(Two chairs, identically placed not far from center, slightly diagonally toward one another, walking space between them. Nice light; neutral background.)
(BOY and GIRL both seated, girl hugely pregnant, she stage right, he stage left; hands folded, facing out)
GIRL
(Not moving; calm) I’m going to have the baby now.
(BOY and GIRL exit left)
(Sound: Growing labor; medical preps and encouragement. Growing pain and moaning; screams with accompanying sounds; slap; baby crying. Silence.)
(BOY and GIRL, no longer pregnant, enter.)
GIRL
(Quietly) There.
BOY
(No comment) It’s the miracle of life.
GIRL
Yes; yes; it is.
BOY
(Turns to her) Did it hurt a lot?
GIRL
(Touches her dress at the knee) They say you can’t remember pain.
BOY
Aha.
GIRL
(Pause) Yes; yes, it did.
BOY
You can, then.
GIRL
As I remember.
BOY
I broke my arm before I knew you. Did you know that?
GIRL
Not that I remember.
BOY
Yes. Well, I did.
(Sound: cry of baby offstage left)
GIRL
(Rises) Feeding time.
BOY
In here.
GIRL
All right. (Exits left, behind BOY)
BOY
(Sort of to her, but as if she were still there) It wasn’t exactly I broke it; it was more they broke it for me. Not that they said we’ll break it for you if you want us to—if you can’t do it for yourself. (Considers) More they just broke it—not for me, but rather as if I’d asked, though I hadn’t. They did break it, though I hadn’t asked. (Afterthought) I’m sure if I’d asked they would have been … well, eager, I guess. That’s only a supposition, though.
(GIRL reenters from left, already feeding the baby; she sits again, chair right. We do not see it, merely its blanket.)
GIRL
Very hungry.
BOY
I’ll want some; remember.
GIRL
(Slightly ironic) Line up!
BOY
(Matter-of-fact) I’d come from the gym and I was pumped.
GIRL
(Looking down) V … e … r … y hungry.
BOY
The bloodrush, the endorphins …
GIRL
(To BOY) I love your body; I really do.
BOY
(Little wiggle of eyebrows) I know; I know you do. (Back to previous tone) … and I was walking back to the dorm, and I had my gym bag and my stuff and I was …
GIRL
When you let me lick your armpits I almost faint, I really do.
BOY
It tickles.
GIRL
(Smiles) You start getting hard.
BOY
Yes: it tickles. (Previous tone) And I was in the alley between the gym and the science building and there were these guys I’d seen at the Hopeless Mothers gig at the arena when I was taking tickets there? And I’d spotted them trying to sneak in and I’d called the guards on them …
GIRL
I like your left armpit better than the other.
BOY
Well, the other arm got broken; I was telling you.
GIRL
You think that’s … Ow! (Reaction to baby at breast)
BOY
Let me at it for a while. I won’t bite!
GIRL
(Oddly) Not now.
BOY
I think I like both your breasts equally.
GIRL
What happened?
BOY
Hm?
GIRL
You called the guards on them—on the guys.
BOY
Oh, and the guards roughed them up a little, and they said “We’ll get you, motherfucker!” The guys—not the guards. To me; they said it to me.
GIRL
(Looks at him) Yes: of course the guys, and of course to you.
BOY
And that’s what they did.
GIRL
What?
BOY
They got me, motherfucker. They said, in the alley there, hey, you’re the one put the guard dogs on us, aren’t you. I said yes, I was; guards, not guard dogs.
GIRL
Not a wise answer.
BOY
Which?
GIRL
Either; both.
BOY
Never lie. Besides, they knew. Yes, I am, I said. You guys could have paid—benefit and all. You guys could have paid.
GIRL
What was the benefit?
BOY
Mother’s Milk.
GIRL
Ah.
BOY
Yeah, I know, I know, they said—kind of apologetic; we shoulda paid. No hard feelings I said. Hey, no way, no way, they said. And I put my hand out: no hard feelings I said.
GIRL
BOY
I know; and I think I knew what was going to happen, but too quick to stop it.
GIRL
(Looks at baby) Baby’s full. (Rises, goes off left, behind BOY)
BOY
(As she exits; as previously) I put my hand out, and I’d just come from the gym and my forearms looked great. (Begins to demonstrate) And the big guy put his hand out and shook hands with me and swung around and cracked my arm against his knee and … Crack! And oh shit it hurt! Have fun taking tickets, the big one said, and the others laughed, and I was on my knees, and it hurt so much I was crying, and one of the others came up on me, and he unzipped his fly and what was he going to do … piss on me? I don’t know; and the big one said leave him alone and they walked off. (Pause) Maybe he wasn’t going to piss on me; maybe he was going to …
(GIRL reenters from left)
GIRL
All asleep. (Observes him on his knees, his disturbance)
BOY
(Still preoccupied) I don’t know what he was going to do! It hurt so! They hurt me so!
GIRL
(She kneels in front of him, baring a breast.) Shhhhhhh.
BOY
(Softly; almost pleading) He hurt me so.
GIRL
Come toward me.
BOY
(His left hand on her breast, his right arm hanging limp; still on his knees) … and the other one came toward me …
GIRL
Here. Do this.
BOY
(His words becoming mumble as he fastens his mouth on her breast) … and he undid his fly, and I don’t know what he was going to do. I don’t know if he was going to …
GIRL
Shhhhhh. Shhhhh. Shhhhh. Come. In here, in here.
(GIRL leads BOY off left. MAN enters, comes center and stands behind and between the chairs.)
MAN
(Out; smile) Hello there! (Gestures off left.) Boy, girl? Yes?
(MAN observes chairs; passes fingers of right hand over stage-right chair; smells fingers; considers; looks off left. Addresses audience; sighs.)
