The Unseen Hand was first produced at the La Mama Experimental Theatre Club on Friday, December 26, 1969, with the following cast:
| BLUE MORPHAN: | Beeson Carroll | |
| WILLIE (THE SPACE FREAK): | Lee Kissman | |
| CISCO MORPHAN: | Bernie Warkentin | |
| THE KID: | Sticks Carlton | |
| SYCAMORE MORPHAN: | Victor Eschbach |
The production was directed by Jeff Bleckner.
Center stage is an old ’51 Chevrolet convertible, badly bashed and dented, no tires and the top torn to shreds. On the side of it is written “Kill Azusa” with red spray paint. All around is garbage, tin cans, cardboard boxes, Coca-Cola bottles and other junk. The stage is dark. Sound of a big diesel truck from a distance, then getting louder, then passing with a whoosh. As the sound passes across the stage the beam of the headlights cuts through the dark and passes across the Chevy. Silence. Soft blue moonlight comes up slowly as the sound of another truck repeats, as before, its headlights cutting through the dark. This should be a synchronized tape-light loop which repeats over and over throughout the play—the headlights sweeping past accompanied by the sound of a truck. The lights come up but maintain a full moon kind of light. The whooshing of the trucks and the passing lights keep up. A figure slowly emerges out of the back seat of the Chevy. His name is BLUE MORPHAN. He has a scraggly beard, black overcoat, blue jeans, cowboy boots and hat and a bottle in his hand. He is slightly drunk and talks to an imaginary driver in the front seat.
BLUE: Say listen. Did we pass Cucamunga? Didn’t we already pass it up? Listen. This here is Azusa. We must a’ passed it up. Why don’t ya’ pull up on the embankment there and let me out? Come on now. Fair’s fair. I didn’t stab ya’ or nothin’. Nobody stole yer wallet, did they? OK. So let me out like I ask ya’. That’s it. Atta’ boy. OK. Good. If I had me any loose jingle I’d sure lay it on ya’ fer gas money but I’d like to get me a cup a’ coffee. You know how it is. Thanks, boy.
(He slowly climbs out of the back seat onto the stage, then reaches into the back and pulls out a battered guitar with broken strings.)
If ya’ ever happen through Duarte let me know. Gimme a buzz or something. Drop me a line. ’Course ya’ don’t got the address but that’s all right. Just ask ’em fer Blue Morphan. That’s me. Anyone. Just ask any old body fer old Blue. They’ll tell ya’.
(He pulls out an old dusty suitcase held together with rope and sets it on the ground, then a rifle.)
I ain’t been back there fer quite a spell now but they’ll be able to direct ya’ to the stables all right. Follow the old Union Pacific till ya’ come to Fish Creek. Don’t pick up no longhairs though. Now I warned ya’. OK. OK. Do what ya’ like but I warned ya’.
(He pulls out a broken bicycle, a fishing rod, a lantern, an inner tube, some pipe, a bag full of bolts and other junk. He keeps taking more and more stuff out of the back seat and setting it down on the stage as he talks.)
You been driving long enough by now to tell who to pick up and who to leave lay. But if they got their thumb out you better look ’em over twice. I know. I used to drive a Chevy myself. Good car. Thing is nowadays it ain’t so easy to tell the riff-raff from the gentry. Know what I mean. You can get tricked. They can fool ya’. All kinda’ fancy over-the-head talk and all along they’re workin’ for the government same as you. I mean you might not be. Like me fer instance. I’m a free agent. Used to be a time when I’d take an agency job. Go out and bring in a few bushwackers just for the dinero. Usually a little bonus throwed in. But nowadays ya’ gotta keep to yerself. They got nerve gas right now that can kill a man in thirty seconds. Yup. A drop a’ that on the back of a man’s hand and poof! Thirty seconds. That ain’t all. They got rabbit fever, parrot fever and other stuff stored up. Used to be, a man would have hisself a misunderstanding and go out and settle it with a six-gun. Now it’s all silent, secret. Everything moves like a fever. Don’t know when they’ll cut ya’ down and when they do ya’ don’t know who done it. Don’t mean to get ya’ riled though. Too nice a night fer that. Straight, clean highway all the way from here to Tuba City. Shouldn’t have no trouble. If yer hungry though there’s a Bob’s Big Boy right up the road a piece. I don’t know if ya’ go in fer double-decker cheeseburgers or not but – Listen, tell ya’ what, long as yer hungry I’ll jest come along with ya’ a ways and we’ll chow down together. Sure. Good idea. I ain’t ate since yesterday mornin’ anyhow. Just before ya’ picked me up.
(He starts putting all the junk back into the car.)
Sure is nice of ya’ to help me out this a way. Don’t come across many good old boys these days. Seems like they all got a chip on the shoulder or somethin’. You noticed that? The way they swagger around givin’ ya’ that look. Like ya’ weren’t no more than a road apple or somethin’ worse. If they’d a known me in my prime it might change their tune. Hadn’t a been fer the old hooch here I’d a been in history books by now. Probably am anyhow, under a different name. They never get the name straight. Don’t matter too much anyhow. Least it don’t hurt my feelings none. ’Course yer too young to remember the Morphan brothers probably. Cisco, Sycamore, and me, Blue. The three of us. ’Course we had us a few more. Not a gang exactly. Not like these teenage hot-rodders with their Mercurys and Hudson Hornets. Leastways we wasn’t no menace. The people loved us. The real people I’m talkin’ about. The people people. They helped us out in fact. And vica versa. We’d never go rampant on nobody. Say, you oughta’ get yer tires checked before ya’ go too much further. That left rear one looks a little spongy. Can’t be too careful when yer goin’ a distance. A car’s like a good horse. You take care a’ it and it takes care a’ you.
(WILLIE, the space freak, enters. He is young and dressed in super future clothes, badly worn and torn. Orange tights, pointed shoes, a vinyl vest with a black shirt that comes up like a hood over the back of his head. His skin is badly burned and blistered with red open sores. His head is shaved and there is a black handprint burned into the top of his skull At moments he goes into convulsive fits, his whole body shaking. He staggers on stage. BLUE sees him and stops his babble. They stare at each other for a moment.)
I suppose yer lookin’ fer a handout or somethin’.
(WILLIE just stares, exhausted, his sides heaving. BLUE climbs back into the back seat and disappears. His voice can still be heard.)
That’s the trouble with you kids. Always lookin’ fer a handout. There ain’t nothin’ romantic about panhandlin’, sonny. Ye’ ain’t gonna’ run across the holy grail thataway. Anyhow ya’ come to the wrong place. This here is Azusa, not New York City.
(BLUE’s head pops up from the back seat. He looks at WILLIE still standing there, panting.)
“A,” “Z,” “U,” “S,” “A.” “Everything from ‘A’ to ‘Z’ in the USA.” Azusa. If yer thinking on robbin’ me a’ my worldly possessions yon can take a look for yerself. I been livin’ in this Chevy for twenty years now and I ain’t come across no diamond rings yet.
(He disappears back down in the back seat.)
’Course if ya’ just wanna’ rest that’s a different story. It’s a free highway. Yer welcome to stay a spell. The driver’s seat’s mighty comfortable once ya’ get used to the springs.
WILLIE: You Blue Morphan?
(A pause as BLUE slowly rises, his head coming into view.)
BLUE: What’d you call me?
WILLIE: Is your name Blue Morphan?
BLUE: Look, sonny, nobody knows my name or where I been or where I’m goin’. Now you better trot along.
(He sinks back down.)
WILLIE: I’ve traveled through two galaxies to see you. At least you could hear me out.
(BLUE’s head comes back into view.)
BLUE: You been hittin’ the juice or somethin’? What’s yer name, boy?
WILLIE: They call me Willie.
