel is what is called plump.
MABEL, Good morning.
HENRIETTA. Oh, here you are, little sister.
STEVE. Good morning, Mabel.
[Mabel nods to him and turns, her face lighting up, to Henrietta.
HENRIETTA (giving Mabel a hug as she leans against her). It's so good to have you here. I was going to let you sleep, thinking you'd be tired after the long trip. Sit down. There'll be fresh toast in a minute and (rising from her chair) will you have—
MABEL. Oh, I ought to have told you, Henrietta. Don't get anything for me. I'm not eating any breakfast.
HENRIETTA (at first in men surprise). Not eating breakfast?
[She sits down, then leans toward Mabel and scrutinizes her.
STEVE (half to himself). The psychoanalytical look!
HENRIETTA. Mabel, why are you not eating breakfast?
MABEL (a little startled). Why, no particular reason. I just don't care much for breakfast, and they say it keeps down—that is, it's a good thing to go without it.
HENRIETTA. Don't you sleep well? Did you sleep well last night?
MABEL. Oh, yes, I sleep all right. Yes, I slept fine last night, only (laughing) I did have the funniest dream!
STEVE. S—h! S—t!
HENRIETTA (moving closer). And what did you dream, Mabel?
STEVE. Look-a-here, Mabel, I fed it's my duty to put you on. Don't tell Henrietta your dreams. If you do she'll find out that you have an underground desire to kill your father and marry your mother—
HENRIETTA. Don't be absurd, Stephen Brewster. (Sweetly to Mabel) What was your dream, dear?
MABEL (laughing). Well, I dreamed I was a hen.
HENRIETTA. A hen?
MABEL. Yes; and I was pushing along through a crowd as fast as I could, but being a hen I couldn't walk very fast—it was like having a tight skirt, you know; and there was some sort of creature in a blue cap—you know how mixed up dreams are—and it kept shouting after me and saying, "Step, Hen! Step, Hen!" until I got all excited and just couldn't move at all.
HENRIETTA (resting chin in palm and peering). You say you became much excited?
MABLE (laughing). Oh, yes; I was in a terrible state.
HENRIETTA (leaning back, murmurs). This is significant.
STEVE. She dreams she's a hen. She is told to step lively. She becomes violently agitated. What can it mean?
HENRIETTA (turning impatiently from him): Mabel, do you know anything about psychoanalysis?
MABEL (feebly). Oh—not much. No—I—(brightening) It's something about the war, isn't it?
STEVE. Not that kind of war.
MABEL (abashed). I thought it might be the name of a new explosive.
STEVE. It is.
MABEL (apologetically to Henrietta, who is frowning). You see, Henrietta, I—we do not live in touch with intellectual things, as you do. Bob being a dentist—somehow—our friends—
STEVE (softly). Oh to be a dentist!
[Goes to window and stands looking out.
HENRIETTA. Don't you ever see anything more of that editorial writer—what was his name?
MABEL. Lyman Eggleston?
HENRIETTA. Yes, Eggleston. He was in touch with things. Don't you see him?
MABEL. Yes, I see him once in a while. Bob doesn't like him very well.
HENRIETTA. Your husband does not like Lyman Eggleston? (Mysteriously) Mabel, are you perfectly happy with your husband?
STEVE (sharply). Oh, come now, Henrietta—that's going a little strong!
HENRIETTA. Are you perfectly happy with him, Mabel?
[Steve goes to work-table.
MABEL. Why—yes—I guess so. Why—of course I am.
HENRIETTA. Are you happy? Or do you only think you are? Or do you only think you ought to be?
MABEL. Why, Henrietta, I don't know what you mean!
STEVE (seizes stack of books and magazines and dumps them on the breakfast table). This is what she means, Mabel. Psychoanalysis. My work-table groans with it. Books by Freud, the new Messiah; books by Jung, the new St. Paul; the Psycho-analytical Review—back numbers two-fifty per.
MABEL. But what's it all about?
STEVE. All about your sub-un-non-conscious mind and de¬sires you know not of. They may be doing you a great deal of harm. You may go crazy with them. Oh, yes! People are doing it right and left. Your dreaming you're a hen—
[Shakes his head darkly.
HENRIETTA. Any fool can ridicule anything.
MABEL (hastily, to avert a quarrel). But what do you say it is, Henrietta?
STEVE (looking at his watch). Oh, if Henrietta's going to start that!
[He goes to his work-table, and during Henrietta's next speech settles himself and sharpens a lead pencil.
HENRIETTA. It's like this, Mabel, You want something. You think you can't have it. You think it's wrong. So you try to think you don't want it. Your mind protects you—avoids pain—by refusing to think the forbidden thing. But it's there just the same. It stays there shut up in your unconscious mind, and it festers.
STEVE. Sort of an ingrowing mental toenail.
HENRIETTA. Precisely. The forbidden impulse is there full of energy which has dimply got to do something. It breaks into your consciousness in disguise, masks itself in dreams, makes all sorts of trouble. In extreme cases it drives you insane.
MABEL (with a gesture of horror). Oh!
HENRIETTA (reassuringly). But psychoanalysis has found out how to save us from that. It brings into consciousness the suppressed desire that was making all the trouble. Psychoanalysis is simply the latest scientific method of preventing and curing insanity.
STEVE (from his table). It is also the latest scientific method of separating families.
HENRIETTA (mildly). Families that ought to be separated.
STEVE. The Dwights, for instance. You must have met them, Mabel, when you were here before. Helen was living, apparently, in peace and happiness with good old Joe. Well—she went to this psychoanalyzer—she was "psyched", and biff!—bang!—home she comes with an unsuppressed desire to leave her husband.
[He starts work, drawing lines on a drawing board with a T-square.
MABEL. How terrible! Yes, I remember Helen Dwight. But—but did she have such a desire?
STEVE, first she'd known of it.
MABEL. And she left him?
HENRIETTA (coolly). Yes, she did.
MABEL. Wasn't he good to her?
HENRIETTA. Why yes, good enough.
MABEL. Wasn't he kind to her!
HENRIETTA. Oh, yes—kind to her.
MABEL. And she left her good kind husband—!
HENRIETTA. Oh, Mabel! 'Left her good, kind husband!' How naive—forgive me, dear, but how bourgeois you are! She came to know herself. And she had the cour¬age!
MABEL. I may be very naive and—bourgeois—but I don't see the good of a new science that breaks up homes.
[Steve claps hands, applauding.
STEVE. In enlightening Mabel, we mustn't neglect to men¬tion the case of Art Holden's private secretary, Mary Snow, who has just been informed of her suppressed desire for her employer.
MABEL. Why, I think it is terrible, Henrietta! It would be better if we didn't know such things about ourselves.
HENRIETTA, No, Mabel, that is the old way.
MABEL. But—but her employer? Is he married?
STEVE (grunts). Wife and four children.
MABEL. Well, then, what good does it do the girl to be told she has a desire for him? There's nothing that can be done about it.
HENRIETTA. Old institutions will have to be reshaped so that something can be done in such cases. It happens, Mabel, that this suppressed desire was on the point of landing Mary Snow in the insane asylum. Are you so tight-minded that you'd rather have her in the insane asylum than break the conventions?
