|
INTRODUCTION TO THEATRE |
Please CUT AND PASTE only
what you need on to a word document;
otherwise, you will end up printing this whole page.
INTRODUCTION TO THEATRE 2015-2016
OVERVIEW
This course is designed to introduce students to the beauty and power of live theatre. We will focus primarily on the performing aspects of theatre--acting exercises, textual analysis, scene study, improvisation techniques, stage blocking, direction and live performance--with some attention to the academic and literary aspects of theatre--stage terminology influential figures, important movements, classic plays. Students will read, see, discuss, compare, analyze, and perform scenes and monologues from plays, paying attention to characterization, setting, plot, conflict and theme. They will work as a class and in small groups on monologues, short scenes from traditional and modern classics, and contemporary 10-minute plays, many of which will be performed both in class and for other students in the school. In addition, they will write essays that reflect and analyze.
We will participate in a number of outside activities as well:
1) The students will write and develop short plays on their own for the annual Pegasus Young Playwrights Contest, a contest that offers a full production of four winning plays. We have had actors from Pegasus visit us at school over the years to introduce the basic elements of drama and perform scenes from some recent award-winning student plays. In the last few years our school has had four finalists and one winner.
2) The students will partner with the award winning Victory Gardens Theater. Robert Cornelius, the intern coordinator at VG, will be visiting us, guiding the actors and sharing his expertise. In the last couple years we've seen some great plays at VG: "Failure, a Love Story," "Equivocation," "We Are Proud to Present a Presentation About the Hero of Namibia, Formerly Known as South-West Africa, From the German Sudwestafrika, Between the Years 1884-1915," "Ameriville" "At Home in the Zoo" and "The Boys Room."
3) Robert will also coordinate the August Wilson Monologue competition. This is prestigious seven-city national competition is now in its 6th year. The year before last one of our students, Johnathan Nieves, finished 4th in the country. Last year Julio Munoz was a Chicago finalist.
4) The students will hopefully work with other theaters as well. Last year we were fortunate to have Adam Webster, artistic director of thesideproject, visit our school and share his expertise. In previous years Janet Ulrich Brooks, an award winning actress, came in and performed scenes with the students from TimeLine Theater's production of "A Walk in the Woods." In addition, long-time Chicago actor Rob Riley performed with our students in scenes from The Front Page. Over the years we've also gone on field trips to see TimeLine's productions of "Not Enough Air," "The History Boys," "All My Sons," "Frost/ Nixon" and "The Front Page."
5) Out-of-school field trips to various theaters are also part of the program. Last year some of our drama and AP students went to see the Profiles Theater's exciting new interpretation of The Glass Menagerie. In the last several years we have seen such plays as Mouse in a Jar, The Pillowman, The Informer, Inherit the Whole, Suicide, Inc-, and Doubt. We hope to continue this real-world experience. Chicago is the greatest theater city in America. There are over 200 theater companies in this city, many of them doing daring and exciting work. I hope the experience the students have in the class will encourage them to participate in this community.
The class will be conducted in a friendly, serious, supportive and professional manner, with the understanding that drama is not only one of the oldest of art forms, but also one of this most emotionally demanding, with actors putting themselves at constant risk in order to find deeper truths. That said, I do expect students to show up on time ready to play, work and discover and to not disturb the class in any way. Punctuality and respect are paramount in theater.
It is our goal at the end of this school year that students should have both a wider and deeper appreciation of theatre and a physical and verbal self-confidence that will help them succeed in the adult world.
It is also our goal to put on a one-hour plus presentation of monologues and scenes at the end of the year...as we have done for the last several years.
A BRIEF NOTE ON GRADING:
You can quantify many things in life but the beauty of art is not one of them. To give a Rodin sculpture a 74 and a Matisse painting an 83 is absurd. You cannot say that Marlon Brando’s performance in A Streetcar Named Desire is 3 points better than Vivian Leigh’s performance in the same play. Martin Scorsese’s direction in Goodfellas is not an A; Clint Eastwood’s direction in Letters from Iwo Jima is not an A-.
Acting and directing--which will be the primary focuses of the class--are about choices. Period. In the making these choices the actor and director may discover new and exciting routes or dead-end canyons. But what is important is that the actors and directors make a choice. And then another one. And then another one. And then another one. And then another one. Their goal should be to constantly discover the character they are playing or the scene they are directing. “Does she walk with a limp? Has she just been laid off? Would she touch her earlobe when she’s embarrassed? Might she pause at a certain moment in the monologue? Could her voice tremble at the recollection of her dead father?” The same for directors: “Should he say the first line to himself, walk across to the table, pick up the knife, touch the blade, put the knife down, close his eyes and the then say the next two lines? Or should he…?” If students come prepared and on time, with the material memorized and try their best to make some interesting choices then I cannot but give them a 100 for that aspect of the class.
This does not mean that there won’t be other grades. Here is a short list of possible assessments to be repeated continually throughout the year.
· Have monologues memorized by a certain date
· Have dialogues memorized by a certain date
· Have reflective papers typed and handed in by a certain date (NOTE: this will be a key factor for assessment)
· Have a note book on acting with X amount of pages by a certain date
· Learn the vocabulary of theater by a certain date
· Write essays in which you analyze themes in various plays.
There are a lot of opportunities in this class to really expand your horizons. It's up to you. So lets do it!
Mr.Rychlewski
September 8, 2015
Please note: The show almost always goes on, and almost always on time. Theater people are probably the most punctual of all the professions. No one wants to be late and make the other actors, the director, the lighting person, the stage manager and even the producer.......................wait!
My point? Be on time! Those who are frequently late won't be allowed to participate in any serious way in the class. And they will jeopardize their chance to pass the course.
QUARTER 1
Week 1 (9/8-9/12)
1. General discussion about the course
2. What are we here? What can drama achieve?
2. Mantra: There are no mistakes, only choices.
4. Invent a one-minute story and then turn it into a scene.
Week 2 (9/14-9/18)
1. Bring a cople scenes on to the stage.
2. Create of "text" book of scenes. Start reading them and dicussing them.
3. Type up your one-minuite story and have it on hand when we need it. We will use it.
4. Perhaps assignments of common "texts" we will all learn.
Week 3 (9/21 - 9/25
1. All week will be devoted to memorizing Hamlet's "To Be or Not To Be" soliloquoy.
2. We will work on focus exercides (counting off without anyone else saying thr number at the same time.)
3. Grade for "scene into story" and Hamlet soliloquoy
MR. RYCHLESKI'S DRAMA CLASS MONOLOGUES 1 2013-2014
JULIA & LUCETTA from Two Gentlemen of Verona
THE MURDER OF CLARENCE from Richard III
4.
actor: a person who performs in a play
backdrop: a large cloth (or paper) that is painted and hung as scenery
blackout: when all lights are simultaneously turned off to indicate the end of a scene
blocking: a plan that indicates where an actor stands and moves
“Break a leg!”: a theatre expression meaning "Good luck!"
cast: the actors in a play
center stage: the middle portion of the stage floor
character: a person in a story that an actor plays
choreographer: a person who plans and teaches movements - like dances and fight sequences - to actors
costume director: a person who designs and makes the costumes actors wear
cue: a signal that tells an actor when to speak or move
curtain call: actors gather on stage at the end of a performance to receive applause
director: the person who interprets the play and provides direction to the actors and designers
downstage: the area of the stage that is closest to the audience
dress rehearsal: the last rehearsal before a play opens with actors in full costume
Foley artist: a person who creates sounds for film or theatre using a variety of objects to enhance the sound effects
giving focus: an actor on stage does not move or talk so that audience attention is drawn to another actor who is moving or talking
improvisation: a drama that is not scripted, but is made up as you go
lighting designer: a person who plans what lights are used and when they are used to help create a setting
makeup designer: a person who makes actors faces resemble the characters they are playing
mime: an actor who performs without words
monologue: a scene when only one actor speaks
offstage: the area of the stage that is not seen by an audience
onstage: the area of a stage where actors perform
pantomime: a story performed without words
producer: the person who arranges the financing of a play
prop: short for properties. Any object used by an actor.
proscenium: a decorative frame that arches around the stage's acting area
script: a play in written form
set: the acting area including props and scenery
set designer: the person who designs the scenery for a play
sound designer: the person who selects the music and sounds used in a play
stage crew: people who set up scenery and change it between scenes of a play
stage directions: instructions given to actors to tell them when and where to move on stage
stage left: the area of stage that is on the actor's left
stage manager: the person who makes sure a performance runs as planned
stage right: the area of stage that is on the actor's right
taking focus: the actor speaks confidently and makes intentional movements in a way that gets the audience's attention
upstage: the back of the stage or the area that is the farthest away from the audience
EMOTIONS
First of all, NO ONE, not even the best actors, can summon emotions "at will". They can often portray emotions easily; in the best, most talented actors, their own emotions are always very close to the surface - in fact, many actors, when not on stage, have to work to surpress their very volatile and accessible emotions. So, for those uniquely gifted actors, they are able to, when properly prepared and in the moment, expose their own emotions within the context of the play.
Not everyone has the natural ability to access their own emotions so easily. It is something that may need years of work - and is one of the reasons why acting is not anywhere near as easy as people seem to think it is.
How to access those emotions? First, be aware of them. Think about yourself. What triggers certain emotions in yourself? Anger, pain, frustration, joy, silliness, fear, and all the others. How do each of them feel? Can you think of an incident in your life that made you feel that way? How did your body react when you felt that emotion? What did your face and body do? Did you pull away? Did your mouth go dry? What else?
There are a number of ways to access emotion.
The first is by "remembering" a specific emotional incident in your life which will trigger that response, and then transfer that reaction to your character. This is the base of "The Method"'s "emotional memory" technique. However, it is NOT something that I recommend for several reasons. First of all, going INSIDE yourself takes you OUTSIDE the world of the play, which is never a good idea when you are trying to stay in the moment. Secondly, we don't want YOUR emotions exactly, we want the character's emotions, and you want to react in character, not as yourself. And finally, it is too easy, if you open yourself to these very personal, very intimate, very intense emotions, to get carried away and not be able to get out of them, and on stage you need to be in control.
2) The second way to access emotions is through physical actions - studying your own physical reactions to various emotions and using those physical actions to trigger the appropriate emotions. So... I can often bring myself to the edge of tears by using my mouth, tongue and throat to partly trigger a yawn, which brings tears to my eyes. Sometimes this type of thing can work for you, but again, it is emotion generated from OUTSIDE the play, and that is a weakness.
3) The third, and most valuable, method is to use the content of the play to trigger the emotions you need. Or rather, to allow yourself to immerse yourself in the character and in the circumstances of the play, to be fully "in the moment" and let the character's emotion arise in you naturally in reaction to the character's experiences.
The best way to do this is to fully understand your character. Really study him. And do it in the first person - "I" am, "I" want, etc. As soon as you can do an autobiography of your character... ask the important questions and answer them - who am I? where and when do I live? what is my life like? am I happy with my life and if not, why not and what would I want my life to be? who else is part of my life and what is my relationship with them? what do I like, who do I love and who do I hate? what do I want - in my life, in the play, in each scene, in each moment? Explore your character's life, his relationships, his childhood, his family, his circumstances, the world he lives in. Get to know him and the people he deals with as well as you know yourself and the world you live in.
Where do you find this information? In the script - in the things he says, in the things other characters say about him, in how the playwright describes him and his actions in the stage directions; and in your own imagination. If something isn't written in the script, invent it. As long as it doesn't contradict what is written in the play, as long it makes sense in the context of the character's words, relationships and actions, then it doesn't matter what it is as long as it works for you and the play. Let yourself go - use your own experiences and emotions to develop a character that has part of you in him. The final character is an amalgam of what the playwright has written, what the director has envisioned, and what you have created. When you truly know the character and have incorporated him into you and you into him, then you will be able to react "as" him in the context of the scenes you are acting.
Then, finally, let yourself be "in the moment". You understand the character, you know who "you" are and how you feel about the people you are with and what is happening to you. Now you need to focus; to use your concentration to "be" in that world, to react "as" the character, to use your imagination to make that world on the stage, for that moment, more real than the "real" world. Let yourself go; relax; let yourself be the character and simply react to what is happening to you.
Basically, that's it. It's not easy. In fact, it's very hard. It takes practice and experience for many people to be able to do that with any kind of ease. But once you get the hang of it, you'll find that it becomes easier and easier to do. It's the letting go that's hard. And the work it takes to get to the point of knowing the character well enough to do that, and of knowing yourself well enough to recognize it, and trusting yourself enough to be able to let go, to break through the barriers we all build to protect ourselves, and let the emotions come. That's what acting is all about.
+ choices
A monologue is any dramatic performance by a single actor portraying a character and performed to an audience. Actors use monologues as audition pieces, as showcase performances in their own right, or just to refine their acting skills. No matter why you are preparing a monologue, the following tips will help to ensure that you give your best performance:
A monologue is any dramatic performance by a single actor portraying a character and performed to an audience. Actors use monologues as audition pieces, as showcase performances in their own right, or just to refine their acting skills. No matter why you are preparing a monologue, the following tips will help to ensure that you give your best performance:
1. Find a truth. There is no single truth, every individual connects with a piece of writing in a different way, but you do need some connection. If a particular monologue doesn't 'speak' to you, if it doesn't say something to you, then pick a different one. No matter how technically proficient you are, an audience will immediately sense when there is no truth in your performance.
2. Be heard. There are very few things that an audience will not forgive -- if you fall over, or if you forget a line, they'll forgive you. BUT… if they can't hear you, it doesn't matter how good the other aspects of your performance, they will not forgive you. Clarity and audibility above all else.
3. Choose for your audience. Select a monologue that is appropriate for your audience in terms of length and type of material. Many a good actor has been sunk by poor choices.
4. Play to your strengths. Select a monologue that will show your strengths as an actor or will display certain skills. Showcase yourself. This is particularly important if you are preparing a piece for an audition. Don't select a piece that shows off your comic skills if you're auditioning to play Oedipus.
5. Make it a complete performance. Each monologue is a performance, and each performance should have structure and shape. You're on display from the moment you walk into the performance space until you leave it. Always say a few words about the context, no matter how well known the piece you are performing. Always make it clear when your performance is ended.
6. Dig deep. The deeper you go into a piece, the more discoveries you will make and the richer your final performance will be. Sometimes you can keep making discoveries in a piece of writing over a period of weeks, months or even years. So, be prepared -- start working on a variety of pieces well before you need them. Don't be frightened by the idea that you might become 'over rehearsed' -- there is no such thing.
7. Keep it simple. Though your performance should be deep, it should also be compact. Don't overload a short piece and try to show off too many things at once. This applies to trying to convey too many aspects of the character and/or overloading your performance with too many quirks, props or gimmicks.
8. Be in the moment. This is the key to all good performance, not just monologues. It has to appear newly minted, as if your words are spontaneous and not well rehearsed.
9. Learn from feedback. When you're working on a piece, invite as much feedback as you can get. Learn how to critically assess this feedback and to learn from the useful bits. You should be learning all the time and using feedback is one of the most efficient ways of learning.
10. Have fun. The most important thing of all. If you're enjoying the experience, enjoying the performance, then so will your audience. It's hard work to polish the performance of even the shortest speech, but there's nothing like the sense of achievement that it can bring. Have fun, enjoy it, because if you don't, then what's the point?
1) MISREADINGS: Female teacher can’t reach jaded, cynical female student.
2) HAPPY MUG: Two sisters discuss the struggles of young motherhood.
3) KAT AND ELIZA: Troubled relationship of two sisters, one expecting.
4) NIGHTSWIM: Teen-age girls, mid-night swim, budding sexuality, fear.
5) WATERBABIES: Strange baby aquatic teacher and possible woman client.
6) AFTER: To-be-married journalist visits Disney romance junk-yard with fairy.
7) BEAUTY: Accountant nerd and sexy knockout switch bodies via a genie.
8) OFF THE RACK: Nazi clothes organizer blitzes weight-anxious client.
9) SO TELL ME ABOUT THIS GUY: Funny girl-girl talk; new date may be bi.
1) GUYS: College slackers at McDonald’s discuss sex, check out cute chick
2) EXECUTIVE DANCE: Male executive dance party to move up corporate ladder
3) 40-MINUTE FINISH: Food store slackers mop and muse over death in store
4) TRYING TO FIND CHINATOWN: Asian street musician confronts white Asian adoptee.
5) WOOZEY WOO!: Two guys discuss how to slip a woman a Mickey.
6) DRIVE ANGRY: Two punks cruise and argue about one’s cancer before they shoot at cars.
7) GAME THEORY: Two yuppie corporate types negotiate a cross-the-line game.
1) THE BLUE ROOM: Dream-evocation of a sailor and the woman he loved and left.
2) CREEP: Uptight woman has weird encounter with inventive slacker guy at party.
3) AFTER YOU: Ex-lovers examine feelings as he finally gets to shave her legs.
4) THE INDIVIDUALITY OF STREETLAMPS: Ex-lovers on her porch. He’s getting married; she has a crush on a 11 year-old student.
5) THE DIVINE FALLACY: Visionary novelist visits photographer, reveals her stigmata, stuns him.
6) CARNALITY: Separated couple admit their sexual feelings for each other while talking about their kid’s schooling
7) PRECIPICE: Mountaineer girl and nerdy date face dangerous choice at crossroads on a mountain descent.
8) LIFT AND BANG: Man returns to his ex-lover’s kitchen, tries to seduce her.
9) WHAT I CAME FOR: Tipsy woman tries to connect with Irish bartender.
10) HISS: Emotions vacillate for a couple who discover a snake in the laundry room.
11) SCHEHERAZADE: Girl and man on cruise ship invent stories and argue their believability.
12) SATURDAY NIGHT: A couple faces conflict over different friendship networks and life style choices on a Saturday night.
13) JOAN OF ARKANSAS: Two students writing research papers about prisoners try to adjust to a bird trapped in the library.
MAN OR WOMAN
1) TAPE: Celestial attendant prepares dead person for hearing all the lies of their life.
1) SINGLETON, THE MEDAL WINNER: Civil War. Dying and delirious soldier awaits medal in hospital with disillusioned surgeon.
2) TANGO DELTA: Reflective secret service agent guarding president from sniper attack with two laconic colleagues.
3) SEEING THE LIGHT: Three men discuss seriousness of overhead red light appearing. Suggestion of some nuclear warning.
1) EATING OUT: Three women recite soliloquies on eating disorders, food obsessions.
2) THE OFFICE: Two bored customer reps bitch about life and job while a third watches.
3) HEADS: Three co-eds argue what to do when nerdy guy is found to be filthy rich.
4) SUNDAY GO TO MEETIN’: Narrow rural girls mock new Jewish girl in town.
5) BROKEN HEARTS: Woman who died and girl who got her heart in “waiting” area between life and death.
6) BODY TALK: Three women speak of their relationship to their body images.
1) LYNETTE HAS BEAUTIFUL SKIN: Girl connects with the male friend of her immature boyfriend at a pizza parlor.
2) KEEPER: Victim of sick gossiper gets revenge in theatre lobby while box office girl watches.
3) LAWYERS, GUNS AND MONEY: Three educated twenty-somethings discuss the idea of creating a gun pyramid scheme.
4) HARD-BOILDED: Bad feelings simmer among two male corporate lawyers when their female colleague gets promoted.
5) EYE-TO-EYE: Man and woman play stare-down game for check after first date.
6) DOWNTOWN: Three jaded people-watchers in a club are revealed as wait staff.
7) ELECTRIC ROSES: Wife beater’s monologue interspersed with wife and friend at bus station as she leaves town the morning he is to get out of prison.
8) MEDIAN: Self-destructive man is followed to highway median strip by friends.
9) COVER: Friend is asked to lie to male buddy’s wife about his affair.
TWO WOMEN AND ONE MAN
1) DANCING WITH THE DEVIL: 28 year-old woman remembers a rape when she was 24.
2) UNDER LUBIANKA SQUARE: Naïve American woman is confronted by Russian woman selling cosmetics in a metro station in Moscow
3) BREAKING THE CHAIN: A women questions “luck” when a neighbor couple win a series of contests and lotteries.
4) NIGHT VISITS: Doctor and patient connect over death of doctor’s wife.
5) ONE HUNDRED WOMEN: Gay women tries to come to terms with her love for her straight roommate and her ambivalence over roommate’s boy friend.
6) LONLEY: Lonely younger sister struggles with her feeling as she visits living room of her sister and her brother-in-law.
7) LUNCHTIME: Two women talk problems at lunch when a man sits down near them to listen.
8) THE HOUR OF LAMPS: Young man suck in the past confronts his two sisters.
9) THE SIN EATER: Older sister of an apparently dead girl invites a Sin-Eater to eat off the dead girl’s chest, and finds he had had a crush on her.
10) GAVE HER THE EYE: Man meets female co-worker in bar and reveals to her that is eye, which pops out, is electronic. A woman watches from a distance.
11) LOVE POEM # 98: Impressionistic dream piece where man vacillates between wife and hooker, who are possibly the same person.
1) ARABIAN NIGHTS: a banal exchange between a customer and a salesperson in a small exotic shop is rendered magical through the words of an interpreter.
New Times Roman or Courier are the standard font formats. Size 12
Title of play or act/scene number are centered at the top in size 14 bold
Stage directions that begin a play or act/scene are centered in italics
Names of all characters go in the middle of the page are are in caps
What the characters say goes directly on the line below starting on the left margin
Then a line is skipped and the next character's name is typed...etc
Smaller stage directions are inserted inside the text. Ex: (softly) (drops the ball)
Larger stage directions go on their own line either between the lines of dialogue of one character (single space) or between two characters speaking (double space) Ex: Mary crosses to the dresser, opens the drawer, pulls out a gun and checks if it's loaded.
If it is not clear who a person is talking to indicate as a smaller stage direction
Larger stage directions start 1/4 from the left margin.
Three dots indicates a very brief hesitation or pause, a second or two
Italics indicated that a particular word or series of words are to be emphasized.
The word "Beat" is inserted when there is a dramatic shift. Something big is happening
EXAMPLE
ACT I
JOHN stands in a school yard at twilight. Downstage left is a fence and downstage right a basketball net. Up-stage there is the brick wall of the school with a strike zone-painted on it. It is summer, so there is the suggestion of trees. He holds a large blown-up balloon, double the size of a basketball. LINDA enters.
LINDA
Hey John. What's happening?
JOHN
Not much.
LINDA
I like your balloon.
(JOHN begins to let the air out.)
Oh! Don't do that!
JOHN
(disgusted) Why not?
LINDA
Cause a balloon should have air in it. A balloon without air is like (snaps her fingers trying to remember) a day without sunshine.
JOHN
(long disbelieving stare) Right.
(TOM enters wearing a football uniform.)
TOM
Hey! ...Have you guys seen my football?
JOHN
Here! Use this.
(JOHN releases the balloon. It flies around and lands on the ground.)
(screams) Fumble!
(Beat)
TOM
You are out of your mind, John.
LINDA
...(To TOM) He knows.
SOME IDEAS FOR WRITING PLAYS (from Mr. Rychlewski)
1. Not too much exposition unless it’s designed to get/change something
2. Objects are important, use them and track them
3. Silences are okay. Even long ones if the moment calls for it
4. Sounds off stage are important for mood, memory and dramatic action
5. Let characters speak about someone who is there as if they’re not there
6. Intermediary roles important. Some characters are negotiators
7. Dramatic action off-stage that that pulls characters there can be effective
8. Put small talk before a big moment
9. “What do you do there?” Remark on mysterious places off-stage.
10. Conflicts between two characters on how to solve problems of the third
11. Something big is coming and they’re waiting for it is always compelling
12. What to do with a gift, money, a secret can created a big conflict
13. Who controls a space? Who challenges for it?
14. How badly does somebody want something? What are the limits?
15. Someone pursuing the revelation of a secret is always interesting
16. How someone feels the world looks at them is key to building character
17. Misunderstanding of a word can create a big conflict
18. Characters get so absorbed with something they’re not even listening
19. Sometimes a word can trigger a memory
20. Superior vs. inferior status. Who stands? Who sits? Who turns their back?
21. Sometimes a quiet hides a volcano. Show it
22. Watching a character lower their expectations step-by-step is powerful
23. Create a story that defines a life and use it as the big speech
24. Use a character that is looking for a past that can’t be recaptured
25. Hard decisions really engage an audience
26. Dream/dead/fantasy characters are fine and can be used effectively
27. A reaction shot at the moment of truth can be written in stage directions
28. Think about physical distance between characters in dramatic moments
29. Create characters that can rationalize anything
30. Know what just happened before all this. The world before the play
31. Small talk can hide an elephant under the rug
32. Use stage directions sparingly for maximum effect
33. When it’s time for direct talk, let the characters talk direct
34. Sometimes characters talk in code. Figure out the code
35. Always think about the subtext. What is NOT said is equally important
Use these for the two movies we saw.
Doubt is not a pleasant condition, but certainty is absurd.
Voltaire
Doubt grows with knowledge.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
The trouble with the world is that the stupid are cocksure and the intelligent are full of doubt.
Bertrand Russell
I respect faith, but doubt is what gives you an education.
Wilson Mizner
How prone to doubt, how cautious are the wise!
Alexander Pope
The greatest obstacle to being heroic is the doubt whether one may not be going to prove one's self a fool; the truest heroism is to resist the doubt; and the profoundest wisdom, to know when it ought to be resisted, and when it be obeyed.
Nathaniel Hawthorne
Doubt is the brother of shame.
Erik Erikson
Faith and doubt cannot exist in the same mind at the same time, for one will dispel the other.
Thomas S. Monson
We work n the dark - we do what we can - we give what we have. Our doubt is our passion and our passion is our task. The rest is the madness of art.
Henry James
One must always hope when one is desperate, and doubt when one hopes.
Gustave Flaubert
The deplorable mania of doubt exhausts me. I doubt about everything, even my doubts.
Gustave Flaubert
Action and faith enslave thought, both of them in order not be troubled or inconvenienced by reflection, criticism, and doubt.
Henri Frederic Amiel
Doubt, it seems to me, is the central condition of a human being in the twentieth century.
Salman Rushdie
I slept with faith and found a corpse in my arms on awakening; I drank and danced all night with doubt and found her a virgin in the morning.
Aleister Crowley
# 101 COOKIES by KATHY COUDLE KING © 305 words
SHELIA: Beauty? Where did I learn about beauty? Where does every girl learn? From magazines, of course. My big sister
has piles of them in her bedroom. She hates for me to mess with her stuff, but whenever she’s not around, I sneak into her
room. I’d take out the neat pile she keeps by her bed. Carefully, so she wouldn’t even know I’d touch them. I’d flip the shiny
pages, breathe in the perfume scent, staring at all the faces of the models, memorizing the way they smiled, or didn’t, the way
they pouted, they way they leaned casually against a car –- or a guy. I studied the way they wore their makeup. The colors of
their lipstick, and their hairstyles. I studies them and I learned. Wanna know what I learned? (Pause) I learned they all look alike!
They have the same shape nose, eyes. Even the shapes of their heads are the same. They’re all the same height, same weight.
Just like Barbie dolls, where they say it’s Latina Barbie in the book, but it’s really just white Barbie dipped in a tanning color
with brown eyes and hair. They change the wig, duh. That’s like the girls in magazines. They’re all the same. After a while I
couldn’t tell which magazines I’d looked at and which ones I hadn’t. See, they give you this recipe for how to be beautiful.
Buy this, wear your hair this way, dress that way – but the recipe is the kind you use cookie cutters, so every cookie comes out
exactly the same. No – (looking for the word) --variety. No surprises. That’s what I learned from the beauty magazine. And me?
I’m nobody’s cookie. Not your cupcake, not your honey, not your little pumpkin, sweetie pie. I’m not cookie. But I’ll sell you
some. How many cases you wanna buy?
# 102 FEMONOLOGUES (MISSY) by JILL MORLEY © 231 words
MISSY: Earl? Earl? Did you fix the carburetor yet? I’m hungry. Well, why not? Ok. Ok. Smoke your cigarette. Figure it out.