BLUE: Who’s they?
WILLIE: The High Commission.
BLUE: What’re ya’ shakin for? It’s a warm night. Here. Have a swig a’ this. It’ll put a tingle in ya’.
(He offers WILLIE the bottle.)
WILLIE: No thanks.
BLUE: What, Apple Jack ain’t good enough for ya’, huh? Suppose you run in fancy circles or somethin’. Just a second, just a second.
(He climbs out of the back seat and goes around to the trunk and opens it. He starts rummaging through junk in the trunk as WILLIE stands there shaking.)
Got a couple a’ Navajo blankets here in the back somewheres. Keep ’em special fer when the wind comes up. Sometimes it blows in off the San Joaquin and gets a bit nippy. Ah, here ya’ go. This oughta’ do it.
(He pulls out a dusty Indian blanket from the trunk and takes it over to WILLIE.)
Here ya’ go. Here. Well, take it.
(He offers the blanket to WILLIE, but WILLIE just stares at him, shaking and trembling.)
You sure got yerself a case a’ the DTs there, boy. Here. Wrap this around ya’. Come on now.
(BLUE wraps the blanket around WILLIE’s shoulders, then notices the handprint on his head.)
What’s that ya’ got on yer head there? Some new fashion or somethin’?
WILLIE: The brand.
BLUE: Like they do with steers, ya’ mean? Who done it to ya’?
WILLIE: The Sorcerers of the High Commission. It’s why I’ve come.
BLUE: You better come over here and sit down. I can’t make hide nor hair out a’ what yer sayin’. Come on. Have a seat and collect yerself.
(He leads WILLIE over to the car, opens the front door, and seats him in the driver’s seat. BLUE climbs up on the front fender and sits.)
Now what’s this here High Commission stuff? Why would they wanna’ put a brand on yer head?
WILLIE: I can’t see where I’m driving if you’re going to sit there.
BLUE: Say, what’s yer game, boy? Any fool can see this Chevy ain’t got no wheels.
WILLIE: We used to shoot deer and strap them over the hood.
BLUE: Forget the deer. What’s this brand business?
WILLIE: I’ve been zeroed.
BLUE: What’s that mean?
WILLIE: Whenever I think beyond a certain circumference of a certain circle there’s a hand that squeezes my brain.
BLUE: What hand?
WILLIE: It’s been burned in. You can’t see it now. All you can see is the scar.
BLUE: And this High Commission fella did this to ya’?
WILLIE: It’s not a fella. It’s a body. Nobody ever sees it. Just the sorcerers.
BLUE: Who’s that?
WILLIE: Black magicians who know the secrets of the Nogo.
BLUE: I’ll have to make a left turn on that one, sonny. I’m a simple man. I eat simple. I talk simple and I think simple.
WILLIE: That’s why we need you.
BLUE: We?
WILLIE: The prisoners of the Diamond Cult.
BLUE: Just talk. I’ll listen.
WILLIE: I am descended from a race of mandrills. Fierce baboons that were forced into human form by the magic of the Nogo. It was decided since we were so agile and efficient at sorting out diamonds for the Silent Ones that we could be taken a step further into human form and tested as though we were still baboons but give results in the tests as though we were humans.
BLUE: What kinda’ tests?
WILLIE: Mind warps. Time splits. Electro-laser fields. Dimensional overlays. Spatial projections. Force fields.
BLUE: But you think like a man?
WILLIE: And feel. This was a mistake the sorcerers had not counted on. They wanted an animal to develop that was slightly subhuman, thereby to maintain full control over its psychosomatic functions. The results were something of the opposite. We developed as superhuman entities with capacities for thought and feeling far beyond that of our captors. In order to continue their tests they needed an invention to curtail our natural reasoning processes. They came up with the Unseen Hand, a muscle-contracting syndrome hooked up to the will of the Silent Ones. Whenever our thoughts transcend those of the magicians the Hand squeezes down and forces our minds to contract into nonpreoccupation.
BLUE: What’s that like?
WILLIE: Living death. Sometimes when one of us tries to fight the Hand or escape its control, like me, we are punished by excruciating muscle spasms and nightmare visions. Blood pours past my eyes and smoke fills up my brain.
BLUE: What do ya’ want me to do about all this? I’m just a juicer on the way out.
WILLIE: You’re more than that. The sorcerers and the Silent Ones of the High Commission have lost all touch with human emotion. They exist in almost a purely telepathic intellectual state. That is why they can still exert control over our race. You and your brothers are part of another world, far beyond anything the High Commission has experienced. If you came into Nogoland blazing your six-guns they wouldn’t have any idea how to deal with you. All their technology and magic would be a total loss. You would be too real for their experience.
BLUE: Now hold on there, whatever yer name is.
WILLIE: Willie.
BLUE: Yeah. Well, first off, my brothers are dead. Cisco and Sycamore was gunned down in 1886.
WILLIE: It doesn’t matter.
BLUE: Well, unless yer counting on bringin’ ’em back from the grave it matters a whole lot.
WILLIE: That’s exactly what I’m counting on.
(BLUE jumps down from the fender and grabs the rifle. He points it at WILLIE.)
BLUE: All right, wiseacre. Outa’ the car. Come on or I’ll plug ya’ right here on the spot.
WILLIE: You can’t plug me, Blue. I don’t die.
BLUE: Not ever?
WILLIE: Never.
BLUE: Then how come yer so scared to take on them High Commandos yer own self?
WILLIE: Because of the Hand.
(WILLIE goes into a violent spasm, clutching his head in agony. BLUE drops the rifle and goes to WILLIE. He pulls him out of the car and sets him on the ground.)
BLUE: Now stop jumpin’ around, yer makin’ me nervous. Just settle down. You want the cops to catch us?
(WILLIE writhes on the ground and screams phrases and words as though warding off some unseen terror.)
WILLIE: Wind refraction! Cyclone riff! Get off the rim! Off the rim!
BLUE: What’s with you, boy?
WILLIE: The latitudinal’s got us! Now! Now! Smoke it up! Smoke him! Gyration forty zero two nodes! Two nodes! You got the wrong mode! Wrong! Correction! Correct that! Step! Stop it! Modulate eighty y’s west! Keep it west! Don’t let up the field rays! Keep it steady on! Harmonic rhythm scheme! Harmony four! Discord! You got it! Aaah! Aaaaaaaah! Let up! Extract! Implode! Bombard the picture! The picture! Image contact! Major! Minor! Loop syndrome! Drone up! Full drone wave! Now! Oooooh! Just about! Just about! Crystallize fragment mirror! Keep it keen! Sharpen that focus! Hypo filament! Didactachrome! Resolve! Resolve! Resolve! Reverb! Fuzz tone! Don’t let the feedback in! Feed it back! Keep your back up! Back it up! Reverse foliage meter! Fauna scope. Graphic tableau. Gramophonic display key. All right. All right. Now raise the horizon. Good. Moon. Planets in place. Heliographic perspective. Atmosphere checking cool. Galactic four count. Star meter gazing central focus. Beam to head on sunset. Systol reading ace in. Dystol balance. Treble boost. All systems baffled. Baffled.
(WILLIE goes unconscious. CISCO MORPHAN enters. He wears a serape, jeans, cowboy hat and boots, a bandanna on his head, a rifle and a handgun. He has long black hair and a scraggly beard. He is younger than BLUE by about twenty years.)
CISCO: Blue!
(He goes to BLUE with his arms out.)
Well, don’t ya’ recognize me, boy? It’s me! Cisco. Yer brother. Yer mean ornery old flesh and blood.
BLUE: Just stand back, mister. I’m gettin’ rid a’ this right now.
(He throws his bottle behind the car and holds his rifle on CISCO.)