MABEL. But—but have people always had these awful suppressed desires?
HENRIETTA. Always.
STEVE. But they've just been discovered.
HENRIETTA. The harm they do has just been discovered. And free, sane people must face the fact that they have to be dealt with.
MABEL (stoutly). I don't believe they have them in Chicago.
HENRIETTA (business of giving Mabel up). People "have them" wherever the living libido—the center of the soul's energy—is in conflict with petrified moral codes. That means everywhere in civilization. Psychoanalysis—
STEVE. Good God! I've got the roof in the cellar!
HENRIETTA. The roof in the cellar!
STEVE (holding plan at arm's length). That's what psychoanalysis does!
HENRIETTA. That's what psychoanalysis could un-do. Is it any wonder I'm concerned about Steve? He dreamed the other night that the walls of his room melted away and he found himself alone in a forest. Don't you see how significant it is for an architect to have walls dip away from him? It symbolizes his loss of grip in his work. There's some suppressed desire—
STEVE (hurling his twined plan viciously to the floor). Suppressed hell!
HENRIETTA. You speak more truly than you know. It is through suppressions that hells are formed in us.
MABEL (looking at Steve, who is tearing his hair). Don't you think it would be a good thing, Henrietta, if we went somewhere else? (They rise and begin to pick up the dishes. Mabel drops a plate which breaks. Henrietta draws up short and looks at her—the psychoanalytic look) I'm sorry Henrietta. One of the Spode plates, too. (Surprised and resentful as Henrietta continues to peer at her) Don't take it so to heart, Henrietta.
HENRIETTA. I can't help taking it to heart.
MABEL. I'll get you another. (Pause. More sharply as Henrietta does not answer) I said I'll get you another plate, Henrietta.
HENRIETTA. It's not the plate.
MABEL. For heaven's sake, what is it then?
HENRIETTA. It's the significant little false movement that made you drop it.
MABEL. Well, I suppose everyone makes a false movement once in a while.
HENRIETTA. Yes, Mabel, but these false movements all mean something.
MABEL (about to cry). I don't think that's very nice! It was just because I happened to think of that Mabel Snow you were talking about—
HENRIETTA. Mabel Snow!
MABEL. Snow—Snow—well, what was her name, then?
HENRIETTA. Her name is Mary. You substituted your own name for hers.
MABEL. Well, Mary Snow, then; Mary Snow. I never heard her name but once. I don't see anything to make such a fuss about.
HENRIETTA (gently). Mabel dear—mistakes like that in names—
MABEL (desperately). They don't mean something, too, do they?
HENRIETTA (gently). I am sorry, dear, but they do.
MABEL. But I am always doing that!
HENRIETTA (after a start of horror). My poor little sister, tell me all about it.
MABEL. About what?
HENRIETTA. About your not being happy. About your longing for another sort of life.
MABEL. But I don't.
HENRIETTA. Ah, I understand these things, dear. You feel Bob is limiting you to a life which you do not feel free—
MABEL. Henrietta! When did I ever say such a thing?
HENRIETTA. You said you are not in touch with things intellectual. You showed your feeling that it is Bob's profession—that has engendered a resentment which has colored your whole life with him.
MABEL. Why—Henrietta!
HENRIETTA. Don't be afraid of me, little sister. There's nothing can shock me or turn me from you. I am not like that. I wanted you to come for this visit because I had a feeling that you needed more from life than you were getting. No one of these things I have seen would excite my suspicion. It's the combination. You don't eat breakfast; you make false moves; you substitute your own name for the name of another whose love is misdirected. You're nervous; you look queer; in your eyes there's a frightened look that is most unlike you. And this dream. A hen—come with me this afternoon to Dr. Russell! Your whole life may be at stake, Mabel.
MABEL (gasping). Henrietta, I—you—you always were the smartest in the family, and all that, but—this is terrible! I don't think we ought to think such things, and (brightening) Why, I'll tell you why I dreamed I was a hen. It was because last night, telling about that time in Chicago, you said I was as mad as a wet hen.
HENRIETTA (superior). Did you dream you were a wet hen?
MABEL (forced to admit it). No.
HENRIETTA. No. You dreamed you were a dry hen. And why, being a hen, were you urged to step?
MABEL. Maybe it's because when I am getting on a street car it always irritates me to have them call "Step lively."
HENRIETTA. No, Mabel, that is only a child's view of it—if you will forgive me. You see merely the elements used in the dream. You do not see into the dream; you do not see its meaning. This dream of the hen—
STEVE. Hen—hen—wet hen—dry hen—mad hen! (Jumps up in a rage) Let me out of this!
HENRIETTA (hastily picking up dishes, speaks soothingly). Just a minute, dear, and we'll have things so you can work in quiet. Mabel and I are going to sit in my room.
[She goes end with both hands full of dishes.
STEVE (seizing hen and coat from the costumer). I'm going to be psychoanalyzed. I'm going now! I'm going straight to that infallible doctor of hers—that priest of this new religion. If he's got honesty enough to tell Henrietta there's nothing the matter with my unconscious mind, perhaps I can be let alone about it, and then I will be all right. (From the door in a low voice) Don't tell Henrietta I'm going. It might take weeks, and I couldn't stand all the talk.
[Exit desperately. Enter Henrietta.
HENRIETTA. Where's Steve? Gone? (With hopeless ges¬ture) You see how impatient he is—how unlike himself! I tell you, Mabel, I am nearly distracted about Steve.
MABEL. I think he's a little distracted, too.
HENRIETTA. Well, if he's gone—you might as well stay here. I have a committee meeting at the book-shop, and will have to leave you to yourself for an hour or two. (As she puts her hat on, her eye, lighting up almost carnivorously, falls on an enormous volume on the floor beside the work table. The book has been half hidden from the audience by the waste-basket. She picks it up and carries it around the table toward Mabel) Here, dear, is one of the simplest statements of psychoanalysis. You just read this and then we can talk more intelligently. (Mabel takes volume and staggers back under its weight to chair rear center. Henrietta goes to outer door, stops and asks abruptly) How old is Lyman Eggleston?
MABLE (promptly). He isn't forty yet. Why, what made you ask that, Henrietta?
[As she turns her head to look at Henrietta her hands move toward the upper corners of the book balanced on her knees.
HENRIETTA. Oh, nothing. Au revoir. (Exit. Mabel stares at the ceiling. The book slides to the floor. She starts; looks at the book, then at the broken plate on the table) The plate! The book! (She lifts her eyes, leans forward elbow on knee, chin on knuckles and plaintively queries) Am I unhappy?