I can’t wait till we get to Vegas, Earl. I heard the restaurants are open twenty-four hours and every meal is two ninety-nine!
Sometimes one ninety-nine. And that included drinks. Alcoholic beverages! Yeah, beers. Beers too! You’ll get you beers,
Earl. But, I’m gonna drink those Pink Lady’s with them pretty umbrellas stickin’ out, like the celebrities. I can too. Sebastian
Shoemaker says I look like Rita Hayworth. So what! He can see real good with his other one. Would ya look at that cloud.
It looks like a giant slot machine. I’ll bet it’s a sign. Oh, my god, Earl, we’re gonna be rich! Oh, I can’t wait. Know what I’m
gonna do? I’m gonna buy buckets of marigolds and plant’em all around our trailer. Won’t it look nice. What do you mean,
“Better’n that?" What’s better’n livin’ on a bed of gold? Somethin’ nobody can take from ya. I could look at ‘em every day
to remind me how rich I am. Water’em, smell’em. Feel their soft petals –watch ‘em grow … A Jaguar? Yeah, that would be
good, too. But how can ya think about Jaguars when you can’t even fix a carburetor on a Maverick? Are you done with yer
cigarette, Earl? Earl?? I’m hungry.
# 103 THESE ARE REAL by LOUISE ROZETT © 377 words
ACTRESS: (Enters with statuette and index card.) Ladies and gentlemen. I – God, this is incredible! (Reading off card) I cannot thank you enough for this! It is such an honor to be recognized by the Academy! There are so many people to thank. So many. Of course, my wonderful parents and husband and sons. And my director and fellow actors, and all the people who had faith in me to keep sending me back to rehab. (She looks up from her card to the audience.) But, actually – you know what. There are a few individuals who really deserve this statuette more than I do, and I’d like to personally recognize them. (She throws the card over her shoulder.) I’d like to thank all those boys out there who never realized just how special I am, and who told me no one would marry me. And, of course, the girls in high school gym class who called me “hairy hiney” when I came out of the shower or “big butt” when I couldn’t finished an aerobic class. If it weren’t for all of you, I never would have pushed myself as hard as I did to get to this point, just so I could stand at this podium and show you exactly what you missed out on. Let’s take a moment to evaluate, shall we? What have you done with your lives? What are you doing … right now? Hmmmmm? You’re watching me, on screen in front of the entire world, and you are praying, praying that I’ll say “thanks to our home town," Or mention our high school. Because you want people to know that I know you Well, here’s a sweet little news flash. I don’t even remember your names. I wouldn’t know you if I hit you with my limo. Who’s laughing now, baby? Huh? (She holds up the statuette, victory style.) Who’s got the pretty golden statuette? Who’s the big movie star? Me. It’s me (She taunts and threatens with it) And my life is great! And as great as it looks like it is! (She regains her composure) And I have you to thank for that. All your insults and cruelties, all the times you stood me up or ditched me, all the ways you tried to make yourself feel more important by hurting me. I would’ trade a minute of that for all the Academy Awards in the world. Because you, in your bitter smallness, helped make who I am today. And I…love…me. Finally. And these…are real. Thank you.
# 104 NICE TIE by RICH ORLOFF © 295 words
WOMAN: Can you buy me a drink, you ask. Oh, I don’t know. First you buy me a drink. And then you ask me for my phone number. And I figure what the hell, so I give it to you. If you don’t call me, I’m disappointed. If you do call me, we go out, and either I don’t like you or I like you and you don’t like me. And I’m disappointed. Or we do like each other. And we go out some more, and things become pretty wonderful – great passion, revealing conversations. Compatible neuroses – but I discover I want more than you can give. And I’m disappointed. Or we stay with it, and we get closer and closer and more dependent on each other, which gives us the strength to go through periods of mutual doubts. And things said in anger that we’ll pretend to forget but which will come up again during the post-natal depression I’ll have after the birth of our first child. If we get married, that is, and Lord knows how many friends I’ll lose because they like me but they’re just not comfortable around you. After our second date, the unresolved conflicts we buried for the sake of our marriage will propel you into a torrid affair, either with someone you work with, or, God forbid, one of my few friends who is comfortable around you. I’ll try to forgive you, eventually, by which point both our children will be in intensive therapy. The divorce will be ugly, expensive, and I’ll never be able to trust me again, those who aren’t frightened off by my sagging features and two sadomasochistic children. The kids’ll blame me, of course, and I’ll die alone. …I think I’ll pass on the drink.
# 105 THE DEATH OF A MINOR by Paula Cizmar © 392 words
MARY ALICE: It’s what I really want to do, Jack, I can’t just sit and watch. All my life…I watched. I watched my daddy until he finally couldn’t take it any more and...
JACK: I don’t know. I don’t know.
MARY ALICE: I gotta do this. I gotta …Let me tell you. You see, one day my brother and about ten of the boys from his class went out explorin’ in the caverns one day, ‘bout a mile from where we were livin’. Jack. Listen. They were in there a few hours—guess they wanted to go way back in the cave to see where it would take them. There was a flash thunderstorm and it started to flood. Well, they got divers down there…and the TV cameras came from the city…and it kept rain’n off and on. My mama dragged my dad out to the cave…and all the rest of us. We all sat there, with the other families, sat there, lined up on the hillside, lookin’ down into the flooded pit, the TV cameras takin’ our pictures…we sat there…watchin’…waitin’…watchin’…and every time they came back with nuthin’. …My mama just sat there. Sat there. And then she started…couldn’t help herself. I know, but she started with that look…accusin’ my daddy with her eyes. If we didn’t have to live in that place, none of this woulda happened …that’s what the look said…this is your fault…I wish it was you in that cave and not--…look at you…can’t do nothin’…can’t even get my boy outa the cave……it was just flashin’ outa her eyes. Finally, my daddy couldn’t take it anymore. He ran down the hill, started rippin’ his clothes off and jumped into the water before anybody could stop him. She didn’t want anyone to stop him. She just watched. He tried getting’ into that cave about a dozen times…finally they talked him into tyin’ a rope around himself and he kept trying’…tried about an hour…she never changed her expression. My brother died in that cave. Took the bodies out about a week later. After the rains died down. And the water dried up. My daddy came into my room after he saw my brother at the funeral parlor. Said…I love you Mary Alice. Said, I love you. You be happy. You can find it anywhere you want it. And he left. See?
# 106 HENRY VI, part III by William Shakeaspeare. 368 words
QUEEN MARGARET:
Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland,
Come, make him stand upon this molehill here,
That wraoght at mountains with outstretched arms,
Yet parted but the shadow with his hand.
What! was it you that would be England's king?
Was't you that revelled in our parliament,
And made a preachment of your high descent?
Where are your mess of sons to back you now?
The wanton Edward, and the lusty George?
And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy,
Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice
Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies?
Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland?
Look, York: I stain'd this napkin with the blood
That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point,
Made issue from the bosom of the boy;
And if thine eyes can water for his death,
I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal.
Alas poor York! But that I hae thee deadly,
I should lament thy miserable state.
I prithee, grieve, to make me merry, York.
What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails
That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death?
Why art thou patient, man? thou shouldst be mad;
And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus.
Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance.
Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport:
York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown.
A crown for York! and, lords, bow low to him:
Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on.
[Putting a paper crown on his head]
Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king!
Ay, this is he that took King Henry's chair,
And this is he was his adopted heir.
But how is it that great Plantagenet
Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath?
As I bethink me, you should not be king
Till our King Henry had shook hands with death.
And will you pale your head in Henry's glory,
And rob his temples of the diadem,
Now in his life, against your holy oath?
O, 'tis a fault too too unpardonable!
Off with the crown, and with the crown his head;
And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead
# 107 BUNNY’S LAST NIGHT IN LIMBO by Peter Petralia © 334 words
SISTER: I love l-i-p-s-t-i-c-k. All kinds. I’ve got ten shades of red and five browns. “I have a color to match my every mood.” I got that from a Revlon commercial. Do you know the one I mean? It’s with Lynda Carter. You know. Wonder Woman? She’s in the swimming pool? Never mind. I can’t imagine the world without lipstick…it’s be pretty boring. I’d lose my favorite snack treat. (She puts lipstick on and then bites a chunk of it. Then she puts it in her pocket and she chews the bite she took.) L-i-p-s-t-i-c-k is the world’s most overlooked source for nutrition. It’s packed full of healthy stuff like vitamins and oils. It goes on smooth and digests right away. Mmmmmm. Mary Margaret says l-i-p-s-t-i-c-k is made out of bat poop, but I don’t believe her. She doesn’t know anything about beauty anyway. Her mom won’t even let her wear l-i-p-s-t-i-c-k. My mom thinks beautify is important. That’s why she is so pretty. She lets me wear make-up because she wants me to be pretty too. I’m glad cause being pretty is fun…and important. I’m good at it, aren’t I? I get all the boys to look at me. “My lipstick makes me look…kissable.” That’s Maybelline. The boys in Mrs. Harper’s class can’t stop staring when I come in. I don’t blame them. The other day in the playground I kissed a boy. He wasn’t that good at it. I had to hold him down. He was chicken. He said he never kissed a girl before so I asked if he had ever kissed a boy and then he bit my lip. I got really mad so I told everyone that he liked boys. He’s dumb anyway. Everybody made fun of him. He’s a fag, I’m sure. (She takes out the lipstick again to take another bite. But it’s empty—no more lipstick in the tube. She sticks her tongue in the tube, trying to lick out every last bit.) Hmmpf. I’m gonna have to get some more. I think I want Tragic Diva this time, from Union Decay. It tastes better than Maybelline. I think because it costs more. They put special things in it that make it good…and it stays on longer. I hope it’s not bat poop. That Mary Margaret is crazy. They wouldn’t put bat poop in there.
# 108 REMEMBERIN’ STUFF by Eleanor Harder © 307 words
MAXINE: Well, let’s see. (to Group and audience) Well, uh…I remember that from the time I was real little, I always wanted a baby of my own. And when I was sixteen I go©t pregnant, and now I’ve got one. (Short uncomfortable pause, then she continues) And I remember thinkin’ that if I had a baby, I’d always have somebody to love and somebody who’d love me. Because nobody else had. Not really, you know? And then I—I thought everyone would look up to me, think I was special because I had a kid. (Sighs.) Well, I have a kid now, and yeah, I love him and all, and I guess he loves me. But I don’t know, it sure isn’t the way I thought it was gonna be. I mean, like the cute cuddly little puppy I had once? Not. Man, I didn’t know a baby was so much work! And I worry when he grows up he might not love me anymore, y’know? I mean, some kids don’t. (Shakes head) There’s so much stuff to worry about! Like when he’s sick and screams all night, and his daddy—hmph! He never comes around or helps or anything. Don’t even know where he is now. And I don’t know how I’m gonna manage alone. But hey. (Motions toward BABY) It’s not his fault. He’s just a little baby. And I do love him. I really do. It’s just—well, I remember thinkin’ that havin’ a kid would make everything all right. Y’know. Change everything, but it didn’t make everything all right. But (Shrugs) you know, maybe nothing’ ever does. Make things right, I mean. (Baby cries. To Baby) All right, all right, I’m comin’. (Goes to-car seat and picks up baby, then turns to group) Hey, I gotta go. See you guys around – (Shrugs) sometime. Huh?
# 109 SHIVAREE by William Mastrosimone © 420 words
SHIVAREE: Well, sport, you can dance for dance and get a flat rate, or you can dance for tips and get what you get. Like after dancing’ at the Hyatt last night, seven sheiks from Dubai approach me and said they was thrown’ some high brow shindig up in their suite, would I grace their company with the dance, salam alekim, the whole bit, and I says, Hell ya, and I walks in and it looks like a sheet sale. All kinds of Mideastern folk jabberin’ and the musicians go big for some Guazi tune and I let loose my stuff. I do veil work where I put myself in this envelope like a little chrysalis in a gossamer cocoon listen’ to the beat of my heart, and then I break out with hip shimmie and shoulder rolls and belly flutters; mad swirls, Byzantine smiles and half closed eyes, and my hands are cobras slitherin’ on air, hoods open and I’m Little Egypt, Theodora, Neferrtiti, and Salome, all in one skin, and these before me was Solomon and Herod and Caesar and Tutankhamen shoutin’ “Ayawah, Shiaree, Ayawah,” which roughly means, Go for it, little darlin’—and this young sheik he’s clappin’ his hands to my zills, and he rolls up this hundred dollar bill and tries to slip it in my clothes, which makes me stop dancin’, which make the musicians stop, and there’s this hush when I fling that hundred dollar bill on the rug, and it gets so quiet you hear a rat tip-toe on cotton, and I says, Look here, sucker, I’m a dancer, and I’m moved by Ishtar, Aphrodite, Venus, Isis, Astarte, and Rickie Lee Jones, all them sultry ladies of the east. I am the goddess of the feathery foot, and I only take orders from the moon. Direct. I have turned dives into temples, cadavers into foot stompers, drunks into believers, and Tuesday night into Sunday morning’ gospel time, and I don’t take tips. It ain’t proper to tip a goddess. And I starts to leave in a huff, and the young sheik come to ‘pologize, asks me to Arabia, he would take o’ everything, and then I know he’s talking about the even more ancient horizontal dance of the harem girl, and I say, Tell me, sheik, you got biscuits and gravy over there? And he says, What’s biscuits and gravy? And I walked out sayin’, See there sheik, you’re living a deprived life, --and that’s my story, bub, now where’s the wine.
# 110 THE FACE IN THE MIRROR by Phil Zwerling © 261 words
BECCA: She’s good. She was dead stoned. She never saw the witch. ..I seen her, I’m the one scared to shit. I’m the one needs the shrink. (She slumps into the chair.) I saw her. I saw the old witch. Ugly. She was ugly than you…and that ugly. I seen death. I ain’r scared of you or Big Donna. I seen death in her eyes. I seen death. In the mirror. The cracked one in the shitter. She was there! Lookin’ at us. Lil Shirley hit the bag first and I held her when she lay back. I could hear you all startin’ to make noise in here but it was nice and peaceful where we was. Then I looked up. The mirror was cloudy. Like smoke, you know? At first I couldn’t make anything out. Then this face…this ugly face…grew in the mirror. She was alive, I could see her skin, and she was crying, but her eyes was dead…like a fish after you cut off the heard. (Beat.) But it wasn’t no fish. …Her hair was long and messed up like she didn’t have no comb and the wind had blew it all around and she didn’t care. Her clothes was black. Black short, black dress, black robe. Black everything…and long black fingernails, but her skin was white, really white. She didn’t say nothing, but I knew she came cause tomorrow’s the Day of the Dead, and she lookin for her children. Her dead children. She came to take me…or L‘il Shirley…or both of us. (Thinking) She was crying, though. Crying and sad .. (Beat) and dead.
# 111 HAMLET by William Shakespeare 276 words
HAMLET:
To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.--Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.
# 112 AS YOU LIKE IT by William Shakespeare 204 words
JACQUES:
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
# 113 SANS-CULOTTES IN THE PROMISED LAND
by KIRSTEN GREENIDGE © 473 words
LENA: The principal was my sweetheart: so I got my diploma: I wasn’t one of those dropouts that smoke behind the Walmart. I found my way. I’m not stupid. I pay attention. I had a teacher who was real into words, real into saying words the right way. I paid close attention to every little thing she said, and it worked: I don’t sound like one of those people on the TV. Who can’t put a sentence together, can’t hardly talk: I’m not stupid. I keep up with everything. Even my bills. Each bill I get I send to my grandmother in Fort Worth. Over the phone she tells me how to make out my checks. The only problem right now is that washing machine. Greta’s going to be walking around in rags if I don’t tell them about me soon. People usually understand after I explain, after I tell them that letters don’t work for me. Letters twist around before my head gets a chance to figure them out. People usually understand but sometimes, sometime they don’t. That’s…that’s what happened at my last place. The mother there would write me things. I was really good at figuring them out except for this one time, my last time, I wasn’t so good. It was a birthday party. I was supposed to take her two girls to this birthday party. She wrote the directions on this piece of paper. Easy, I thought, I'll just get the big one to read it, say my eyes hurt, or I forgot my glasses. I got a whole list of things I can say. And I can drive okay but directions, when they’re on paper like that, are no good. So I stay calm. I drive around a little. I wait. I drive a little more, then I make a joke: I say, “Hey, make yourself useful.” I give a little laugh, too, to go with the joke. But the big one, the ugly one with the big teeth says “No.” Just “No” flat out like that. She says it’s not her job, it’s mine. She says it’s what he mother pays me good money for. So I ask the little one, I don’t get huffy. I just ask the little one if she can read. But. She can’t. So I drive. Around and around til’ they both fall asleep, Big teeth and her sister. Useless. I drive thinking maybe I’ll see a house with balloons. But I don’t. Next day the agency calls. They say don’t go to work today. They say I get one more chance before they have to let me go. This is my one more chance but that Carrmel’s creeping around spying on me and the mother keeps writing me notes. How am I supposed to keep my job if she writes me notes?
# 114 NIGHT TRAIN TO BOLINA by NILO CRUZ © 444 words
(Daytime: CLARE sits on a chair. SISTER NORA stands behind her braiding her hair. CLARE is braiding TALITA’S hair, who is kneeling in front of her.)
SISTER NORA: There used to be a time when the needs of this place were fulfilled, and children like you spent the whole day in classrooms, learning how to read and write. Now there is not enough of us and this place is falling apart. Everything smells of mold. As when things become moldy and moth eaten. There used to be a time when this building was airy and sanitary, because we had time to scrub our walls and floors. We had time to maintain our gardens, to cut down the branches from our trees and let in the fresh air. And in the summertime we used to throw buckets of water on the floor, flooding the mission up to our ankles, so the tiles could retain the cool moisture and sooth the heat. Our walls were painted and there were no leaks on our roofs. …Then things changed. No missionaries wanted to come here to work. And others left frightened of the danger. Afraid of getting killed or lost in our jungles, to end of mangled or mutilated by guerillas or soldiers. So now if the alms box needs to be painted, we take a brush and paint it. All you children have to help us. If there is no one to mend the altar cloths, we take a needle and thread and mend them. Do you know how to sew, Clara?
CLARA: No.
SISTER NORA: Ill teach you. You know how to sweep and dust?
CLARA: Yes.
SISTER NORA: Good. You can sweep and dust the parish. Take a broom and duster from the room next to the vestry. Talita, you take her there and show her where they’re kept. Show he how to sweep under the prayer stools. To get underneath the stools with a broom. Dirt accumulates down there. And show her how to polish the pulpit and the altar rails. The altar cloths are washed on Mondays. The candles are also changed on that day. I like to change them on Monday’s, because Mondays are dull and somber. New candles brighten up the church and bring clarity. When you clean the saints use soap and water. Not too much soap or you get too much foam. Then it will take you forever to rinse them. Make sure you dry them well with the cloth I set aside for them. Talita will show you. You know, that’s one thing I always like doing, washing the saints and angels. I like to bath them as if they were my children. Clear their ear and elbows real good, as I would do a baby. And talk to them. They like it when you talk to them. They like to listen.
# 115 LATER by Corinne Jacker © 380 words
KATE: I can sail. As well as any man. Better than most. My father taught me--tacking, charting a course, no yawing when I'm at the rudder. Our secret language. Malachai and me at the boat house, while Molly sipped iced tea under her sun umbrella and Laurie's skin shriveled up in the club pool. A boat needs attention. Scraping, sanding, painting, varnishing. One June day when it's hotter than this, I worked for seven hours straight on the hull, and he hugged me and said, "No son could've done better." I knew he meant that if a man was going to get stuck with daughters, he might as well have one like me. And he hauled out the thermos with rum and tea in it, and he poured me a cupful, and he said, "Drink it down, you'll feel as cold as an icicle." Oh, I did. It turned my veins into refrigerator coils. Goose flesh came out of my shoulders, and down my arms, I stated to shiver until my teeth clacked together. But he knew what do do. He rolled the sleeves of my T-shirt down as far as they'd go, and stuck me into the sun, rubbing my hands together and hugging me to stop me from shaking. And then, he said, "Oh well, you're a girl after all, aren't you, Katie, honey." And I lay my head against his shoulder and wished there was a way to change that. I never felt that cold again. Not until he was dead, and we were alone, in the viewing room, and the air-conditioning was blowing so fiercely. We went out, Laurie and I, to get drunk, having dumped Molly on some cousin or other, and I ordered rum and iced tea, because I wanted to shiver, I wanted the temperature of my blood to go down below zero, so it would freeze and clot, and stop. But I couldn't get away from that music. That beat kept making my heart pump. I got drunk. My God was I drunk, and my cheeks got red, and the blood kept right on moving. I couldn't get cold enough. I could have taken a bath in ice cubes and I wouldn't have gotten cold enough. ...Well, Katey's a girl after all.
# 116 RECKLESS by Craig Lucas © 285 words
RACHEL: I think I'm more excited than they are. I really do. I think we just have kids so we can tell them all about Santa Claus and have an excuse to believe it ourselves again, I really do. They are so excited. I remember that feeling so clearly. I didn't think I could ever sleep. And I remember pinching myself and pinching myself to stay away so I could hear the reindeers' footsteps, you know? I wanted to believe it so badly. I think that was the last year I did...Oh god...is it still snowing? Why don't you turn the sound up? Oh, it's coming down like crazy. You can hear it, can't you? When it gets deep like this? It just swallows up all the sound and you feel like you've been wrapped up in the hands of a big, sweet, giant, white...monster. Good monster. He's going to carry us away into a dream. My family always had champagne first thing before we opened out presents--I mean in the morning, you know: I always loved that. I felt like such an adult having champagne and I remember saying to my mother the bubbles of the champagne looked like snow if you turned your head upside down. I remember thinking that I wanted to live in Alaska because it always snowed and Santa was up there, so it must always be Christmas if it always snowed...you're my Santa Claus. And our two elves. I'm having one of my euphoria attacks. I think I'm going to be terminally happy, you better watch out, it's catching. Highly contagious...What's a matter? Just sleepy? Can we listen for a second, I won't stay up all night, I promise. (switches on the TV)
# 117 THE SEA HORSE by Edward J. Moore © 255 words
GERTRUDE: I was sitting on the pier one day, doing my homework with some friends...waiting for my dad to take me home. I heard all this shouting coming from the Sea Horse. I saw my dad throw this man out, a couple of other men came out too. This man was trying to hit my dad...I got up and started running towards him...crying "Daddy, Daddy!" My dad turned to me, and the man stabbed him...he died...I held him, and he died. (She gets up and crosses, stands near downstage center table. Without emotion) You know I couldn't remember my name...for the longest time after, I just couldn't think of it, isn't that strange? ...Daddy has a sister, so I stayed with her...they had a terrible time with me....I could remember everything that happened that night, all the questions everyone asked me, I would answer everything right...but I couldn't remember my name. My teacher had to come up and touch me..."Gertrude? Why don't you answer me?" (a beat, then starts crossing stage left) I was okay after a while...finished school...then I started coming down here again, to watch my ships...but I would never go near the Horse...Frank...he knew what happened...but thought it was stupid letting this place rot away...when he walked out, we owed everyone! I thought I could make a go of it for a while...just...to get things squared away...it was bad! (sits on a bar stool, left) Bums wouldn't pay, just walk out...rest of'm were no better either, gave me a bad time...one day this swab grabbed me...I let him have it with a bottle, right in the face! ...After that I got respect! ...Money! (Turns, looks at HARRY.) ...And I don't need...anyone...anymore.
# 118 THE WOOLGATHERER by William Mastrosimone © 385 words
ROSE: You may think it's funny but I was the last one to see them alive last summer. There were only seven of them in the world and the zoo had four of them. I used to walk there every night just to watch them stand so still on the water. And they walked so graceful, in slow motion. And they have legs as skinny as my little finger. Long legs. And there was only seven in the world because they killed them off for feathers for ladies hats or something. And one night a gang of boys came by with radios to their ears and cursing, you know F---, and everything. And I was, you know, scared. And they started saying things to me, you know, dirty things, and laughing at the birds. And one kid throw a stone to see how close he could splash the birds, and then another kid tried to see how close he could splash the birds, and then they all started throwing stones to splash the birds, and then they started throwing stones at the birds and I started screaming STOP IT! and a stone hit a bird's leg and it bended like a straw and the bird keeled over in the water, flapping wings in the water, and the kids kept laughing and throwing stones and I kept screaming STOP IT! STOP IT! but they couldn't hear me through that ugly music on the radios and kept laughing and cursing and throwing stones, and I ran and got the zoo guard and he got his club and we ran to the place of the birds but the kids were gone. And there was white feathers on the water. And the water was real still. And there was big swirls of blood. And the birds were real still. Their beaks a little open. Leg broke. Toes curled. Still. Like the world stopped. And the guard said something to me but I couldn't hear him. I just saw his mouth moving. And I started screaming. And the cops came and took me to the hospital and they gave me a needle to make me stop screaming. And they never caught the gang. But even if they did, what good's that? They can't make the birds come alive again.
# 119 MARGO VEIL: AN ENTERTAINMENT by LEN JENKIN © 200 words
ROXANNE: You know...this world we live in...Look out there...Nighttime...Stripmall with a laundromat, Dunkin' Donuts, tropical fish store, tank glows in the window, one huge angelfish gliding alone and slow in the green light. Turn and turn again under the cold stars. A vacant lot overrun by weeds, plastic trash bag torn open and my baby brother squats by a fire, stupid spider tattoo on his left cheek, blood under his fingernails, dirty piece of string knotted around his neck. There's the Riverside Motel, naked people in the sagging beds, full of guilt and fear, fucking away their troubles in the dawn's early light. Tractor-trailer out of Memphis hauling chicken parts, driver with a tin funnel on his head doing ninety down the river road on a twelve percent grade. High beams on, white light bursts through the motel rooms one by one, lighting the pale bodies like a photoflash. In the motel office doorway a man in a Santa Claus suit is sitting on a milk crate. "What you want for Christmas little girl?" It's still July, I'm visiting my mother. She's in a home. Somefuck suburb of Louisville. Highland Park. She doesn't even know who the fuck I am.
# 120 DOG ASSASSIN by Stephen A. Schrum © 213 words
AMBER: Hi Bob! Un, I never know what to say on these things...I hope you don't mind me calling you! Before I left this morning, I wrote your number down so I could call you and give you my number. It's really easy to remember: it's 555 followed by 4-3-2-1. It's like a countdown before a blast-off, one of my ex-boyfriends used to say. And he was really into phone sex! Oh! I guess I shouldn't talk about ex-boyfriends, should I? Ummmmm. ...Well, that's my number: 555-4321. You won't forget it, will you? I hope not. I really want you to call me. Last night was very special to me. I never met anyone like you. I think you're really sensitive and sweet, and I want to see you again. I loved how you washed my hair in the shower this morning! Even my hairdresser isn't that gentle when he does it, and he's gay! Oh! I didn't mean to suggest you were gay. I think you're really strong, and exciting, too! So call me, okay? I hope I'm not being too pushy, I know some guys don't like that, but I really want to see you again. (Pause) Okay, I gotta go. Call me, please? You really made a difference in my life. Bye!
# 121 HALO by Ken Urban © 291 words
DAUGHTER: My brother and I were about nine and eleven. He's older than me, less than two years. Close enough in years to be extremely far apart in life. We decorated the basement. We used to play school, we wanted to be teachers like our mother. We'd grade imaginary papers, make imaginary bulletin boards and paste things on the walls. Dad saw what we'd done one day. We weren't even there, we were upstairs watching TV, doing homework, it was Sunday. He screamed and slapped Mom. Started ripping things down, knocking out stacks of old text books over. He wanted to know why she hadn't watched us. We were sent to bed. My brother came to sleep with me. We huddled together while we heard them cleaning, steaming the stuff of the walls. My mother was crying. The whole house could hear it, sound propelled up vents. Then they came upstairs. We pretended to be asleep. All my Mom kept saying was: I don't want out children to hate you, I don't want out children to hate you, Walter. I don't want them to hate you. Ken whispered in my ear: I'm going to leave and never come back. (Pause) My brother did. I hate him for that. Now my mother and I have to suffer. I'm getting married to a boy I met in high school. My mother met my father in high school too, the same high school actually. Weird, isn't it? We take walks in the park. Sometimes he asks me about my brother. I talk to him about it and stuff, but I don't say much. Eventually I want to have kids, but I have a career now. (Pause) My bother isn't even going to come to the wedding.