CISCO: Still foxy as ever, ain’t ya’. Better watch out that thing don’t go off by accident. Let a gun go to rustin’ like that and ya’ never can tell what it’s liable to do.
BLUE: It’s plenty greased enough to open daylight in the likes of an impostor.
CISCO: Oh. So ya’ don’t believe it’s really me, huh. Let’s see. What if I was to show ya’ some honest to God proof of the puddin’?
BLUE: Like what, fer instance?
CISCO: Like say a knife scar ya’ gave me fer my sixteenth birthday in Tuscaloosa.
BLUE: That’d do just fine.
CISCO: All right. Now you hold yer fire there while I get outa’ my poncho.
BLUE: Just hurry it up.
(CISCO sets down his rifle and starts taking off his serape as BLUE holds the rifle on him.)
CISCO: Yeah, I guess yer plenty busy nowadays.
BLUE: How da ya’ mean? Keep yer hand away from that pistol.
CISCO: There we go. Now. Take a looksee.
(CISCO takes off his poncho and shows BLUE a long scar going from the middle of his back all the way around to his chest. BLUE examines it closely.)
What ya’ got to say now? Ain’t that the mark ya’ give me with yer very own fishing knife?
BLUE: Sure beats the hell outa’ me.
CISCO: If yer satisfied why don’t ya’ do me a favor and lower that buffalo gun.
(BLUE lowers his rifle as CISCO puts his poncho back on.)
BLUE: But you and Sycamore was gunned down in the street right in broad daylight. I was there.
CISCO: You escaped. Sycamore should be comin’ up any second now.
BLUE: I don’t get it, Cisco. What’s goin’ on?
CISCO: Seems there’s certain unfinished business. This must be the fella here.
BLUE: You know this looney?
CISCO: Let’s take a look. He ain’t dead, is he?
(CISCO leans over WILLIE and looks at his face.)
BLUE: Damned if I can tell. He just shows up outa’ the clear blue and starts to jawin’ about outer space and High Commancheros and what all. I can’t make it out.
CISCO: He came alone?
BLUE: So far. First him and then you. You know somethin’ I don’t, Cisco?
CISCO: All I know is that I was summoned up. Me, you, and Sycamore is gonna’ be back in action before too long. And this here dude is gonna set us straight on what the score is.
BLUE: What score? I settled up all my debts a long time ago. I hunted down every last one a’ them varmints what got you and Sycamore. I’m an old man, Cisco.
CISCO: There’s other upstarts seems to be jammin’ up the works. Besides, I’ll be glad to see a little action for a change. I been hibernatin’ for too long now. You got any grub layin’ around here somewhere?
BLUE: Best I can do is Campbell’s Pork and Beans, Cisco. Have to be cold outa’ the can too. Can’t make no fires on account a’ the Highway Patrol.
CISCO: What’s that?
BLUE: The law. Like the old Texas Rangers, ’cept they got cars now.
(BLUE goes to the car and opens the trunk. He rummages around for a can of beans.)
CISCO: Well, looks like you got yerself a nice enough campsite. What’s this here rig?
BLUE: Fifty-one Chevy. Don’t make ’em like this anymore. Now they got dual headlights, twin exhausts, bucket seats, wraparound windshields and what all. Extra junk to make it look fancy. Don’t go no better though.
(CISCO sits in the driver’s seat and turns the steering wheel.)
CISCO: Must take a hefty team to pull this load. What’s it made out of, iron or somethin’?
BLUE: It drives itself, boy. This here is a gasoline, internal combustion six banger. Don’t need no team a’ horses.
(He pulls out a can of beans and walks around to CISCO.)
CISCO: I’ll be damned. And this here is what ya’ guide it with, I’ll bet.
BLUE: You got it. Here. There’s a can opener in the glove compartment.
CISCO: What’s that?
BLUE: That little door over there. Ya’ just push the button and she flaps open.
CISCO: I’ll be damned. Keep gloves in there, do ya’?
(He opens the glove compartment and takes out a can opener and some other junk.)
BLUE: Here, ya’ better let me handle it for ya’.
(BLUE takes the can and the can opener and opens the can of beans.)
CISCO: How fast can ya’ go with one a these here?
BLUE: Some of ’em’ll do over a hundred mile an hour.
CISCO: What’s that mean, Blue?
BLUE: That means in an hour’s time if you keep yer boot stomped down on that pedal you’ll have covered a hundred mile a’ territory.
CISCO: Whooeee! Sure beats hell out of a quarter horse, don’t it?
BLUE: You better believe it.
CISCO: What’s these buttons for?
(He pulls a button and the headlights go on.)
BLUE: Don’t pull that! Push that back in. You want the fuzz down on our necks?
(CISCO pushes the button back in and the lights go out.)
I just get the damn battery charged so’s I can listen to a little radio and you wanna go and run the damn thing down again. Here’s yer beans.
(He hands CISCO the can of beans.)
CISCO: Thanks, boy. How come yer so scared a’ the law all of a sudden?
BLUE: It ain’t so sudden as all that. I’m goin’ on a hundred and twenty years old now. Thanks to modern medicine.
CISCO: That a fact? Sure kept yerself fit, Blue.
BLUE: Well, you live on the lam like I have for a while and you gotta keep yer wits about ya’.
CISCO: What’s this radio thing yer talking about?
BLUE: That second knob on yer right. Just turn it a click. It’s already set up for Moon Channel.
(CISCO turns the radio on. Rock and roll or news or any random radio station comes on soft. It should be a real radio and not a tape.)
CISCO: I’ll be damned.
BLUE: Just keep it soft.
CISCO: Where’s it comin’ from, Blue?
BLUE: Up there. They got a station up there now.
(He points to the moon.)
CISCO: The moon? Yer pullin’ my leg.
BLUE: Things’ve changed since you was last here, boy.
CISCO: How’d they get up there?
BLUE: Rocket ship. Damnedest thing ya’ ever did see. Taller than a twenty-story office building.
CISCO: How’d they get back?
BLUE: Come right down plop in the ocean. Some of ’em stay up there, though. Don’t know what they all do. I’ve heard tell they travel to Mars and Venus, different planets like that.
CISCO: All in a rocket ship thing?
BLUE: Yep.
CISCO: Don’t they like it down here no more?
BLUE: The earth’s gettin’ cramped, boy. There’s lots more people now. They’re lookin’ for new territory to spread out to. I hear tell they’ve sent prisoners up there too. ’Stead a’ sendin’ ’em to jail. They don’t hang no one no more. Just strand ’em high and dry on a planet somewheres in space. Probably where this critter come from.
CISCO: Wonder what’s keepin’ Sycamore.
BLUE: What makes ya’ so sure he’s comin’?
CISCO: Has to. Same as me. He’s been summoned up.
BLUE: How’s that work?
CISCO: Some voice wakes ya’ up. I don’t know. Just like you been sleepin’ or somethin’. ’Fore you know it yer movin’ and walkin’ and talkin’ just like always. Hard to get used to at first. Anyhow I’m glad I’m back.
BLUE: Me too, boy. Sure gets lonely on yer own all the time.
CISCO: Well, before you know it we’ll be back together just like old times. Robbin’, rapin’ and killin’.
BLUE: Yeah boy!
(A drunken high-school cheerleader kid comes on yelling. He has a blond crewcut and a long cheerleader’s sweater with a huge “A” printed on it. He holds a huge megaphone to his lips. His pants are pulled down around his ankles. His legs are red and bleeding and look as though they’ve been whipped with a belt. He has white tennis shoes on. He yells through the megaphone to an unseen gang of a rival high school in the distance behind the audience. He doesn’t notice BLUE and CISCO.)