CURTAIN

SCENE II

The stage is set as in Scene I, except that the breakfast table has been removed or set back against the watt. During the first few minutes the dusk of a winter afternoon deepens. Out of the darkness spring rows of double street-lights almost meeting in the distance. Henrietta is disclosed at the psychoanalytical end of Steve's work-table. Surrounded by open books and periodicals she is writing. Steve enters briskly.
STEVE. What are you doing, my dear?
HENRIETTA. My paper for the Liberal Club.
STEVE. Your paper on—?
HENRIETTA. On a subject which does not have your sympa¬thy.
STEVE. Oh, I'm not sure I'm wholly out of sympathy with psychoanalysis, Henrietta. You worked it so hard. I couldn't even take a bath without its meaning something.
HENRIETTA (loftily). I talked it because I knew you needed it.
STEVE. You haven't said much about it these last two weeks. Uh—your faith in it hasn't weakened any?
HENRIETTA. Weakened? It's grown stronger with each new thing I've come to know. And Mabel. She is with Dr. Russell now. Dr. Russell is wonderful. From what Mabel tells me I believe his analysis is going to prove that I was right. Today I discovered a remarkable confirma¬tion of my theory in the hen-dream.
STEVE. What is your theory?
HENRIETTA. Well, you know about Lyman Eggleston. I've wondered about him. I've never seen him, but I know he's less bourgeois than Mabel's other friends—more intellectual—and (significantly) she doesn't see much of him because Bob doesn't like him.
STEVE. But what's the confirmation?
HENRIETTA. Today I noticed the first syllable of his name.
STEVE. Ly?
HENRIETTA. No—egg. (Patiently) Mabel dreamed she was a hen. (Steve laughs) You wouldn't laugh if you knew how important names are in interpreting dreams. Freud is full of just such cases in which a whole hidden complex is revealed by a single significant syllable—like this egg.
STEVE. Doesn't the traditional relation of hen and egg sug¬gest rather a maternal feeling?
HENRIETTA. There is something maternal in Mabel's love of course, but that's only one element.
STEVE. Well, suppose Mabel hasn't a suppressed desire to be this gentleman's mother, but his beloved. What's to be done about it? What about Bob? Don't you think it's going to be a little rough on him?
HENRIETTA. That can't be helped. Bob, like everyone else, must face the facts of life. If Dr. Russell should arrive independently at this same interpretation I shall not hesitate to advise Mabel to leave her present hus¬band.
STEVE. Um—um! (The lights go up an Fifth Avenue. Steve goes to the window and looks out) How long is it we've lived here, Henrietta?
HENRIETTA. Why, this is the third year, Steve.
STEVE. I—we—one would miss this view if one went away, wouldn't one?
HENRIETTA. How strangely you speak! Oh, Stephen, I wish you'd go to Dr. Russell. Don't think my fears have abated because I've been able to restrain myself. I had to on account of Mabel. But now, dear—won't you go?
STEVE. I—(He breaks off, turns on the light, then comes and sits beside Henrietta) How long have we been married, Henrietta?
HENRIETTA. Stephen, I don't understand you! You must go to Dr. Russell.
STEVE. I have gone.
HENRIETTA. YOU—what?
STEVE (jauntily). Yes, Henrietta, I've been psyched,
HENRIETTA. You went to Dr. Russell?
STEVE. The same.
HENRIETTA. And what did he say?
STEVE. He said—I—I was a little surprised by what he said, Henrietta.
HENRIETTA (breathlessly). Of course—one can so seldom anticipate. But tell me—your dream, Stephen? It means—?
STEVE. It means—I was considerably surprised by what it means.
HENRIETTA. Don't be so exasperating!
STEVE. It means—you really want to know, Henrietta?
HENRIETTA. Stephen, you'll drive me mad!
STEVE. He said—of course he may be wrong in what he said.
HENRIETTA. He isn't wrong. Tell me!
STEVE. He said my dream of the walls receding and leaving me alone in a forest indicates a suppressed desire—
HENRIETTA. Yes—yes!
STEVE. To be freed from—
HENRIETTA. Yes—freed from—?
STEVE. Marriage.
HENRIETTA (Crumples. Stares). Marriage!
STEVE. He—he may be mistaken, you know.
HENRIETTA. May be mistaken!
STEVE. I—well, of course, I hadn't taken any stock in it myself. It was only your great confidence—
HENRIETTA. Stephen, are you telling me that Dr. Russell—Dr. A. E. Russell—told you this? (Steve nods) Told you you have a suppressed desire to separate from me?
STEVE. That's what he said.
HENRIETTA. Did he know who you were?
STEVE. Yes.
HENRIETTA. That you were married to me?
STEVE. Yes, he knew that.
HENRIETTA. And he told you to leave me?
STEVE. It seems he must be wrong, Henrietta.
HENRIETTA (rising). And I've sent him more patients—! (Catches herself and resumes coldly) What reason did he give for this analysis?
STEVE. He says the confining walls are a symbol of my feeling about marriage and that their fading away is a wish-fulfillment.
HENRIETTA (gulping). Well, is it? Do you want our marriage to end?
STEVE. Well, it was a great surprise to me that I did, Henrietta. You see I hadn't known what was in my un¬conscious mind.
HENRIETTA (flaming). What did you tell Dr. Russell about me to make him think you weren't happy?