# 122 LOST AND FOUND by DORI APPEL © 405 words
TORIE: I was there for the prelude--a little kitchen melodrama. I came home from school and there she was, charging around the kitchen at full tilt, throwing all her baking equipment into cardboard boxes. She had a couple of cookie sheets in her hands when I came in, and when she saw me she clanged them around like cymbals. (Pause) "Independence Day!" she shouted, and threw the cookie sheets on top of a bunch of cake pans. She was grabbing things right, left, and sideways--all that stainless steel clanging and ringing as one more piece hit the pile. (Pause) I said, Mom, what are you doing?" but she was banging open drawers and cabinets, and by this time she was cursing at everything and laughing at the same time, and she really looked pretty crazy. She's gathered up all her measuring cups--stainless and Pyrex and even some plastic--and she throw them all on the floor and yelled out, "The measure of my days!" A Pyrex one broke when she threw it, and she started picking up the pieces and cut herself, so now she was bleeding on top over everything else, and she'd stopped and was crying and muttering, and then suddenly she yanked a plug out of the wall and knocked her shiny Kitchen Aid Mixmaster over on its side. It just lay there like a wrecked car while she shouted and beat it with it's own electric cord. I was getting pretty scared--I'd seen her upset and crying before, but this was something else, this was like something out of "I Love Lucy" --except it wasn't funny. Finally she stopped yelling and just stood there, leaning against the counter. There was this little quarter cup measure by her foot, and she picked it up and held it in her hands for a moment, just looking at it. Then she tossed it in a box, gave me a quick kiss, and left (Pause) The rest happened in a motel, but I found a copy of the hospital report in my Dad's desk sometime later on. It called what she's done a "suicide gesture," which made me think of a shadow play, or something from a ballet. I imagine this silhouette of my mother titling her head back as her arm floated up very slowly and tipped a bottle just above her mouth, Only a gesture. Nothing to do with death.
# 123 MOTHER TO SON by Winter Miller © 420 words
MOTHER: One day, I know already to expect it, you will lay your curly head on my lap and ask, "Why am I not named after my father?" And I will wrap you in beautiful lies. Yes, I will tell you my husband was everything to me, the night sky speckled with the most dazzling stars. I will tell you he was the desert, dusty and immense. I will tell you his love scorched and burned like the sun. I will tell you an army of men on horseback kicked my husband to the ground and shot him seven times. The first was in the leg, so he could not run. The second was in his groin so he could not spread his seed. The third in his heart so he could not love. The fourth in his heart do he could not breathe. The fifth in his heart to hear him cry for mercy. The sixth in his heart to silence him. The seventh was in the middle of his forehead for good measure. (Pause) But listen, for these are words I have never spoken and I will never speak them again so long as I live. (Pause) Your father, all six of him, dragged me through the dust, my head bobbing over stones. When my dress tore, just as I would, he grabbed my hair, pulling me like a fallen goat. Your father, all six of him, threw me face down in the dirt. As I choked sand, your father, all six of him, cut my clothes off with a knife. One by one, all six of him entered me. (Pause) I did not make a sound. (Pause) Your father, all six of him, called me "African slave" as he spattered his seed in me. Your father, all six of him, said, "this land belongs to Arabs now, this cattle belongs to us," and slashed my right thigh with his blade. (So I would remember him) you father, all six of him said. (Pause) Alone at last, in a pool of my own blood. I looked up at the wide sky above and prayed to die. When I awoke the village pyre had dwindled to embers. (Pause) Your relatives are nameless corpses shoved in wells. My home is a pile of black ash and a stray teapot. There is no one and nothing to go back to, there is only going forward. I will not speak to you of the past. I will teach you not to ask.
# 124 LOT'S DAUGHTER by Rebecca Basham © 387 words
SUSANNAH: Gertie--I have known sin. Mamma weren't dead three days 'fore Daddy come into bed with me. "You gota duty girl. Your Momma's gone You got to take on her duty." I weren't going to do it Gertie. I weren't goin' to lay there and let him sin on top of me. I scratched and scratched. I bit him on the lip and then I bit his hand when he tried to cover my mouth. I kicked and yelled and cried and prayed in his face a hopin' the word a God would stop him. He's drunk though and the more I yelled the more he laughed. He straddled me, and I kicked hard. While's he's layin' there sick, I run out of the house and swore I weren't a goin' back to that house a sin. I ran all the way to Happy Top and banged on Brother and Sister Rankin's door. They made me tell'em what was wrong. I's 'shamed, so I told them Harlen had tried to beat me cause he's drunk. They put me to bed. Next mornin' Sister Rankin goes off to town, and Preacher come into my room while's I's still a sleepin'. "I am the Lord," he said, "I am your Lord and savior What sins have you done committed, girl?" I told him I ain't committed no sin. "I ain't a sinner," I said He accused me a lyn'. I told him Daddy didn't jus beat me, he come after me. Brother Rankin said I's a temptation many man couldn't resist since purtty women come from the Devil. He said I must a dine somethin' to tempt Daddy into it. Then he slide into the bed with me. He said, "pray with me girl. You are woman and temptation in the flesh. Open your mouth daughter. You are the child of Eve, a sinful woman let loose in Paradise. Open wider child. I would rather dwell with a hungry lion than to love with the wickedness that is woman. Suck, girl." He kept saying' I's evil, Gertie, and I wanted to pray, but I couldn't say nuthin'. I couldn't talk 'cause I was choking'. I was "daughter." I was "hungry evil woman." I was "Eve's chil." He took away my name Gertie, and now I don't have no face.
# 125 from THE DIANALOGUES by Laurel Haines © 387 words
(Cameras flash. A red carpet. A starlet in sunglasses stops to speak to reporters.)
STARLET: Thank you! Thank you all so much! I couldn’t do it without you. (blows a kiss to the cameras) My opinions? Why yes, I have many opinions on the subject. As you may know, I’ve been an advocate of privacy and stalking laws for quite a while. I mean, celebrities have rights too. You might think that just because you see me on a magazine cover I’m not real. I am real! I have thoughts and feelings just like you. Feelings that get hurt when someone snaps a photograph of me and prints it under the caption, “Who’s Getting Flabby”? And by the way, I gained that weight for a role. The Life of Gertrude Stein, my new film, opening Friday at a theater near you. And as you can see, I’ve lost every single ounce of it. So snap away! (The cameras go mad.) Oh yes, this new law had a tragic beginning. It’s just terrible that Diana had to be killed in that car crash. But my yogi says, out of tragedy comes tranquility: I think she would be happy to know that because of her death, others are able to live in peace. Why just the other day I was on the beach at my new vacation home in Malibu. And I realized my towel boy has a camera strapped to his thong. Thank God I saw it before I took my top off. I felt so violated! Well, of course, he said it was just for his mother, how many times have I heard that one? It’s just a comfort to know that because of this law I can throw him in jail for six months instead of having my bodyguards hold his head under the surf. They’re big men, but their arms get tired. (as if answering a question) Well, I relate to her. I really do. It’s awful to be wanted all the time. People just don’t understand. I mean I can’t go anywhere without people looking at me. Following me, telling me how much they love me. When I became an actress, I never asked to be the center of attention! And I am an actress. I’m tired of you reporters identifying me as a “former adult-film star.” I haven’t done those movies for years. At least two years and I’ve gone through the same training as Marilyn. All I want is respect. We celebrities work hard to get to the top. Do you have any idea what I did to get here? Well, of course you do, you’ve all rented the videos, but do you know what I went through inside? The pain, the suffering, the loose of innocence? Yes, innocence! Even I was once just a little girl in Kansas, growing up on my parents’ farm, when one day they were killed in a horrible tractor crash and…wait a minute. Is that my story? No, that’s my publicist’s story. My story is…Where did I grow up? Oh right, New Jersey, but isn’t that bad enough. New Jersey! The details aren’t important. What matters is that I suffered. I was working at the mall! At Hot Dog on a Stick! And then when some man with a greasy mustache comes out of the blue and tells you he'll pay you $ 200 to...well, what was I to do? What would you do in that situation? No, don't answer that. You'd probably turn it down. You probably think you're better than me. And you'd be right. I'm just a cheap little whore! (She starts to break down crying, then stops and looks up.) A cheap little Oscar-nominated whore, so HA HA HA HA HA ! (She gathers herself together.) Well, that's enough negativity. I'm going to release it now. (She does a yoga pose.) Aaaah! Well, they're calling me. I must be going. All right, just a few more photos. (She strikes a few poses while the cameras flash.) Oh you. The press. I love you, but I hate you. And I know you feel the same way about me. It's such a teasing relationship. You dig at me, I slap back at you, and then we all get in bed together and fuck like crazy! So I know you won't take this new law the wrong way. It doesn't mean I don't love you anymore. It just means you'll have to work a little harder to love me. But absence does make the heart grow fonder and that's why I'm so glad I'll be able to take my next vacation to Malibu in peace (Beat.) That's Malibu on the South Shore. 1191 Coconut Lane. It's a private drive, but if you sneak through the service entrance, no one will see you (Winks.) I'll be waiting.
# 126 DIALOGUE OF THE GODS by LUCIAN © 284 words
APHRODITE: So what’s this I hear, Selene—that you’ve taken to pausing the moon in the sky every night so you can gaze like a schoolgirl at this hunter, Endymion, while he sleeps? Sometimes, they say, you actually abandon your post and join him in his bed. Is this true? Yes, you can blame Eros, if you like. He's such a naughty boy, my son! He plays the same wicked games on his own mother, you know! First he smites me with an insatiable desire for Anchises of Troy, then before I can get my fill of that noble prince, he redirects my love pangs toward some Assyrian stripling or some Phoenician farm boy, and I’m off for Lebanon, Cyprus, Tripoli, like some crazed bitch in heat! It makes me dizzy! I can’t catch my breath! And worse, once I’m smitten, he doesn’t even leave the man to me, but makes some other goddess or mortal beauty in love with him as well, so that half the time I don’t get any satisfaction at all! It makes me so mad, I want to strangle the little devil! I’ve threatened to clip his wings and break all of his arrows—I’ve spanked his little bottom until I was blue in the face! He cries for a minute or two, promises never to do it again, and two seconds later he’s back to his games. But enough about me! I want to know about your new lover, Endymion! Is he handsome? Does he have fine, broad shoulders and a chiseled torso? That’s always a consolation in our humiliation—to have a strapping young warrior aroused to distraction by our charms. It certainly doesn’t hurt one’s ego.
# 127 A FIXED STANDARD OF CONDUCT by Michael Rychlewski © 272 words
AMBER: We never. …We never did it. But I loved him. We used to walk together. He’d call me up and say, “Let’s walk.” And we‘d just walk all around. It was great, walking. It clears your head. …I even got him to walk in the woods. He didn’t like the woods. …One time I convinced him to go camping. “C’mon Mirko. We’ll go into LaBagh Woods. It’ll be a blast.” We got our sleeping bags, a tent. I stole an eight-pack from my dad. We hiked in and found a nice spot by the river. Set up the tent. Ate the sandwiches. Drank our beers. We couldn’t have a fire you know. We didn’t want to get caught. …It was wonderful! …But then the night came and he got all…he got freaked. He said it reminded him of Bosnia. They had to go hide in the woods sometimes. Soldiers would come and the whole town would leave their homes and run into the woods. They’d make shelters out of cardboard boxes and pile up leaves for blankets. One time he got separated. And there were enemy soldiers near-by. So he hid under a bed of leaves for two days. He didn’t move. Two days. I could never do that. …Anyway he freaked and we had to leave. We didn’t even take down the tent. I had to go back the next day and get it. I really wanted to spend that night in the woods with him. Not for the sex or anything. Just. …I’ll bet when you live in a war zone you get good at it. You know. Hiding
# 201 THE MEAN REDS by Mark Scharf © 473 words
MIKE: The only good thing about this birthday is that I don’t have to put up with ny in-laws. Hell, now that I think about it, my life won’t be infected by those people at all. I won’t mix my drunken, whining fruitcake soon-to-be-ex mother-in-law who passed her neurotic genes down to my soon-to-be-ex-wife. And I sure won’t miss Rose’s nasty. Fat, manipulative bitch of a sister and her foul family either. Every time they come over her I have to look myself in the bathroom so I won’t kill one of them. They think I have a weak bladder. I just can’t stand to be in the same house with them for more than ten minutes. You met them. How could you forget? That doofus looking moron of a husband with a voice like a demented cartoon, “Uhhh, how’re you doing’, Sport?” The guy is bald straight up the middle, so he grows these three hairs from the side of his head out about four feet and he curls them all together across his bad spot in a spiral pattern and shellacs them down on his head with about four cans of hairspray. His bald spot is all shinny from the hair spray and it shines through these use pinwheels of stiff hair. He’s about six foot four and spastic—he walks inot the house and BAM! “Ohhhh, I’m sorry? Did I do that? Yuck. Yuck, yuck, yuck.” …Yeah they’re charming all right. Rose’s sister is about three feet shorter than he r husband and about three feet wider. All she cares about is money and looking down her nose at everybody else. She thinks her children are these perfect beautiful angels when she’s got them as screwed up as she is. They gave me the flu last winter. The little nasty mucus machines are always sick. They’re like little walking petri dishes of disease who get my kids sick every single time they come over here. And they look like a combination of r worst features of their parents. They boy looks like Moe of the Three Stooges and is about a bright. The girl is a nasty butterball with a face like Alfred E. Neuman on the cover of Mad magazine. They’re not children. They’re evil infectious trolls. I could never eat a piece of my own birthday cake ‘cause I had to let one of them help me blow out the candles and they spit all over the cake. And as least one of the hem would find a way to sneeze on it. …Hate can be a very good thing, Mary Jo. There are some things that you should hate, that you need to hate like the Nazis, and cancer—and my wife and her nasty family. A nice, healthy hate.
# 202 CUBAN OPERATOR, PLEASE by Adrian Rodriguez © 266 words
ABEL: (very peacefully) This is my favorite picture of my father. It’s a picture of him in a baseball uniform with some of his teammates. Only one thing made him look like the man that was so far away. (pause) He loved baseball. …The man in the picture, the man my father used to be before having to abandon everything, was known as “El Americano,” the American. He must be 16 years old in this picture. Starting pitcher of the Estrellas de Collante, a semi-professional team financed by the private hospital at Collante. The man is this picture was a semi-professional baseball player. He looks proud, smug, cocky, confident. He once told me that his team had traveled to a local; town named Fomento for a game. He was going to pitch since it was an important game and he was the best pitcher on the squad.. Before the game they were invited to have breakfast at a local restaurant and as he was eating he noticed a group of young women asking one of his teammates who El Americano was. They wanted to see the famous picture who overpowered his opponents with speed. When he was pointed out, one of the young women remarked, surprised: Aquel flaco es el Americano? That skinning guy over there’s the American? Utter disbelief. That a 105-pound 16-year old boy with enormous ears was expected to go to the majors to play with the Americans? Yes, he was, and he pitched a shutout game that afternoon to prove it. He would soon be in Havana playing with the Americans. I could see it on his eyes.
# 203 ANTIGONE by Sophocles © 341 words
TEIRESIAS: Mark me now Creon. For I say that you stand on fate’s thin edge. You will know when you hear the signs my art has disclosed. For lately, as I took my place in my ancient seat of augury, where all the birds of the air gather about me, I heard strange things. They were screaming with feverish rage, their usual clear notes were a frightful jargon, and I knew they were rending each other murderously with their talons; the whit of their wings told an angry tale. …Straightaway, these things filling me with fear, I kindled fire upon an altar, with due ceremony, and laid a sacrifice among the fire, but moister came oozing out of the bones and flesh trickled upon the embers, making them smoke and sputter. Then the gall burst and scattered in the air, and the steaming thighs lay bared of the fat that had wrapped them. And I tell you, it is your deeds that have brought a sickness to the state. For the altars of our city and the altars of our hearths have been polluted, one and all, by birds and dogs who have fed on that outrages corpse that was the some of Oedipus. It is for this reason that the gods refused prayer and sacrifice at our hands, and will not consume the meat offering with flame. Nor does any bird give a clear sign by its shrill cry, for they have tasted the fatness of a slain man’s blood. ..Think, then on these things, my son. All men are liable to err, but he shows wisdom and earns blessings who heals the ills of his errors caused. Be not too stubborn, too still a will is folly. Yield to the dead, I counsel you, and do not stab the failed. What prowess is it to slay the slain anew? I have sought your welfare; it is for your good I speak. And it should be a pleasant thing to hear a good counselor when he counsels for your own good.
# 204
THE HOUSE OF RAMON IGLESIA by Jose Rivera © 351 words
JAVIER: Charlie, I love you guys, you know I do. It’s just “our people” I don’t know about. I don’t even know what “our people” even means. It is some mass of Latin Americans on Eighth Avenue? Is it all the Puerto Ricans hanging out on Avenue D? Christ, it’s so weird! Whenever I see some old Puerto Rican stumbling around drunk, acting like a fool, I think of Dad. If I see a bunch of guys with their numb-chucks and radios, I think of our cousins. I mean, I know exactly how these people think. What they like and dislike, what they need…and something in me feels like I got to help them…and I will someday…but for now, I just want to be as far away as possible.
CHARLIE: That’s mixed up, Javier.
JAVIER: Charlie, it’s just me. Too any things got in between me and them.
CHARLIE: Like what?
JAVIER: Oh Charlie, like…I don’t know…all the times Dad brought a live pig home and slaughtered it in the backyard the way he used to do in Puerto Rico. And lucky me gets to hold the bucket to catch the blood I’d eat later that night in blood sausages…
CHARLIE: I love blood sausages.
JAVIER: (Beat.) There was my Christmas at drunk, crazy Uncle Wilfred’s, who beat the living shit out of his son, cousin Javier, that day. I’ll never forget Javier crying, twisting around the floor, bleeding and vomiting all over the Christmas nativity thing, a little plastic doodad the Department of Welfare had given to them (Beat.) Or my first sexual flight to heaven. Another cousin, I won’t tell you which, Charlie, the shock would kill you. She stalked into my bed one night. I was ten, she was curious. I faked sleeping. She found her way into my pants. I was scared and quiet; she was very warm. Or my second sexual flight. Another cousin, a male, who crawled into the bathtub I was innocently bathing in—he pushed me face down into the water—I was eleven, Charlie--I almost drowned--terrified--I was ripped the way you rip up paper—then I was blasted from here to God.
# 205 THE MISER by Moliere © 415 words
HARPAGON:
from the garden, rushing in without his hat, and crying_--
Thieves! thieves! assassins! murder! Justice, just heavens! I am undone; I am murdered; they have cut my throat; they have stolen my money! Who can it be? What has become of him? Where is he? Where is he hiding himself? What shall I do to find him? Where shall I run? Where shall I not run? Is he not here? Who is this? Stop! (To himself, sees his own shadow, taking hold of his own arm) Give me back my money, wretch.... Ah...! it is myself.... My mind is wandering, and I know not where I am, who I am, and what I am doing. (Falls to his knees) Alas! my poor money! my poor money! My dearest friend, they have bereaved me of thee; and since thou art gone, I have lost my support, my consolation, and my joy. All is ended for me, and I have nothing more to do in the world! Without thee it is impossible for me to live. It is all over with me; I can bear it no longer. (lies down) I am dying; I am dead; I am buried. Is there nobody who will call me from the dead, by restoring my dear money to me, or by telling me who has taken it? (Rising to his knees) Ah! what is it you say? It is no one. (stands) Whoever has committed the deed must have watched carefully for his opportunity, and must have chosen the very moment when I was talking with my miscreant of a son. (Takes his hat and cane) I must go. I will demand justice, and have the whole of my house put to the torture--my maids and my valets, my son, my daughter, and myself too. What a crowd of people are assembled here! Everyone seems to be my thief. I see no one who does not rouse suspicion in me. Ha! What are they speaking of there? Of him who stole my money? What noise is that up yonder? Is it my thief who is there? (Kneels and addresses the audience) For pity's sake, if you know anything of my thief, I beseech you to tell me. Is he hiding there among you? They all look at me and laugh. (stands) We shall see that they all have a share in the robbery. Quick! magistrates, police, provosts, judges, racks, gibbets, and executioners. I will hang everybody, and if I do not find my money, I will hang myself afterwards.
# 206 HUCKLEBERRY FINN by Mark Twain © 429 words
HUCK: I was full of trouble, full as I could be; and didn't know what to do. At last I had an idea; and I says, I'll go and write the letter- and then see if I can pray. Why, it was astonishing, the way I felt as light as a feather, right straight off, and my troubles all gone. So I got a piece of paper and a pencil, all glad and excited, and set down and wrote:
Miss Watson your runaway nigger Jim is down here two mile below Pikesville and Mr. Phelps has got him and he will give him up for the reward if you send. HUCK FINN
I felt good and all washed clean of sin for the first time I had ever felt so in my life, and I knowed I could pray now. But I didn't do it straight off, but laid the paper down and set there thinking- thinking how good it was all this happened so, and how near I come to being lost and going to hell. And went on thinking. And got to thinking over our trip down the river; and I see Jim before me, all the time; in the day, and in the night-time, sometimes moonlight, sometimes storms, and we a floating along, talking, and singing, and laughing. But somehow I couldn't seem to strike no places to harden me against him, but only the other kind. I'd see him standing my watch on top of his'n, stead of calling me, so I could go on sleeping; and see him how glad he was when I come back out of the fog; and when I come to him agin in the swamp, up there where the feud was; and such-like times; and would always call me honey, and pet me, and do everything he could think of for me, and how good he always was; and at last I struck the time I saved him by telling the men we had smallpox aboard, and he was so grateful, and said I was the best friend old Jim ever had in the world, and the only one he's got now; and then I happened to look around, and see that paper.
It was a close place. I took it up, and held it in my hand. I was a trembling, because I'd got to decide, forever, betwixt two things, and I knowed it. I studied a minute, sort of holding my breath, and then says to myself:
"All right, then, I'll go to hell"- and tore it up.
# 207 DUST by Carrie Louise Nutt © 327 words
EVAN: Me and Frankie, we’ve known each other since we were little kids. Probably 6, 7. Something like that. We were in grade school. I stepped on her heels cause I…I thought she was cute. She punch me, broke my nose. I bled all over. My pants, my shirt, the floor. That was how we met. She has a way of making you hold on when you know it’s gonna kill you. One time, years ago, this was before…before. …Anyway we decided to get drunk and go swimming. So we drove down the valley, winding our way between the long grass and pine trees, til’ we hit this bend, where the river widens. Every summer, this is where people go. It’s called Driller’s Pool. We parked the car. Rolled the windows down. Lit up. Drank beer after beer, just talking. Not hating each other. She had her feet up on the dash. Leaving footprints on the window, even though I told her not to. She always did what she did cause she wanted. Didn’t matter what you said. There was so much then, you know. Life was good and it was simple. It was enough to just be barefoot in the dirt with a Bud. Anyway, we got nice and toasty, made our way to the water and were standing on the last couple of steps, Then I said something about her ass. Something mean-spirited probably. I don’t know. I laughed. She didn’t say nothing. WE climbed into the water, and before I knew it, she was on top of me, pressing my head under. Holding me like that. And I was drowning. Got a mouthful of water in my lungs. Couldn’t breathe. I was hitting her and pulling, but she wouldn’t let go. I nearly passed out ‘fore she let me up. And still she didn’t say nothing. Just climbed out. Walked back to the car. Stripped, wrapped herself in a towel and finished the case.
# 208 SWEET BIRD OF YOUTH /by Tennessee Williams © 430 words
BOSS: Tomorrow, tomorrow morning, when the big after-Easter sales commence in the stores—I’m gonna send you in town with a motorcycle escort, straight to the Maison Blanche. When you arrive at the store, I want you to go directly to the office of Mr. Harvey C. Petrie and tell him to give you unlimited credit there. Then go down and outfit yourself as if you was—buyin’ a trousseau to marry the Prince of Monaco. …Purchase a full wardrobe, includin’ furs. Keep ‘em in storage until winter, Gown? Three, four, five, the most lavish. Slippers? Hell, pairs and pairs of ‘em. Not one hat—but a dozen. I made a pile of dough on a deal involvin’ the sale of rights to oil under water here lately, and baby I want you by buy a piece of jewelry. Now about that, you better tell Harvey to call me up. Or better still, maybe miss Lucy had better help you select it. She’s wise as a backhouse rat when it comes to a stone, that’s for sure. …Now where’s I buy that clip that I gave you mama? D’you remember the clip I bought your mama? Last thing I gave your mama before she died. …I know’d she was dying’ when I bought her that clip, and I bought that clip for fifteen thousand dollars mainly to make her think she was gonna get well.. …When I pined it on her on the nightgown she was wearing, that poor thing started crying. She said, for God’s sake , Boss, what does a dying woman want with such a big diamond? I said to hey, honey look at the price tag on it. See them five figures, that one and that five and them three aughts on there? Now honey, make sense, I told her. If you was dying, if there was any chance of it, would I invest fifteen grand in a diamond clip to pin on the neck of a shroud? Ha Haha. That made the old lady laugh. And she sat up as bright as a little bird in that bed with the diamond clip on, receiving callers all day, and laughing and chatting with them, with that diamond clip on inside and she died before midnight, with that diamond clip on her. And not till the very last minute did she believe that the diamonds wasn’t a proof that she wasn’t dying.
(He moves to terrace, takes off robe and starts to put on a tuxedo coat.)
HEAVENLY: Did you bury her with is?
BOSS: Bury her with it? Hell, no! I took it back to the jewelry store in the morning.
# 209 DANNY & THE DEEP BLUE SEA by John Patrick Shanley © 276 words
DANNY: I think I killed a guy last night.
ROBERTA: How?
DANNY: I beat him up.
ROBETA: Well, that’s not killing a guy.
DANNY: I don’t know.
ROBERTA: What Happened?
DANNY: I was at a party. A guy named Skull. Everybody was getting fucked up. Somebdoy said there was some guys outside. I went out. There were these two guys from another neighborhood out there. I asked them what they were doin’ there. They knew somebody. One of ‘em was a big guy. Real drink. He said they wanted to go, but something about twenty dollars. I told him to give me the twenty dollars. I told him to give me the twenty dollars, but he didn’t have it. I started hitting him. But when I hit him, it never seemed to be hard, you know? I hit him a lot on the chest and face but it didn’t seem to do nothing. I had him over a car hood. His friend wanted to take him away. I said okay. They started to go down the block. And they started to fight. So I ran after them. I hit on the little guy for a minute, then I started working on the big guy again. Everybody just watched. I hit him as hard as I could for about ten minutes. It never seemed enough. Then I looked at his face. …His teeth were all broken. He fell down. I stomped on his fuckin’ chest and heard something break. I grabbed him under the arms and pushed him over a little fence. Into somebody’s driveway. Somebody pointed to some guy and said he had the twenty dollars. I kicked him in the nuts. He went right off the ground. Then I left.