KID: You motherfuckers are dead! You’re as good as dead! Just wait till Friday night! We’re going to wipe your asses off the map! There won’t even be an Arcadia High left! You think you’re all so fuckin’ bitchin’ just ’cause your daddies are rich! Just ’cause your old man gives you a fuckin’ full-blown Corvette for Christmas and a credit card! You think your girls are so tough-looking! They’re fucking dogs! I wouldn’t fuck an Arcadia girl if she bled out her asshole! You punk faggots shouldn’t even be in the same league as us! The Rio Hondo belongs to us! You’re gonna’ go fucking scoreless Friday night and I’m gonna’ be right there cheering and seeing it all happen! Then we’re gonna’ burn your fucking grandstand to the ground! Right to the fucking ground! Then we’re gonna’ burn a huge “A” for Azusa right in the middle of your fucking field. Right on the fifty-yard line!
(He wheels around and faces BLUE and CISCO.)
What’re you looking at? You think it’s funny or something? What the fuck are you looking at? You wanna’ make something out of it? You wanna’ put your money where your mouth is? Come on! Come on! Try me! You think I’m funny-looking? Come on!
BLUE: I don’t know, Cisco. This used to be a quiet little highway.
KID: What’d you say, old man? What’d you say? I’ll kill you if you say one more word! I’ll fucking kill you!
CISCO: Better watch that kinda’ tongue, boy. This here’s my brother Blue yer talkin’ at.
KID: What’re you, some hippie creep? I can smell you all the way over here! I’ll kill you too! I’ll kill both of you!
CISCO: Better pull yer pants up and head home, boy.
KID: Don’t tell me what to do, you commie faggot! I’ll fucking kill you!
(He takes a leap toward CISCO. CISCO draws his pistol lightning fast. The kid stops still.)
CISCO: Now look, boy. I ain’t in the habit of shootin’ down unarmed infants, but yer startin’ to grate on me. Now git home before this thing goes off.
(The KID crumples to the ground sobbing.)
KID: I can’t! It’s too late now. They grabbed me. Right after the rally. They got me and took me up Lookout Point and whipped me with a belt. They tried to paint my balls black but I wouldn’t let them. I fought. I kicked. They stuck a Tampax up me. Right up me. I tried to stop them. I yelled. There were some cars. A couple cars. Girls making out with the fullback and the quarterback. But they turned their lights on and left. They could’ve helped. At least they could’ve helped me. I cheered for them plenty of times. Plenty of games. The least they could’ve done – just because I couldn’t make second string. I could’ve played Junior Varsity but I decided to be a cheerleader instead. They could’ve helped me. The least they could’ve done.
CISCO: OK. OK. Why don’t ya’ just go home now and sleep it off.
KID: I can’t! It’s too late. My old man’ll beat the shit out of me. It’s after two. He won’t let me use the car for a month. I can’t go home. Let me stay here. Please. Let me. Please.
BLUE: Might as well. What’s one more looney.
CISCO: We got business to set straight here, Blue.
BLUE: He won’t get in the way. Let him stay.
CISCO: All right. But keep to yerself over in the corner there.
KID: Thanks.
(The KID stands up and moves upstage left.)
CISCO: And pull yer pants up, fer Christ’s sake.
KID: It stings too bad.
CISCO: All right.
(The KID throws down his megaphone and starts stomping on it violently.)
KID: I’m never going to lead another cheer! Never! Not for them or anybody else! Never! Never! Never! Never! Never! Never! Never! Never! Never!
BLUE: Atta boy. Get it outa’ yer system.
KID: I’ll just stay over near the drainage ditch there. I won’t get in your way. I promise.
CISCO: Good.
KID: If those Arcadia guys come by here don’t tell them where I am, OK?
CISCO: OK.
(The KID turns to go off left, then stops.)
KID: Oh, would you mind waking me up in the morning? I don’t usually get up too easy.
BLUE: Don’t worry, you’ll hear the traffic.
KID: Thanks.
BLUE: Sweet dreams, boy.
(The KID goes off.)
CISCO: Boy, howdy, what’d I miss all them years?
BLUE: A whole lot, Cisco. A whole lot. Things change overnight now. One day there’s a President, the next day he gets shot, the next day the guy what shot him gets shot.
CISCO: No foolin’.
BLUE: Next day they outlaw guns and replace ’em with nerve gas. Stuff can turn a full-grown man into a blithering fool. Then they change the government from capitalism to socialism because the government’s afraid of a full-blown insurrection. Then they have a revolution anyhow and things stay just like they was.
(WILLIE rolls over and speaks on his back lying down.)
WILLIE: Cisco?
CISCO: That’s me.
WILLIE: You made it. Good. Sycamore here yet?
CISCO: Not yet. Should be soon though.
(WILLIE sits up.)
BLUE: You feelin’ better now, boy? That was some awful fit ya’ had there.
WILLIE: Get prepared to see worse.
BLUE: Why? You plannin’ on flippin’ out some more?
WILLIE: In Nogoland there’s men walking around with their brains eaten out, skinless, eyes turned inside out, frozen in pictures of terror. Men walking day and night like dogs on the end of a leash. You’d be happy if the worst you saw there was “flipping out,” as you say.
CISCO: What’s the scoop, Willie?
BLUE: How’d you know his name?
WILLIE: Long before we turned human, the magicians introduced us to the mysteries of telepathy, Blue. Your brother is able to know and understand things that he himself won’t have the answers to.
BLUE: Well, how ’bout me? Why don’t ya’ clue me in on a few secrets?
WILLIE: It will take time. First of all you must undergo temporal rearrangement.
BLUE: I don’t get ya’.
CISCO: Yeah. Keep it simple, Willie.
WILLIE: Your brain has undergone cell breakdown with age and time, Blue. We have to regroup your temporal field to make you young enough to again become sensitive to telepathic and extrasensory reception.
BLUE: Yer gonna’ make me young?
WILLIE: That’s right.
CISCO: How ’bout that.
BLUE: I don’t exactly know if I go fer that idea. I been on a long hard road fer so long now it feels kinda’ good to know it’s drawin’ to a close. Now ya’ want me to go through it all over again?
WILLIE: Whenever you want it, the scheme can be reversed back to your normal earth age. But for now we must transform you, for it’s the only hope for the prisoners of Nogoland.
BLUE: Who are these dudes exactly? I don’t even know if I like ’em yet.
WILLIE: People, like you and me, but with a strange history and stranger powers. These powers could work for the good of mankind if allowed to unfold into their natural creativity. But if they continue as they are they will surely work for evil, or, worse, they will turn it on themselves and commit a horrible mass suicide that may destroy the universe.
BLUE: Well, you seem like a decent enough Joe. What’ve I got to lose?
WILLIE: Fine.
CISCO: Good boy.
BLUE: How do I start?
CISCO: Sit down here in front of me.
(WILLIE sits with his feet out.)
BLUE: Right here? Like this?
(BLUE sits with his feet out facing WILLIE.)
WILLIE: That’s right. Now push your feet against the soles of my feet. Real hard
BLUE: Like this?
(BLUE presses his feet against WILLIE’S.)
WILLIE: Press hard. Now grab my hands and squeeze.
(BLUE follows WILLIE’S directions.)
BLUE: This ain’t gonna hurt, is it?
WILLIE: Not a bit. You’ll feel an interior shrinkage as your organs rearrange themselves and grow stronger, but don’t panic. Just push with your feet and grip my hands firmly.
BLUE: OK.
CISCO: Hang on, Blue. Yer halfway home.
(WILLIE goes into another seizure but different this time. It’s as though thousands of electric volts were being transmitted from WILLIE to BLUE. It should look like waves of shock being transformed. First WILLIE trembles and shakes violently, then BLUE. BLUE gradually becomes younger until at the end he is a young man of about thirty.)