STEVE. I never told him a thing, Henrietta. He got it all from his confounded clever inferences. I—I tried to refute them, but he said that was only part of my self-protective lying.
HENRIETTA. And that's why you were so—happy—when you came in just now!
STEVE. Why, Henrietta, how can you say such a thing? I was sad. Didn't I speak sadly of—of the view? Didn't I ask how long we had been married?
HENRIETTA (rising). Stephen Brewster, have you no sense of the seriousness of this? Dr. Russell doesn't know what our marriage has been. You do. You should have laughed him down! Confined—in life with me? Did you tell him that I believe in freedom?
STEVE. I very emphatically told him that his results were a great surprise to me.
HENRIETTA. But you accepted them.
STEVE. Oh, not at all. I merely couldn't refute his arguments. I'm not a psychologist. I came home to talk it over with you. You being a disciple of psychoanalysis—
HENRIETTA. If you are going, I wish you would go tonight!
STEVE. Oh, my dear! I—surely I couldn't do that! Think of my feelings. And my laundry hasn't come home.
HENRIETTA. I ask you to go to-night. Some woman would falter at this, Steve, but I am not such a woman. I leave you free. I do not repudiate psychoanalysis, I say again that it has done great things. It has also made mistakes, of course. But since you accept this analysis—(She sits down and pretends to begin work) I have to finish this paper. I wish you would leave me.
STEVE (scratches his head, goes to the inner door). I'm sorry, Henrietta, about my unconscious mind.
[Exit. Henrietta's face betrays her outraged state of mind—disconcerted, resentful, trying to pull herself together. She attains an air of bravely bearing an outrageous thing. Mabel enters in great excitement.
MABEL (breathless), Henrietta, I'm so glad you're here. And alone? (Looks toward the inner door) Are you alone, Henrietta?
HENRIETTA (with reproving dignity). Very much so.
MABEL (rushing to her). Henrietta, he's found it!
HENRIETTA (aloof). Who has found what?
MABEL. Who has found what? Dr. Russell has found my suppressed desire.
HENRIETTA. That is interesting.
MABEL. He finished with me today—he got hold of my complex—in the most amazing way! But, oh, Henrietta—it is so terrible!
HENRIETTA. Do calm yourself, Mabel. Surely there's no occasion for all this agitation.
MABEL. But there is! And when you think of the lives that are affected—the readjustments that must be made in order to bring the suppressed hell out of me and save me from the insane asylum—!
HENRIETTA. The insane asylum!
MABEL. You said that's where these complexes brought people?
HENRIETTA. What did the doctor tell you, Mabel?
MABEL. Oh, I don't know how I can tell you—it is so awful—so unbelievable.
HENRIETTA. I rather have my hand in at hearing the un¬believable.
MABEL. Henrietta, who would ever have thought it? How can it be true? But the doctor is perfectly certain that I have a suppressed desire for—
[Looks at Henrietta unable to go on.
HENRIETTA. Oh, go on, Mabel. I'm not unprepared for what you have to say.
MABEL. Not unprepared? You mean you have suspected it?
HENRIETTA. From the first. It's been my theory all along.
MABEL. But, Henrietta, I didn't know myself that I had this secret desire for Stephen.
HENRIETTA (jumps up). Stephen!
MABEL. My brother-in-law! My own sister's husband!
HENRIETTA. You have a suppressed desire for Stephen!
MABEL. Oh, Henrietta, aren't these unconscious selves terrible? They seem so unlike us!
HENRIETTA. What insane thing are you driving at?
MABEL (blubbering). Henrietta, don't you use that word to me. I don't want to go to the insane asylum.
HENRIETTA. What did Dr. Russell say?
MABEL. Well, you see—oh, it's the strangest thing! But you know the voice in my dream that called "Step, Hen!" Dr. Russell found out to-day that when I was a little girl I had a story-book in words of one syllable and I read the name Stephen wrong. I used to read it S-t-e-p, step, h-e-n, hen. (Dramatically) Step Hen is Stephen. (Enter Stephen, his head bent over a time-table) Stephen is Step Hen!
STEVE. I? Step Hen!
MABEL (triumphantly). S-t-e-p, step, H-e-n, hen, Stephen!
HENRIETTA (exploding). Well, what if Stephen is Step Hen? (Scornfully) Step Hen! Step Hen! For that ridiculous coincidence—
MABEL. Coincidence! But it's childish to look at the mere elements of a dream. You have to look into it—you have to see what it means!
HENRIETTA. On account of that trivial, meaningless play on syllables—on that flimsy basis—you are ready—(wails) O-h!
STEVE. What on earth's the matter? What has happened? Suppose I am Step Hen? What about it? What does it mean?
MABEL (crying). It means—that—I—have a suppressed desire for you!
STEVE. For me! The deuce you have? (Feebly) What—er—makes you think so?
MABEL. Dr. Russell has worked it out scientifically.
HENRIETTA. Yes. Through the amazing discovery that Step Hen equals Stephen!
MABEL (tearfully). Oh, that isn't all—that isn't near all. Henrietta won't give me a chance to tell it. She'd rather I'd go to the insane-asylum than be unconventional.
HENRIETTA. We'll all go there if you can't control yourself. We are still waiting for some rational report.