Ah … youngsmell! Have you ever noticed when you’re driving somewhere you’ve not been before—directions, of course—it always takes longer than you think it should, that you’ve passed it, or not turned left when you were supposed to? And yet, when you’re coming home, or whatever, after you’ve been there—the place you didn’t know how to get to, but had directions—you’re amazed at how much shorter the trip is? (Fingers of left hand over stage-left chair; smells fingers; eyebrows waggling; whispers) Youngsmell. Have you noticed that? Not youngsmell; how much shorter the trip is? I’m not sure whether it’s it does take longer to get there, or it’s it just seems so. (To someone in particular) Have you noticed that? Hm? (If no answer, go on; if there’s an answer, improvise briefly.) I don’t think it’s merely that it seems so, though it may seem that way—which may be the same thing but I don’t think so: that which we feel we’ve experienced is the same as we have? (Dismissive) Naaaaah! Reality determined by our experience of it? Or our sense of experiencing it? Naaaaaaah! (Smells both hands together, then right, then left, then both again.) Eeny-meeny-miney-moe! Have you ever noticed when you’re talking to someone you should know, but don’t, at a cocktail party, say, and you try to lead the conversation to remind you who they are—who you’re talking to—they won’t do it? They won’t let you go there? Do they know what you’re trying to do and are doing a kind of “Fuck you. You don’t remember me? Well, fuck you; just hang there!” Or are they so absorbed seeing you again, remembering you—perfectly, of course: your name, the stuff you did to your wife—that it would never occur to them you’re twisting in the wind? Once, I was at a party; well, no, I was giving it, and I was being a good host—introducing people to people, putting types together I thought would be good for one another or, sometimes, just a hoot, or plain wrong—and I’d been at it for a while—it was a big party—and I was groggy, I guess, and there was this tall, older woman next to me—she’d sort of come over from another group—and two dykes came up—middle-aged, neither one diesel, neither one lipstick, real centered ladies—and I’d known them for years, and they were Jo and Lu, good simple, nonspecific names: none of this Josephine and Lucille shit—and I did my host act, and I turned to introduce them to the older woman standing next to me, and I looked at her, and I knew she was familiar, but I couldn’t, for the life of me, remember who she was, and I said, “Jo, Lu, this is … this is …” and Jo laughed and said, “We know your mother, dear.” (To someone specific) Fall through the floor!! Ever done that!? (General again) I suppose that was the worst—so far!, though I’m looking forward with a kind of dread—fascinated dread, you know? After Jo and Lu had chuckled off, Mother looked at me sort of funny and said, “You didn’t know who I was, did you?” “Oh, come on, Ma!” I said, hearty guffaw. “No, you didn’t,” she said, just the fringiest little bit sad, and she walked away. It didn’t change anything between us; we were O.K., but I think it was the first time I realized we were both adults. She died three years later. (To someone in particular; laughing) No! Not from that! (General again) Nobody dies from not being remembered. (Change of tone; more interior) From being forgotten, yes, very probably, but not from not being remembered. (Pause) Or are they the same thing? (Thinks) No; not quite. (Energy rising) So! Anyway! I bring all this up because … well, clearly because I wanted to bring it up, and I dare say there was a … Yes! Of course! Driving somewhere you’d never been before, that was it; that started it all. (Smells fingers of both hands again) Ahhh! How things fade—memories, photo-memories sometimes, last, though, usually. Scent. (Spells it) S…C…E…N…T. (Sad now) All fades, all dissolves, and we are left with … invention; reinvention. I wonder how I’ll remember (Gestures about him) all of this? But, since I’m not there yet—so to speak—have not, haven’t remembered it … (brisk) well, first we invent, and then we reinvent. As with the past so the future—reality, as they laughingly call it? Who was it said “Our reality—or something—is determined by our need? The greater need rules the game?” The reality? I guess that was me. All those “naaaahs” before? Remember the “naaaahs”? Just a trick. Pay attention to this, what’s true and what isn’t is a tricky business, no? What’s real and what isn’t? Tricky. Do you follow? Yes? No? Good. (Shrugs) Whichever. (Begins to exit) Woman.
(As MAN exits, stage left, WOMAN enters stage right, rather briskly; sees MAN exiting.)
WOMAN
(After exiting MAN) Wait; wait! (He exits) Am I late? (To audience now) Am I late!? Am I on time!?
(BOY enters, wearing a towel only; WOMAN sees him)
WOMAN
(To BOY; concerned) Am I late?
BOY
(Mildly puzzled) Hello?
WOMAN
Hello. Am I late?
BOY
(Matter-of-fact) I wouldn’t know. (Afterthought) Would I?
WOMAN
BOY
(Wipes his mouth; licks his lips; smiles) I’ve been mountain climbing.
WOMAN
(Overly bright) Have you!
BOY
Yes.
WOMAN
You hardly seem dressed for it.
BOY
(Looks at his towel) Oh, I put this on … put it around me.
WOMAN
(Tiny pause as BOY doesn’t continue) Oh? Aha! (Pause) Where? Where did you put it on? I don’t mean around your waist; I mean … where?
BOY
(Points left, over his shoulder) In there.
WOMAN
No, I mean … (Pause) Aha. (Pause) Do you know who I am?
BOY
No.
WOMAN
Aha. (Pause) Are you certain?
BOY
I’m not?
WOMAN
Aha. (Silence) Mountain climbing?
BOY
(Recalling; eyes closed, perhaps?) It’s all jungle as you approach—well, as you imagine it: warm, warmer, moist; but you move through it, past all that, eventually, reluctantly, of course; you’re coming up from the south—from below—and you see them up ahead, looming, but there is a lot to get through first, as I said, in the jungle there—the ridges, and the great declivity. God!, and it’s so hot and moist and … and … thrilling, and …
WOMAN
I’ve never done it.