# 210 CORPS VALUES by Brendon Bates © 647 words
CASEY: GO ON! You wanted to take a look, take a look (He turns around. His back is covered with scars.) These are noy magnesium burns. There never was a car bomb. My C. O. claimed it to be so I wouldn’t be …(chokes up.) …I was having a smoke with my best friend, Badger. In Falluja. We finally secured the area. The city was in ruin, quiet, motionless. We fought for three days straight. We hadn’t slept in four. We were leaning against a truck, happy to be alive. It was early morning and we just finished eating a can of peaches. He was telling me about his grandmother’s Swedish pancakes and then, BANG, his skull exploded and my face was covered with his blood. I couldn’t see anything for a few seconds. I heard two more shots. I heard my squad members taking cover. I quickly whipped the blood from my eyes and I saw this old woman changing at me, holding an AK-47. IO don’t know where she came from or how she got a hold of that rifle, but she looked like an angry grizzly bear dressed in rags. She pointed the rifle at me. I froze.. She had the drop on me. I thought, this is it. And then I heard a few clicks. It was empty., So, I grabbed my rifle and changed at her. I cross-checked her to the ground. Knocked the wind out of her. I grabbed her weapon and threw it behind me. I point my rifle at her and I told he not to move. Then I heard someone say, Badger is dead. And something came over me—I don’t know what. I didn’t care who this woman was; she killed Barger—my best friend. my brother. So, I walked over to the truck while she laid on the ground, gasping for air. I grabbed a five-gallon jerry can out of the back, opened it, walked back over to her, and dumped the whole thing on her hear, covering her in gas. Everyone watched me do it. The told Private Brady to hand me his book of matches. He did. Without hesitation. I took it from him, opened it, struck a match, and threw it on her. She went up so quick. Like a brush fire in a high wind. She let out this scream that pierced my ears; it shook my whole body. That scream…it was the same scream I heard when I killed that young boy. It was his mother. Her scream woke something inside of me and,. All of a sudden. I was seeing this 50-year old woman burning alive right in front of me, rolling around on the ground. And I realize what I had done. And I wanted to save her. I wanted to ear her pain. I should’ve just shot her, put her out of her misery, but—for some reason—I thought I could put out the flames and save her. Si I hurled myself into her, hoping to smother the flames. That’s when I caught fire. My men saved me before and serious damage was done, but not before the flames left their mark. …Don’t look at me like you never seen shit like this before. You’ve seen it. You lived through Vietnam—Vietnam—and you still let this stupid fucking war happen again? Why didn’t you take a stand? How could just let it happen? Did you ;learn nothing? What does it take to get this fuckin' world to do what is right?!?!? We just keep passing down out sins. From one generation to the next (Points to himself) Well, it stops here! I will not pass these scars down to my son. I don’t care WHAT IT TAKES! I will bear these burns all the way to my fucking grace and they will decay into the fucking dirt… (Grabs his shirt off the floor. He struggles to slide it over his burns.)
# 211 NEW YORK by David Rimmer © 384 words
CAREGIVER: So I get to the office. There’s a manic depressive, two paranoid schizophrenics, a delusional, a denial, a psychotic episode, two unresolved Oedipal complexes, father and son—an anal retentive, an anal explosive, an anal compulsive, and an anal confused. Post-traumatic stree disorder—big on that now. A little syndrome, a little deficit, a little this, a little that. Just another day at the office. …Dream, fantasies—low self-esteem, high penis envy, fear of phobia. Obsessive-compulsive disorder, compulsive-obsessive disorder, rejection, projection, protection, confection, which direction? “Help! I need help! Help!” So do I! Jeeze! D’You have any idea> …Nightmare, hallucinations, fear of interpersonal relationships, a partridge in a pear tree. A guy who keeps asking, “Do babies get boners?” Do babies get boners?” The acid flashback that never neds—take a lick’ and keeps in tickin’! Triskadeskaphobia—fear of Triscuits (I swear gesture) The screaming meemees—Nature-Nurture! Nurture-Nature! Yin yank, walla walla bing bang! …Yes, babies get boners! ...I have a dream where you go back to college and you don’t know the course and you take the final exam? Except I go back to med school. I know the course, I ace the final exam, I take everybody in the classes final exam, I go before all the teacher’s review boards and I ace then—and I end up ruling the word but I have to abdicate because of insomnia. If I could get some sleep I could have that other dream that I like so much, the one where the ham sandwich eats me, Jeez, who do you go to when you get burned out? And who does he go to? And him and him and him and her and her and her, all the way down to the last guy--and who does he go to? Me? ..Cause that’s scary. I haven’t messed up my job…yet. I’m fine, aren’t I? I’m fine. You know what I need? More patients. You know any? I had a girlfriend somewhere along the line. Infantile sexuality. God, I'd kill for some infantile sexuality now. (Sad and tired) Grief. Despair. Loss. Loneliness. Fear. Anxiety. The shakes. Just an old-fashioned case of the blues. Whatever you call it, they got it. Tommy, Jenny, Rashid, Miguel, Heather, Dave, Angie, Gusieppe, Bob, Fred, Tasha, Kelly, Mr. Winters. (takes a breath) And that was Tuesday. Before lunch.
# 212 RICHARD III by William Shakespeare © 306 words
GLOUCESTER:
Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;
And now, instead of mounting barded steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun
And descant on mine own deformity:
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence and the king
In deadly hate the one against the other:
And if King Edward be as true and just
As I am subtle, false and treacherous,
This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up,
About a prophecy, which says that 'G'
Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here
Clarence comes.
# 213 BLACK THANG by Ato Essandoh © 214 pages
JEROME: There is one thing I have to warm you about, my brother. One very important thing that, as you embark on this new frontier of dating, you will find lacking. One thing that cannot be duplicated, cannot be replaced, cannot be approximated, or facsimilated. That one thing my bother…is the Ass. White women don’t have it. They may think they have it. They may act like they have it. But they don’t have it. They just don’t. It’s that law of nature. The amount of Ass, or the Ass Content per say, is directly proportional to the concentration of the pigmentation in the skin. Therefore sisters have a high Ass Content. White girls and other pigmentally challenged females have a low Ass Content. It’s just the way it is. Can’t do nothing about it. As a result, you will experience what I like to call A. W. …Ass Withdrawal. A. W. is a painful ordeal, my brother, and you maybe have thoughts of going back, but you must work it through because in the end, remember, it’s for the best. Your case is particularly critical because you’re going straight from sisietsr to white girls. See, I did me a couple of Puerto Ricans in order to ease the transition. You know what I’m saying?
# 214 SULLIVAN BALLOU’S LETTER © 449 words
July the 14th, 1861
Washington DC
My very dear Sarah:
The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days - perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write you again, I feel impelled to write lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more.
I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in, the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how strongly American Civilization now leans upon the triumph of the Government, and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and suffering of the Revolution. And I am willing - perfectly willing - to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that debt.
Sarah, my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me to you with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me irresistibly on with all these chains to the battlefield.
The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when God willing, we might still have lived and loved together and seen our sons grow up to honorable manhood around us. I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me - perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar -- that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battlefield, it will whisper your name.
Forgive my many faults, and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have oftentimes been! How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness,
But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the garish day and in the darkest night…always, always; and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath; or the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by.
Sarah, do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again.
Sullivan
# 215 APOCALYPSE NOW by John Milius and Francis Ford Coppola © 341 words
Colonel Kurtz
I remember when I was with Special Forces. Seems a thousand centuries ago. We went into a camp to inoculate some children. We'd left the camp after we had inoculated the children for polio. And this old man came running after us, and he was crying. He couldn't say. We went back there, and they had come and hacked off every inoculated arm. They they were, in a pile. A pile of little arms. And, I remember, I cried, I wept like some grandmother. I wanted to tear my teeth out. I didn't know what I wanted to do. And I want to remember it. I never want to forget it. I never want to forget it. And then I realized, like I was shot, like I was shot with a diamond bullet through my forehead. And I thought, My God, the genius of that! The genius. The will to do that. Perfect, genuine, complete, crystalline, pure. And then I realized, they were stronger than we. Because they could stand it. These were not monsters. These were men, trained cadres. These men who fought with their hearts, who have families, who have children, who are filled with love...that they had the strength, the strength to do that. If I had ten divisions of those men, then our troubles here would be over very quickly. You have to have men who are moral, and at the same time, who are abl to utilize their primordial instincts to kill without feeling, without passion. Without judgment. Without Judgment. Because it's judgment that defeats us. (He slowly raises his hand and examines it.) I worry that my son might not understand what I've tried to be. And if I were to be killed, Willard, I would want someone to go to my home and tell my son everything...Everything I did. Everything you saw. Because there's nothing I detest more than the stench of lies. And if you understand me, Willard, you will do this for me.
# 216 THE LARAMIE PROJECT by Moises Kaufman and the members of the Tectonic Theater Project © 460 words
JEDEDIAH SCHULTZ: I've lived in Wyoming my whole life. The family has been in Wyoming, well...for generations. Now when it came time to go to college my parents can't--couldn't afford to send me to college. I wanted to study theater. And I knew that if I was going to go to college I was going to have to get on a scholarship--and so, uh, they have this competition each year, this Wyoming state high-school competition. And I knew that if I didn't take first place in, uh, duets, that I wasn't gonna get a scholarship. So I went to the theater department of the university looking for good scenes, and I asked one of the professors--I was like, "I need--I need a killer scene," and he was like, "Here you go, this is it." And it was from Angels in America. (Pause) So I read it and I knew I could win best scene if I did a good enough job. (Pause) And when the time came I told my mom and dad so that they would come to the competition. Now you have to understand, my parents go to everything--every ball game, every hockey game--everything I've ever done. (Pause) And they brought me into their room and told me that if I did that scene, they would not come to see me in the competition. Because they believe that it is wrong, that homosexuality is wrong--they felt that strongly about it that they didn't want to come to see their son do probably the most important thing that he's done up to that point in his life. And I didn't know what to do. (Pause) I had never, ever gone against my parent's wishes, So I was kind of worried about it. But I decided to do it. (Pause) And all I can remember about the competition is that when we were done, me and my scene partner, we came up to each other and we shook hands and there was a standing ovation. (Pause) Oh, man, it was amazing! And we took first place and we won. And that's how come I can afford to be here at the university, because of that scene. It was one of the best moment of my life. And my parents weren't there. And to this day that's the one thing my parents didn't see me do. (Pause) And thinking back on it, I think. Why did I do it? Why did I oppose my parents? 'Cause I'm not gay. So why did I do it? And I guess the only only honest answer I can give is that, well, (He chuckles) I wanted to win. It was a good scene; it was like the best scene! (Pause) Do you know Mr. Kushner? Maybe you can tell him.
# 217 LETTERS FROM CUBA by MARIA IRENE FORNES © 410 words
ENRIQUE: (noticing a picture of Fran's on the wall.) Francisquita. (Pause) Do you remember when you came and brought us different kinds of food? Dry food, that was good once we soaked it in water, and food in cans. You apologized and said that food in cans was not as good as fresh food, but that you were not allowed to bring fresh food through customs. But it turned out that we loved food in cans. Mmmm. (Pause) At first you thought we were being polite to you because that was what your brought. But we really meant it. We liked food in cans. It had an American taste. A little taste of tin. When we ate it we thought we were in the U.S. and spoke English to each other. We said "Thank you"; "Water, please"; "How do you do?"; "Good morning"; "What is your name?"; "Do you speak Spanish?" (Pause) But also, it was because we could use the cans as glasses to drink water, or pots to heat water for coffee or containers to put food in and save it in the refrigerator. We could make holes in the bottom and turn them into pots for plants. We grew beans, not too many, because the pots were small. And we also grew coffee. We kept one (without the holes) to put on the roof to collect water when it rains. Mother likes to wash her hair with rain water. I kept another in my room to hit with a spoon as a cowbell to use when I play music with my group. We also keep a candle in the sardine can. When the lights go out, Mama lights the candle. We thank you for the light. (Pause) When you came we thought you might not like how we lost electric power so many times in one evening, and we told you we were sorry. You cheered us up and said, "Oh no! Look how beautiful the light of the candle is when the room is dark." We looked and we saw that you were right. We all looked elegant. You said, "This is how fancy restaurants are lit in New York, and Paris also." That did cheer us up and make us understand the irony of it. At home, we get depressed when we have to eat in the dark, and in rich places where they have electricity, they turn the lights off and light candles to make it look more elegant. So you see how much we have learned from you. (Enrique goes over to Fran's picture and gives her a kiss.)
# 218 'NAMI by CHAD BEKIM © 277 words
Roachie: I woulda been heah like on time, cept I couldn't stop lookin at the moon. Yo, you shoulda seen it, baby. That shit was fuckin amazin! I was walking towards tha building and juss looked up and, boom! It was so ill. I had to go up ta tha roof ta look at it. It was like, like that kinda moon you see in them movies bout California or tha Wild West? Juss fuckin huge and orange an so, so bright! An I'm sitting there, all like, hynotized and shit, me lookin at the moon an thinkin of you, knowin you prolly waitin for me in tha apartment, prolly heated at me--but I couldn't make myself leave. And then, like boom, I remembered--tha only other time I evah seen tha moon look like that was tha night when we was at the club in Ozone? Member? Like, one of the first times we evah went out-out, like on a date out? An that Dominican niggah came out his face at you, an I gave that niggah tha beat-down of his life for disrespetin you, an afterwards we was sittin on some part bench, lookin at the moon and talkng? You member that night? How tha moon was? I was up there in tha roof, lookin at that moon and thinkin of you, thinkin how I should get you to see it, and then, before I knew it, it like, went away or whatevah. Got all normal, and shit. I'm sorry you ain't seen it, baby. That shit was hot. Sop thass were I been. (beat) What? Whah you lookin at me like that for?
# 219 BURIED CHILD by SAM SHEPARD © 343 words
DODGE: See, we were a well-established family once. Well-established. All the boys were grown. The farm was producing enough milk to fill Lake Michigan twice over. Me and Halie here were pointed toward what looks like the middle part of our life. Everything was settled with us. All we had to do was ride it out. Then Halie got pregnant again. Out the middle of nowhere, she got pregnant. We weren’t planning on havin’ any more boys. We had enough boys already. In fact, we hadn’t been sleeping in the same bed for about six years. …Halie had this kid, see. This baby boy. She had it. I let her have it on her own. All the other boys I had had the best doctors, the best nurses, everything. This one I let her have by herself. This one hurt real bad. Almost killed her but she had it anyway. It lived, see. It lived. It wanted to grow up in this family. It wanted to be just like us. It wanted to be part of us. It wanted to pretend that I was its father. She wanted me to believe it. Even when everyone else around us knew. Everyone, all our boys, knew. Tilden knew. …Tilden was the one who knew. Better than any of us. He’d walk for miles with that kid in his arms. Halie let him take it. At night sometimes. He’d walk all night out there in the pasture with is. Talkin’ to it, singin’ to it. Used to hear him singing to it. He’d make up stories. He’d tell that kid all kinds of stories. Even when he knew it couldn’t understand him. We couldn’t let a thing like that continue. We couldn’t allow that to grow up right in the middle of our lives. It made everything we accomplished look like it was nothing. Everything was cancelled out by this one mistake. This one weakness. …I killed it. I drowned it. Just like the runt of a litter. There was no struggle. No noise. Life just left it.
# 220 ROBERT KENNEDY IN INDIANAPOLIS, APRIL 4, 1968 © 637 words
Ladies and Gentlemen,
I'm only going to talk to you just for a minute or so this evening, because I have some -- some very sad news for all of you -- Could you lower those signs, please? -- I have some very sad news for all of you, and, I think, sad news for all of our fellow citizens, and people who love peace all over the world; and that is that Martin Luther King was shot and was killed tonight in Memphis, Tennessee.
Martin Luther King dedicated his life to love and to justice between fellow human beings. He died in the cause of that effort. In this difficult day, in this difficult time for the United States, it's perhaps well to ask what kind of a nation we are and what direction we want to move in. For those of you who are black -- considering the evidence evidently is that there were white people who were responsible -- you can be filled with bitterness, and with hatred, and a desire for revenge.
We can move in that direction as a country, in greater polarization -- black people amongst blacks, and white amongst whites, filled with hatred toward one another. Or we can make an effort, as Martin Luther King did, to understand, and to comprehend, and replace that violence, that stain of bloodshed that has spread across our land, with an effort to understand, compassion, and love.
For those of you who are black and are tempted to fill with -- be filled with hatred and mistrust of the injustice of such an act, against all white people, I would only say that I can also feel in my own heart the same kind of feeling. I had a member of my family killed, but he was killed by a white man.
But we have to make an effort in the United States. We have to make an effort to understand, to get beyond, or go beyond these rather difficult times.
My favorite poem, my -- my favorite poet was Aeschylus. And he once wrote:
Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget
falls drop by drop upon the heart,
until, in our own despair,
against our will,
comes wisdom
through the awful grace of God.
What we need in the United States is not division; what we need in the United States is not hatred; what we need in the United States is not violence and lawlessness, but is love, and wisdom, and compassion toward one another, and a feeling of justice toward those who still suffer within our country, whether they be white or whether they be black.
So I ask you tonight to return home, to say a prayer for the family of Martin Luther King -- yeah, it's true -- but more importantly to say a prayer for our own country, which all of us love -- a prayer for understanding and that compassion of which I spoke.
We can do well in this country. We will have difficult times. We've had difficult times in the past, but we -- and we will have difficult times in the future. It is not the end of violence; it is not the end of lawlessness; and it's not the end of disorder.
But the vast majority of white people and the vast majority of black people in this country want to live together, want to improve the quality of our life, and want justice for all human beings that abide in our land.
And let's dedicate ourselves to what the Greeks wrote so many years ago: to tame the savageness of man and make gentle the life of this world. Let us dedicate ourselves to that, and say a prayer for our country and for our people.
Thank you very much.
# 221 A FIXED STANDARD OF CONDUCT by MICHAEL RYCHLEWSKI © 28 words
SHELTON: There was a boy in my high school. His name was Oliver Williams. He was in the freshman class with me. I had gotten a scholarship to go to this Catholic high school. A scholarship for needy students. The whole school was white except for me and Oliver. He was short kid. And fat. He wasn’t good at sports. I didn’t want to hang around with him at all. I wanted to get accepted by these kids. He’d try to talk to me in the hall. Or hang out after school waiting for me. (Beat) We were playing baseball one day in gym class. I was good at baseball. I always got picked first or second. We had a sub that day. …Some of the kids decided it would be fun if they made Oliver the right field foul pole. They convinced the sub that he was good with it. “He doesn’t mind. Do you. Ollie?” “Oh, he’s done it before. Haven’t ya, Ollie?” “Just stand there Ollie! Don’t move.” …So he stood there, the whole period. …When we got back to the locker room they laughed their heads off. “Don’t move, Ollie!” They thought it was riot. …A couple of them looked at me. (Beat)
I laughed too…He transferred out half-way through freshman year. I should not have laughed. I should have done something. …Instead, I abandoned him
SPIRITUAL ADVICE
1. Be physically fit. Acting uses the whole body.
2. Love people of all kinds. They have their story and it should fascinate you. Be aware that they are human and no human is perfect. You may think, “this character is an idiot!” We’ll he doesn’t think he is.
3. Respect the story that you are helping to portray. Don’t try to change it. Be it. You’re not creating the story; you’re helping to tell it. Don’t paraphrase and don’t omit.
4. Remember that you are but one of a larger group. Cooperation is the essence of theater and this includes co-operation with the audience.
5. Don’t act the character; be the character and share the character’s feelings…though some people say this method--“be it”—is the self-induction of a delusional state.
6. If it didn’t go well, forget it, leave it on stage. Tomorrow is another day.
7. The greatest performances are seldom noticed because they do not draw attention to themselves.
8. It doesn’t matter how you say the lines. What matters is what you mean. What comes from the heart goes to the heart.
9. The audience only perceives what the actor wants to do to the other actor.
The beginning of wisdom is the phrase, “I don’t understand.”
11. The person with attention directed outward becomes various and provocative. The person endeavoring to become various and provocative is stolid and unmoving.
12. With any part you play, there is a certain amount of yourself in it. There has to be, otherwise it's just not acting. It's lying
TECHNICAL ADVICE
1. Lean forward and lower your voice when you want to become intimate with the audience.
2. Make eye contact. You’re talking directly to them, not being someone in front of them.
3. Don’t make eye contact, find a point out in space and play that.
4. Keep your eyes up. You eyes are what the audience came to see.
5. Always gesture with the upstage hand; it opens one out to the audience.
6. Never stand either parallel or perpendicular to the downstage lip. This renders the body dead and flat-footed.
7. Stand and move at an angle; angles are powerful.
8. Take the scene off with you. You are still in it until you are out of sight of the audience.
9. Don’t move when other actors have speeches, unless it’s in the stage directions. You will be pulling the audience away from the other character’s big moment.
10. Keep your arms and hands as still as you can, so when you do gesture it matters.
11. Don’t “over pause.” Pick up the pace. The audience didn’t pay you to watch you think.
12. SPEAK UP!
13. Hit the final consonant in your speech
14. When you start your phrase, speak out. Commit yourself to what you are saying.
15. Don’t destroy a laugh by moving any part of your body, or by exiting or entering while the laugh is going on.
16. When you get a laugh, relax, don’t stiffen. Any movement will usually kill the laugh.
17. Never walk in on another actor’s line.
18. You don’t need to laugh or cry; that’s the audience’s job. If you laugh, they won’t; if you cry, they won’t.
19. Find a simple action for each scene and then do your best to accomplish that action.
20. Carve up the big tasks into small tasks and perform these small tasks.
21. Take the audience’s focus at the right moment with pitch, gesture, pause, stillness…etc Discover that moment.
22. Can you find something to do while you talk? Something that adds and doesn’t subtract?
23. Generally you should raise the energy level at the top of the new beat.
24. Define the stakes in the scene and then see if you can raise them with intensity and/or energy
25. There is no fast without slow, no sound without silence.
26. You can buy a pause by strongly emphasizing the previous line.
27. Don’t play too many moments “big.” You’ll kill the audience’s belief.
28. Act for the other actors, not yourself. Give them what they need in a scene.
29. You have to not only know your lines but your attitude as you say them.
30. Find the build--where a series of lines build over one another--and work it.
31. Be in control of your body and make your gestures crisp, sharp, neat and defined
32. Make a gesture that makes a point; no more, no less.
33. Rehearse close to the decibel level you intend on the stage
34. Increase articulation and slow down and you’ll usually increase the decibel level.
35. Identify the key moment where the focus shifts and makes sure that “lands.” This could mean: sit/stand, speak quickly./speak slowly, damn up emotions/let them flow
36. When your dialogue overlaps with another actor, try to find the key moment when the other needs to be heard and lower your voice a little. But don’t overdo it.
37. Good posture is essential. Be poised, ready, proud, confident.
38. Point both your feet at the actor you are playing against and trust your profile.
39. Invest objects with meaning that moves the play forward: Ex--a letter you have read
40. Try to sit down while looking at the other actors, be graceful about it.
41. Stillness frames and delivers movement, even the smallest
42. Can you find the long pause where everything is at stake?
43. Before the big final line pause a moment to frame it, maybe find a sound to go with it.
44. When the pace is a rapid back and forth, find a small second to pause somewhere. It allows a sense of spontaneity and though process.
45. Speak quickly about being bored. Speak slowly about being fast. Experiment with speed.
46. Don’t drop your energy at the end of the line. Clear final consonants
47. Listen to what this person wants of you that moment, Make your reaction real then and there.
48. Talk is jazz. Quick, medium, slow; loud, medium, soft; long, short, long…etc. Play it!
49. The scene does not exist in your or your partner. It exists between you. Constantly adjust.
50. Allow real emotion to grow bit by bit and the audience will believe the big moment.
MR. RYCHLEWSKI’S DRAMA CLASS MONOLOGUES 1 / 2013/2014
# 111 HAMLET by William Shakespeare 276 words
HAMLET:
To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.--Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd
# 115 LATER by Corinne Jacker © 380 words
KATE: I can sail. As well as any man. Better than most. My father taught me--tacking, charting a course, no yawing when I'm at the rudder. Our secret language. Malachai and me at the boat house, while Molly sipped iced tea under her sun umbrella and Laurie's skin shriveled up in the club pool. A boat needs attention. Scraping, sanding, painting, varnishing. One June day when it's hotter than this, I worked for seven hours straight on the hull, and he hugged me and said, "No son could've done better." I knew he meant that if a man was going to get stuck with daughters, he might as well have one like me. And he hauled out the thermos with rum and tea in it, and he poured me a cupful, and he said, "Drink it down, you'll feel as cold as an icicle." Oh, I did. It turned my veins into refrigerator coils. Goose flesh came out of my shoulders, and down my arms, I stated to shiver until my teeth clacked together. But he knew what do do. He rolled the sleeves of my T-shirt down as far as they'd go, and stuck me into the sun, rubbing my hands together and hugging me to stop me from shaking. And then, he said, "Oh well, you're a girl after all, aren't you, Katie, honey." And I lay my head against his shoulder and wished there was a way to change that. I never felt that cold again. Not until he was dead, and we were alone, in the viewing room, and the air-conditioning was blowing so fiercely. We went out, Laurie and I, to get drunk, having dumped Molly on some cousin or other, and I ordered rum and iced tea, because I wanted to shiver, I wanted the temperature of my blood to go down below zero, so it would freeze and clot, and stop. But I couldn't get away from that music. That beat kept making my heart pump. I got drunk. My God was I drunk, and my cheeks got red, and the blood kept right on moving. I couldn't get cold enough. I could have taken a bath in ice cubes and I wouldn't have gotten cold enough. ...Well, Katey's a girl after all
# 118 THE WOOLGATHERER by William Mastrosimone © 385 words
ROSE: You may think it's funny but I was the last one to see them alive last summer. There were only seven of them in the world and the zoo had four of them. I used to walk there every night just to watch them stand so still on the water. And they walked so graceful, in slow motion. And they have legs as skinny as my little finger. Long legs. And there was only seven in the world because they killed them off for feathers for ladies hats or something. And one night a gang of boys came by with radios to their ears and cursing, you know F---, and everything. And I was, you know, scared. And they started saying things to me, you know, dirty things, and laughing at the birds. And one kid throw a stone to see how close he could splash the birds, and then another kid tried to see how close he could splash the birds, and then they all started throwing stones to splash the birds, and then they started throwing stones at the birds and I started screaming STOP IT! and a stone hit a bird's leg and it bended like a straw and the bird keeled over in the water, flapping wings in the water, and the kids kept laughing and throwing stones and I kept screaming STOP IT! STOP IT! but they couldn't hear me through that ugly music on the radios and kept laughing and cursing and throwing stones, and I ran and got the zoo guard and he got his club and we ran to the place of the birds but the kids were gone. And there was white feathers on the water. And the water was real still. And there was big swirls of blood. And the birds were real still. Their beaks a little open. Leg broke. Toes curled. Still. Like the world stopped. And the guard said something to me but I couldn't hear him. I just saw his mouth moving. And I started screaming. And the cops came and took me to the hospital and they gave me a needle to make me stop screaming. And they never caught the gang. But even if they did, what good's that? They can't make the birds come alive again.
# 125 from THE DIANALOGUES by Laurel Haines © 387 words
(Cameras flash. A red carpet. A starlet in sunglasses stops to speak to reporters.)