MABEL (drying her eyes). Oh, there's such a lot about names. (With some pride) I don't see how I ever did it. It all works in together. I dreamed I was a hen because that's the first syllable of Henrietta's name, and when I dreamed I was a hen, I was putting myself in Henrietta's place.
HENRIETTA. With Stephen?
MABEL. With Stephen.
HENRIETTA (outraged). Oh to... (Turns in rage upon Stephen, who is fanning himself with the timetable) What are you doing with that time-table?
STEVE. Why—I thought—you were so keen to have me go tonight—I thought I'd just take a run up to Canada, and join Billy—a little shooting—but—
MABEL. But there's more about the names.
HENRIETTA. Mabel, have you thought of Bob—dear old Bob—your good, kind husband?
MABEL. Oh, Henrietta, "my good, kind husband!"
HENRIETTA. Think of him, Mabel, out there alone in Chicago, working his head off, fixing people's teeth for you!
MABEL. Yes, but think of the living Libido—in conflict with petrified moral codes! And think of the perfectly wonderful way the names all prove it. Dr. Russell said he's never seen anything more convincing. Just look at Stephen's last name—Brewster. I dream I'm a hen, and the name Brewster—you have to say its first letter by itself—and then the hen, that's me, she says to him: "Stephen, Be Rooster!"
[Henrietta and Stephen bath collapse on chair and divan.
MABEL. I think it's perfectly wonderful! Why, if it wasn't for psychoanalysis you'd never find out how wonderful your own mind is!
STEVE (begins to chuckle). Be Rooster, Stephen, Be Rooster!
HENRIETTA. You think it's funny, do you?
STEVE. Well, what's to be done about it? Does Mabel have to go away with me?
HENRIETTA. Do you want Mabel to go away with you?
STEVE. Well, but Mabel herself—her complex—her sup¬pressed desire—!
HENRIETTA. Mabel, are you going to insist on going away with Stephen?
MABEL. I'd rather go with Stephen than go to the insane asylum.
HENRIETTA. For Heaven's sake, Mabel, drop that insane asylum! If you did have a suppressed desire for Stephen hidden away in you—God knows it isn't hidden now. Dr. Russell has brought it into your consciousness—with a vengeance. That's all that's necessary to break up a complex. Psychoanalysis doesn't say you have to gratify every suppressed desire.
STEVE (softly). Unless it's for Lyman Eggleston.
HENRIETTA (turning an him). Well, if it comes to that, Stephen Brewster, I'd like to know why that interpretation of mine isn't as good as this one? Step, Hen!
STEVE. But Be Rooster! (He pauses, chuckling to himself) Step-Hen B-rooster. And Henrietta. Pshaw, my dear, Doc Russell's got you beat a mile! (He turns away and chuckles) Be rooster!
MABEL. What has Lyman Eggleston got to do with it?
STEVE. According to Henrietta, you, the hen, have a sup¬pressed desire for Eggleston, the egg.
MABEL. Henrietta, I think that's indecent of you! He is bald as an egg and little and fat—the idea of you thinking such a thing of me!
HENRIETTA. Well, Bob isn't little and bald and fat! Why don't you stick to your own husband? (Turns an Stephen) What if Dr. Russell's interpretation has got mine "beat a mile"? (Resentful look at him) It would only mean that Mabel doesn't want Eggleston and does want you. Does that mean she has to have you?
MABEL. But you said Mabel Snow—
HENRIETTA. Mary Snow! You're not as much like her as you think—substituting your name for hers! The cases are entirely different. Oh, I wouldn't have believed this of you, Mabel. I brought you here for a pleasant visit—thought you needed brightening up—wanted to be nice to you—and now you—my husband—you insist—
[Begins to cry. Makes a movement which brushes to the floor some sheets from the psychoanalytical table.
STEVE (with solicitude). Careful, dear. Your paper on psychoanalysis!
[Gathers up sheets and offers them to her.
HENRIETTA (crying). I don't want my paper on psychoanalysis! I'm sick of psychoanalysis!
STEVE (eagerly). Do you mean that, Henrietta?
HENRIETTA. Why shouldn't I mean it? Look at all I've done for psychoanalysis—and—what has psychoanalysis done for me?
STEVE. Do you mean, Henrietta, that you're going to stop talking psychoanalysis?
HENRIETTA. Why shouldn't I stop talking it? Haven't I seen what it does to people? Mabel has gone crazy about psychoanalysis!
[At the ward "crazy" Mabel sinks with a moan into the arm¬chair and buries her face in her hands.
STEVE (solemnly). Do you swear never to wake me up in the night to find out what I'm dreaming?
HENRIETTA. Dream what you please—I don't care what you're dreaming.
STEVE. Will you clear off my work-table so the Journal of Morbid Psychology doesn't stare me in the face when I'm trying to plan a house?
HENRIETTA (pushing a stack of periodicals off the table). I'll burn the Journal of Morbid Psychology!
STEVE. My dear Henrietta, if you're going to separate from psychoanalysis, there's no reason why I should separate from you.
[They embrace ardently. Mabel lifts her head and looks at them woefully.
MABEL (jumping up and going toward them). But what about me? What am I to do with my suppressed desire?
STEVE (with one arm still around Henrietta, gives Mabel a brotherly hug). Mabel, you just keep right on suppressing it.