WILLIE: The truth of the spinning fire wheel! Steel brings you close! Strength in the steel! Strengthen! Electric smoking man power! The strength of a man! Power in the man! Tower of power! Texaco sucks! Texas man! Longhorn panhandle tough cowboy leather man! Send him home! Where the buffalo roam! It’s daytime! It’s bright day! Truth in the sun! Sun play! Mexican silver stud! Proud of his pride! Proud guy! Tall and lean and mean! Look out, Tuba City! Look out, down-and-out crumpled-up muffled old bad guy! Here’s screaming new blood! A flood of new blood screaming straight to your raggedy heart! Churning new blood flooding your mind up! Sending you zigzag straight to your heart! Aaaaaaaah! Gyrode screen! The Hand! The Hand’s got me, Blue! The Hand!
BLUE: Hang on, Willie. I’ll see ya’ through it.
(BLUE grips WILLIE’s hands tighter and pushes hard with his legs as WILLIE twists and grimaces trying to ward off the Hand.)
WILLIE: No! No! Diminish laser count! Aaaaaah!
CISCO: Hang on, Blue! Don’t let him go!
WILLIE: My brain! It’s squeezing my brain!
BLUE: Hold his head, Cisco! Grab his head!
(CISCO puts both hands on WILLIE’s head and presses down.)
WILLIE: Gamma build-up! System burn! Burning! Cell damage to block unit! Can’t see! Can’t see! They’ve smoked it good this time! Black wire smoke burn! There’s a fire in code D! Disorient power pack! Aaaaaaaaaaah! Fading!
(He shakes violently, then goes limp and unconscious as before. CISCO lowers his head to the ground as BLUE releases his grip. BLUE is now much younger than before. HE stands.)
CISCO: Poor devil.
BLUE: He’ll be all right in a little while. The same thing happened to him before you came. Anyway, it worked.
CISCO: What?
BLUE: I’m young. Least I feel young. I still know it’s me and everything but I feel much stronger. Tough, like I used to be.
CISCO: Hot damn! We’re getting close now, Blue. It won’t be long.
(BLUE lets out a yell, takes a run across the stage and does a somersault.)
How ’bout that.
(CISCO takes a run and does a somersault right next to BLUE. BLUE stands and starts singing “Rock Around the Clock.” CISCO stands and joins him, dancing around and doing the twist and all that jive.)
CISCO & BLUE: One for the money. Two for the show. Three to get ready. Now go man go. We’re gonna’ rock around the clock tonight. We’re gonna’ rock, rock, rock until the broad daylight. We’re gonna’ rock, gonna’ rock around the clock.…
(SYCAMORE MORPHAN appears opposite them. They freeze. SYCAMORE’s very tall and slick. Dressed like Bat Masterson with black tails, black hat, black vest, white shirt with ruffled cuffs and diamond cufflinks, black boots, black leather gloves and black cane with a diamond-studded handle and a pearl-handled revolver tied down to his hip in a black holster. He just stands staring at his two brothers.)
BLUE: Sycamore.
CISCO: Hey, boy. Where you been? We been waitin’ and waitin’.
(SYCAMORE sidles over to WILLIE and pokes him with his cane.)
BLUE: Thought you was probably lost or somethin’.
CISCO: Yeah. Don’t know why we’d figure that though, since you know the trails better than any of us.
(Uneasy silence as SYCAMORE moves to the Chevy and pokes it with his cane, scanning the area with his eyes. He is cold and mean. He reaches in the car and turns the radio off with a sharp snap.)
BLUE: Sure is good to see us all back together again, though. Boy howdy, how long’s it been, anyhow?
CISCO: Must be goin’ on a hundred some-odd years, I’ll bet.
BLUE: Sure. Must be that. At least a hundred.
CISCO: Yer lookin’ mighty fit, Sycamore. Just like old times.
(SYCAMORE turns to them swinging his cane.)
SYCAMORE: Was there some specific reason behind choosing a rendezvous point right on the open highway?
BLUE: This here’s Azusa, Sycamore. “Everything from A to Z in the USA.” Nothing hardly but rock quarries and cement factories here. All the traffic dies down at night on account of most of the vehicles is trucks carrying gravel and they don’t work at night.
SYCAMORE: The sun don’t rise on Azusa, huh.
BLUE: Well, sure. But we’ll be outa’ here by then.
CISCO: Yeah, we should be long gone by mornin’.
SYCAMORE: I guess you boys know exactly where you’re goin’, then, and how you’re gettin’ there.
CISCO: Well, not exactly. But Willie’s gotta set us straight soon as he comes to.
SYCAMORE: I reckon he’s got you all set up with enough guns and provisions, then, huh.
BLUE: Hadn’t thought a’ that one.
CISCO: Well, we all got guns, ain’t we? I got mine.
(SYCAMORE takes out a cheroot and lights it.)
SYCAMORE: We just meet ’em in the street, then, huh? Like old times. A showdown.
CISCO: Yeah, why not?
BLUE: I see what Sycamore’s drivin’ at, Cisco. There’s only three of us with pistols against hundreds, maybe thousands.
CISCO: So what. We used to bring a whole town to a standstill just by ridin’ in. They used to roll out the carpet for the Morphan brothers.
BLUE: This ain’t a town Willie’s talkin’ about, it’s a whole country, maybe even a whole planet. We ain’t in the movies, ya’ know.
CISCO: So what do you suggest we do?
BLUE: Round up some more men maybe.
CISCO: Why don’t we wake Willie up and ask him.
SYCAMORE: I say we forget it.
(A pause as they both look at SYCAMORE.)
BLUE: The whole thing?
SYCAMORE: Why not? We don’t stand a chance of freeing those baboons.
BLUE: But they ain’t baboons anymore, Sycamore. They’re human beings just like us.
CISCO: Yeah.
SYCAMORE: So what?
BLUE: They’re bein’ tortured and stuff. Brainwashed or somethin’. Experimented on.
SYCAMORE: What’s that got to do with us? We’re free now. We been brought back to life. What do you want to throw it away for a bunch of baboons? Look, I say we split up, go our different ways and lay low for a while. Then we meet up again in Tuba City or somewhere on the North Platte. That way it’ll give us time to think things over.
CISCO: What things?
SYCAMORE: Reorganizing the gang, you pinhead. The Morphan brothers ride again, except this time in a whole different century. This time we don’t make no mistakes. We stick to trains and forget about banks and post offices.
BLUE: There ain’t no trains no more, Sycamore. Just planes and hover-crafts and such like.
SYCAMORE: What’re you talkin’ about?
BLUE: There ain’t no trains to rob no more. Besides, we can’t ditch Willie like that. He just give me back my youth. I can’t go walkin’ out on him.
SYCAMORE: No trains?
CISCO: Yeah, I feel kinda’ bad about that too. I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for him. You neither, Sycamore.
SYCAMORE: No trains.
BLUE: I say we stay and see it through.
(WILLIE comes to.)
WILLIE: It’s up to you. What Sycamore says is true. Why should you feel responsible for some species of hybrid in another galaxy? You could stay here and be free. Live like you want to.
CISCO: You mean you wouldn’t mind if we took off on ya’?
WILLIE: I can’t force you to help us. It must be left to your own conscience. All I can do is to try to persuade you to come.
SYCAMORE: No trains.
BLUE: Oh, this here’s my brother Sycamore, Willie.
WILLIE: I know. I’m happy you came.
SYCAMORE: They got trains where you come from?
WILLIE: They used to have a system underground but it’s long been made obsolete.
SYCAMORE: It’s still there though?
WILLIE: Yes. As far as I know.
SYCAMORE: And it connects to all the parts of the city where these prisoners are?
WILLIE: Yes. I think it must. Throughout the whole planet, I think.