BOY
(Looks at her oddly) Oh? (Considers it) Well, quite probably not; not too many women do … what? Ten percent? I mean: I don’t know you. (Afterthought) Do I? (Answers his own question) No; no, I don’t think I do. So, no, you may not have—certainly not these; certainly not. (Holds invisible melons toward her; on with his story) And … do you mind if I get hyperbolic here? Even more hyperbolic?
WOMAN
(Cautious) I don’t … think so.
BOY
Even more than I have been? I didn’t think you would. And there are the deep ravines, and the ridges, and there are a lot of temptations! Well, one in particular—two! Two!! And you do stop there on your climb, on your ascent.
WOMAN
To rest.
BOY
Oh? (Chuckles) No, not exactly; more to delve, I guess; to explore; to absorb; to die a little. But you look up—over the great sloping hill with all its jungle, and there they are! (Sighs) My goodness, there they are.
WOMAN
(Helping) Snow-capped, jagged …
BOY
(Slightly more disapproving) Who are you, lady!?
WOMAN
Not snowcapped? Not jagged?
BOY
(Quiet) No; of course not: lovely, curving slopes, almost twins. You go between them; there’s moisture there; you breathe; you press your ears gently between them and it’s the sound of giant seashells.
WOMAN
(Gets it) Ohhhhhhh! Ohhhhhh, I see! Those mountains; that climbing.
BOY
(Puzzled) Yes, of course. What else?
WOMAN
(Half to the BOY, half to herself) Hyperbole: of course. (Out) I should have known.
(GIRL appears from left, naked, or as naked as the actress will allow)
GIRL
(To BOY) What are you doing? Are you coming back in? What are you doing?
BOY
(Over his shoulder) Yes; right away.
GIRL
(Pointing to WOMAN) Who is that?
BOY
(Simply) I don’t know.
GIRL
(Considers it) Oh. (Considers it further) Well, leave her there where you found her and come back in. You’re not finished; you’re not there yet.
BOY
(Backing left) Yes, I know. (To WOMAN now) Yes; goodbye; I’m not there yet.
(They exit—BOY and GIRL—leaving WOMAN standing.)
WOMAN
(Waves) Farewell, intrepid traveler. (Waves off) Farewell! (Out) Where there’s a boy, there’s a girl, no? (Shrugs) Usually. (Looks at the audience) Well. I … uh … well, I suppose you’d like to know who I am, or why I’m here. (Some uncertainty) Well, I’m with him (gestures off left); that’s why I’m here; I’m with him. The man; not the boy. The man indicated me as he exited, said “Woman” and exited. Remember? That’s why I’m here—to be with him. To help … him; to … assist him. (Hand up, palm out, to abort protest) I’m not an actress; I want you to know that right off, though why you’d think I was, I mean automatically think I was, I don’t know, though I am a trifle … theatrical, I suppose, and no apologies there. I was Prince Charming in our all-girl school production of Snow White, and while the bug may have bitten, it never took. (Chuckles) Nor—and forgive the seeming discontinuity here—nor am I from the press. That’s the first thing I want you to know—well, the second, actually, the first being … having been … (Trails off; starts again) Oh, I am a very good cook, among other things. I became that to please my husband, my then husband, who was in the habit of eating out, by which he meant … alone … without me. It occurred to me that if I … well, it was no good: alone, to him, meant specifically not with me, though with others, with lots of others. And the great feasts I’d prepare … would be for me. Alone. I became quite heavy, which I no longer am, and unmarried, which I am to this day. I trust he is still eating alone … all by himself … facing a wall. (Pause) No matter. Really: from the very first week, come dinnertime, he would put the paper under his arm, say “Bye, bye,” or whatever, and … no matter. I have had journalistic dreams, though I am not a journalist—dreams of being a journalist, that is, and quite awake; not asleep. I went so far one time as to take a course; and my assignment was to interview a writer, to try to comprehend the “creative mind” as they call it. (Firm gesture) Don’t try! Don’t even give it a thought! There seems to be some sort of cabal going on on the part of these so-called creative people to keep the process a secret—a deep dark secret—from the rest of the world. What’s the matter with these people? Do they think we’re trying to steal their tricks? … would even want to!? And all I wanted to do was … understand! And, let me tell you!, getting through to them—the creative types?—isn’t easy. I mean even getting at them. I wrote politely to seven or eight of them, two poets, one biographer, a couple of short story writers, one female creator of “theatre pieces,” et cetera, and not one of them answered. Silence; too busy “creating,” I guess. (On a roll now) I remember finally I bribed someone into giving me this one guy’s agent’s name—this novelist?—and persuaded the agent to call him and see if I could call him?, and maybe talk to him?, and finding out I could do that—with no guarantees, naturally—and calling, and hitting the brick wall of the novelist’s male secretary. I don’t mean anything by that, of course. (Heavy wink) In any event, hitting that brick wall, having to repeat everything I’d said to the agent, and being told by the M.S.—the male secretary (Heavy wink)—they’d get back to me, and waiting until finally they did—I mean, really, who did they think they were … both of them!? Finally, the M.S. did call me—I was in the touchy stages of a soufflé, naturally—telling me that he was there … (does fingers as quotes) “Himself” that is: the famous novelist … and he was going to talk to me—“himself” was—and I held the receiver to my ear, expecting what?—something other than a voice? I don’t know—a choir of some sort? I held, and then his voice came … “here I am,” it said—he said—“here I am.” Odd, no? And the voice wasn’t friendly, or unfriendly, gruffer than I’d thought it would be, perhaps, just … noncommittal. “Here I am; I’m here.” I almost hung up, but I didn’t. I mean, I’d gotten this close, and if I hung up who knows when I’d get another … you know. “I’m here,” he said. And I rushed through what I wanted. “I’m studying the creative process, and I want to do it with you, through you—watching you, understanding you.” “You want to watch me while I write?!” he said, sort of incredulous, and I could sense the phone being passed back to the M.S., or just hung up, or tossed over his shoulder, or whatever. “No! Wait!” I yelled. Silence. “I’m waiting,” he finally said, no emotion at all. And I tried to explain what I really wanted.