CURTAIN

______________
Born in 1876, Susan Glaspell was a founding member of the Provincetown Players, and arranged the first reading of Eugene O'Neill's work at the theater. Born in Davenport, Iowa, Glaspell was educated at Drake University in Des Moines, and attended one semester at the University of Chicago. While in Chicago she became involved with some writers of the Chicago Renaissance.

In 1900, working for a Des Moines newspaper, she covered the trial of John Hossack, which would later result in the plays A Jury of Her Peers and Trifles (reprinted at the USTheater site).

Returning to Davenport, Glaspell began writing fiction, winning several awards for her short stories, published in journals such as Harper's, The Ladies' Journal, and The Women's Home Companion. She soon met classics professor, novelist, poet and farmer George Cram Cook, with who she eventually moved to New York and Provincetown, Massachusetts. They married soon after. Cram encouraged Glaspell to write drama, and coauthored the play above, her first theatrical attempt.

Among the other plays she wrote for the Provincetown Players were Inheritors and The Verge, but the couple's survival depended mostly on royalties for her stories.

In 1922, Glaspell gave up her theater career to travel with her husband to Delphi, Greece. While doing research there, Cram contracted typhus and became too sick to be moved to Athens, dying on January 14, 1924.

Returning to Cape Cod, Glaspell wrote a biography of her husband, The Road to the Temple, and continued her theatrical writing, including Alison's House, for which she was awarded a Pulitzer Prize. She also wrote novels.

After a break up with the younger writer Norman Matson, she struggled with poor health and alcoholism, becoming for a brief time the Midwest director of the Federal Theater Project, during which time she stopped drinking and returned to health.

Glaspell continued to write fiction through the late 1930s and into the 1940s. She died in Provincetown in 1948.

For a number of years, Glaspell's considerable literary contributions were forgotten, and most of her fiction remains out of print even today. But with the rise of feminism, several of her plays have been revived.

—Douglas Messerli

Djuna Barnes "The Days of Jig Cook" (on George Cram Cook)

2011-06-24T09:23:00.000-07:00

THE DAYS OF JIG COOK: Recollections of Ancient Theatre History But Ten Years Old
by Djuna Barnes

George Cram ("Jig") Cook has become a legendary figure, partly because of the grave and lovely biography of him written by his window, Susan Glaspell, and party because of his stimulating share in the work of the Provincetown Players, which cradled the genius of Eugene O'Neill and gave an impetus to much effort which has since proved notable in the American theatre. Djuna Barnes, an active member of the early Provincetown group, here seeks to recall the quality of the enthusiasm which projected that interesting pioneer effort.

The world has grown a little older, the fat man even fatter, the local sponge has died, at a ripe old age at that, since the Provincetown Players used to write and act their own plays in the Greenwich Village stable; the girls who used to fight to get into the Provincetown casts have withered, and others sit and cannot recall just what it was that used to make them get into such heated controversies. Only a few talk of the days when Jig Cook used to drink to inspire others, of the past when Eugene O'Neill was a boy who was too shy to speak.