BLUE: What you gettin’ at, Sycamore?
SYCAMORE: Sounds to me like it could be used as an escape route.
CISCO: Then we’re goin’ then! Waaaahoooo! Attaboy, Sycamore! I always knew ya’ had a soft spot.
SYCAMORE: Well, if there’s no trains here we might as well go there.
BLUE: Hot dog!
WILLIE: Good. Let me show you a plan of Nogoland.
(WILLIE stands and draws a huge map with his finger on the floor of the stage. As he indicates lines, different colored lines of light appear on the floor as though they emanated from the tip of his finger. The other three watch as WILLIE describes Nogoland and draws the map accordingly.)
In the northeastern sector is the Capitol, as you would say, contained in a transparent dome permitting temperature and atmosphere control. It is here that the Silent Ones conduct their affairs of state. Only members of the High Commission and Sorcerer Chiefs are allowed passage to and from the Capitol. Over here in the southwestern sector are the Diamond Fields where slaves work day and night under constant guard by the soldiers of the Raven Cult.
BLUE: Who’re they?
WILLIE: Fierce morons cloaked in black capes. They ride on huge black ravens which continually fly over the area, patrolling and keeping a constant eye out for the possibility of an uprising amongst the slaves. Here in the west are the laboratories of the Sorcerers of the Nogo. Here is where my friends are kept. They are also watched by Raven guards but the control is not so heavy there since the power of the Unseen Hand is believed to be security enough.
SYCAMORE: What’s in the middle?
WILLIE: Huge refineries and industrial compounds for the processing of the diamonds. It is here that the biggest and best diamonds are culled out of the crop.
BLUE: What do they do with them?
WILLIE: Each year a Great Game is played with the people of Zeron, a competition of some kind. The winner is allowed to extend the boundaries of his domain into the loser’s territory and rule the people within that new area. The loser must also pay off the winner with certain secret information of magical knowledge.
SYCAMORE: What about the south?
WILLIE: A vast primitive region of swamps and lagoons. We must enter Nogoland by this route since we’ll surely be spotted by Raven guards if we attempt to come in from the north.
BLUE: What’s up there?
WILLIE: Desert. Nothing. The sky never changes. No day and no night. No atmosphere of any kind. Not even craters to break up the landscape. We would surely be seen.
SYCAMORE: How do they get back and forth from these different areas?
WILLIE: Only certain chosen ones are allowed to travel at all. These do so by means of teleportation. They beam themselves into a chosen area by displacing their bodies.
SYCAMORE: Does this underground railroad you’re talkin’ about go into the south there?
WILLIE: Just about. We’ll have to be extra careful once we arrive there, though.
WILLIE: This region is inhabited by the Lagoon Baboon, another experiment on our race. He watches over the Lower Regions and is also controlled by the Hand.
SYCAMORE: Uh, don’t anybody let on to it but we’re being watched.
BLUE: What do you mean?
SYCAMORE: Don’t turn around. Act like we’re still talkin’ about the map. He’s over behind the car. I’ll try to circle around behind him.
CISCO: How ya’ gonna’ do that without him seein’ ya’?
SYCAMORE: I’ll go off like I’m goin’ to take a leak, then come up behind him. You stay here and keep talkin’. Just act natural.
BLUE: OK.
CISCO: So ya’ say this here Lagoon Baboon’s an ornery critter, eh Willie?
WILLIE: Yes. Very ornery, as you say. He can eat three times his weight in human flesh in less time than it would take you to eat a doughnut.
SYCAMORE: Well listen, I gotta’ go see a man about a horse so why don’t you fellas carry on here.
BLUE: OK, Sycamore. Don’t get it caught in the zipper now.
(SYCAMORE exits. The rest continue to act “natural.”)
CISCO: Sounds to me like this Nogoland’s a pretty depressing place. Don’t they ever have no fun? No rodeos or nothin’?
BLUE: Yeah. What about that, Willie?
WILLIE: Twice a year they hold tournaments where my people are pitted against beasts from other galaxies. Also robots and androids are programmed to fight my people in the Gaming Arena.
BLUE: Where’s that at?
WILLIE: Right here in the east.
(He draws another area of light with his finger.)
Many of my people are slaughtered each year in the tournaments.
CISCO: Don’t they ever win?
WILLIE: It has only happened once and the Silent Ones were so impressed and stunned that they allowed the man his freedom but kept him still under the control of the Hand.
BLUE: Well, what happened to him? Where’s he now?
WILLIE: Right here. It is me they set free.
CISCO: You? Hot dog! You must be a mean hombre, Willie.
BLUE: But how come they let you go?
WILLIE: The Silent Ones believed I could not survive the Southland and the Lagoon Baboon. Plus they still had control over me with the Hand. They thought if I was to return to my people I would cause trouble, so rather than kill me they played another game.
(Voice of the KID yelling from behind the car. He comes out into the open with his hands raised and his pants still down and SYCAMORE right behind him with his gun out.)
KID: Wait a minute! Wait a minute! Please. I didn’t mean to bother you. I just couldn’t sleep and I heard you talking so I came over. I just wanted to listen.
SYCAMORE: He’s heard the whole shootin’ match.
CISCO: I told you once, boy. How come you didn’t listen?
KID: I know, but I can help you. I want to come with you.
SYCAMORE: I say we put a bullet through his head.
BLUE: Now wait a minute, Sycamore.
WILLIE: What makes you say you could help us?
KID: I know about that kind of fighting. I learned it in school.
SYCAMORE: Come on. He’s seen our whole hand.
BLUE: Hear him out.
KID: Three things: Constant movement, absolute mistrust, and eternal vigilance. Movement: that is, never stay put; never spend two nights in the same place; never stop moving from one place to another. Mistrust: at the beginning mistrust even your own shadow, friendly peasants, informants, guides, contacts; mistrust everything until you hold a liberated zone. Vigilance: constant guard duty, constant reconnaissance; establishment of a camp in a safe place, and, above all, never sleep beneath a roof, never sleep in a house where you can be surrounded.
CISCO: I’ll be damned.
WILLIE: And how does this apply to our mission? We go to free prisoners, not to start a revolution.
CISCO: Yeah.
KID: The two are inseparable. Freedom and revolution are inextricably bound up. To free the oppressed you must get rid of the oppressor.
This constitutes revolution. And the surest means to victory is guerrilla warfare. This has held true for hundreds of years.
WILLIE: Then you see no other way to liberate my people than to make war with the Silent Ones?
KID: Exactly.
SYCAMORE: Keep those hands up.
CISCO: And pull up yer pants, fer Christ’s sake.
(The KID goes to pull up his pants.)
SYCAMORE: I told ya’ to keep yer hands raised.
KID: Well, I can’t do both.
BLUE: Let him pull up his pants, Sycamore.
SYCAMORE: This here is a spy in case you forgot. I say we plug him right here and now.
BLUE: And I say we let him pull up his doggone pants!
CISCO: What do you say, Willie?
WILLIE: I have come to find any means possible to free my people. If he has information we should listen.
SYCAMORE: OK. But keep yer hands high, mister.
(The KID talks with his hands raised and his pants down. The others listen.)
KID: First of all you need more men. A guerrilla unit should be small but four or five is not enough to be fully effective.
BLUE: Well, let’s see, there’s Red Diamond.
CISCO: And Slim and Shadow. We could get them easy.
SYCAMORE: What about Fatback?