STARLET: Thank you! Thank you all so much! I couldn’t do it without you. (blows a kiss to the cameras) My opinions? Why yes, I have many opinions on the subject. As you may know, I’ve been an advocate of privacy and stalking laws for quite a while. I mean, celebrities have rights too. You might think that just because you see me on a magazine cover I’m not real. I am real! I have thoughts and feelings just like you. Feelings that get hurt when someone snaps a photograph of me and prints it under the caption, “Who’s Getting Flabby”? And by the way, I gained that weight for a role. The Life of Gertrude Stein, my new film, opening Friday at a theater near you. And as you can see, I’ve lost every single ounce of it. So snap away! (The cameras go mad.) Oh yes, this new law had a tragic beginning. It’s just terrible that Diana had to be killed in that car crash. But my yogi says, out of tragedy comes tranquility: I think she would be happy to know that because of her death, others are able to live in peace. Why just the other day I was on the beach at my new vacation home in Malibu. And I realized my towel boy has a camera strapped to his thong. Thank God I saw it before I took my top off. I felt so violated! Well, of course, he said it was just for his mother, how many times have I heard that one? It’s just a comfort to know that because of this law I can throw him in jail for six months instead of having my bodyguards hold his head under the surf. They’re big men, but their arms get tired. (as if answering a question) Well, I relate to her. I really do. It’s awful to be wanted all the time. People just don’t understand. I mean I can’t go anywhere without people looking at me. Following me, telling me how much they love me. When I became an actress, I never asked to be the center of attention! And I am an actress. I’m tired of you reporters identifying me as a “former adult-film star.” I haven’t done those movies for years. At least two years and I’ve gone through the same training as Marilyn. All I want is respect. We celebrities work hard to get to the top. Do you have any idea what I did to get here? Well, of course you do, you’ve all rented the videos, but do you know what I went through inside? The pain, the suffering, the loose of innocence? Yes, innocence! Even I was once just a little girl in Kansas, growing up on my parents’ farm, when one day they were killed in a horrible tractor crash and…wait a minute. Is that my story? No, that’s my publicist’s story. My story is…Where did I grow up? Oh right, New Jersey, but isn’t that bad enough. New Jersey! The details aren’t important. What matters is that I suffered. I was working at the mall! At Hot Dog on a Stick! And then when some man with a greasy mustache comes out of the blue and tells you he'll pay you $ 200 to...well, what was I to do? What would you do in that situation? No, don't answer that. You'd probably turn it down. You probably think you're better than me. And you'd be right. I'm just a cheap little whore! (She starts to break down crying, then stops and looks up.) A cheap little Oscar-nominated whore, so HA HA HA HA HA ! (She gathers herself together.) Well, that's enough negativity. I'm going to release it now. (She does a yoga pose.) Aaaah! Well, they're calling me. I must be going. All right, just a few more photos. (She strikes a few poses while the cameras flash.) Oh you. The press. I love you, but I hate you. And I know you feel the same way about me. It's such a teasing relationship. You dig at me, I slap back at you, and then we all get in bed together and fuck like crazy! So I know you won't take this new law the wrong way. It doesn't mean I don't love you anymore. It just means you'll have to work a little harder to love me. But absence does make the heart grow fonder and that's why I'm so glad I'll be able to take my next vacation to Malibu in peace (Beat.) That's Malibu on the South Shore. 1191 Coconut Lane. It's a private drive, but if you sneak through the service entrance, no one will see you (Winks.) I'll be waiting.
# 126 DIALOGUE OF THE GODS by LUCIAN © 284 words
APHRODITE: So what’s this I hear, Selene—that you’ve taken to pausing the moon in the sky every night so you can gaze like a schoolgirl at this hunter, Endymion, while he sleeps? Sometimes, they say, you actually abandon your post and join him in his bed. Is this true? Yes, you can blame Eros, if you like. He's such a naughty boy, my son! He plays the same wicked games on his own mother, you know! First he smites me with an insatiable desire for Anchises of Troy, then before I can get my fill of that noble prince, he redirects my love pangs toward some Assyrian stripling or some Phoenician farm boy, and I’m off for Lebanon, Cyprus, Tripoli, like some crazed bitch in heat! It makes me dizzy! I can’t catch my breath! And worse, once I’m smitten, he doesn’t even leave the man to me, but makes some other goddess or mortal beauty in love with him as well, so that half the time I don’t get any satisfaction at all! It makes me so mad, I want to strangle the little devil! I’ve threatened to clip his wings and break all of his arrows—I’ve spanked his little bottom until I was blue in the face! He cries for a minute or two, promises never to do it again, and two seconds later he’s back to his games. But enough about me! I want to know about your new lover, Endymion! Is he handsome? Does he have fine, broad shoulders and a chiseled torso? That’s always a consolation in our humiliation—to have a strapping young warrior aroused to distraction by our charms. It certainly doesn’t hurt one’s ego.
# 127 A FIXED STANDARD OF CONDUCT by Michael Rychlewski © 272 words
AMBER: We never. …We never did it. But I loved him. We used to walk together. He’d call me up and say, “Let’s walk.” And we‘d just walk all around. It was great, walking. It clears your head. …I even got him to walk in the woods. He didn’t like the woods. …One time I convinced him to go camping. “C’mon Mirko. We’ll go into LaBagh Woods. It’ll be a blast.” We got our sleeping bags, a tent. I stole an eight-pack from my dad. We hiked in and found a nice spot by the river. Set up the tent. Ate the sandwiches. Drank our beers. We couldn’t have a fire you know. We didn’t want to get caught. …It was wonderful! …But then the night came and he got all…he got freaked. He said it reminded him of Bosnia. They had to go hide in the woods sometimes. Soldiers would come and the whole town would leave their homes and run into the woods. They’d make shelters out of cardboard boxes and pile up leaves for blankets. One time he got separated. And there were enemy soldiers near-by. So he hid under a bed of leaves for two days. He didn’t move. Two days. I could never do that. …Anyway he freaked and we had to leave. We didn’t even take down the tent. I had to go back the next day and get it. I really wanted to spend that night in the woods with him. Not for the sex or anything. Just. …I’ll bet when you live in a war zone you get good at it. You know. Hiding
# 205 THE MISER by Moliere © 415 words
HARPAGON: (from the garden, rushing in without his hat, and crying_-- Thieves! thieves! assassins! murder! Justice, just heavens! I am undone; I am murdered; they have cut my throat; they have stolen my money! Who can it be? What has become of him? Where is he? Where is he hiding himself? What shall I do to find him? Where shall I run? Where shall I not run? Is he not here? Who is this? Stop! (To himself, sees his own shadow, taking hold of his own arm) Give me back my money, wretch.... Ah...! it is myself.... My mind is wandering, and I know not where I am, who I am, and what I am doing. (Falls to his knees) Alas! my poor money! my poor money! My dearest friend, they have bereaved me of thee; and since thou art gone, I have lost my support, my consolation, and my joy. All is ended for me, and I have nothing more to do in the world! Without thee it is impossible for me to live. It is all over with me; I can bear it no longer. (lies down) I am dying; I am dead; I am buried. Is there nobody who will call me from the dead, by restoring my dear money to me, or by telling me who has taken it? (Rising to his knees) Ah! what is it you say? It is no one. (stands) Whoever has committed the deed must have watched carefully for his opportunity, and must have chosen the very moment when I was talking with my miscreant of a son. (Takes his hat and cane) I must go. I will demand justice, and have the whole of my house put to the torture--my maids and my valets, my son, my daughter, and myself too. What a crowd of people are assembled here! Everyone seems to be my thief. I see no one who does not rouse suspicion in me. Ha! What are they speaking of there? Of him who stole my money? What noise is that up yonder? Is it my thief who is there? (Kneels and addresses the audience) For pity's sake, if you know anything of my thief, I beseech you to tell me. Is he hiding there among you? They all look at me and laugh. (stands) We shall see that they all have a share in the robbery. Quick! magistrates, police, provosts, judges, racks, gibbets, and executioners. I will hang everybody, and if I do not find my money, I will hang myself afterwards.
# 221 A FIXED STANDARD OF CONDUCT by MICHAEL RYCHLEWSKI © 225 words
SHELTON: There was a boy in my high school. His name was Oliver Williams. He was in the freshman class with me. I had gotten a scholarship to go to this Catholic high school. A scholarship for needy students. The whole school was white except for me and Oliver. He was short kid. And fat. He wasn’t good at sports. I didn’t want to hang around with him at all. I wanted to get accepted by these kids. He’d try to talk to me in the hall. Or hang out after school waiting for me. (Beat) We were playing baseball one day in gym class. I was good at baseball. I always got picked first or second. We had a sub that day. …Some of the kids decided it would be fun if they made Oliver the right field foul pole. They convinced the sub that he was good with it. “He doesn’t mind. Do you. Ollie?” “Oh, he’s done it before. Haven’t ya, Ollie?” “Just stand there Ollie! Don’t move.” …So he stood there, the whole period. …When we got back to the locker room they laughed their heads off. “Don’t move, Ollie!” They thought it was riot. …A couple of them looked at me. (Beat) I laughed too…He transferred out half-way through freshman year. I should not have laughed. I should have done something. …Instead, I abandoned him
# 217 LETTERS FROM CUBA by MARIA IRENE FORNES © 410 words
ENRIQUE: (noticing a picture of Fran's on the wall.) Francisquita. (Pause) Do you remember when you came and brought us different kinds of food? Dry food, that was good once we soaked it in water, and food in cans. You apologized and said that food in cans was not as good as fresh food, but that you were not allowed to bring fresh food through customs. But it turned out that we loved food in cans. Mmmm. (Pause) At first you thought we were being polite to you because that was what your brought. But we really meant it. We liked food in cans. It had an American taste. A little taste of tin. When we ate it we thought we were in the U.S. and spoke English to each other. We said "Thank you"; "Water, please"; "How do you do?"; "Good morning"; "What is your name?"; "Do you speak Spanish?" (Pause) But also, it was because we could use the cans as glasses to drink water, or pots to heat water for coffee or containers to put food in and save it in the refrigerator. We could make holes in the bottom and turn them into pots for plants. We grew beans, not too many, because the pots were small. And we also grew coffee. We kept one (without the holes) to put on the roof to collect water when it rains. Mother likes to wash her hair with rain water. I kept another in my room to hit with a spoon as a cowbell to use when I play music with my group. We also keep a candle in the sardine can. When the lights go out, Mama lights the candle. We thank you for the light. (Pause) When you came we thought you might not like how we lost electric power so many times in one evening, and we told you we were sorry. You cheered us up and said, "Oh no! Look how beautiful the light of the candle is when the room is dark." We looked and we saw that you were right. We all looked elegant. You said, "This is how fancy restaurants are lit in New York, and Paris also." That did cheer us up and make us understand the irony of it. At home, we get depressed when we have to eat in the dark, and in rich places where they have electricity, they turn the lights off and light candles to make it look more elegant. So you see how much we have learned from you. (Enrique goes over to Fran's picture and gives her a kiss.)
# 219 BURIED CHILD by SAM SHEPARD © 343 words
DODGE: See, we were a well-established family once. Well-established. All the boys were grown. The farm was producing enough milk to fill Lake Michigan twice over. Me and Halie here were pointed toward what looks like the middle part of our life. Everything was settled with us. All we had to do was ride it out. Then Halie got pregnant again. Out the middle of nowhere, she got pregnant. We weren’t planning on havin’ any more boys. We had enough boys already. In fact, we hadn’t been sleeping in the same bed for about six years. …Halie had this kid, see. This baby boy. She had it. I let her have it on her own. All the other boys I had had the best doctors, the best nurses, everything. This one I let her have by herself. This one hurt real bad. Almost killed her but she had it anyway. It lived, see. It lived. It wanted to grow up in this family. It wanted to be just like us. It wanted to be part of us. It wanted to pretend that I was its father. She wanted me to believe it. Even when everyone else around us knew. Everyone, all our boys, knew. Tilden knew. …Tilden was the one who knew. Better than any of us. He’d walk for miles with that kid in his arms. Halie let him take it. At night sometimes. He’d walk all night out there in the pasture with is. Talkin’ to it, singin’ to it. Used to hear him singing to it. He’d make up stories. He’d tell that kid all kinds of stories. Even when he knew it couldn’t understand him. We couldn’t let a thing like that continue. We couldn’t allow that to grow up right in the middle of our lives. It made everything we accomplished look like it was nothing. Everything was cancelled out by this one mistake. This one weakness. …I killed it. I drowned it. Just like the runt of a litter. There was no struggle. No noise. Life just left it.
# 220 ROBERT KENNEDY IN INDIANAPOLIS, APRIL 4, 1968 © 637 words
Ladies and Gentlemen,
…I'm only going to talk to you just for a minute or so this evening, because I have some -- some very sad news for all of you -- Could you lower those signs, please? -- I have some very sad news for all of you, and, I think, sad news for all of our fellow citizens, and people who love peace all over the world; and that is that Martin Luther King was shot and was killed tonight in Memphis, Tennessee.
…Martin Luther King dedicated his life to love and to justice between fellow human beings. He died in the cause of that effort. In this difficult day, in this difficult time for the United States, it's perhaps well to ask what kind of a nation we are and what direction we want to move in. For those of you who are black -- considering the evidence evidently is that there were white people who were responsible -- you can be filled with bitterness, and with hatred, and a desire for revenge.
…We can move in that direction as a country, in greater polarization -- black people amongst blacks, and white amongst whites, filled with hatred toward one another. Or we can make an effort, as Martin Luther King did, to understand, and to comprehend, and replace that violence, that stain of bloodshed that has spread across our land, with an effort to understand, compassion, and love.
…For those of you who are black and are tempted to fill with -- be filled with hatred and mistrust of the injustice of such an act, against all white people, I would only say that I can also feel in my own heart the same kind of feeling. I had a member of my family killed, but he was killed by a white man.
…But we have to make an effort in the United States. We have to make an effort to understand, to get beyond, or go beyond these rather difficult times.
…My favorite poem, my -- my favorite poet was Aeschylus. And he once wrote:
Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget / falls drop by drop upon the heart, / until, in our own despair, / against our will, / comes wisdom / through the awful grace of God.
.What we need in the United States is not division; what we need in the United States is not hatred; what we need in the United States is not violence and lawlessness, but is love, and wisdom, and compassion toward one another, and a feeling of justice toward those who still suffer within our country, whether they be white or whether they be black.
...So I ask you tonight to return home, to say a prayer for the family of Martin Luther King -- yeah, it's true -- but more importantly to say a prayer for our own country, which all of us love -- a prayer for understanding and that compassion of which I spoke.
...We can do well in this country. We will have difficult times. We've had difficult times in the past, but we -- and we will have difficult times in the future. It is not the end of violence; it is not the end of lawlessness; and it's not the end of disorder.
…But the vast majority of white people and the vast majority of black people in this country want to live together, want to improve the quality of our life, and want justice for all human beings that abide in our land.
…And let's dedicate ourselves to what the Greeks wrote so many years ago: to tame the savageness of man and make gentle the life of this world. Let us dedicate ourselves to that, and say a prayer for our country and for our people.
…Thank you very much.
# 221 WHAT'S HE BUILDING IN THERE? by Tom Waits © 299 words
A CONCERNED NEIGHBOR: What's he building in there? What the hell is he building in there? He has subscriptions to those magazines... He never waves when he goes by He's hiding something from the rest of us... He's all to himself... I think I know why... He took down the tire swing from the Peppertree. He has no children of his own you see... He has no dog. And he has no friends and his lawn is dying... and…What about all those packages he sends. What's he building in there? With that hook light on the stairs. What's he building in there?... I'll tell you one thing. He's not building a playhouse for the children . What's he building in there? Now what's that sound from under the door? He's pounding nails into a hardwood floor... and I swear to god I heard someone moaning low... and I keep seeing the blue light of a T.V. show...He has a routerand a table saw... and you won't believe what Mr. Sticha saw. There's poison underneath the sink of course... But there's also enough formaldehyde to choke a horse... What's he building in there? What the hell is he building in there? I heard he has an ex-wife in some place called Mayors Income, Tennessee. And he used to have a consulting business in Indonesia...but what is he building in there? What the hell is building in there? He has no friends but he gets a lot of mail I'll bet he spent a little time in jail...I heard he was up on the roof last night signaling with a flashlight And what's that tune he's always whistling...What's he building in there? What's he building in there? We have a right to know...
DRAMA / PROFESSIONAL CONDUCT / NAME _____________________
Every day: 1 point for on time, 1 point for bringing your 3 ring-binder,
2 points for professional conduct during class. Totals are due every other Monday.
Multiply your two weeks by 2.5. Ex: 30 = 75
Quarter 1
|
Week |
Monday |
Tuesday |
Wednesday |
Thursday |
Friday |
Total |
|
9/6 |
4 |
4 |
4 |
|
|
|
|
9/12 |
|
|
|
|
|
G |
|
9/19 |
|
|
|
|
4 |
|
|
9/26 |
|
|
|
|
4 |
G |
|
10/3 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
10/10 |
4 |
|
|
|
|
G |
|
10/17 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
10/24 |
|
|
|
|
4 |
G |
|
10/31 |
|
|
4 |
|
|
|
|
11/7 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Quarter 2
|
Week |
Monday |
Tuesday |
Wednesday |
Thursday |
Friday |
Total |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
A Walk in the Woods
Lee Blessing
CHARACTERS
ANYA BOTVINNIK…57 A Career soviet diplomat
JOHN HONEYMAN…45 An American negotiator
A pleasant woods on the outskirts of Geneva
ACT ONE
SCENE ONE
A mountain slope on the outskirts of Geneva. Late summer. A sunny morning. The path is well kept, but rustic. It leads to a wooden bench in a little clearing. The overall effect is light, airy, idyllic. Botivinnik and Honeyman enter. They wear suits- conservative but stylish.
BOTVINNIK.
(With a very slight accent) …So I told him- this was your reporter, you understand, a network reporter- I told him when Brezhnev was in power, he always began Politiburo meetings by saying, “The survival of the Soviet Union depends on the total annihilation of America.”
HONEYMAN.
(With a smile.) You told him that?
BOTVINNIK.
How was I to know he’d believe it? He actually filled that report with his network. It was nearly broadcast. But, finally someone had the sense to ask him, “Who told you that? Audrey Botvinnik?” (Laughs slightly) And they cancelled it. They know I make jokes, That reporter now I think is covering restaurants. (Looks around). Do you like this place? Shall we sit?
HONEYMAN.
Do you think we should stop?
BOTVINNIK.
Why not?
HONEYMAN.
Well…we spoke of this as a walk in the woods.
BOTVINNIK.
We are walking, we are sitting, we are walking again…
HONEYMAN
. But the reporters.
BOTVINNIK.
Reporters expect us when they see us. They love for us not to be on time. Much speculation. More column inches. (Pats the bench.) Come. Sit down.
HONEYMAN.
All right. (They sit.)
BOTVINNIK.
Fine, fine, fine. Now we are sitting. This is good. (A pause. They stare at the trees.) The trees are lovely in the late summer here. So full. You came at a good time.
HONEYMAN.
It’s beautiful.
BOTVINNIK.
Have you been to Switzerland before?
HONEYMAN.
No.
BOTVINNIK.
Well, you must enjoy the lake, the mountain trails and…so on and so forth.
HONEYMAN.
I will. Thank you.
BOTVINNIK.
Mr. McIntyre loved the trails. He was very fond of hiking.
HONEYMAN.
Yes, I know.
BOTVINNIK.
He told you?
HONEYMAN.
Yes.
BOTVINNIK.
How is he doing, Mr. McIntyre?
HONEYMAN.
Very well. He’s with a law firm now in New York.
BOTVINNIK.
Really? He’s not back at the Arms Control Agency?
HONEYMAN.
No. He…thought he’d try the private sector again.
BOTVINNIK.
(With sudden enthusiasm, poking Honeyman lightly in the ribs.) Ah- the private sector! Wonderful thing you Americans have. To think- a refuge from government service. (Botvinnik stares out at the woods, smiling, Honeyman regards her with surprise.) Ah, McIntyre. They come and they go, eh?
HONEYMAN.
Does that bother you?
BOTVINNIK.
(Smiling.) Not when someone as pleasant as you is sent to replace him.
HONEYMAN.
Thank you very much.
BOTVINNIK.
You are very welcome.
HONEYMAN.
(Smiling.)We’re beginning to sound like a pair of diplomats.
BOTVINNIK.
We are a pair of diplomats.
HONEYMAN.
Well – negotiators.
BOTVINNIK.
And negotiators, of course.
HONEYMAN.
I mean, that is our primary function.
BOTVINNIK.
Yes.
HONEYMAN.
Diplomacy comes second, in a sense. It’s really someone else’s job.
BOTVINNIK.
If you insist.
HONEYMAN.
I don’t insist. I’m just trying to be clear, that’s all.
BOTVINNIK.
You are clear. (A beat.)
HONEYMAN.
Tell me- why have we taken a walk in the woods?
BOTVINNIK.
What do you mean?
HONEYMAN.
I mean why. Does your government have something to communicate to us about our new proposal, or…?
BOTVINNIK.
No, no, no, no – nothing like that. There are many ways to discuss a proposal. We don’t have to come out here.
HONEYMAN.
It’s a very good proposal.
BOTVINNIK.
I know it is.
HONEYMAN.
Very good.
BOTVINNIK.
Absolutely. On my side, we are all in disarray, believe me. But that’s not why we’re here. Today, I only want you to see the woods.
HONEYMAN.
To see the woods?
BOTVINNIK.
Yes. And talk. Simply. Man to man. Muschino s muschinoi Da?
HONEYMAN.
Man to man.
BOTVINNIK
The woods are very useful. For months we will be trading proposals across a table. Here, there is no table. We can relax, ignore things. Talk about trees, lakes, whatever.
HONEYMAN.
I see. (A beat.) The reporters’ll be disappointed.
BOTVINNIK.
Why?
HONEYMAN.
They think we’re out here getting all the real work done. (Botvinnik gives a short, good natured laugh. A beat.) So…you’re not interested in doing any work out here.
BOTVINNIK.
What do you call work? Only what we do at the table? This is valuable too.
HONEYMAN.
What? Sunning ourselves on a bench?
BOTVINNIK.
(Studying him.) Tell me- do you plan to be a very formal negotiator?
HONEYMAN.
Should I be?
BOTVINNIK.
No- please. Anything but formal. It was the one thing I didn’t like about McIntyre. We negotiated for two years, and he never changed his position.
HONEYMAN.
The American position changed…
BOTVINNIK.
No no- his position. Sitting there, at the table. He always sat straight up. For two years he never relaxed. He felt it gave him a moral advantage. It didn’t. He looked like a dog waiting for his supper.
HONEYMAN.
(Smiling.) I’ll tell him that.
BOTVINNIK.
Would you? It’s the one thing I think he should change. Formality allows many things, but it does not allow friendship.
HONEYMAN.
I think formality…
BOTVINNIK.
Formality is simply anger with its hair combed. I could never make a friend out of McIntyre. It was a great disappointment. Two years he sat there: one meter away. Over a hundred sessions. We never became friends. After all, what does that say about me?
HONEYMAN.
Is it good, do you think, for arms negotiators to become friends?
BOTVINNIK.
Someone has to.
HONEYMAN.
But is that, strictly speaking, our job? (Botvinnik regards Honeyman, then looks away.)
BOTVINNIK.
Perhaps it isn’t. (A beat.) You’ll like the trees here. They are very neutral.
HONEYMAN.
(More concessional.) I’m only saying, perhaps two disinterested and …more formal parties can do a better job negotiating.
BOTVINNIK.
Tell me- what do you think of the nose on the face of the Reuters correspondent?
HONEYMAN.
The Reuters…? Why do you…?
BOTVINNIK.
Quick! What do you think?
HONEYMAN.
It’s very large.
BOTVINNIK.
It is enormous! I can’t look at anything else in press conferences. You wait. You’ll stare like I do.
HONEYMAN.
Ms.Botvinnik…
BOTVINNIK.
Oh, please- Anya.
HONEYMAN.
Anya?
BOTVINNIK.
Anastasiya, if you like. Perhaps I could call you Johnny?
HONEYMAN.
John would be fine. Anya, I appreciate your desire to become friends. Indeed, in many of my former negotiations I did become friends with those on the other side. After a successful settlement, not before.
BOTVINNIK.
I see.
HONEYMAN.
I think it’s important for us both to remember that there are issues here.
BOTVINNIK.
Of course.
HONEYMAN.
Which must be resolved.
BOTVINNIK.
Certainly.
HONEYMAN.
Making friends is a fine thing, but not on someone else’s time, so to speak. Do you follow me?
BOTVINNIK.
Oh, yes.
HONEYMAN.
When I took this post, it was to bring something new here. A new formula. A breakthrough.
BOTVINNIK.
Yes, yes. A breakthrough.
HONEYMAN.
A plan I personally helped develop for more than a year.
BOTVINNIK.
Wonderful! Welcome! A new man with a new plan. (Honeyman stares a moment at him.)
HONEYMAN.
I didn’t have to come here, you know. I could’ve stayed safe behind my desk in Washington. Someone more like McIntyre could’ve been chosen. But, since I have a firsthand knowledge of this proposal, and since I myself have a strong record as a negotiator…
BOTVINNIK.
At a lower level.
HONEYMAN.
…at a lower level, I have been asked to work this one through. I have a lot to offer, Anya. I know these issues. They haven’t just sent me to enunciate policy. I’m here to get something done. I hope you’ll want to help me.
BOTVINNIK.
Whatever I can contribute to the spirit of things…
HONEYMAN.
I don’t want the spirit of an agreement. I want an agreement. An honest one- fair to both sides.
BOTVINNIK.
I see. Well, who knows? As friends we will certainly…
HONEYMAN.
No, no – listen.
BOTVINNIK.
Yes?
HONEYMAN.
What I’m saying about friendship is that it takes us away from the central point.
BOTVINNIK.
Which is?
HONEYMAN.
Commitment. Mutual commitment to the hard work of negotiating a treaty. We need to find our rewards there – in difficult problems, worked on together and solved together. That’s the sort of personal relationship I’m seeking here. That’s what I would like. (A beat.) Anya? How do you feel about what I’m saying?
BOTVINNIK.
Well…
HONEYMAN.
I’d really like to know.
BOTVINNIK.
Would you?
HONEYMAN.
Very much.
BOTVINNIK.
Very well. I feel… (She leans close to Honeyman.)
HONEYMAN.
Yes?
BOTVINNIK.
You have a string on your suit.
HONEYMAN.
A string? A thread, you mean?
BOTVINNIK.
A thread, yes. Here. (Botvinnik plucks it off.) So. Now you look fine. What shall we talk about?
HONEYMAN.
You’re changing the subject.
BOTVINNIK.
I am?
HONEYMAN.
Yes.
BOTVINNIK.
Really? I’m sorry. What was it pleases?
HONEYMAN.
I was told you like changing the subject.
BOTVINNIK.
Not at all. That’s a very nice suit by the way.
HONEYMAN.
Mr. McIntyre said it’s your favorite ploy.
BOTVINNIK.
I never use ploys. Is it Italian?
HONEYMAN.
English.
BOTVINNIK.
Really? Everything I have is Italian.
HONEYMAN.
Are we done talking about this now?
BOTVINNIK.
About what?
HONEYMAN.
About suits.
BOTVINNIK.
If you like.
HONEYMAN.
Yes, I do like. Thank you. (A beat.) So, will you answer my question.
BOTVINNIK.
What question?
HONEYMAN.
My question about whether or not you agree that we shouldn’t be friends.
BOTVINNIK.
Was that the subject? Before? That I changed?
HONEYMAN.
Yes, it was.
BOTVINNIK.
Ah. Well, my answer is of course that I agree with you.
HONEYMAN.
You agree?
BOTVINNIK.
Yes.
HONEYMAN.
That we shouldn’t be friends?
BOTVINNIK.
Yes.
HONEYMAN.
That’s not what you said before.
BOTVINNIK.
But then I didn’t know your view. Now I do, and I want to agree with you.
HONEYMAN.
You want to agree with me.
BOTVINNIK.
Yes.
HONEYMAN.
Why?
BOTVINNIK.
Because you are my friend.
HONEYMAN.
I can’t be your friend. That’s my whole position.
BOTVINNIK.
Yes. And I agree.
HONEYMAN.
You can’t agree.
BOTVINNIK.
But I do.
HONEYMAN.
You’re contradicting yourself.
BOTVINNIK.
I know. But I will go to any length to keep a friend. (A beat. They stare at each other.)
HONEYMAN.
I was told you liked to contradict yourself.
BOTVINNIK.
Will you pardon me a moment? (Botvinnik takes out a small, plastic eyedropper, places drops in her eyes.)
HONEYMAN.
Is something wrong with your eyes?
BOTVINNIK.
Hm? No, no. They become very dry, that’s all. It is most uncomfortable. I’m sorry.
HONEYMAN.
Are you seeing a doctor?
BOTVINNIK.
Several of them. Over the last month or two. Swiss doctors. It is nothing.