(GIRL, chased by BOY—naked, or close—goes from stage left to stage right, a sweet chase, giggling, etc. WOMAN senses, sees them.)
What?! What was that?! Did two people just run nakedly across the stage, giggling? Yes? Well … why not? Where was I? Oh: “What I really want is to watch you … uh … move your words from your mind to the page.” “You’re not serious,” he said, sort of … fading away. “Oh, wait! Please; please!” I said—shouted, really. “I do want to study you! I so want to watch you move your words from your mind to the page.” The sentence was beginning to sound strange to me. I heard a kind of chuckle from him … bitter, was it? Contemptuous? “Well, that wouldn’t be much fun for anybody but you, would it … you underfoot, banging into people, asking a lot of ridiculous questions, studying everything, being an absolute …” “I’d be a mouse! I’d be a mouse!” I said—(Shrugs) mouse-like, I suppose. “Yeah, sure!” he guffawed at me, right over the phone. “Oh please; oh, please!” I whimpered. (An aside) Have you ever noticed the way we say everything twice when we’re upset? “I’ll be a mouse, I’ll be a mouse.” “Oh, please, oh, please!” Have you noticed that? I have. “Will you? Will you? It’ll only take a couple of weeks, and …” “I’d rather die,” he said quietly … and he hung up. (Indignation) What kind of people are they?! I mean … what kind of people are they, these … these …
(GIRL and BOY repeat their previous stage cross, but from stage right to stage left.)
(Noticing) Two people just ran nakedly across the stage again, did they not? Giggling? No? (Businesslike) Well, then; now you know who I am not, what I do not do. As for who I am and what I do do, stay tuned.
(MAN enters)
You’ve had me standing out here, vamping away …
MAN
(Amused) Shhhhhhhh; shhhhhhhh. It’s fine; it’s fine. Come along now.
WOMAN
What were you doing?
MAN
Research? Peeing? Reparking? Whatever. (Indicates off left) Boy and girl.
WOMAN
Yes; I noticed.
MAN
That’s them. “That’s they” doesn’t sound right, though it is.
WOMAN
No, it doesn’t. That is them, eh?
MAN
Yes. How innocent they are.
WOMAN
Yes.
MAN
Pure.
WOMAN
Yes.
MAN
You’d think it was Eden, wouldn’t you.
WOMAN
Yes. You would.
MAN
Yes. (Takes her hand; indicates out) Say bye-bye.
WOMAN
(Out) Bye-bye.
(They exit. GIRL, followed by BOY, comes out, peers after WOMAN.)
GIRL
Who is she? Who is that woman?
BOY
(Looking after her) Very strange.
GIRL
Yes.
BOY
I tried to talk to her. (Correcting himself) She tried to talk to me.
GIRL
And?
BOY
Very strange. She asked me if I knew who she was.
GIRL
What did you tell her?
BOY
That I didn’t.
GIRL
Maybe she’ll go away.
BOY
Maybe. (Smiles) Can I chase you some more?
GIRL
(Giggles) No! No, you can’t! It was fun!
BOY
Yes; yes it was. (Decision) I’m going to chase you some more.
GIRL
(Delighted) You’ll catch me. I’ll let you catch me.
BOY
Will you let me roll you over, lay you down, and do it again?
GIRL
(Giggles) Maybe. (Shyly sings:) Roll me over,
In the clover
Roll me over
Lay me down
BOY
(Joins in; they both sing.) And do it again.
BOY
I like being on you.
GIRL
(Nice) I’ve noticed.
BOY
I like being in you. (Quickly) You’ve noticed; yes, I know.
GIRL
Yes.
BOY
I like sleeping with you.
GIRL
Yes.
BOY
(A smile) I like sleeping in you.
GIRL
Yes.
BOY
Saves time.
GIRL
Yes. Who is she? Who is that woman?
BOY
Is she familiar?
GIRL
No, not exactly. I mean, she looks like a woman, but no; not at all; not familiar at all. (An afterthought) A photograph, maybe?
BOY
(Shrugs) She looks like a lot of people.
GIRL
Yes. (Abruptly) Does she?
BOY
You don’t. You look like you.
GIRL
(Preoccupied) Oh? Does that make me happy?
BOY
It should.
GIRL
Oh, well, then, it probably does.
BOY
(Takes her wrist) Come with me.
GIRL
(Mild concern) Where?
BOY
In there. (Indicates stage left) I want to do something.
GIRL
(Greater concern) What?!
BOY
Something new; something we’ve never done.
GIRL
(Slightly worried) There isn’t anything.
BOY
(Pulling her) I read about something. Don’t fight me.
GIRL
(Some alarm) What is it?! What is it you want to do?
BOY
Relax into it. (Lets her wrist go; hands to his chest, mock eloquence) You’re my goal; you’re my destination. You are my moon and sun and earth and sky and … (breaks tone) on and on, and so on and so forth. (Grabs her wrist again) C’mon!
GIRL
No! What! What is it?!
BOY
(An enthusiastic confidence) It hasn’t been done for centuries; three religions outlawed it in the Middle Ages. C’mon!
GIRL
(Reluctantly giving in) W … e … l … l.
BOY
You’ll love it. (Mock tone again) You are my goal; you are my destination. (Normal tone again) C’mon, girl, let’s go!
GIRL
(Allowing herself to be dragged off) Not in front of the baby; whatever it is, not in front of the baby.
BOY
(Slightly annoyed, as they exit) Okay; okay.