CISCO: Yeah. And then there’s Sloe Gin Martin, Cat Man Kelly, Booger Montgomery, the Mouse, Mojo Moses—
KID: That’s enough. Ten to fifteen is all you’ll need in the initial stages. It’s important to remember that what you’re organizing is more than a gang of bandits. Guerrilla warfare is a war of the masses, a war of the people. The guerrilla band is an armed nucleus, the fighting vanguard of the people. It draws its great force from the mass of the people themselves. Bandit gangs have all the characteristics of a guerrilla army, homogeneity, respect for the leader, valor, knowledge of the ground and often even good understanding of the tactics to be employed. The only thing missing is support of the people, and inevitably these gangs are captured and exterminated by the public force.
WILLIE: But the people you speak of, the masses, in this case are all held prisoner.
KID: Then you must liberate a few for reinforcements.
BLUE: How?
KID: Hit and run, wait, lie in ambush, again hit and run, and thus repeatedly, without giving any rest to the enemy. The blows should be continuous. The enemy ought not to be allowed to sleep. At every moment the impression ought to be created that he is surrounded by a complete circle.
SYCAMORE: Keep those hands high.
WILLIE: Go on.
KID: Acts of sabotage are very important. It is necessary to distinguish between sabotage and terrorism, a measure that is generally ineffective and indiscriminate in its results, since it often makes victims of innocent people and destroys a large number of lives that would be valuable to the revolution. Sabotage should be of two types: sabotage on a national scale against determined objectives, and local sabotage against lines of combat. Sabotage on a national scale should be aimed principally at destroying communications. The guerrilla is a night combatant. He thrives in the dark, while the enemy is afraid of the dark. He must be cunning and able to march unnoticed to the place of attack, across plains or mountains, and then fall upon the enemy, taking advantage of the factor of surprise. After causing panic by this surprise he should launch himself into the fight implacably without permitting a single weakness in his companions and taking advantage of every sign of weakness in the enemy. Striking like a tornado, destroying all, giving no quarter unless the tactical circumstances call for it, judging those who must be judged, sowing panic among the enemy, he nevertheless treats defenseless prisoners benevolently and shows respect for the dead.
BLUE: Now I say we let him pull his pants up.
CISCO: Yeah, let him, Sycamore. What the hell.
SYCAMORE: All right. Pull ’em up but nice and slow.
(The KID very slowly bends down and goes to pull up his pants. He gets them halfway up, then suddenly kicks SYCAMORE in the balls and grabs his gun. SYCAMORE falls on the round holding his crotch and groaning. The KID holds the gun on all of them.)
CISCO: What the hell!
KID: All right! Now up, all of you! Get your hands up! Don’t try anything or I’ll shoot. Honest I will. All I’ll have to tell the cops is I caught a bunch of subversives right in the act. They wouldn’t think twice. In fact they’d probably call me a hero.
(They all raise their hands.)
SYCAMORE: I told you! I told ya’ we shoulda’ killed the bastard.
KID: He’s right, you know.
BLUE: Well, you sure disappointed me, boy.
KID: Why? What do I owe you?
BLUE: Here I thought you was gonna’ lead us on to victory and all.
CISCO: Yeah, me too. The way you was talkin’ …
KID: Shut up! Don’t say anything more or I’ll kill all of you! I mean it.
CISCO: Ya’ really ought to pull yer pants up though. It don’t look right.
KID: Shut up!
CISCO: I mean we’re your prisoners and you got yer pants pulled down like yer about to get whooped or something.
(The KID struggles to pull up his pants with one hand while he holds the gun on them with the other. He gets them up around his waist and hangs on to them with one hand.)
KID: You better shut up!
WILLIE: Don’t tease him.
CISCO: That’s right. He’s had a rough night.
BLUE: What you gonna’ do now, boy? How ya’ gonna’ go fer help?
KID: We’ll wait until morning. There’ll be plenty of trucks.
BLUE: Yer gonna’ tell ’em you captured a bunch a’ subversives single-handed, huh?
KID: That’s right! And everything else too. How you were planning to take over Azusa.
(SYCAMORE starts laughing hysterically then screams with pain, then back to laughter. The others join in laughing except for WILLIE, who watches.)
(In the background the old “C” “A” “F” “G” rock-and-roll chords are played to the KID’s speech.)
Shut up! Shut up! I’ll kill you all! I’ll kill you! This is my home! Don’t make fun of my home. I was born and raised here and I’ll die here! I love it! That’s something you can’t understand! I love Azusa! I love the foothills and the drive-in movies and the bowling alleys and the football games and the drag races and the girls and the donut shop and the high school and the junior college and the outdoor track meets and the parades and the Junior Chamber of Commerce and the Key Club and the Letterman’s Club and the Kiwanis and the Safeway Shopping Center and the freeway and the pool hall and the Bank of America and the post office and the Presbyterian
(They laugh louder and louder as the KID keeps on.)
church and the laundromat and the liquor store and the miniature golf course and Lookout Point and the YMCA and the Glee Club and the basketball games and the sock hop and graduation and the prom and the cafeteria and the principal’s office and chemistry class and the county fair and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and the high school band and going steady and KFWB and white bucks and pegger pants and argyle socks and madras shorts and butch wax and Hobie boards and going to the beach and getting drunk and swearing and reading dirty books and smoking in the men’s room and setting off cherry bombs and fixing up my car and my mom, I love my mom most of all. And you creeps aren’t going to take that away from me. You’re not going to take that away from me because I’ll kill you first! I’ll kill every one of you if it’s the last thing I do!
(They all stop laughing. WILLIE goes into a trance, speaking a strange ancient language. The others watch.)
WILLIE: Od i gniht tsal eht sti fi uoy fo eno yreve llik lli. Tsrif ouy llik lli esuaceb em morf yawa taht ekat ot gniog ton eruoy. Em morf yawa taht ekat ot gniog tnera speerc uoy dna. Lla fo tsom mom ym evol i mom ym dna rac ym pu gnixif dna sbmob yrrehc ffo gnittes dna moor …
KID: Shut up, you! Shut up!
WILLIE: … snem eht ni gnikoms dna skoob ytrid gnidaer dna gniraews dna knurd gnitteg dna hcaeb eht ot gniog dna sdraob eiboh dna xaw hctub dna strohs sardam dna skcos elygra dna stnap reggep dna skcub etihw dna bwfk dna …
(The KID fires the pistol into WILLIE but WILLIE keeps on speaking and getting very weird.)
… ydaets gniog dna dnab loohcs hgih eht dna sehciwdnas yllej dna rettub tunaep dna riaf ytnuoc eht dna ssalc yrtsimehc …
KID: Shut up!
(The KID fires again. WILLIE keeps on.)
WILLIE: … dna eciffo slapicnirp eht dna airetefac eht dna morp eht dna noitaudarg dna poh kcos eht dna semag …
(The KID empties the gun into WILLIE but WILLIE continues, accumulating incredible power from the language he speaks.)
… llabteksab eht dna bulc eelg eht dna acmy eht dna tniop tuokool dna esruoc flog erutainim eht dna erots rouqil eht dna tamordnual eht dna hcruhc nairetybserp eht dna eciffo tsop eht dna acirema fo knab eht dna llah loop eht dna yaweerf eht dna retnec gnippohs yawefas eht dna bulc snamrettel eht dna bulc yek eht dna ecremmoc fo rebmahc roinuj …
(The KID screams and holds his hands to his ears. His whole body twitches and writhes as WILLIE did when the Hand grabbed him.)
KID: Stop it! Stop it! I can’t—No! No more! Stop!
WILLIE: … eht dna sedarap eht dna steem kcart roodtuo eht dna egelloc roinuj eht dna loohcs hgih eht dna pohs tunod eht dna slrig eht dna secar gard eht dna semag llabtoof eht dna syella gnilwob eht dna seivom ni evird eht dna sllihtoof eht evol i …
KID: No! No! My head! My brain! Stop it!
(He falls to the ground holding his head and writhing, screaming for mercy.)