HONEYMAN.
What do they say?
BOTVINNIK.
Do you want this for your files?
HONEYMAN.
I was only…
BOTVINNIK.
I will tell you. They tell me I have Sjogren’s syndrome.
HONEYMAN.
Sjogren’s syndrome? What’s that mean?
BOTVINNIK.
It means I have dry eyes.
HONEYMAN.
That’s all?
BOTVINNIK.
That’s all. Dry eyes, dry nose, dry mouth. Whatever should be wet is dry.
HONEYMAN.
What can they do for it?
BOTVINNIK.
Nothing. They told me to eat wet food. They gave me artificial tears. “Live with it,” they said. “Klee did.”
HONEYMAN.
Klee?
BOTVINNIK.
Paul Klee. The Swiss artist. He too, apparently, had this problem. The doctors took great pride in telling me. Imagine- having national pride in a disease. (Putting the eyedrops away.) I’m sorry for the delay. That was not a ploy, however- only a sickness. What were we discussing?
HONEYMAN.
Perhaps we should be getting back. If you don’t feel well…
BOTVINNIK.
No, no, no- I’m fine.
HONEYMAN.
Still, it’s probably time.
BOTVINNIK.
We just got here. Don’t you like it?
HONEYMAN.
I like it, fine. It’s just that I’d prefer…
BOTVINNIK.
A table. Yes, I know.
HONEYMAN.
No, not a table. What’s said over it. I need some seriousness. I think we owe our governments that much, don’t you?
BOTVINNIK.
Do you like me?
HONEYMAN.
Anya…
BOTVINNIK.
Answer my question.
HONEYMAN.
I’m not going to answer your question, I’m going back now. (He starts out.)
BOTVINNIK.
Without me? (Honeyman hesitates.) What would the reporters think of that? We leave together, return separately? Significant rumors. (Honeyman stares at Botvinnik, returns.) So tell me- aren’t you embarrassed to be an American?
HONEYMAN.
No.
BOTVINNIK.
I am. To be Russian, I mean.
HONEYMAN.
Why?
BOTVINNIK.
Look at us: Americans and Russians. The world’s great powers – the world’s great fools. Year after year we sit here, among the mountaintops. We talk about our weapons- so many of them. Weapons on land, in the sea, in the air, in space. Too many. “Let’s get rid of some,” we say, “before there’s an accident.” We talk so seriously, we calculate, we make proposals. And we nearly always fail. It’s embarrassing. The best we can do is take away a few missiles once in awhile for show. Beyond that, nothing. If the world was not terrified of us, it would laugh.
HONEYMAN.
That may be, but…
BOTVINNIK.
Why are we failing? I ask myself this. For years we have been here. We keep failing.
HONEYMAN.
I think the reasons are…
BOTVINNIK.
(With sudden conviction.) I know the reason! I have finally discovered who is to blame. Would you like to know?
HONEYMAN.
Anya…
BOTVINNIK.
It is not America. It is not the Soviet Union. Ask me who is to blame.
HONEYMAN.
Anya…
BOTVINNIK.
Ask me. (A beat.)
HONEYMAN.
Who, Anya? Who is to blame?
BOTVINNIK.
Switzerland.
HONEYMAN.
I’m going.
BOTVINNIK.
No, John- listen. Let me explain. Then we can go.
HONEYMAN.
You’re being ridiculous.
BOTVINNIK.
Not if you listen. Switzerland has two things only: mountains and peace. Thousands of mountains, centuries of peace. Peaceful trees, peaceful lakes, peaceful people. You can’t invade it – too many mountains. Besides, there’s nothing here. Only trees and Swiss people. So, what does mankind use Switzerland for? Peace conferences.
HONEYMAN.
Anya.
BOTVINNIK.
But what happens? We sit across the table and look very grave, and talk and debate and argue about imminent world destruction. Then we leave the table, go outside, and what do we see? Rich, happy, peaceful people. Unharmed buildings, no barricades, no rifles, not even littering. We breathe air that hasn’t known a war in centuries. Suddenly, things look better. Why agree to a treaty now? We’ll wait. I tell you, my friend, the real problem is Switzerland itself.
HONEYMAN.
Do you always joke about these matters?
BOTVINNIK.
Who is joking? We should put the table at the bottom of a missile silo. Then we would negotiate. I have seriously suggested this to my superiors.
HONEYMAN.
And what did they say?
BOTVINNIK.
They said to stop joking. (A beat.)
HONEYMAN.
May I ask you a personal question?
BOTVINNIK.
Of course.
HONEYMAN.
Why, in heaven’s name, haven’t you been replaced? (Botvinnik laughs.)
BOTVINNIK.
Mr. McIntyre also asked me this question.
HONEYMAN.
What’s the answer?
BOTVINNIK.
(After a slight hesitation, smiling.) You have done your research, I presume. Perhaps you should tell me. (A beat.)
HONEYMAN.
You’re a very good negotiator. That’s why they keep you. You can say “no” longer than other people. You can say it with a frown, you can say it with a smile. You can say no and still be so charming, we’ll think you said yes. You dress well, you speak English well, you’re good with the media. Most of all, you know how to take orders- at least when it really counts. And the orders are nearly always the same: say no, and look good doing it. They keep you here because you give them something special. Not just a man who says no, but a personality.
BOTVINNIK.
Is that how I am seen? How very flattering.
HONEYMAN.
I’ve done other research. Want to hear?
BOTVINNIK.
Certainly. I love to hear about me.
HONEYMAN.
In your private conversations you are…less dependable. It’s believed your leaders worry quite a bit over your congeniality towards Westerners. You have a penchant for changing the subject, you contradict yourself, you deliberately misunderstand things. Your behavior is sometimes seen as childish.
BOTVINNIK.
Childish?
HONEYMAN.
Mr. McIntyre wasn’t sure if you were in complete control of these conversational gambits. He wondered if they weren’t genuine liabilities that would grow worse with time and destroy your effectiveness. But do you know what I think? You know what my personal opinion is?
BOTVINNIK.
What?
HONEYMAN.
That you are in full control of what you’re doing, both formally and informally. That the very word effectiveness in your mind means obstruction. That you- and perhaps your country- are fundamentally dedicated to not finding a significant agreement.
BOTVINNIK.
You are very blunt. But, this is refreshing. Please- go on. You’re doing so well.
HONEYMAN.
I’m not the only one in my country with this opinion. The fact is, I was appointed for this job precisely because it was the thought only someone of my special talents could work with you at all.
BOTVINNIK.
Special talents? Yes, I must admit, we were very impressed when you were chosen: a man with no experience in Geneva…
HONEYMAN.
I had experience elsewhere.
BOTVINNIK.
At a lower level.
HONEYMAN.
And was effective.
BOTVINNIK.
A man who speaks only English.
HONEYMAN.
I speak technical Russian.
BOTVINNIK.
No one “speaks” technical Russian. It’s like saying “I speak Algebra.” A man who…
HONEYMAN.
You’re ignoring one positive.
BOTVINNIK.
There’s a positive?
HONEYMAN.
I’m an extremely effective negotiator. That doesn’t mean I say no well. It means I say yes well. At the right time. When the right work has been done. When I negotiate. I find an agreement.
BOTVINNIK.
So you think we will agree, eh? Eventually?
HONEYMAN.
Yes. We will.
BOTVINNIK.
Perhaps you are right. But tell me something- even if we do agree, do you think it will matter? (Rising, taking a deep breath, exhaling briskly.) Do you like the mountain air? I don’t. I come from Leningrad. Sea air. That is air you can feel- it has weight. This air is too thin, too sterile.
HONEYMAN.
Too healthy, you mean.
BOTVINNIK.
Only oxygen. It’s not enough. You know, I have breathed the air in many places…
HONEYMAN.
(Rising.) Anya. I’m not interested in the air you have breathed. I’m interested in creating an agreement. Nothing else. And yes. I do believe it’s going to matter. I think you’ll be surprised, in fact, how much it does matter. Now, I’m going to go back. Not because I feel defeated, or hopeless. I’m going back because I feel we’ve done as much as we can do today, and tomorrow – over a table- we’ll do more. And I’m going whether you come along or not.
BOTVINNIK.
I would love to go now. I’m glad you have suggested it. (Honeyman stops, turns back.)
HONEYMAN.
Do we understand each other?
BOTVINNIK.
What do you mean?
HONEYMAN.
Do we understand each other? I want to feel this conversation has served a purpose.
BOTVINNIK.
Really? Why?
HONEYMAN.
Because all conversations should.
BOTVINNIK.
They should?
HONEYMAN.
Yes, they should. Do we understand each other?
BOTVINNIK.
Of course we do. We are friends.
HONEYMAN.
No, we are not friends.
BOTVINNIK.
We’re becoming friends.
HONEYMAN.
We’re not becoming friends.
BOTVINNIK.
Of course we are.
HONEYMAN.
Anya, we’ve just…do you know what they call you? In the American Delegation? The Crab. Not because you’re mean or irritable. Because you never go in a straight line.
BOTVINNIK.
(Pointing at Honeyman’s shoes.) Are those Italian shoes?
HONEYMAN.
Don’t talk about my shoes.
BOTVINNIK.
They are Italian.
HONEYMAN.
They’re French…
BOTVINNIK.
French shoes? Who would buy French shoes? I can get you good Italian…
HONEYMAN.
I’m happy with the shoes I have, thank you!!
BOTVINNIK.
You know, you have great personal charm. You are much warmer than McIntyre.
HONEYMAN.
(With a short, frustrated sigh.) I am much more persistent than McIntyre. I’m here to make a treaty with you, not a friendship. You can behave as erratically as you like. My offer stands. Work with me. Please.
BOTVINNIK.
(With apparent disapproval.) Where do you get your ties?
HONEYMAN.
(Starting out.) I’m going.
BOTVINNIK.
(Following.) This is wonderful! We are doing so well together. When should we take another walk?
HONEYMAN.
(Stopping.) Never.
BOTVINNIK.
Never? Are you sure, my friend?
HONEYMAN.
(Exiting.) I’m sure!
BOTVINNIK.
(Staring at the bench.) Very well- whatever you say. After all, we are here to agree. (Honeyman reappears, stares at Botvinnik. Botvinnik gestures graciously and follows him out. Lights fade on the empty clearing.)
END OF ACT ONE, SCENE ONE
SCENE TWO
The same scene. Noon, two months later. It is fall. Botvinnik sits on the bench. Honeyman paces, speaking heatedly, but not without control. Botvinnik on the other hand, is quite relaxed.
HONEYMAN.
…and believe me, the State department is not going to be patient with this. We made this proposal months ago. Since then you’ve done nothing but argue over details.
BOTVINNIK.
We are making a careful examination…
HONEYMAN.
You’re stalling! You’re using a tiny point to hold up a major agreement.
BOTVINNIK.
Tiny to you…
HONEYMAN.
Tiny. To anyone. Do you want to know what the President thinks? (Botvinnik shrugs acquiescently.) He’s called me twice this week. He flew me home last week. “What’s wrong with Botvinnik?” he asks, “Has she said no so many times she’s forgotten how to say yes?” (Botvinnik laughs) Well? Have you?
BOTVINNIK.
You have an amusing President. I hope he does well in the election.
HONEYMAN.
Whether we wins or loses will have no effect on our proposal.
BOTVINNIK.
(Brushing leaves off the bench.) Perhaps. Come, sit down. Relax.
HONEYMAN.
You’re purposely holding off, aren’t you?
BOTVINNIK.
Well…
HONEYMAN.
The more time you waste trying for a slight advantage from our elections, the colder this proposal gets.
BOTVINNIK.
So don’t have so many elections. Look how bright the leaves are! I’m glad you asked me to take this walk. You said we would never do it again, but here we are.
HONEYMAN.
You’re not going to exploit our political process.
BOTVINNIK.
Your political process exploits itself. So does ours. How does your side act when our leaders are old and sick? Do you rush into negotiations? No, you wait. You should wait.
HONEYMAN.
So when do we negotiate agreements? When there isn’t a president up for election? When there isn’t a Soviet leader in bad health? How often is that?
BOTVINNIK.
Now and then.
HONEYMAN.
Now and then? You want to discuss the life or death of this planet now and then?
BOTVINNIK.
You think it should be more often?
HONEYMAN.
Anya, this is our best proposal to date. The President’s dedicated himself to the image of a peacemaker. He wants to do some lasting work. You should take advantage of that.
BOTVINNIK.
I’m as sorry for the delay as you. But you must understand. Our leaders are naturally careful. The experience of the war for us was…
HONEYMAN.
That was forty years ago!
BOTVINNIK.
But still…
HONEYMAN.
But nothing. It’s a dead issue. Your country has made a state religion out of what’s essentially smugness. “No one suffered the way we suffered. Twenty million died.”
BOTVINNIK.
Twenty million did die.
HONEYMAN.
Eighty million died. All over the world. Everybody suffered. The Soviet government has no more right than anyone else to preach absolutes because of it.
BOTVINNIK.
This is marvelous. I was pleased when you suggested a walk, but to find such emotion. This is very wonderful. Thank you.
HONEYMAN.
Don’t digress.
BOTVINNIK.
I’m sorry.
HONEYMAN.
My point is, any past horror, any breakdown of civilization can be used for decades thereafter by an unscrupulous government to frighten a population into impotence and obedience.
BOTVINNIK.
And that is what we have done?
HONEYMAN.
Yes. It is. (Botvinnik smiles, un-insulted.) Aren’t you going to disagree?
BOTVINNIK.
Maybe later. Go on- please.
HONEYMAN.
So…anyway. I feel the excuse that your leaders are overcautious because of the experience of World War II is a cynical, self-serving and manipulative…lie. An outdated lie at that. (His tone has grown softer before Botvinnik’s open, un-offended gaze.) And I wish you wouldn’t do it anymore.
BOTVINNIK.
Very well. In our private conversation, I will not speak of it again.
HONEYMAN.
Well…fine. Thank you.
BOTVINNIK.
Don’t mention it.
HONEYMAN.
You know, I don’t think your government appreciates the…
BOTVINNIK.
(Holding up a bright yellow leaf.) Tell me, what kind of leaf is this?
HONEYMAN.
Anya…
BOTVINNIK.
Just what kind? Please.
HONEYMAN.
That’s a linden.
BOTVINNIK.
Linden. Very nice. Botany- that’s your hobby. I remember from our reports on you. (Twirling the leaf.) Yellow as sunlight, eh? Do you have these in Wisconsin?
HONEYMAN.
(Sighing.) Yes. We call it basswood.
BOTVINNIK.
Basswood? Like the fish?
HONEYMAN.
I don’t know. Anya, I may have been a little harsh just now, but…
BOTVINNIK.
It is my great regret I have never visited your country.
HONEYMAN.
Thank you. All I was trying to say was…
BOTVINNIK.
Your home city. What is it- Wausau? (This she pronounces poorly – something like: Vah-sow.)
HONEYMAN.
Wausau.
BOTVINNIK.
(Nodding, as though their pronunciations match.) Vah-sow.
HONEYMAN.
No. No, Wau-sau. Wausau, Wisconsin. Anya, if I was harsh, it’s only because…
BOTVINNIK.
(Pronouncing it, but no better.) Vah-sow.
HOENYMAN.
Anya…
BOTVINNIK.
I think I have it now: Vah sow.
HONEYMAN.
(Angily.) Wausau! It’s Wausau! You can say it, you speak English perfectly!
BOTVINNIK.
I’m only trying to…
HONEYMAN.
You’re only trying to irritate me! I can see that! But why?! Do you feel it gives you the upper hand? It doesn’t. If these talks fail, we both look bad. You realize that, don’t you?
BOTVINNIK.
I have failed before.
HONEYMAN.
I haven’t. (A beat.) What about this tiny point? When can we expect movement from your side?
BOTVINNIK.
After your election.
HONEYMAN.
That’s five weeks from now.
BOTVINNIK.
We can only go so fast. We have hawks and doves, just like you. Sometimes the hawks eat a few doves.
HONEYMAN.
This is ludicrous. The President won’t accept this.
BOTVINNIK.
He’ll have no choice.
HONEYMAN.
What if we force the matter?
BOTVINNIK.
You could lose the whole proposal.
HONEYMAN.
Of course you have to say that.
BOTVINNIK.
(With a tone of complete frankness.) You’ll lose the proposal. (Honeyman walks away from Botvinnik, kicks at the ground angrily.) A frustrating business, yes?
HONEYMAN.
Quiet, please.
BOTVINNIK.
You’re upset. Perhaps you would like to be alone. I can go back now. Excuse me. (Botvinnik starts out.)
HONEYMAN.
Anya.
BOTVINNIK.
Yes?
HONEYMAN.
If we go back so soon the reporters might think we’re in trouble on this.
BOTVINNIK.
We are in trouble on this.
HONEYMAN.
There’s not reason for them to think so.
BOTVINNIK.
I thought you believed in freedom of the press.
HONEYMAN.
Don’t be cute. Come back and sit down.
BOTVINNIK.
(Returning to the bench.) What shall we talk about?
HONEYMAN.
We don’t have to talk about anything. We just have to wait here a decent amount of time.
BOTVINNIK.
Ah. (Honeyman sits beside him. The two stare out in different directions for a long moment.) How are we doing?
HONEYMAN.
You could use your influence, you know. They listen to you about these things.
BOTVINNIK.
Not always.
HONEYMAN.
Sometimes. So why not talk to them?
BOTVINNIK.
It can be risky. It could put me out of fashion with the leadership.
HONEYMAN.
Out of fashion?
BOTVINNIK.
It’s not an insignificant risk. (A beat.)
HONEYMAN.
Could anything induce you to take that risk?
BOTVINNIK.
(Her face lighting up expectantly.) Is this a bribe?
HONEYMAN.
No.
BOTVINNIK.
Too bad. I never accept bribes, but I love to know what’s being offered.
HONEYMAN.
I mean, is there anything we can do to convince you to help? That’s all I mean.
BOTVINNIK.
What can the Americans do? To make me want to take chances with my career?
HONEYMAN.
Yes.
BOTVINNIK.
Absolutely nothing. (Honeyman gives a short sigh of frustration.) Now ask me what you can do.
HONEYMAN.
You just said. We can’t…
BOTVINNIK.
No, no- you. John Honeyman. What can you do to get me to help. Ask me that. (Honeyman eyes her distrustfully.)
HONEYMAN.
What…um, what is there I can do?
BOTVINNIK.
Are you sure you want to know?
HONEYMAN.
Yes, I want to know.
BOTVINNIK.
Are you completely sure?
HONEYMAN.
Tell me. What can I do?
BOTVINNIK.
(Almost conspiratorial.) Be frivolous with me.
HONEYMAN.
Frivolous?
BOTVINNIK.
Yes. Frivolous. (A beat.)
HONEYMAN.
What does…frivolous mean?
BOTVINNIK.
It’s your language.
HONEYMAN.
I know…
BOTVINNIK.
Don’t you know the word?
HONEYMAN.
Of course I know the word. It’s just that…
BOTVINNIK.
(Finishing his sentence for him.) A word may have many meanings.
HONEYMAN.
Exactly.
BOTVINNIK.
What do you think I mean? By frivolous. Do you think I mean playful? Impractical? (Honeyman stares at her cautiously.) Irrelevant? Unimportant? Superficial? (A beat.) With unbecoming levity? (Honeyman rises, moves off a step or two.) I am sorry. To me, frivolous means not serious.
HONEYMAN.
Not serious? That’s all? Just…not serious?
BOTVINNIK.
That’s all.
HONEYMAN.
You want to have a …frivolous conversation? (Botvinnik smiles.) And for that you’d be willing to try and influence your superiors? If I give you that? (Botvinnik nods.) Why?
BOTVINNIK.
Nothing else is interesting to me. Whenever I speak with Americans, they always ask, “What about war? What about Afghanistan? What about cruise missiles?” It is no longer interesting to me.
HONEYMAN.
But what about cruise missiles? (Botvinnik instantly holds up a hand in a silencing gesture.) Sorry.
BOTVINNIK.
I hear certain words- whether I say them or someone else says them- words like “détente,” “human rights.” “Star wars,” “Central American,” “readiness,” “early warning,” and I feel like I am falling away from the Earth. I can see the Earth – the entire planet, like I am a cosmonaut. And it is falling away from me. We are both simply…receding into the dark. Sometimes I spend entire conversations in this kind of darkness, while I am hearing words like “summit,” “test ban,” “emigration,” “strategic objectives.” It is almost as though the words are printed…on the dark walls…all around me. And the Earth is by then like a…fingertip, it is so far away. (A beat.) Does this ever happen to you?
HONEYMAN.
No.
BOTVINNIK.
Perhaps it will someday. In any case, you must forgive me. This does not happen at the table. There, I listen very carefully. There, I pretend we are discussing a different planet from Earth, and that helps very much.
HONEYMAN.
Anya…
BOTVINNIK.
Receptions, dinner parties- that’s where it happens. I hear all those serious words: “lasers.” “mega deaths.” “acceptable losses” …Do you know what I am dying to hear an American talk about? Mickey Mouse. Cowboys. How to make a banjo…
HONEYMAN.
I don’t think…
BOTVINNIK.
Minnie Mouse. Anything that is not serious.
HONEYMAN.
I can’t talk about Minnie Mouse with you.
BOTVINNIK.
But that is my price. For helping you. For doing what I can.
HONEYMAN.
You want to be frivolous.
BOTVINNIK.
Very much. (A beat.)
HONEYMAN.
I’m disappointed by this. I thought you were more professional.
BOTVINNIK.
This is professional. This is how to survive as a professional.
HONEYMAN.
(Regards her skeptically, then with resolve.) Fine. Let’s survive then. Frivolously. What shall we talk about?
BOTVINNIK.
Whatever you like.
HONEYMAN.
You decide, it’s your idea.
BOTVINNIK.
Very well, let me see. Do you like Country and Western music?
HONEYMAN.
Honestly?
BOTVINNIK.
Of course honestly. Why hide anything? We’re being frivolous.
HONEYMAN.
Yes, I do like it.
BOTVINNIK.
Wonderful! So do I. It’s very anti-Soviet, but nothing is perfect. (A beat.) Blue Eyes Crying In The Rain, eh?
HONEYMAN.
Yes.
BOTVINNIK.
Wonderful song. Very sad. It could have been Russian.
HONEYMAN.
Maybe.
BOTVINNIK.
Have you ever slept with a redhead?
HONEYMAN.
No.
BOTVINNIK.
Neither have I. It is a great regret. (A beat. They stare out.) You say something.
HONEYMAN.
Me?
BOTVINNIK.
Yes.
HONEYMAN.
What should I say?
BOTVINNIK.
Anything. Whatever is on your mind.
HONEYMAN.
Right. Well, um…sometimes I notice when we’re discussing space weapons technology…
BOTVINNIK.
No! No, no, no, no, no!
HONEYMAN.
I only meant when we’re discussing space weapons…
BOTVINNIK.
No! You are too serious.
HONEYMAN.
Even to mention it? On the way to something else?
BOTVINNIK.
Too Serious! (A beat. Botvinnik’s look is fierce.)
HONEYMAN.
I’m sorry.
BOTVINNIK.
No problem. Try again. Be trivial.
HONEYMAN.
Well…let’s see. OK, um- I hate brown suits.
BOTVINNIK.
And?
HONEYMAN.
And what?
BOTVINNIK.
You hate brown suits, and…?
HONEYMAN.
And nothing. I hate brown suits- that’s all. (Botvinnik is disappointed. She rises, walks away towards the edge of the trees.) What’s wrong? Isn’t that trivial enough?
BOTVINNIK.
There’s a difference between trivial and boring.
HONEYMAN.
That’s not boring.
BOTVINNIK.
Of course it is. (Mimicking Honeyman.) “I hate brown suits…’?
HONEYMAN.
It’s no more boring than you liking Willie Nelson.
BOTVINNIK.
It is.
HONEYMAN.
It is not.
BOTVINNIK.
You are just not good at this. Admit it.
HONEYMAN.
I can be as trivial as the next person. You never said I had to be trivial and entertaining at the same time.
BOTVINNIK.
It goes without saying.
HONEYMAN.
It does not.
BOTVINNIK.
Now you are just arguing with me.
HONEYMAN.
I’m not arguing.
BOTVINNIK.
You are.
HONEYMAN.
Kindly stop telling me what I am and am not doing! (Botvinnik is delighted.)
BOTVINNIK.
That was very good. Tell me another trivial thing.
HONEYMAN.
I can’t.
BOTVINNIK.
Of course you can. You must, if we are to have any fun.
HONEYMAN.
I am not having fun.
BOTVINNIK.
Be patient. If you stay here long enough, the only thing you’ll be able to enjoy is a totally meaningless conversation.
HONEYMAN.
Have you failed that much here? (A beat.) I’m sorry. I can’t be frivolous anymore.
BOTVINNIK.
(Throws her hands up in mock despair.) What can I do? He refuses to humor me. Such a small price, and he will not pay it. I’m beginning to miss Mr. McIntyre. (Botvinnik takes out her eyedrops.)
HONEYMAN.
All I know is considering who we are, and where we are, and what we have been sent here to do, it is literally wasting the world’s time for us to be anything but deadly serious with each other.
BOTVINNIK.
Wasting the world’s time. I like that.
HONEYMAN.
Don’t grade my phrasemaking, talk to me.
BOTVINNIK.
Seriously?
HONEYMAN.
Seriously.
BOTVINNIK.
(Considering this, then shaking her head.) Too boring.
HONEYMAN.
(As Botvinnik starts to put the eyedrops away.) You know, it’s a shame those tears of yours can’t be real.
BOTVINNIK.
(Dropping the bottle back into her pocket.) What if I talk seriously to you, and you don’t enjoy it?
HONEYMAN.
If it’s serious, I’ll enjoy it.
BOTVINNIK.
You will, eh?
HONEYMAN.
Yes.
BOTVINNIK.
Very well then. (With a sudden formality.) I will now present to you my serious thought on the subject of…let’s see…the character of the Russian and American people.
HONEYMAN.
I don’t think that’s…
BOTVINNIK.
That’s my topic. It is fundamental. Do you object?
HONEYMAN.
Not as long as you’re serious.
BOTVINNIK.
Deadly. (A beat. Honeyman nods.) Good. There is a great difference between Russians and Americans- yes or no?
HONEYMAN.
Well…yes, if you…
BOTVINNIK.
There is no difference. I will prove it. If the Russians and not the English had come to America, what would they have done?
HONEYMAN.
They would have…
BOTVINNIK.
They would have killed all the Indians and taken all the land. See? No difference. Americans and Russians are just the same. But their history is different. What is history? History is geography over time. The geography of America is oceans- therefore no nearby enemies. The geography of Russia is the opposite: flat, broad plains- open invitations to anyone who wants to attack. Mongols, French, Germans, Poles, Turks, Swedes – anyone. Do you agree with this? Of course you do- it is obviously true.
HONEYMAN.
Anya…
BOTVINNIK.
Quiet, I am being serious. So, what is the history of America? Conquest without competition. What is the history of Russia? Conquest, because of competition. How best to be America? Make individual freedom your god. This allows you to attack on many fronts- all along your borders, in fact-and maintain the illusion that you are not attacking at all. You don’t even have to call your wars wars. You call them “settling the west.”
HOENYMAN.
That’s a gross misreading of…
BOTVINNIK.
Don’t interrupt. How best to be Russia then? Fight collectively. Know that you are trying to crush those around you. Make control your god, and channel the many wills of the people into one will. Only this will be effective. Only this will defeat your neighbors.
HONEYMAN.
I’m leaving now.
BOTVINNIK.
You can’t. This is what you wanted.
HONEYMAN.
I wanted a conversation.
BOTVINNIK.
(Pushing on.) So- what is the result of all this history and geography? Why are the Russians and Americans- people who have done the same thing: create and maintain empires- why are we now enemies to the death?
HONEYMAN.
We’re not enemies, we’re rival…
BOTVINNIK.