(After BOY and GIRL exit, MAN enters from right, playing blind.)
MAN
(To the audience, but not looking at it, of course, and not facing it.) The chairs should be right ahead of me … right … here! (Wrong) No. Further? (Bumps against stage-right chair) Ow! Yes; there it is. (Opens eyes, turns to face audience) Did she give you a good time? Spin a splendid yarn? Yes? Good. She’s good at that; she’s very good at that. Have you ever done this?—pretended to be blind? I don’t mean to offend those of you in the audience who are blind—physically blind, that is—though there are seldom many of you at plays—blind; deaf, yes; blind, seldom; which surprises me, since most good plays come at you “by the ear,” so to speak; but, then again, so do a lot of bad ones—by the ear. The tactile is underdeveloped in the sighted—in the seeing—for the most part. I was at a museum in London a few years ago—at the Royal Academy, I think—and I came upon a sculpture exhibit set up especially for the blind. There were maybe twenty pieces in the exhibit—faces, abstract forms, a few animals—and there were guides about to help the blind get to the pieces; there were roped walkways, as well. The blind were asked to touch the sculptures, investigate them, while the guides would assist—the name of the artist, the materials, the subject if need be. I watched for a little, saw the wonder, the enthusiasm of the blind, their smiles, little cries, and then I decided to do it myself—be blind and go through the exhibit by touch only. I closed my eyes, and a guide came up to me, to help me. “I’m not blind,” I said, “except I’m pretending to be, to see it, so to speak, as a blind person would. Will you help me?” This being Britain—or me being lucky—she chirped at me: “Of course! But be sure you keep your eyes tight shut!” And so I did, and it was fascinating—to see with my fingers, with my hands, to touch, as we sighted do in the dark, the way the blind do in their endless dark—in their light. There was a copy of that famous bronze sculpture of the wild boar in Florence, the one sitting on its haunches, front legs up? (Demonstrates with his arms) The one with the bronze penis rubbed golden by the hundreds of years of Florentine men touching it—for good luck, for potency. (Wonders) What about the women? Do they touch it? Have they touched it for centuries, at night, perhaps, in the dark? “You’re coming upon the Florentine boar,” she chirped—really, she chirped. “Be sure you touch its bits and pieces, for good luck.” “Its what?” I said. “Its … you know, its thing,” she said. “Oh, right,” I said. I’d done it in Florence when I was there; but this was different; this felt very different. (Sudden shift; very offhand) Have you seen the baby? Cute, no? They love it, don’t they—the baby. (Some puzzlement) They really love it. I wonder how much they love it? How much they need it? Perhaps we should find out. As the lady said, stay tuned. (Puzzles more) Hunh! (A beat) Ah, well; off we go.
(MAN exits. GIRL enters, speaks off to BOY.)
GIRL
That wasn’t funny! Well, certainly not as funny as you thought it was—was going to be.
BOY
(Entering) Sorry. (Not really)
GIRL
It wasn’t!
BOY
Sorry!
GIRL
Mean it!
BOY
(Genuine) Sorry.
GIRL
(Grudging) Well … maybe. I don’t think I like being thought of as a destination, by the way.
BOY
(Nice) What would you like me to think of you as—if not as a destination? I always aim for you: you are a destination—my destination. I remember when I saw you for the first time—when I was biking along—I saw you lying there on the stretcher, all unconscious—I said—well, to myself, more than to anyone—“That’s the one; that’s my destination.”
GIRL
(She’s heard this before.) That’s sweet.
BOY
… and I said to myself, “When she wakes up—if she wakes up—I’m going to be there, and I’ll be the first person she sees, and she’ll love me; she’ll want me and she’ll love me; she’s my destination.”
GIRL
Yes; sweet. (More interested) Did you really tell them at the hospital you were my brother? You told them you were my brother and that’s why they let you in? Let you sit by me?
BOY
Yes. I wanted you very much and being your brother made it even more intense—made me hard.
GIRL
(Not too nice) So many things do.
BOY
(Smiles) Yes. Isn’t that nice?
GIRL
(Preoccupied) I wonder how that old Gypsy knew so much?
BOY
Who, the one you went to before we met?
GIRL
Yes, the one who told me …
BOY
(Sort of reciting) What, that you would pass out one day, be put on a stretcher and taken to the hospital, where nothing was found to be wrong—if fainting away is nothing—and that when this happened you would wake up and the nurse would be over you and she would smile and say everything was just fine and that your brother was in the hospital room with you, right by your side … that he was hard.
GIRL
She didn’t say that—either one, the nurse or the Gypsy—the hard part.
BOY
… and that when you looked and saw it wasn’t your brother …
GIRL
… not hard to determine, since I don’t have one …
BOY
… it wasn’t your brother, it would be the boy you would marry?
GIRL
Yes. I wonder how that old Gypsy knew so much?
BOY
Was she really very old? He very old? Gypsies look older than they are.
GIRL
(Dogmatic) She was old. That’s what the sign said: “Come in and visit the old Gypsy; have your future told.”
BOY
They lie.
GIRL
(Slightly offended) No! It was all true! It all came true!
BOY
No: about being old. It might have been a man for all you know.
GIRL
I can tell a man from a woman!
BOY
A Gypsy?
GIRL
(Uncertain) Well … (More aggressive) What do you mean “if she wakes up”? What do you mean by that?
BOY
You could have had a stroke for all I knew; you could have been dead. But you were so beautiful—so thrilling—I assumed you weren’t—wouldn’t be. I got off my bike—didn’t even look at it, left my clips on—and saw you there and my heart sang, as the song sings. She won’t be dead, I said to myself; she’ll wake up and I’ll be hard and she’ll love me and she’ll marry me.
GIRL
(Preoccupied again) Gypsies are strange people. How do they know so much?
BOY
It’s easy to foretell the future: you just have to know what’s going to happen.