Helen Westley tells me that youth alone is idealistic. But Helen is right only in regard to American youth. Those who were young when I was also very young have not, with the passing of time, becomes seasoned to the bone. The things that produce the Provincetown Players and made the group what it was, has not made them what they are. Therefore we hear much talk of "lost atmosphere." People speak of those early days as if they were a sort of collar stud which, by some diabolical mischance, had been mislaid by the injustice of God.

The French do otherwise. They too, to be sure, are idealistic in youth; but they are also idealistic in age. They do not speak of days "when." In their lives there is no mislaid stud of enthusiasm. They have, with the peculiarly economical spirit of their race, kept their stud where they can, at any moment, lay their hands on it. It is perhaps not quite the bright stud it used to be, it is indeed not a little dulled, but it will be found in their dress shirt when they are laid out for their grave.

Just what was the spirit that took us to the Brevoort in nineteen hundred and fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, with the eagerness of the devotee? America is one country where the minority should die young. Jack Reed was right, and some, not all of us, are wrong; and we shall be wrong until we have the ability to keep that collar stud from start to finish.

It is perhaps this inability that has made those early days something we recall with sentiment and exasperation. We perhaps sensed that we would not live long, which is the essence of precocity. No, we would not live long, so we would live hard and reach high. Idah Rauh would not always want to be the Duse of Macdougal Street; Jig Cook was already fatal with his untimely end. The rhythm of his emotional life was that of one walk precariously on the hyphen of versus Parnassus. Jig said "What is this thing called life? Where did it come from? Where is it going? This past of life is just an accident...a moment." —And then it was a long while.

Our destiny made us speak before we understood, write before we should and produce before we were able, the plays of John Reed, of Eugene O'Neill, of Susan Glaspell and Floyd Dell, of Maxwell Bodenheim, of George Cram Cook and Edna St. Vincent Millay; of Wilson and Kreymborg, of Wellman, of Steele and of Barnes. Before we were able we had mature grief and fleeting immortality.

In those days Greenwich Village was to the Bronxite just another name for hell and the devil. Now it is no longer the Village that will get a girl by her back hair and sling her into damnation, it is Paris. My own mother told me that I could never expect to live down that city. And when she thinks I am looking a little thin, or when she sees me watching a fly's slow progress from all to ceiling, or catches me being introspective—"It's Paris! You needn't tell me. Don't I know what that place can do? I accepted your father under the Arc de Triomphe, and look at us now!"

Some said in those days that you could not get any nearer to original sin than by renting a studio anywhere below Fourteenth Street. It was a good as suicide to write a one-act play, have Norma Millay laugh at it, Charlie Ellis sit through it, or hear Mary Blair connecting it with the Torah or Swedenborg, which ability was one of her charms.

Poverty and paint, I was told, would bring about no good end. We sat and cherished this possibility with a politic humor. The Provincetown theatre was always just about to be given back to the horses. It had been a stable, and a stable, said my friends, it will be again. That this prophecy has never been fulfilled is due largely to M. Eleanor Fitzgerald, who by this organization has been turned into an eternal Eliza crossing the ice, and by main strength, and gift of a pioneer right arm, has so far kept the baby from drowning.

How can I recreate and analyse the spirit that was the early Provincetown and its people? Did I once know? Did any of us know? Do any of us know now since science has made the analysing process a sort of social ping pong? I doubt it. I have talked to Jimmy Light, and Jimmy does not seem to me to know.

If it was just youth, are there not young people today? The answer is, there are. But not by so much as a single feature do they resemble this other youth. They have enthusiasm, but they are not the enthusiasms that we had. There are still Little Art Theatres, and one-act plays, actors and actresses clamoring for parts, but they are not related to us by so much as a wish-bone.

Why, in those days we used to sit on the most uncomfortable benches imaginable in that theatre, glad to suffer partial paralysis of the upper leg and an entire stoppage of the spinal juices, just to hear Ida Rauh come out of the wings and say: "Life, bring me a fresh rose!"

Our private lives were going all wrong in all directions; we did not eat for days that we might save up to dine at the Brevoort; we sat in the Hell Hole and become both foreign and philosophic under the "Hélas bébé!" of Hypolite Havel; and "Life teems with quiet fun" from Christine, who ran the Provincetown restaurant and who could be counted on to lose all her hairpins, thus loosing her lovely golden hair, by no later than twelve of the clock. We used to sit in groups and recall our earlier and divergent histories. One would say, "I was well smacked by my mother for chewing the paint of the gate post"; another maintained that he had learned the value of madness when his father jumped from a window in an effort to prove gravity, and was picked up convinced. So we talked, and so we went our separate ways home, there to write, out of that confusion which is biography when it is wedded to fact, confession and fancy in any assembly of friend versus friend and still friends.

Of such things were our plays made. Eugene O'Neill wrote out of a dark suspicion that there was injustice in fatherly love. Floyd Dell wrote archly out of a conviction that he was Anatole France. I wrote out of certitude that I was my father's daughter, and Jig directed because he was the pessimistic Blue Bird of Greece.

Such things made atmosphere, as a chalk line of the floor of a magician's home makes terror and expectation,—atmosphere and a dead line over which the general public could not go.