We are enemies! (A beat. Then softer.) Because Americans, who never had to confront themselves as conquerors, are still under the delusion that they are idealists. And Russians, who did have to confront themselves, are under the equally powerful delusion that they are realists. I’m speaking now of those in power. Common Americans and common Russians share a much simpler delusion: that they are peace-loving people.
HONEYMAN.
This is profoundly cynical.
BOTVINNIK.
Thank you. I like to be clear-eyed. (Quietly.) You cannot work at this job as long as I have without realizing that no one wants you to succeed. Not even the man on the street.
HONEYMAN.
How on earth can you think that?
BOTVINNIK.
Go to the street. Ask the man. Ask him, “Do you want to get rid of all nuclear weapons right now?” Of course, he will say yes. Then ask,”are you willing to give up your country’s power, prestige and predominance in the world?” He will say no. But the two questions are the same. Without nuclear weapons, our empires would no longer be empires. They would simply be countries among other countries.
HONEYMAN.
Powerful countries.
BOTVINNIK.
But not superpowers. We are too used to dominating, John. We will never give that up.
HONEYMAN.
There are other ways to be superpowers.
BOTVINNIK.
Without nuclear weapons, we will be nothing more than a rich, powerful Canada and an enormous Poland. (A beat.) There is a more important reason, as well.
HONEYMAN.
Which is?
BOTVINNIK.
The most exciting thing in the world is to know we can destroy the world. Like that. In a day. To know the bombs and the soldiers are in place. Their hands at the controls. The computers constantly running, monitoring, ready. We have never known such excitement. Alexander, Napoleon, Hitler would give up all of their conquests just to live in a world where such destruction is possible. Man has worked a long time for this. He is an animal who must fulfill every potential. Even the potential to kill himself. Even the potential to kill everything else.
HONEYMAN.
It’s simpleminded to say just because man can kill himself, that that’s what he’s going to do.
BOTVINNIK.
It is? Look at the money, time, and energy our governments put into making ready for war. What do we put into making ready for peace? You and me. That’s all.
HONEYMAN.
Governments have always armed themselves to the teeth, but mankind truly does hate war.
BOTVINNIK.
If mankind hated war, there would be millions of us and only two soldiers. (A beat.) Is this a serious enough conversation for you? Do you want to go on?
HONEYMAN.
Not really.
BOTVINNIK.
Perhaps we should go back then. (Botvinnik starts out.)
HONEYMAN.
Wait.
BOTVINNIK.
Yes?
HONEYMAN.
What will you do about helping us?
BOTVINNIK.
Nothing, of course.
HONEYMAN.
Why not? I met your condition. I talked about trivial things…
BOTVINNIK.
Brown suits? That was pitiful.
HONEYMAN.
I’ll try again.
BOTVINNIK.
You’re no good at it. You have no need for it.
HONEYMAN.
I’ll develop the need.
BOTVINNIK.
Over time, yes. But now it only makes you uncomfortable.
HONEYMAN.
Help us anyway.
BOTVINNIK.
Why should I?
HONEYMAN.
For the sake of peace.
BOTVINNIK.
What kind of peace? Peace where you dominate? Peace where we dominate?
HONEYMAN.
Peace where we share. You say man has to fulfill every potential- that he’s that kind of animal. But he has other potentials- not just destructiveness. Anya, man has the potential to become a whole new animal. One that trusts instead of fears. One that agrees when it makes sense to agree. That finds the way to live, because life has become for him- has finally become- a sacred thing.
BOTVINNIK.
Only a child could believe this.
HONEYMAN.
I believe it.
BOTVINNIK.
Good. You will always be young. (Botvinnik turns to go.)
HONEYMAN.
Anya! (Botvinnik stops.) Do you think it’s a virtue to have been here as long as you have? You think cynicism is some sort of glorious end product of your work here? You know, it’s just as possible that I’m the one who sees clearly, not you! Precisely because I haven’t been here- slowly going blind from my failures. (Softening his tone.) Anya, we have no choice. If we don’t believe in our ability to save ourselves, then everything dies. Everything. All through history, man has been able to love destruction and be excited by violence- because no matter what stupid, gaping terror he created it was always survivable. But no more. If we fail now, history itself will disappear. Time will stop. There won’t be any right way to think or feel, because there won’t be anyone here to have thoughts or feelings. There will be no here. (A beat.) Idealism is no longer a choice for mankind. It’s a necessity. We have to find whatever crumbs of pure good will exist in us. We have to feed whatever tiny inclination we have towards each other. We have to start with the bare fact that there are two of us here. At least. That underneath whatever motivations bring us here- hate, fear, gain, whatever- there is something that will, ultimately, save us.
BOTVINNIK.
What?
HONEYMAN.
Recognition. We look across the table and we see ourselves. (A beat.) Anya. Help me. (Botnivvik sits and removes a small stone from her shoe.)
BOTVINNIK.
Do you know what they think of initiative in my country?
HONEYMAN.
Even now? With the new openness?
BOTVINNIK.
Please.
HONEYMAN.
Your leaders respect your opinion.
BOTVINNIK.
Because I keep it to myself.
HONEYMAN.
Help me.
BOTVINNIK.
No.
HONEYMAN.
You owe it to yourself to push your leaders for an agreement.
BOTVINNIK.
Ridiculous.
HONEYMAN.
It’s not ridiculous. I push my leaders constantly. I’ve been arguing with the administration for weeks. The President is already sorry he appointed me.
BOTVINNIK.
So am I. (A beat.)
HONEYMAN.
The President’s considering making our proposal public.
BOTVINNIK.
He wouldn’t.
HONEYMAN.
I’ve told him not to, but…
BOTVINNIK.
That would end the proposal.
HONEYMAN.
I know.
BOTVINNIK.
We would have no choice but to reject it.
HONEYMAN.
I know, but that’s how strongly he feels. (A beat.) Plus, he’s worried about the election. He thinks it might enhance his position if he announced our…peace efforts.
BOTVINNIK.
So this is what from you? A threat?
HONEYMAN.
It’s not a threat. It’s a…
BOTVINNIK.
Promise?
HONEYMAN.
He needs a gesture. From you. Movement on something. Anything. Big, small- it doesn’t matter. Something that will give him faith.
BOTVINNIK.
He needs us to give him faith? Really! (She starts out.)
HONEYMAN.
I thought you wanted to be my friend.
BOTVINNIK.
(Stopping.) I am your friend.
HONEYMAN.
No, you’re not. Not unless you do this for me. I swear, Anya, if you don’t push for this- right now- you and I will never be friends. I’ll be stiffer and stuffier than anyone you’ve ever dealt with. I will out-McIntyre McIntyre.
BOTVINNIK.
This is not fair.
HONEYMAN.
It’s my price. For friendship. Will you pay it? (A beat. They stare at each other.)
BOTVINNIK.
All right. I will suggest that we not wait for the election. That we treat your proposal more seriously.
HONEYMAN.
Thank you.
BOTVINNIK.
That’s all I will do. Suggest it. Once. Lightly.
HONEYMAN.
Thank you very much.
BOTVINNIK.
Don’t mention it.
HONEYMAN.
You know, I think we’re beginning to get along.
BOTVINNIK.
You do, do you?
HONEYMAN.
Yes. I mean, here we are- agreeing on something.
BOTVINNIK.
You think you did it all by yourself, eh?
HONEYMAN.
Not by myself…
BOTVINNIK.
John Honeyman- the great convincer. Send him to Switzerland and peace will follow.
HONEYMAN.
I didn’t mean that.
BOTVINNIK.
Yes, you did. But think what you like. I’m helping you for one reason only: it might be entertaining.
HONEYMAN.
Entertaining?
BOTVINNIK.
But I doubt it. (Botvinnik turns to go.)
HONEYMAN.
Shall I go with you?
BOTVINNIK.
No. Since we are agreeing to do this, we should come back separately. It will confuse the reporters. (Botvinnik exits. A beat.)
HONEYMAN.
(Calling out.) Thank you!
BOTVINNIK.
(Off.) Don’t shout thank you in the woods!
HONEYMAN.
(Calling.) I’m sorry!
BOTVINNIK.
(Off.) Don’t shout I’m sorry! (Honeyman draws in breath to shout something else, then stops. Smiles.)
HONEYMAN.
(In a normal voice.) Then I won’t. (Lights fade on his smile.)
END OF ACT ONE
ACT TWO
SCENE 1
(The same scene, late winter. A gloomy day. Early afternoon. Honeyman enters quickly, looking around. He wears a topcoat. Suddenly Botvinnik hurries on from the opposite direction. She seems to be chasing something- she looks here and there along the ground- ignoring Honeyman. Honeyman suddenly sees something in the woods and calls out.)
HONEYMAN.
That way! He’s over there!
BOTVINNIK.
(Off.) Where?!
HONEYMAN.
There! By that log! (Botvinnik rushes off in the direction Honeyman indicates.) No- the other side! Right underneath!
BOTVINNIK.
(Off.) You mean this…? Oh- damn! K chortu!
HONEYMAN.
What? Anya?
BOTVINNIK.
(Off.) He ran right by me! (We hear more rustling. Botvinnik appears.) He got away. (A little out of breath.) I am too old for this. I used to be able to catch them every time.
HONEYMAN.
You did? Alone?
BOTVINNIK.
Of course alone. You must catch a rabbit alone. Otherwise there is no challenge. If there was snow, I would have seen his tracks. I would have had him. (Botvinnik winces, holds her side.)
HONEYMAN.
Are you all right?
BOTVINNIK.
(Sitting on the bench.) It’s nothing. A muscle. (Suddenly taking note of Honeyman.) I’m sorry. Did this surprise you?
HONEYMAN.
A little.
BOTVINNIK.
I always try to catch rabbits. I used to, anyway. When I was a girl.
HONEYMAN.
You did? Why?
BOTVINNIK.
It was fun. I was very fast once. Really. I chased them all the time. It became a…reflex, yes? Whenever I was out walking, if I saw a rabbit- whoosh! Into the woods. And today, to come here, to see a rabbit on the bench- sitting here- I couldn’t help myself. You understand.
HONEYMAN.
Certainly.
BOTVINNIK.
I caught a lot of them. When I was young. Finally I stopped.
HONEYMAN.
Why?
BOTVINNIK.
The war came. We couldn’t leave Leningrad. I caught rats instead. For food. But that’s the war, and you do not wish me to mention the war, so I am sorry and I shut up, yes? (A beat.) It’s pretty out here, eh? This time of year. Away from that little room. Months and months in the same room. Negotiating.
HONEYMAN.
Don’t complain. You’ve had the last two weeks in Moscow.
BOTVINNIK.
You think they don’t have little rooms in Moscow? No, this is the best. To be outdoors. It improves concentration, I think. To get away. To sit quietly in the world.
HONEYMAN.
How was Moscow?
BOTVINNIK.
Hm?
HONEYMAN.
Moscow. How was it? You had some fairly important meetings there. I thought you asked me out here so you could fill me in.
BOTVINNIK.
(A bit distracted.) What? Oh…yes…yes…I did.
HONEYMAN.
So?
BOTVINNIK.
What?
HONEYMAN.
Fill me in.
BOTVINNIK.
You want to start right now?
HONEYMAN.
Why not?
BOTVINNIK.
It’s just that it’s so good to be here again. Among the trees. (A beat. Botvinnik stares off.)
HONEYMAN.
Is anything wrong?
BOTVINNIK.
Hm? No.
HONEYMAN.
You seem a little distracted.
BOTVINNIK.
(Sharply.) I am not. I am completely concentrated.
HONEYMAN.
It’s just that you seem…
BOTVINNIK.
How I seem is not important. How I am is important, yes?
HONEYMAN.
How are you?
BOTVINNIK.
(With sudden force, looking away from Honeyman.) I should have caught that rabbit! (A beat.)
HONEYMAN.
Anya…
BOTVINNIK.
When I was a girl, people were amazed at me. Amazed. So quick, they would say. She catches them with her bare hands. (A beat. Honeyman studies Botvinnik. Botvinnik catches his stare, tries to return it, then looks away.) When was the last time we were here?
HONEYMAN.
A month ago.
BOTVINNIK.
A month ago. What did we talk about?
HONEYMAN.
Modifying negotiation procedures, Soviet-American relations and Babe Ruth.
BOTVINNIK.
Ah! The Babe! The Sultan of Swat!
HONEYMAN.
Anya…
BOTVINNIK.
Magnificent athlete. Larger than life.
HONEYMAN.
Would you mind if we don’t start with the frivolous side of things today?
BOTVINNIK.
You don’t want to?
HONEYMAN.
No.
BOTVINNIK.
Why not?
HONEYMAN.
Because you have news for me. You’ve been in Moscow. You’re back now. You have news. I want to hear it. (A beat.)
BOTVINNIK.
What if it’s not good news?
HONEYMAN.
I want to hear it. (A beat.) Your government rejected our proposal, didn’t they?
BOTVINNIK.
Not exactly.
HONEYMAN.
What do you mean?
BOTVINNIK.
They didn’t reject your proposal itself. They rejected what your President has turned the proposal into.
HONEYMAN.
Which is?
BOTVINNIK.
Which is – in their words- a cynical public relations scheme.
HONEYMAN.
It is not cynical…
BOTVINNIK.
It is. From the moment he announced it to the world.
HONEYMAN.
He had to announce it.
BOTVINNIK.
Why? When we had not agreed to it yet.
HONEYMAN.
You never agreed to anything! You accepted one small point, before our election, and since then- nothing, zero, no movement all winter. He couldn’t wait any longer.
BOTVINNIK.
You should have stopped him.
HONEYMAN.
I tried. I argued him out of going public on this three times in the past five months. You know that.
BOTVINNIK.
You should have argued again.
HONEYMAN.
I did. But I was running out of ammunition.
BOTVINNIK.
So. In one speech he destroys all the work we have done. Good. Fine. Why not?
HONEYMAN.
You were the ones who destroyed it. By delay.
BOTVINNIK.
Delay does not destroy agreements. One can always renew efforts. But to announce the proposal…
HONEYMAN.
He had the right.
BOTVINNIK.
He bears the responsibility!
HONEYMAN.
For what? For telling the world? Why’s that so terrible?
BOTVINNIK.
Don’t be ridiculous.
HONEYMAN.
No, tell me. Why is it so bad if the world knows what we’re discussing?
BOTVINNIK.
Because it makes us look like fools. If we accept your proposal now, what will the rest of the world say? “Ah, the Americans have finally thought of a clever plan. Thank God the unimaginative Russians have agreed.”
HONEYMAN.
The rest of the world, if they said anything, would say, “At last- two maniacs have had a moment of sanity.”
BOTVINNIK.
Yes, they would say that too, but first they would say it is an American peace, an American security.
HONEYMAN.
Who cares whose peace it is?
BOTVINNIK.
You do. You do not want a Russian peace. Two years ago we announced to the world a plan of our own- just as good as yours. And you rejected it.
HONEYMAN.
There were significant problems with that plan.
BOTVINNIK.
Yes, it was ours. Now please, John- stop pretending. You know neither of our countries can afford to be second in the quest for peace.
HONEYMAN.
What quest for peace? At this rate there is no quest for peace.
BOTVINNIK.
But there’s the quest for the appearance of the quest for peace. These are negotiations, John. There are rules. There are forms. You know them as well as I do. Your President knows them, too. When he announced the proposal, he knew we would have to reject it. (A beat. Honeyman expels a long sigh.)
HONEYMAN.
Why did your government delay so long? What was it about the proposal you objected to?
BOTVINNIK.
Why go into it?
HONEYMAN.
It’s our job. (A beat) Was it the total number of warheads?
BOTVINNIK.
John…
HONEYMAN.
Was it?
BOTVINNIK.
No.
HONEYMAN.
The percentage of land-based missiles?
BOTVINNIK.
No.
HONEYMAN.
Data exchange? On site inspections?
BOTVINNIK.
It’s useless to…
HONEYMAN.
I want to know. Cruise missile reductions? Mobile missile verification?
BOTVINNIK.
Not really.
HONEYMAN.
The testing moratorium? The research question?
BOTVINNIK.
No.
HONEYMAN.
BMD restrictions? The ASAT provisions?
BOTVINNIK.
It wasn’t any…
HONEYMAN.
C-cubed issues? SLBMs? MX?
BOTVINNIK.
No! Not MX or SLBMSs or SLCMs or SDI or FBS or CEP or SALT or START or any of it. We had no objections to anything in your proposal. You understand? Nothing. (A beat.)
HONEYMAN.
Nothing?
BOTVINNIK.
Nothing. We liked the whole proposal.
HONEYMAN.
I don’t understand. You liked it?
BOTVINNIK.
Very much.
HONEYMAN.
Then why did you delay so long?
BOTVINNIK.
Because your proposal was…too good.
HONEYMAN.
Too good?
BOTVINNIK.
It could have led to real arms reductions. Serious ones.
HONEYMAN.
Don’t you want that?
BOTVINNIK.
Of course. But…also we are afraid of it.
HONEYMAN.
Why? It’s a treaty. We’ve made treaties before.
Look at those treaties, John. They aren’t treaties- they’re blueprints. We determine what weapons we’ll build in the next few years, then agree to let each other build them. We get rid of small systems so that we can keep bigger ones. We trade obsolete technology for state-of-the-art, we take weapons out of Europe so we can put up new ones in space. Then we say to the world, “See? We are capable of restraint. Here is a small step forward.” It is laughable.
HONEYMAN.
But it is a step forward. Every treaty is. Each time we come- stumbling- to some sort of an agreement, even if it’s self-serving, even if it’s flawed…that’s progress.
BOTVINNIK.
It is not progress to take a step and slide back three. Every ten years we wake up and say, “It is time to take the first step.” But meanwhile we have spent a decade creating bargaining chips- new weapons built expressly so they can be bargained away later. And what is the result? We build and get rid of bargaining chips. Nothing more. The real arsenals remain untouched. In fact, they grow.
HONEYMAN.
You’re right. Each year, each month, each day someone is proposing a new weapons system. Someone is securing a grant for more research, dreaming up a new technology that will do God-knows-what destruction- to our economies, if nothing else. How, knowing that, can we let any opportunity slip through our fingers? Especially this opportunity, this treaty, these comprehensive reductions. These real reductions.
BOTVINNIK.
I know, I know. But we have problems with reductions such as these.
HONEYMAN.
What are they?
BOTVINNIK.
We don’t trust you.
HONEYMAN.
You don’t trust us?
BOTVINNIK.
Do you trust us?
HONEYMAN.
Yes. Well- we try to. But whether we trust each other or not, the proposal has provisions. It has safeguards.
BOTVINNIK.
We don’t trust the safeguards.
HONEYMAN.
There are checks on the safeguards. Verifications.
BOTVINNIK.
We don’t trust them.
HONEYMAN.
Anya…
BOTVINNIK.
Even if there were checks on the checks on the checks, we wouldn’t trust them.
HONEYMAN.
Why not?
BOTVINNIK.
Because we don’t trust you. Who knows what you are making right now that lies outside the proposal?
HONEYMAN.
We’re not making any…
BOTVINNIK.
Multiple warheads, Star Wars- these things come after treaties were signed, not before.
HONEYMAN.
We can control new technologies. Together.
BOTVINNIK.
Can we? How can you be sure of what’s going on in your own country right now? Do you think they tell you everything? Face it, John- you can’t even completely trust your side. And you want to trust ours?
HONEYMAN.
We can work…
BOTVINNIK.
Suppose we sign an agreement, and the next day you- or we- suddenly unveil a new weapon. What happens? Immediately, a new arms race.
HONEYMAN.
Even if you’re right- you’re not, but even if you were…
BOTVINNIK.
I am right. I am always right. And how do we appear to the rest of the world? As two warmongers who can’t keep a treaty. If however, we have never agreed to a treaty, then when a new technology comes along, we are simply two nations who are trying to make a treaty, but who must remain prepared for war. It creates a much better impression.
HONEYMAN.
Looking for peace, and purposely never finding it?
BOTVINNIK.
(Taking out her eyedrops, applying them.) It is better for everyone. Broken treaties make people too nervous, yes?
HONEYMAN.
So this makes your job and my job- what? Sort of a nuclear night light? Providing no real hope, just…
BOTVINNIK.
The appearance. Yes.
HONEYMAN.
This is what you truly think is preferable?
BOTVINNIK.
Not I. My leaders. Your leaders.
HONEYMAN.
How long do you- do they- think this is supposed to go on?
BOTVINNIK.
(Shrugging, putting away her eyedrops.) Until the world ends.
HONEYMAN.
Which could be tomorrow. Anya, it’s no argument to say we can’t negotiate because we don’t trust each other. That should be just what spurs us on: the need to develop better systems of trust- to combat each new weapons system, in turn. For every new weapons system, a new trust system.
BOTVINNIK.
I agree.
HONEYMAN.
You do? Well, good. Then if we…
BOTVINNIK.
The only problem is one of pace.
HONEYMAN.
Pace? What do you mean?
BOTVINNIK.
We are diplomats…
HONEYMAN.
Negotiators.
BOTVINNIK.
Negotiators. We work at a certain pace. We build trust. Genuine trust. It takes decades. In that time, weapon makers create two or three new waves of nuclear arms. Each new wave pushes us farther back. Who is ready to say, “Put these weapons on hold—Botvinnik and Honeyman almost trust each other”? Meanwhile, with each new wave, the warning time gets shorter. From an hour, to half an hour, twenty minutes, ten, five, four…finally to no warning at all. No chance to react. Missiles may fly over anytime. Who can stand the responsibility? In the end, we will not be consulted when war begins- not even our leaders will be. A computer will declare war on another computer- because the computer got nervous.
HONEYMAN.
And you and I will die here? In mid-sentence?
BOTVINNIK.
Right between the words “arms” and “control.” It is not that you and I are failing to make progress. It’s that those who build arms make so much progress.
HONEYMAN.
There has to be a way to formulate an agreement that takes this into account.
BOTVINNIK.
You want to take irrationality into account? Very good. I applaud this. But I warn you- no government has ever been rational, even about conventional weapons. You expect them to be rational about nuclear ones?
HONEYMAN.
Governments can learn to be rational.
BOTVINNIK.
Impossible. They are too irrational. All of them. And all of them are getting nuclear weapons. Once we only had to be rational in English and Russian. Now we must do it in Hebrew, Hindi, Afrikaans…These countries look to us to show the way- and what do we teach? Never go back. Never give up your nuclear threat. My friend, it is all irrationality.
HONEYMAN.
It’s not all irrationality…
BOTVINNIK.
(Cutting him off sharply.) What do you know about it?! I have been here for years. I’ve seen how it works! (An embarrassed pause. Honeyman stares at him.)
HONEYMAN.
You hate this more than I do, don’t you?
BOTVINNIK.
Of course not. It’s not a matter of hate.
HONEYMAN.
Sounded like hate to me.
BOTVINNIK.
I gave up hate long ago. I now only study these things.
HONEYMAN.
You study them pretty hard.
BOTVINNIK.
I have much experience.
HONEYMAN.
You have much anger- that’s what you have.
BOTVINNIK.
Anger is useless to a diplomat.
HONEYMAN.
Then why do you feel it?
BOTVINNIK.
I do not feel anger…
HONEYMAN.
Sounded like anger…
BOTVINNIK.
This is not anger! This is careful study! Nothing more! (A beat.)
HONEYMAN.
I must be mistaken.
BOTVINNIK.
Yes. You must.
HONEYMAN.
Well. I won’t accuse you anymore of being human.
BOTVINNIK.
Thank you. It is now time to talk about something besides negotiations.
HONEYMAN.
Are you sure? It’s just that if we’re both feeling this same…frustration, maybe we should find a way to…
BOTVINNIK.
When two people are dying of cancer, what do they discuss? Cancer? No. It’s bad taste. They talk about something else.
HONEYMAN.
Anya, we have a function here.
BOTVINNIK.
Yes, and now you know what it is! (A beat.) It is not always pleasant to discover what you were meant for. (Botvinnik moves away from him.)
HONEYMAN.
I’m sorry.
BOTVINNIK.
Sorry? For what? For baiting me? It’s your job. I’m glad to see you’re finally getting the hang of it. (A silence. Botvinnik stares off into the distance, Honeyman sits on the bench, pondering. When he speaks, his tone is thoughtful.)
HONEYMAN.
I think the answer lies in…resisting. Resisting irrationality.
BOTVINNIK.
No one can do that. The fear is too great. The temptation is too great.
HONEYMAN.
I did it. (Botvinnik regards him skeptically.) I did. Before coming here. They sent me on a tour. An overview, really. You know, spend a little time with the military, get a sense of how much we’ve invested, look over the hardware- hopefully fall in love with it.
BOTVINNIK.
And did you?
HONEYMAN.
I was touring ICBM sites in North Dakota. Just riding around, staring down into holes all day at these huge shiny…perfect things. These missiles.
BOTVINNIK.
And you fell in love?
HONEYMAN.
On our way back, we stopped for gas. We were in small town called Rugby- and right there next to the highway was a stone monument. It marked the exact geographical center of North America. The whole damn continent. This was the center.
BOTVINNIK.
Is it a significant place?
HONEYMAN.
It’s meaningless. It’s just endless, flat landscape. But we had put all these missiles there. Right in the dead, blank heart of the continent. In the center. In an emptiness. In our emptiness. (A beat.) And I liked it. It filled something up. I wanted there to be more missiles.
BOTVINNIK.
You are a very honest man.
HONEYMAN.
But I thought about it. I thought about it until I knew I could not afford that feeling. Ever again, in my life.
BOTVINNIK.
And what about honesty?
HONEYMAN.
Is it honest for an addict to use a drug, just because he wants it? Is it honest for us to have missiles because on some level we want missiles? No. we resist. We reason ourselves out of it.
BOTVINNIK.
Just as the addict “reasons” himself out of the drug?
HONEYMAN.
It can be done.
BOTVINNIK.
(Without conviction.) Certainly.
HONEYMAN.
I’ve done it. You’ve done it.
BOTVINNIK.
Perhaps. But who’s listening to us? No, the sad fact is, you and I are meant for nothing more than playing games in the woods.
HONEYMAN.
We are not meant for playing games in the woods.
BOTVINNIK.
We are. Thank goodness we are friends, yes? Or it would be intolerable.
HONEYMAN.
It is intolerable. And we’re not friends. My God, this isn’t a friendship. How can two people who have nothing to do be friends? They can’t even be people! I thought, when I came here, I was going to have some influence- that what I said or did was going to affect somebody, someplace. But obviously that’s not the case. Obviously I’m not here at all, right? And if I’m not here, God knows where you are. You’ve been a nonentity a lot longer than me. You’ve got the act down pat. You don’t want a friend, you want someone to be dead with! (A beat.) I wish, at least, that you had fought for this proposal.
BOTVINNIK.
I fought.
HONEYMAN.
I can imagine.
BOTVINNIK.
I fought. Even though I knew they would not accept it. Even though it was dangerous. I fought anyway.
HONEYMAN.
Oh you did, did you? Why?
BOTVINNIK.
Because I like you Whether I am dead or not. (A beat.) Besides, it was a good proposal. I will miss it. (A beat.)
HONEYMAN.
There’s something I’d like you to look over.
BOTVINNIK.
What is it? (Honeyman reaches into his coat pocket and produces a folded piece of paper.)
HONEYMAN.
The proposal. The very same proposal, with a few cosmetic changes, that’s all.
BOTVINNIK.
So?
HONEYMAN.
What if I can get the President to offer it again? Secretly. The same plan for an agreement- only with a new name, a few insignificant points altered to save face for both countries. Would your side be interested in that?
BOTVINNIK.
Who told you to do this?
HONEYMAN.
No one. It’s my own idea.
BOTVINNIK.
We can get in trouble for this.
HONEYMAN.
I don’t care. Do you?
BOTVINNIK.
You never give up, do you? (Botvinnik takes the paper, regards it, then points at something in it.) This is not an insignificant point.
HONEYMAN.
(Looking). What? Of course it is.
BOTVINNIK.