GIRL
Hmmmmm.
BOY
And in the way of a true fairy tale come true no one even stole my bike.
GIRL
I guess those boys weren’t around.
BOY
What boys?
GIRL
Oh, never mind.
BOY
Oh; those boys.
GIRL
Never mind. What a lovely story.
BOY
I think so. Did the Gypsy say we’d have a baby?
GIRL
No; the Gypsy was … well, she wouldn’t talk about that.
BOY
GIRL
Of course! “What about a baby?” I said. “What about babies? How many will we have?”
BOY
And she wouldn’t say—he wouldn’t say?
GIRL
No; she … the Gypsy frowned.
BOY
She frowned? He frowned?
GIRL
“I can’t see that,” she said; “besides: your time is up.”
BOY
Your money, she meant—he meant: not your time, your money.
GIRL
Same thing.
BOY
Yes. With Gypsies, yes.
GIRL
Maybe we’d better go back, get some more answers; take the baby with us …
BOY
No! Gypsies steal babies!
GIRL
(Laughing) They don’t!
BOY
You’ve never heard? It’s famous; it’s like the money scam.
GIRL
What is that?
BOY
You don’t know? The money scam? The Gypsy promises to double your money for you, so you bring it to her, or him, to be blessed, so it’ll double, or whatever. You bring it in ten dollar bills, or something, in a big paper bag, and …
GIRL
Why do you do that?
BOY
What?
GIRL
Bring it to the Gypsy in a big paper bag!
BOY
To be blessed!
GIRL
No! Why in a big paper bag?
BOY
(Mildly irritated) Because that’s the way the Gypsy asks for it.
GIRL
Oh.
BOY
And the Gypsy puts the paper bag …
GIRL
… with all the money in it …
BOY
… yes … on the table, between the two of you, and the Gypsy blesses it, and starts chanting, or something, and the music starts, and the lights go all funny …
GIRL
(Losing track) Wait a minute …
BOY
… and in the middle of all that the Gypsy pulls the famous switch.
GIRL
What famous switch?!
BOY
Hm? Oh, the famous switch of the bag. In all the chanting and the lights and the music and all, the Gypsy switches bags—takes your paper bag with all the money in it and puts another paper bag in its place filled with—what, I don’t know—newspapers, or something, cut-up newspapers.
GIRL
(Logical) Well, what if you opened it?! You’d see that …
BOY
… the Gypsy tells you to bury the paper bag in your backyard without opening it and without anyone seeing you, and you’re to leave it there for—what?—three weeks, so the magic can work, the money can double, or whatever.
GIRL
Yes, but …
BOY
… and you do it, because you’re an asshole—you wouldn’t have put your life savings in a paper bag and handed it to some damn Gypsy if you weren’t an asshole in the first place. And so, after three weeks you go out and start digging up your backyard, since you’ve probably forgotten exactly where you’ve buried the paper bag, you being such an asshole, and your husband asks you what you’re doing, and there’s nothing for it, and so you say you’re digging up the paper bag with all your life savings in it, like the Gypsy told you to do. And your husband, who knows a lot more about Gypsies than you do, is sitting down by now, his head in his hands, crying. And so you eventually find where you buried it, and you dig it up and you take it over to your husband to show him how the money’s doubled, and you open up the bag …
GIRL
… and it’s all cut-up newspaper.
BOY
Right; and the Gypsy’s probably in Miami Beach by now driving around in some snazzy convertible.
GIRL
(At a loss for words) That’s … that’s … terrible.
BOY
You bet your life savings it is. So: you don’t take the baby to the Gypsies.
GIRL
They’d steal it.
BOY
Probably.
GIRL
But, what would they … do with it?
BOY
(Shrugs) Sell it. Eat it.
GIRL
(Disbelieving) Noooooooo!
BOY
(Shrugs again) Okay.
MAN
(Pops in) If you’re not careful you’re going to have the society for the prevention of cruelty to Gypsies after you. (Exits abruptly)
BOY
(To where he was; nonplussed) Why? Why would I?
GIRL
Who is that man! Why are there so many strange people around here?
BOY
(At GIRL; preoccupied) What? What? (To where MAN was) Nobody cares about Gypsies! (To Girl) What strange people?
GIRL
You were talking to a woman earlier, and now this man sticks his head in here and …
BOY
(Shrugs) I don’t know these people. I thought we were talking about the baby.
GIRL
We were; indeed we were. Do we have in-laws we don’t know about?
BOY
Not that I know of.
GIRL
Have we rented out rooms?
BOY
I don’t believe so.
GIRL
Then why are they here? (Suddenly) Maybe they’re Gypsies! Come to steal the baby!
BOY
Don’t you be silly. Do they look like Gypsies?
GIRL
Well …
BOY
Swarthy; big mustaches, cigars, fedoras …
GIRL
Like Mexicans?
BOY
No; different. Mexicans wear little derbies.
GIRL
That’s Peruvians, and that’s women.
BOY
(Mildly annoyed) Whatever. Mexicans look … Mexican. Gypsies—from photographs I’ve seen … drawings—look like … well, like Gypsies.
GIRL
Oh. (Relieved) Then they’re not Gypsies come to steal the baby.
BOY
What I said was, these people don’t look like Gypsies—from what I know of how Gypsies look—which may not be much. That’s what I said. (Pause) Why would anybody want to steal the baby?
GIRL
For money?
BOY
We don’t have any.
GIRL
To sell it, or to eat it?
BOY
(Sighing) I said that’s what Gypsies are purported to do, and I said I didn’t think that …
GIRL
(Abrupt) All right! (Shy) To hurt us? To injure us beyond salvation?
BOY
(Pause; very sincere) Aren’t we too young?
GIRL
(Not wholly convinced) I suppose.