Then where was the catch in the blood? When and on what day, or succession of days did we, unknowingly, walk over our own dead line and into the general life of a world which, until then, had been the audience?

For though some of us have "come through," we are less of that past than those who were never a part of it. This at least is true of me, and I think it is true of others.

Our legend was bought and paid for by those who did not live to walk over. That we are legend at all, that I have been asked to write of the days of Jig, that we are recalled by some with a sigh by others with a shudder, is, I think, due to the lives we have lost and to the "ideals" that we cannot remember.

It was a kind of drunkenness that is beyond recall. Jig who could inspire divergent minds to work together for one idea, and ideal that was never quite clear to him, or if clear to him, one that he could not make clear to me not to a number of others, sent his actors on the scent of no man's rabbit. It was, I think, Jig's rabbit, Jig's conjuring trick; he knew the passes, he spoke the formula, he had the hat, but—was he too proud, or was he too wise, or was he too limited to produce the hare? Who knows?—but it made good hunting.

Reprinted from Theater Guild Magazine (January 1939)

Douglas Messerli "The Locked Windows" (on Julie Archer's and Lee Breuer's Peter and Wendy)

2011-06-23T07:46:00.000-07:00

THE LOCKED WINDOWS
by Douglas Messerli

Julie Archer and Lee Breuer (co-creators) [based on the novel Peter and Wendy by J. M. Barrie] Peter and Wendy, presented by Mabou Mines at The New Victory Theater, New York / the production I attended was on May 6, 2011.

On May 6 I had tickets to see Tom Stoppard’s play Arcadia, but when I heard of the short return of Mabou Mines’ Peter and Wendy to The New Victory Theater (running from May 6-22), I could not resist the opportunity to see the play, and joyfully changed my plans.

In a strange way, although these British-based works are entirely different, there is an odd connection between the two in that they both episodically, often without coherent connections between changes of characters and place, present an kind of Arcadian or pastoral world in which things were seemingly simpler—although the characters in both are faced with complexities that they might not wish to face.

In Peter and Wendy those complexities have to do with their childhood vision of reality. But unlike the earlier play and novel, Peter Pan, Barrie’s 1911 Peter and Wendy presents a less sweeter and simpler vision of things. It is not simply that Peter, Wendy, her brothers and the other Lost Boys who make up Peter’s band perceive things as children might, but that they sometimes all too readily have perceived the traumatic and threatening issues of the adults and the society that surrounds them. In this version, Peter is not just a child who refuses to grow up, but in his kind of wise puppet guise, is—a “puppet” to his own childish instance and the longings that go with that. Like a stubborn and undeterred brat, as spoken by the marvelous narrator Karen Kandel, he is, although always fairly charming, at times also a selfish bully of contradictory forces.

While the New York Times critic saw Kandel’s presentation of these marvelous puppets as too sweet, I saw them quite differently, as forces representing an adamant refusal to join in the Victorian society around them, and, in that sense, they are not at all innocent boys and girls living in a time outside of reality, but slightly terrifying rebels against the transformation of Victorian society in a gentler and more civil society.

Peter may offer these timeless children adventure, but those adventures, the battles with the absurd Hook and his gang, are not unlike the ridiculous wars fought through the century. Wendy may be part and party to the fun, but she is wooed away from her home less as an equal adventurer than as a mother to all the boys, a mother who in her nurturing and care for her “children,” has little room to truly discover herself, more indentured than adventured.

Even Hook, in this version, is less of a free adventurer than he is caught up in the societal whirl, a man who wants to become a figure of style, a class-inspired man of aspirations. The wonderful Croc is a fearful villain less because of his potential to feast on Peter Pan’s boys, than he is a figure caught up in the whirl of society, hilariously presented as a perpetually tangoing beast, unable to free himself from a kind of infatuation with his own tail/tale.

All of this darkness is reinforced by the Celtic songs composed by Johnny Cunningham and performed by Aidan Brennan, Tola Custy, Steph Geremia, Alan Kelly, Laoise Kelly, Siobhan Miller, and Jay Peck; these songs are not your children-friendly hymns such as “I’m Flying,” “I Gotta Crow,” and “I Won’t Grow Up,” but rather intimate the real roots of J. M. Barrie’s darker Scottish heritage.

The marvelous puppetry of Basil Twist and Lute Breuer, accompanied by a whole ensemble of marvelous players, supported this slightly fractured- fairytale-feeling about the whole event.

It is notable that, when Wendy reports that she and her brothers want to return home, Peter considerably chastises them and, for a few minutes, closes the open windows of their home, barring them from returning while hinting that their parents have not been anxiously awaiting them. In those minutes it becomes apparent that this Peter, unlike the earlier Peter Pan, is not only mischievous, but envious and even revengeful.

When Wendy returns to the Darlings house, the first thing she does is to pick up all the “toys,” the tokens of the children’s imagination—including the toy soldiers, the lost boys, the stuffed Nana—pouring them back into the chest to keep them out of reach of their insidious influences.

A pall overcomes the entire work as we realize that Pan, Tinkerbell, and their opponents are now out there, all alone in space. There is no love, not even, any longer, a sense of adventure! Of course he will return to steal away future generations, but in his eternal, darkened childish vision, he will never find the fulfillment of home and hearth.

I cried. I wish I’d had a child along with me to observe and share his or her experiences of this profound version of Barrie’s enduring myth.

Los Angeles, June 22, 2011

Copyright (c) 2011 by Douglas Messerli.