WILLIE: Asuza evol i. Dnatsrednu tnac uoy gnihtemos staht. Ti evol i. Ereh desiar dna nrob saw i. Emoh ym fo nuf ekam tnod. Emoh ym si siht. Uoy llik lli. Lla uoy llik lli. Pu tuhs! Pu tuhs! Free! Free! Free! Free! Free! Free!
(WILLIE goes into an elated dance as the KID screams on the floor. Very gradually Day-Glo painted Ping-Pong balls start to fall from the ceiling passing through black light as they fall and bouncing on the stage as WILLIE screams “Free” over and over again and dances.)
BLUE: Willie! What’s goin’ on!
WILLIE: I have discovered their secret! The Hand is in my control! I have the Hand! We are free! Free! Free!
KID: My brain! I can’t stand it!
WILLIE: My people are free! Nogoland is exploding! The Silent Ones are dying! Look! Look at the sky!
(As they look up at the sky more and more Ping-Pong balls fall, Day-Glo strips of paper flutter to the ground. CISCO joins WILLIE in his dance and yells “Free” with him. SYCAMORE and BLUE look at the sky. SYCAMORE takes off his hat and catches the balls and throws them up in the air. BLUE joins in.)
CISCO: Free! Free! Yipeee! Wahoooo! Alaman left and swing her low! Catch her on the backside and watch her glow!
BLUE: Then we don’t have to go to no other galaxy after all. We can stay right here!
SYCAMORE: We’re free! Free!
KID: No! My brain!
WILLIE: It was all in my brain the whole time. In my mind. The ancient language of the Nogo. Right in my brain. I’ve destroyed them by breaking free of the Hand. They have no control. We can do what we want! We’re free to do what we want.
BLUE: Let’s have us a party, Willie.
CISCO: Sure, we’ll invite the old gang. You can call them all back, Willie. You’ve got the power.
WILLIE: So have you. Do it yourself. Do whatever you want. I’ve got to leave.
BLUE: How come?
SYCAMORE: You just got here, I thought.
WILLIE: My people need me now more than ever. Now we can start to build our own world.
BLUE: What’s a’ matter with this one?
WILLIE: I am a visitor here. I came for help. This is your world. Do what you want with it.
CISCO: But we’re strangers too. We’re lost, Willie.
WILLIE: Good luck.
BLUE: Wait!
(WILLIE exits. The KID is frozen in an attitude of terror.)
SYCAMORE: Well of all the damn nerve. He just used us.
CISCO: What’re we gonna’ do now?
BLUE: Anything.
CISCO: Stop talkin’ like him, dammit. We’re in some pickle, Blue. It’s gonna’ be mornin’ and here we are stuck in some other century in some hick town called Azusa somewheres.
BLUE: “Everything from A to Z in the USA.” That’s us all right.
CISCO: Stop saying that over and over all the time!
SYCAMORE: What do you mean, “That’s us all right”?
BLUE: Now they got us thrown in to boot.
CISCO: And I ain’t sure they’re gonna’ go fer the idea. He sure didn’t.
SYCAMORE: What’re we gonna’ do with him anyway?
CISCO: I say we plug him.
BLUE: He’s free like us.
SYCAMORE: Free to kill us, ya’ mean.
CISCO: Yeah, or turn us in to the law.
BLUE: If you waste him there’s gonna’ be a dozen more to take his place. Look at him. He’s as good as dead anyway.
CISCO: He’s right, Sycamore.
SYCAMORE: I don’t know. Can’t seem to think straight. Who runs this town anyhow? That’s the dude to go to. Straight up to the top.
BLUE: The mayor?
BLUE: He runs the cops. The governor runs the mayor.
SYCAMORE: The governor. What’s his name?
BLUE: Congress runs the governor. President runs the Congress.
SYCAMORE: What’s his name? We gotta’ get outa’ this.
CISCO: We could hide in the drainage ditch.
SYCAMORE: Yeah, we could sit it out. We ain’t done nothin’ wrong.
CISCO: We could change our names. Get a haircut, some new threads. Blend right in.
SYCAMORE: That’s it. That’s the ticket. I could get me an office job easy enough.
CISCO: Sure. Western Union. Pacific Gas and Electric. Plenty of places.
SYCAMORE: Settle down with a nice little pension. Get me a car maybe.
CISCO: Yeah boy. And one a’ them lawnmowers ya’ sit on like a tractor.
SYCAMORE: Sure. We could fit right into the scheme a’ things. Don’t have to bust our balls for nobody. What do ya’ say, Blue?
BLUE: Whatever you boys want. I’m gonna’ be long gone by mornin’.
CISCO: What do you mean, Blue?
BLUE: I’m leavin’. I been hangin’ around this dump for twenty years. Seems about time to get the lead out.
(He moves toward the car and pulls the suitcase out of the back seat.)
CISCO: But where you gonna’ go? What you gonna’ do?
BLUE: I’ll answer them questions when they come up. Right now I just gotta’ move. That’s all I know.
CISCO: Well, let me come with ya’ then. Please, Blue.
BLUE: All right.
CISCO: Sycamore? You comin’? We oughta’ stick together since we’re brothers and all.
SYCAMORE: Naw, thanks anyway. Think I’ll stay awhile.
CISCO: All right. So long then.
BLUE: Sorry it didn’t work out like you want, Syc.…
SYCAMORE: Don’t matter. Seemed unreal from the start anyhow.
BLUE: Yeah. I know what you mean.
SYCAMORE: You boys go ahead on and take care, ya’ hear. Don’t worry about me.
CISCO: Good luck, Syc.
SYCAMORE: Yeah. You too.
(BLUE and CISCO exit. SYCAMORE looks down at the KID, still frozen grotesquely. He stares at the KID’s face and slowly becomes older and older just with his body. He turns to the Chevy and talks to an imaginary driver as BLUE did in the beginning.)
SYCAMORE: (In ancient voice) Well now. Well. Sure is decent of ya’ stop-pin’ so late of an evenin’ fer an old wreck like me. Yes sir. Mighty decent. Cars get to rollin’ by here, eighty, ninety, a hundred mile an hour. Don’t even see the landscape. Just a blur. Just a blue blur. Can’t figure it. Wouldn’t hardly call it a vacation now, would ya’. Screamin’ out to Desert Hot Springs, back to Napa Valley. Don’t even see the country. Not to speak of. Most folks is too scared, I guess. That’s what it mounts up to. A certain terrorism in the air. A night terror. That’s what’s got ’em all locked up goin’ so fast they can’t see. Me, I’m slow by nature. I got nothin’ agin’ speed now, mind ya’. I’ve done plenty a’ speed in my time to know the taste good and well. Speed’s a pleasure. Yes sir. Naw, that ain’t it. Mind if I grab yer back seat here so’s I can curl up? Feet are awful dogged. Good. Mighty kind. Mighty kind.
(He opens the door of the Chevy and slowly climbs in the back seat. The lights fade slowly as he gradually disappears in the back while he talks.)
It’s just a hankerin’ to take stock a’ things. A man’s gotta’ be still long enough to figure out his next move. Know what I mean? Like in checkers, for example. Can’t just plunge in. Gotta make plans. Figure out yer moves. Make sure they’re yer own moves and not someone else’s. That’s the great thing about this country, ya’ know. The fact that you can make yer own moves in yer own time without some guy behind the scenes pullin’ the switches on ya’. May be a far cry from bein’ free, but it sure come closer than most anything I’ve seen. Me, I don’t yearn fer much anymore but to live out my life with a little peace and quiet. I done my bit, God knows. God knows that much. There comes a time to let things by. Just let ’em go by. Let the world alone. It’ll take care of itself. Just let it be.
(As SYCAMORE disappears the lights fade out. Guitar music accompanies ending speech.)