(Baby crying offstage.)
GIRL
(Alarmed) The baby’s crying! Do you think someone is …
BOY
(Comforting) Doesn’t that sound like hunger? Isn’t that the hungry sound the baby makes?
GIRL
(Somewhat relieved) Yes; yes; I suppose so. (Moves to exit) I’ll go feed the baby. (Exits)
BOY
(Half to himself; very preoccupied) Leave some for me. (Pause) (This next speech is to “theoretical people.” The audience is not to be addressed directly, nor is anyone else.)
BOY
Beyond salvation? Injure us beyond salvation? Hurt us to the point that …? (To GIRL, off) I’m standing guard. (She doesn’t hear, of course. More to himself now) I’ll guard you; I’ll guard the baby. (Gentle) If there’s anybody out there wants to do this to us—to hurt us so—ask why? Ask what we’ve done? I can take pain and loss and all the rest later—I think I can, when it comes as natural as … sleep? But … now? We’re happy; we love each other; I’m hard all the time; we have a baby. We don’t even understand each other yet! (Pause) So … give it some thought. Give us some time. (Pause) O.K.?
GIRL
(Emerges; goes to BOY) Wasn’t hungry; false alarm.
BOY
(Shrugs) No problem. (Out again) O.K.? Please?
(MAN is propelled on stage, followed by WOMAN; clearly they are in the middle of a heated exchange.)
WOMAN
I was young once, remember? I had a life before you?
MAN
Oh, God!
WOMAN
What you referred to—what you always refer to—as my privileged little life before I met you?
MAN
Oh, God! (Indicates out) Not in front of all these people! (Indicates BOY and GIRL who are peripheral) Not in front of the children!
(They stand, sit, move; musical chairs, etc.)
WOMAN
Well, I did have. You think no one but you wanted me? Hunh?! (A pronouncement) A painter hanged himself for the love of me.
MAN
(Flat contradiction) No.
WOMAN
Yes, he did. I was eighteen, and moving into ripeness. I was eighteen, as I said, and knowledgeable, and I was at a tea one afternoon—it was summer; it was a resort—and I had on silk and a great hat with ribbons, and I had been to Europe …
MAN
(Quietly dogmatic) You had not. (To BOY and GIRL) She had not!
WOMAN
(Overriding him) … and I had been to Europe, and I knew the women there went without bras if their breasts were exemplary and if they were young, and I had my lovely breasts. (Cups them for him) Lovely? Breasts? (Tiny pause) Nothing?
MAN
Get on with it.
WOMAN
(Smiles) And I had my lovely breasts free in the delicious silk, an unlined silk, smooth against my nipples; and I stalked about—I think I had a parasol as well, really doing it up. Very Gainsborough, or perhaps Watteau.
MAN
Jesus!
WOMAN
“Very Gainsborough, or perhaps Watteau,” I heard a voice say, just behind me and to the right. I stopped. I mean, who else could the voice be referring to, right?
MAN
(Ironic) Right!
WOMAN
“Definitely Watteau,” it went on, “definitely Watteau.” And I turned my pretty head, and there he was … The Painter. Not a man who painted, not a painter, but … The Painter: hollow-cheeked, burning eyes, wispy whiskers, long, bony fingers, the voice cavernous, basso, the costume … well, do you know Whistler? (Afterthought) Of course you do.
MAN
Of course I do.
WOMAN
Of course you do.
MAN
What do you take me for?
WOMAN
“You should have a crook and sheep, or an arm basket filled with wildflowers. I’m going to paint you,” he said. “Are you!” I said …
MAN
(Out) I don’t believe a word of this. (To BOY and GIRL) Not a word of this is true.
WOMAN
“Yes,” he said, “twice.” “To get it right?” I joked. “First time a practice swing?” “No,” he said, his burning eyes even deeper and sadder, “first as you are, as you are right now, and then, later, naked, your lovely breasts, the dimple of your belly, your milk-pink hips, your burning bush …” “Really!” I said. “You go too far!” Phrases like that just … came to me then; I could do them with conviction. “Really, Sir, you go too far.”
MAN
(Back in) Milk-pink?
WOMAN
(A trifle embarrassed) Well … yes.
MAN
You must have read it somewhere. (To BOY and GIRL) She read it somewhere.
WOMAN
(High horse) It is what he said! (Back to recounting; out) I should probably interject here that all my lovers to that moment had been both young and handsome—sturdy, virile boys and young men my own age, well-muscled … handsome, as I said. I had not made love with the aged, with cripples, dwarves, or—and I blush at this, I think, in retrospect, at least, for its lack of humor, its lack of generosity—even with the simply plain.
MAN
(Eyes to heaven) Christ!
WOMAN
(Back in) Needless to say—needles, as I used to say when I was little—almost needles to say, nothing was further from my lovely mind than an affair with the gaunt and disheveled painter. (Thinks) Well … perhaps death was further from my mind, but not much. I was seeing—as they say—“seeing” a young polo player …
MAN
(Out) Do you believe any of this? (To BOY and GIRL) Do you? (Afterthought) Well, they might.
WOMAN
Yes, of course they do … a young polo player, whose biceps alone were worth the trip. I was seeing him, and quite involved, almost … happy. What did I need with … well, with anything else? My days were filled with polo, my nights with rut. Oh, what a wangled teb we weave.
MAN
A what?
WOMAN
A teb; a wangled teb.
MAN
What is that?
WOMAN
You figure it out. Anyway, I sat for the painter. He was meticulous, and he worked so slowly. My polo player wondered where I was instead of watching him knock balls through the legs of horses. “I’m being painted as a shepherdess,” I said. “You’re kidding!” he replied, white teeth flashing, et cetera. “Be careful he doesn’t want to paint you in the nude,” he warned. “Oh, he does,” I smiled, “he does.” And Beauty’s face darkened—even beneath the tan—and my young heart broke, for I saw that he loved me, and I knew in that moment … that I did not love him.
MAN
Oh, you poor dear!
WOMAN
That I desired him, yes; I mean, he was a splendid lover—slow, patient, thoughtful, but always in command, and driving. Indeed, he was splendid.
MAN
(Out) Look at her! You believe this?
WOMAN
Of course they do. But … I became lovers with the painter. He wasn’t much good—in bed, I mean. “I know I’m unworthy of you,” he said, “That my touch is unworthy of you, that when I crawl on you like a spider in the night, my bony fingers trembling on your perfect breasts …”
MAN
(To WOMAN) Nobody talks like that!
WOMAN
He did … “and when you let me enter in, it is in an act of mercy …”
MAN
(Out) Nobody! Nobody has ever talked like that! (To BOY and GIRL) Nobody. EVER. Don’t just stand there with your mouths open! Learn something!
WOMAN
“I know all this and I am strengthened by my weakness.” And so on and so forth. And, well, he was strengthened; his talent surged; his drawings of me—and the paintings—made him, well … quite famous. I hang in museums. You didn’t know that, did you?
MAN
(In) You do not. (Out) She does not. (To BOY and GIRL) She does not.
WOMAN
I do not? But I began to see something: that he was getting far more out of this than I was: he had his lovely decoration, plus a model for free, plus a source of income, and I was saddled with this … skimpy little man with only bones and drive and the oddest breath and … and I felt tricked. I belonged with the polo players and such, the healthy animals.
MAN
(Back in. Sarcastic) Of course you did!
WOMAN
I was young and fabulous.
MAN
(Ibid) Yes! Of course you were!
WOMAN
And I suddenly knew that I hadn’t gained the days, but I’d merely lost the nights. Do you understand? (Waits; he merely shakes his head.) Where was I?
MAN
Not gained the days but merely lost the nights, or some such rubbish.
WOMAN
… not gained the days but merely lost the nights. And so I broke it off. “You’re using me,” I shrieked at him, pacing his studio, knocking things over. “You don’t love me; you love the fact of me.” (Shakes her head) Who did I think I was? Who did we all think we were? “I can’t live without you,” he called to me from his window as I flounced from the building. “I’ll kill myself!” “Hanh!” I said, and turned on my heel and … vanished into the mist, or whatever. And of course he did: kill himself, that is. He hanged himself in his atelier, from a rafter. (Pause) And how does all that strike you? How and where does all that grab you?
MAN
(Shakes his head; smiles, applauds) Very good! Really, very good! (Out) Wasn’t that good? Didn’t she do that well? Come on, give her a hand! (Encourages, leads audience applause. She curtsies. If there is none, he dismisses audience with a wave of his hand.) Good. Really very good. (To BOY and GIRL) Didn’t you think so? (Before they can reply: a sudden shift to very businesslike; in) O.K. Let’s get on with it. (To BOY and GIRL; calling) Will you two come over here, please?
BOY
(Flat) What?
GIRL
(Flat) What? What is it?
MAN
Did you like our little performance? Our intermezzo a due? (Before they can answer) Ah! But where’s baby-poo?
GIRL
(Flat) Asleep; all fed.
BOY
(Licks lips) I got dessert.
WOMAN
(False hearty) Oh, you have a baby!
BOY
Yes.
WOMAN
What kind?
BOY
(Eyeing her) A small one.
WOMAN
Aha. (Exits left; false stealth)
BOY
(To MAN) What do you want?
MAN
(Cheerless smile) What do we want. Well, I would imagine we want what almost everybody wants—eternal life, in great health, no older than we are when we want it; easy money, with enough self-deception to make us feel we’ve earned it, are worthy people; a government that lets us do whatever we want, serves our private interests and lets us feel we’re doing all we can for … how do they call it—the less fortunate?; a bigger dick, a more muscular vagina; a baby, perhaps?
BOY
No, no. (Articulated) What do you want?
MAN
Hm?
BOY
Here; what do you want here?
MAN
(Helpless gesture; false) I’m not sure that I …
BOY
You’re here.
MAN
(Grudging) Yes.
BOY
That … woman is here—is with you.
MAN
Everything being relative …
BOY
Yes.
GIRL
(Suspicious) Where is she? Where’s she gone!? (WOMAN reenters, from stage right, very casually, an “O.K.” finger gesture to MAN, a broad wink to him.) Oh, there she is.
MAN
(To BOY) We are both here; yes.
BOY
(Level) Why?
MAN
Hm?
BOY
(Still level, if harder) Why are you here? What do you want?
MAN
(Cheerless smile) What do we want. Well, it’s really very simple. We’ve come to take the baby.
(Silence)
BOY
What do you mean!?
MAN
(Flat) We’ve come to take the baby.
(Shorter silence)
GIRL
(A look of panic) What do you mean “you’ve come to take …” Oh, my God! (Suddenly exits, left)
BOY
(Eyes on MAN; steely) I don’t understand you.
WOMAN
He doesn’t understand you; be clearer.
MAN
(To WOMAN) I thought I was being clear. (To BOY) What is it you don’t understand? The noun “baby”? The verb “take”?
WOMAN
You’re not being nice.
MAN
You told me to be clear—clearer.
WOMAN
They’re not mutually exclusive.
MAN
(Heavy sigh) All right. (To BOY) The baby. The baby?
BOY
(Very innocent) Yes?
MAN
(Demonstrates) We’ve come to take it.
BOY
I don’t …
MAN
(Very explicit) A-way; a-way.
GIRL
(Re-enters from left; hysterical) WHERE’S THE BABY?! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH THE BABY?!
(Silence)
MAN
What baby?
(Silence)
WOMAN
Yes; what baby?
(Tableau)
END OF ACT ONE