I do not think it is insignificant.
HONEYMAN.
Well, fine. Change it back then. The point is…
BOTVINNIK.
I don’t have a pen. (Honeyman furnishes her with a rather expensive looking pen.)
HONEYMAN.
(As Botvinnik makes occasional changes in the document.) The point is, we may still be able to salvage this plan. After all- what are we- facilitators, right? Our whole job is to help two giants come to grips with each other. If we can just… (Growing more nervous at the number of changes Botvinnik is making.) What are you changing now?
BOTVINNIK.
You’ll see.
HONEYMAN.
If we can just hold these ideas together, we might make some progress here. If I can get this to the President directly, before Defense and State pull their usual…Are you through?
BOTVINNIK.
Almost. (She finishes, starts to give the pen back, stops, looks at it.) Japanese. Very nice. (She gives the pen to Honeyman, regards the paper again. Honeyman controls his eagerness to look at it.) Do you want to see? (Honeyman quickly grabs the paper.)
HONEYMAN.
(Nodding as he reads.) OK…OK…That one’s OK…
BOTVINNIK.
Only OK? I think it’s very nice.
HONEYMAN.
It’s OK. It was better before.
BOTVINNIK.
Oh no, no, it was…(Honeyman holds up a hand. Botvinnik falls silent. Honeyman finishes, thinks a long moment. Botvinnik’s curiosity grows.) What do you think?
HONEYMAN.
(After a pause as much to himself as Botvinnik.) This would be all right. I think I could get the President’s approval for this. Will you take it to your side?
BOTVINNIK.
As your proposal?
HONEYMAN.
As anyone’s proposal. As nobody’s proposal.
BOTVINNIK.
But here it is. A paper, in our hands.
HONEYMAN.
A non-paper. No addresses, no signatures…just something that’s there…for both sides to examine. Privately.
BOTVINNIK.
I’m walking on eggs just now, at home.
HONEYMAN.
I realize that.
BOTVINNIK.
They think I’ve been awfully…active, this year. (A beat. Botvinnik thinks.) But I could try.
HONEYMAN.
Thank you. Well, we should get back, huh? (Botvinnik remains seated, holding the paper.)
BOTVINNIK.
Things have not gone smoothly for this proposal.
HONEYMAN.
We should get this into both languages before…
BOTVINNIK.
We’ve had a difficult time of it, haven’t we? Over this.
HONEYMAN.
Pretty difficult, yes. Come on, we can still…
BOTVINNIK.
I’m glad it’s been difficult. It allows you to feel something.
HONEYMAN.
What?
BOTVINNIK.
The disappointment. (Rising.) I think my leaders may accept this now.
HONEYMAN.
Good. That would be wonderful.
BOTVINNIK.
I think perhaps your side will reject it.
HONEYMAN.
Our own plan?
BOTVINNIK.
Nobody’s plan.
HONEYMAN.
Why should we?
BOTVINNIK.
You want rationality…? You and I only make recommendations. Our leaders must make decisions. Perhaps some decisions are too big to make.
HONEYMAN.
Someone has to make them.
BOTVINNIK.
Maybe you are right. Maybe your President will embrace this plan. All things are possible while we are still alive, yes?
HONEYMAN.
He will embrace it. I’ll convince him.
BOTVINNIK.
Of course.
HONEYMAN.
You’ll see. I think you’ll be very surprised this time, Anya. Very surprised indeed. I can convince him.
BOTVINNIK.
(Holding the paper out to him.) Hope is a true miracle, is it not? (Honeyman takes the paper.)
HONEYMAN.
So is trust.
BOTVINNIK.
Well, it’s time to go back. It’s getting cold.
HONEYMAN.
Really? I hadn’t noticed.
BOTVINNIK.
(Smiling) Indeed. Come. It’s important to go back together today.
HONEYMAN.
Why?
BOTVINNIK.
Because we don’t often do that and the reporters will be confused. (They exit together. Lights fade to black.)
END OF ACT TWO, SCENE ONE
SCENE 2
(The same scene. Six weeks later- early spring. The woods are filled with warm, late-afternoon light. Spring flowers cover the area. Honeyman sits on the bench, staring straight ahead. Botvinnik is Upstage, bent over, picking flowers at the edge of the trees.)
BOTVINNIK.
This will be the last one. This will be the final, glorious touch, eh? (She straightens up, reveals a small bouquet of fresh-picked wildflowers.) It needed a little blue, don’t you think?
HONEYMAN.
(Without looking.) I suppose.
BOTVINNIK.
What is this flower called? This blue one?
HONEYMAN.
It’s called a flower.
BOTVINNIK.
No, no, no- what would a botanist call it? (Botvinnik places the bouquet in Honeyman’s lap. Honeyman looks down at it.)
HONEYMAN.
A flower.
BOTVINNIK.
No. If he had to designate it. For another scientist.
HONEYMAN.
A flower. (A beat. Botvinnik moves to look at the woods.)
BOTVINNIK.
The woods are filled with them. It’s very beautiful this time of year. Don’t you think?
HONEYMAN.
Aren’t you even a little bit angry? (Botvinnik smiles.)
BOTVINNIK.
I remember the first time my leaders said no to an agreement I had worked out. It was with Mr. McIntyre’s predecessor, Mr…
HONEYMAN.
Mr. Sand.
BOTVINNIK.
Yes. Mr. Sand. He and I worked a very long time on that one. We had such…large dreams. We were both new. Each of us was so eager, so…overjoyed at the creativity of our solutions. We marched out of this very woods and told the world. “A major arms reduction,” we said, “A path to sanity.” Of course, four weeks later our governments politely suggested we had overstepped our authority. “Go back to the table, work a little more,” they said. “And stay out of the woods.” (A beat.) This proposal didn’t do so badly. At least it was six weeks before your President…
HONEYMAN.
(More to himself than Botvinnik.) He looked me straight in the eye and said, “Don’t try so hard.” Don’t try so hard. (Honeyman throws the flowers to the ground.)
BOTVINNIK.
It was only a euphemism.
HONEYMAN.
For what?
BOTVINNIK.
For don’t try at all. (Botvinnik bends to pick up the flowers.) Really, you must control yourself. Switzerland has strict laws about littering.
HONEYMAN.
I know.
BOTVINNIK.
They are terribly compulsive about it. It can be quite risky to throw things…
HONEMYAN.
I know. I was almost arrested for it this morning.
BOTVINNIK.
You were? Really? Tell me about it.
HONEYMAN.
I don’t want to talk about it. It’s a pointless story.
BOTVINNIK.
Oh, please- tell me. An arrest in Switzerland. How wonderful.
HONEYMAN.
It was nothing. I threw a gum wrapper on the sidewalk. (Botvinnik gasps in mock horror.) Really there are more important things to talk about.
BOTVINNIK.
Not today. (Honeyman looks away from him.) Please. Let’s take advantage of this exquisite time when everything has broken down. Tell me your pointless story.
HONEYMAN.
Why?
BOTVINNIK.
It will be such a relief.
HONEYMAN.
For who?
BOTVINNIK.
For you. (A beat.)
HONEYMAN.
It was nothing. I threw this wrapper, and suddenly there was this very old man beside me, grabbing me. I thought he was a lunatic- he was yelling at me in German. Why did he yell in German? Do I dress like a German? (Botvinnik shrugs.) He was trying to make me stop. I speeded up- I didn’t know who he was.
BOTVINNIK.
He could have been a very old terrorist.
HONEYMAN.
Why am I telling this?
BOTVINNIK.
Because it is crucial. Go on.
HONEYMAN.
He yelled at me louder- in French this time. I stopped and stared at him. I didn’t say anything. I just stared. He kept right on yelling, only he switched to Italian. This went on for a solid minute- like I was his bad child- all in Italian. Finally I broke in. I said, “I don’t speak Italian,” and he went back to French.
BOTVINNIK.
No.
HONEYMAN.
Yes! I said, “I don’t speak French,” and he went back to German.
BOTVINNIK.
Really?
HONEYMAN.
Yes! So I yelled back at him: “I don’t speak French, German or Italian! I’m an American, damn it! What the hell do you want?!” And he turned and pointed at my gum wrapper. And then I saw he was a cop. He was a Swiss policeman.
BOTVINNIK.
Oh, dear.
HONEYMAN.
I didn’t notice at first. He had his hat in his hand, and he was so…old, that I…But there he was, in a uniform. He must’ve been going to his own retirement party.
BOTVINNIK.
Swiss police are very officious.
HONEYMAN.
And he tried to drag me back to this gum wrapper. He literally tried to drag me. I said, “Tell me what you want.” And he said, “Aufheben!” The paper. “Aufheben!”
BOTVINNIK.
Pick it up.
HONEYMAN.
Exactly.
BOTVINNIK.
And did you?
HONEYMAN.
No, I didn’t pick it up.
BOTVINNIK.
Really? Why not?
HONEYMAN.
Would you?
BOTVINNIK.
Of course.
HONEYMAN.
You’d let a little old man drag you back? A little old Swiss…joke of a policeman? With people watching?
BOTVINNIK.
Especially with people watching.
HONEYMAN.
Well, I didn’t. I pulled my arm away. I wanted to say, “Look- I spend all day, every day, working to prevent the total destruction of every living thing on this planet. The whole planet. Even Switzerland. I’m trying to preserve the last few precious days of life you may have coming to you. But I can’t do it if I’m not allowed to throw my gum wrappers on the sidewalk. Do you understand? It’s too much pressure! I can’t worry about everything!
BOTVINNIK.
But you didn’t say that.
HONEYMAN.
No. I said, “I’m a very important person.”
BOTVINNIK.
What did he say to you?
HONEYMAN.
“Aufheben!:
BOTVINNIK.
And you said?
HONEYMAN.
No! Then he tried to arrest me. He flashed his pitiful Swiss badge and put his hat on. By this time old people were stopping, looking at me and shaking their heads. As though the wrapper was a…dead infant or something. A couple of teenagers were standing there, laughing.
BOTVINNIK.
Congratulations! An international incident.
HONEYMAN.
Anyway, he tried to grab me again, and I…I don’t know why I did this, but I actually…pushed him.
BOTVINNIK.
No.
HONEYMAN.
I don’t know why I did it.
BOTVINNIK.
Did you hurt him?
HONEYMAN.
No, he didn’t even fall over. But the others- the people around us- they gasped. They literally gasped. The old cop stared at me like I was insane.
BOTVINNIK.
You were.
HONEYMAN.
So I quick pulled out my identification and held it open and said, “Diplomat.” And pointed to myself. And the cop just…shrank…from me. I took a step toward him and said, “Diplomat” again, and he just kept backing away. And the whole crowd backed away. I kept saying, “It’s all right- I’m a diplomat,” but the circle of people got wider and wider, and the cop turned and walked away from me as fast as he could. And everyone else did the same. Except the two teenagers. They just stared at me. Not like they expected me to do anything. Just…because I was the only thing left to look at. (A beat.) I’ve never behaved that way in public before.
BOTVINNIK.
You were having a bad day.
HONEYMAN.
I was not having a bad day! I was…I am turning into something here. Some kind of monster. Some kind of littering, old-man-pushing, diplomatic…monster. Some special, newly-created kind of…thing. (A beat. Quietly.) What are we doing here?
BOTVINNIK.
We are talking.
HONEYMAN.
No, I mean- what on Earth…are we doing?
BOTVINNIK.
The questions you ask are too large. Let me ask a smaller one. What is your favorite color?
HONEYMAN.
My favorite color?
BOTVINNIK.
Yes. What is it?
HONEYMAN.
Why do you want to know that?
BOTVINNIK.
I have my reasons. Is it green? Red? Yellow?
HONEYMAN.
I don’t want to talk about this.
BOTVINNIK.
It’s a simple question. I’m sure we can handle it.
HONEYMAN.
Don’t mock me!
BOTVINNIK.
You’re offended.
HONEYMAN.
Yes, I’m offended, I’m disgusted, I’m…What are we doing here?!
BOTVINNIK.
My favorite color is blue.
HONEYMAN.
Stop talking about colors!!
BOTVINNIK.
I have to talk about colors!
HONEYMAN.
Why?!
BOTVINNIK.
I want to buy you a gift.
HONEYMAN.
We give each other gifts all the time. That’s what international negotiating teams do: sit down, stare at each other for a few months, exchange gifts and leave. (With a look at Botvinnik.) Why does your delegation want to give us gifts?
BOTVINNIK.
No, no. Not our delegation. Just me. I want to give you a gift. A tie, perhaps. In a color you like. Something you will be happy to have.
HONEYMAN.
Why?
BOTVINNIK.
Do I need a reason?
HONEYMAN.
Yes.
BOTVINNIK.
As a consolation prize, then. Because we will never achieve a treaty.
HONEYMAN.
We will achieve a treaty. Someday we will.
BOTVINNIK.
Very well, then- a victory prize. I want to give you a gift. What does it matter why?
HONEYMAN.
It could be the difference between honoring me and humiliating me.
BOTVINNIK.
What about blue? (Honeyman sighs.) Is blue your favorite?
HONEYMAN.
No, it’s not.
BOTVINNIK.
Brown?
HONEYMAN.
Nobody’s favorite color is brown.
BOTVINNIK.
Why do you make me guess? Tell me.
HONEYMAN.
My favorite color is orange.
BOTVINNIK.
Orange?
HONEYMAN.
Yes. Orange.
BOTVINNIK.
You expect me to buy you an orange tie?
HONEYMAN.
Don’t buy me a tie! I don’t want a tie!
BOTVINNIK.
All right. I won’t.
HONEYMAN.
Good! I can see why McIntyre left.
BOTVINNIK.
You think he left because of me.
HONEYMAN.
Who wouldn’t? No one can deal with you. You take serious things lightly, light things seriously, you waste months of time- and what’s worse, you never even try to be optimistic. Don’t you see how killing that is?
BOTVINNIK.
No.
HONEYMAN.
How can you be so negative?
BOTVINNIK.
You’re the one who doesn’t want a tie.
HONEYMAN.
I think you were made for this place. You were born to sit and stare at the world and say no.
BOTVINNIK.
Why, because I am Russian?
HONEYMAN.
Not because you’re…
BOTVINNIK.
That’s it, isn’t it? You think Russians are all alike. You think we train our children to say no at the dinner table. “Do you want your food?” “No!” “Something to drink?” “No!”
HONEYMAN.
Anya…
BOTVINNIK.
You think we like to say no. You think we train our backsides to sit for days without pain, yes?
HONEYMAN.
(Rising.) I’m gong back now, Anya.
BOTVINNIK.
No!
HONEYMAN.
Why not?!
BOTVINNIK.
I have something to tell you.
HONEYMAN.
What?
BOTVINNIK.
Guess.
HONEYMAN.
No!
BOTVINNIK.
You are so negative. Very well, I will tell you. I’m leaving. (A beat.)
HONEYMAN.
What?
BOTVINNIK.
I’m leaving. Bye-bye.
HONEYMAN.
You mean, you’re going back home for a week or two…?
BOTVINNIK.
No, I’m leaving.
HONEYMAN.
(Alarmed.) Your government’s pulling out the delegation?
BOTVINNIK.
No, no- listen to your language, John. They’re staying. I- Anastasiya L’vovna Botvinnik- I am leaving. For good. Good-bye. (Botvinnik extends her hand.)
HONEYMAN.
(Not taking it.) You’re leaving your post?
BOTVINNIK.
Yes.
HONEYMAN.
Why? We’re in the middle of negotiations.
BOTVINNIK.
I will be replaced. (A beat.)
HONEYMAN.
When are you leaving?
BOTVINNIK.
A week or two.
HONEYMAN.
A week…! How soon’ll you be replaced?
BOTVINNIK.
A month or two.
HONEYMAN.
Anya…!
BOTVINNIK.
Are you worried about delay? That is your job, delay. In all my years here it has been one, long delay. So tell me- do you have a favorite color besides orange? I would like to get you something.
HONEYMAN.
A farewell gift?
BOTVINNIK.
Yes. (A beat.)
HONEYMAN.
Are they making you retire?
BOTVINNIK.
Of course not.
HONEYMAN.
Is it because you pushed for our proposal? Did you get in trouble with…
BOTVINNIK.
You Americans always think the same thing. Kremlin intrigue. Trips to Siberia. No, I merely intend to go home. It is time.
HONEYMAN.
Is it a medical problem?
BOTVINNIK.
No.
HONEYMAN.
It’s just that you’ve seemed more…distracted than usual. In the sessions.
BOTVINNIK.
Me? What about you? Pushing old men in the street.
HONEYMAN.
That was…
BOTVINNIK.
You don’t have to apologize. No- I have served for many years here by doing absolutely nothing. Now it is time for someone new to come and do absolutely nothing. In this way we achieve continuity of results. (Holds her hand out to shake again.) So. It has been very pleasurable with you. I thank you and say good-bye.
HONEYMAN.
(Not taking her hand.) Why are you leaving?
BOTVINNIK.
I told you. Shake.
HONEYMAN.
Why are you leaving?
BOTVINNIK.
There is no real reason. I am losing…concentration at the table- a little bit. My mind is beginning to wander…slightly…when I am there.
HONEYMAN.
To wander?
BOTVINNIK.
More and more. (A beat.)
HONEYMAN.
Why not take some time off? A week or two? Maybe that would…
BOTVINNIK.
That would do nothing. I am degenerating. It happens to everyone. Each day now I feel like I could say…anything. The worst thing. At the worst moment. It is an interesting feeling. It’s like my brain is drying up instead of my eyes. Work without hope is a dry thing. It is better, more realistic. But it is very dry. Will you miss me?
HONEYMAN.
Don’t go.
BOTVINNIK.
I have to.
HONEYMAN.
Rest a little. You can come back.
BOTVINNIK.
The decay is inevitable.
HONEYMAN.
It’s not inevitable. Don’t go. We’re working on something here, Anya.
BOTVINNIK.
On what?
HONEYMAN.
On something. My God- we’ve established a process, the two of us. If you’re replaced, that’s all gone.
BOTVINNIK.
No, it isn’t. The new person will…
HONEYMAN.
The new person will not be you. (A beat.)
BOTVINNIK.
You’re very flattering. But let me make a suggestion. If you are so unhappy that I am leaving, then why don’t you leave too?
HONEYMAN.
Don’t be ridiculous.
BOTVINNIK.
It’s not ridiculous. I go back to Leningrad, you go back to Vah-sow. We are both better off.
HONEYMAN.
In what way?
BOTVINNIK.
In every way. Listen to me- you’re a good negotiator. You’re smart, tough, charming. You can say no almost as well as me. They will keep you here a long time. And after long enough, you will be like I am now.
HONEYMAN.
You’re fine now.
BOTVINNIK.
I don’t even remember why I’m here. Leave when I do. Otherwise you will break down.
HONEYMAN.
I won’t.
BOTVINNIK.
This morning you were almost arrested.
HONEYMAN.
That was a freak accident.
BOTVINNIK.
You will have more of them.
HONEYMAN.
What if I do? What’s it matter, as long as I’m here, working?
BOTVINNIK.
Working for what? For progress? There is no progress here. Only the illusion. Every treaty we negotiated has been followed by an unprecedented arms buildup. Twenty-five years ago, we signed our first treaty. We had a few hundred warheads each. A few hundred. Today- thirteen treaties later- how many warheads do we have? Fifty thousand. If our leaders ever do accept real cuts, it will only be to gain political advantage. When the advantage disappears, the cuts will too. There will be new weapons building. There will always be new weapons building. (A beat.) So listen to me: you are still young. Why grow old in this way?
HONEYMAN.
Why should you care? You’re leaving.
BOTVINNIK.
I’m still your friend.
HONEYMAN.
Friends share hope! If you go home now, we will never have been friends. Do you understand? Will have been colleagues, associates, counterparts, fellow workers on the same problem. Representatives, delegates, instruments of policy- but never- never- friends.
BOTVINNIK.
(Softly.)I am your friend.
HONEYMAN.
Why?! What do I do for you that makes you feel like a friend to me? What? Is it that we do the same thing? Have the same job?
BOTVINNIK.
Of course not…
HONEYMAN.
Then what? I don’t think it’s that we tell the same jokes. I don’t think I tell any jokes at all, do I? I think I’m a pretty serious, stiff, even priggish type of person, wouldn’t you say?
BOTVINNIK.
At times.
HONEYMAN.
All the time! And yet you like me. You want to be my friend. Why is that, Anya? Do you want to get something from me? A bargaining advantage perhaps?
BOTVINNIK.
Of course not…
HONEYMAN.
You’re damn right, of course not- you don’t even remember why you’re here. So what is it? What’s the force that impels us towards each other? What is it we recognize in each other that makes us want to be friends? What is our special handicap as negotiators?
BOTVINNIK.
(Quietly.) A conscience.
HONEYMAN.
A conscience. Exactly. (A beat.) Do you think the next two people here will have a conscience? (A beat.)
BOTVINNIK.
I can’t stay. The process of replacing me has already begun. (A silence.) What will you do?
HONEYMAN.
Stay. Work with your replacement. Hope for progress, for good faith, for enough time. Hope that hope itself isn’t some…limitless desert we’re all trying to cross.
BOTVINNIK.
And if it is?
HONEYMAN.
I’ll die of hope.
BOTVINNIK.
I will always like you. You will always be my favorite.
HONEYMAN.
(Simply.) So what?
BOTVINNIK.
Perhaps it is time to go.
HONEYMAN.
Perhaps.
BOTVINNIK.
(Without moving.) So- we are going. I am very serious about the tie, you know. What do you say to red?
HONEYMAN.
I don’t want a tie.
BOTVINNIK.
Red is too political. Yellow? No, that stands for cowards, and you are too brave for your own good.
HONEYMAN.
Anya…
BOTVINNIK.
Blue? No blue is my favorite. It would be like forcing it on you.
HONEYMAN.
NO TIE! DO YOU HEAR ME?!! NO DAMN TIE! IF YOU EVER TRY TO GIVE ME A TIE, I’LL STUFF IT DOWN YOUR GODDAMN, FUCKING COMMUNIST THROAT! (A beat.) I’m sorry.
BOTVINNIK.
That’s all right.
HONEYMAN.
Sorry about “communists.”
BOTVINNIK.
No problem.
HONEYMAN.
You’re probably right. I’m probably crazy already.
BOTVINNIK.
Probably.
HONEYMAN.
But I’m staying. I have hope.
BOTVINNIK.
You are entitled. Do you feel all right?
HONEYMAN.
I’m fine.
BOTVINNIK.
Shall we sit for a while? (Honeyman moves in the bench, sits, Botvinnik sits next to him. They are silent for a moment.) This is very nice. Sitting here in nature. I can see why you like this. (Honeyman looks at Botvinnik with surprise, then out at the woods.)
HONEYMAN.
When I was young, I used to think if you ate a lot of wild things- you know, if you went to the woods and gathered things: blueberries, mushrooms, asparagus- I thought eating those things would somehow make you…wild. Not wild-behaving, just more a part of that world. I mean, you’d be in the woods and feel completely comfortable there. You’d be at home. (They stare at the woods.)
BOTVINNIK.
All these trees. One by one they will be chopped down, I think. And made into negotiating tables. The talks will go on for hundreds of years. If we are lucky. (A beat.) Our time together, John, has been a very great failure. (Honeyman nods.) But- a successful one. (A beat.) Shall we go back?
HONEYMAN.
Let’s stay awhile.
BOTVINNIK.
Really? Do you want to? What do you want to talk about.
HONEYMAN.
Nothing. (Botvinnik regards him, then looks into the woods and nods. Honeyman stares into the distance as well. Botvinnik takes out her eyedrops and carefully applies them. Lights fade to black.)
THE END
ONHONEHONEONHONEHONE
Time: WWI. The day after the failure to take The Ant Hill.
Scene: General Mireau's office. He is at his desk. Colonel Dax enters.
D: Colonel. Good evening.
M: Good evening. - Come and sit down.
D: Thank you, sir. I-- I'm really sorry to intrude on you in this way.
M: Not at all. Always delighted to see you, Colonel Dax. Will you have a cigar?
D: No, thank you, sir.
M: - Well,I Think you'll find it delicious. I must apologize for not inviting you to the party tonight... but I'm afraid that it's a dress affair.
D: Thank you, sir, but I must confess...that this is not entirely a social visit.
M: Come, Dax. Let's not go over all that ground again. Though, I must admit that judging....from the casualties, the efforts of your regiment must have been considerable.
D: How can you understand that and allow these men to be shot tomorrow?
M: Come, Colonel, you're choosing to take a rather simple view of this.
D: The attack was impossible. The general staff must have known that.
M: Colonel Dax, we think we're doing a good job running the war. You must be aware the general staff is subject to unfair pressures...from newspapers and politicians. Maybe the attack against the Ant Hill was impossible. Perhaps it was an error of judgment on our part. On the other hand, if your men had been more daring, they might have taken it. Who knows? In any case...why should we have to bear any more criticism than we have to? Aside from the fact that many of your men never left the trenches ...there's the troops' morale, don't forget.
D: - The troops' morale?
M: - Certainly. These executions will be a perfect tonic for the entire division. There are few things more fundamentally encouraging and stimulating...than seeing someone else die.
D: - I never thought of that, sir.
M: - Colonel, troops are like children. Just as a child wants his father to be firm, troops crave discipline. One way to maintain discipline is to shoot a man now and then.
D: May I ask...do you sincerely believe the things you've said?
M: It's been a pleasure discussing this with you, Colonel...but I'm afraid that I'd better be getting back to my guests.
D: Forgive me for having kept you from your party. Oh, by the way, sir, have you heard that General Philipe...ordered his own battery commander, Captain Rousseau...to open fire on his own positions during the attack? Of course, the captain refused without a written order. But General Philipe demanded that he commence firing on our own trenches. Well, again, Rousseau refused without an order in writing...but again he was ordered and again he refused...all in front of witnesses.
M: Do you actually believe this fantastic story?
D: Here are copies of the sworn statements from all the principals involved. Battery Commander Rousseau, Captain Nichols, the artillery spotter...the telephone clerk and my own deposition.
M: What has this got to do with the charge against the condemned prisoners?
D: A general in a tantrum over the failure of an impossible attack...orders his artillery to fire on his own men. The same officer on the same day orders a court martial...in which three of his men are sentenced to be shot. General, what would your newspapers and your politicians do with that?
M: - Are you trying to blackmail me?
D: - Sir, that's an ugly word...but you are in a difficult position. Too much has happened. Someone's got to be hurt. The question is whom. General Philipe's assault on the Ant Hill failed. His order to fire on his own troops was refused. But his attempt to murder three innocent men...to protect his own reputation will be prevented by the general staff. M: Will you pardon me, Colonel Dax? I've been rude to my guests too long.
D exits.
Beat
Sounds of drums off stage. They stop. VOICE OFF STAGE: Ready. Aim. Fire.
Beat
The following day. General Mireau and General Philipe are in General Mireau's office.
P: I'm awfully glad you could be there, George. This sort of thing is always rather grim. But this had splendor, don't you think?
M: I have never seen an affair of this sort handled any better.
P: The men died wonderfully. There's always that chance...that one will do something that will leave everyone with a bad taste. This time, you couldn't ask for better. Yes?
D enters
D: Yes, Colonel? - You wanted to see me, sir.
M: Oh, yes. Come in, Colonel. Come in and sit down.
P: Colonel, your men died very well.
M: Would you like some coffee, Colonel?
D: No, thank you, sir.
M Paul, it's been brought to my attention that you ordered your artillery...to fire on your own men during the attack on the Ant Hill.
P: I did what? Who told you that?
M: Colonel Dax came to me last night with the story.
P: I've always known you were a disloyal officer...but I never dreamed you would stoop to anything so low as this.
D: I've sworn statements from Captain Nichols, your artillery spotter...Captain Rousseau, the battery commander who refused your order.
P: I think it's absolutely infamous.
M: Then there's no truth to the charge made by Colonel Dax?
P: I don't see how you could even ask me that.
M: You cannot imagine how glad I am to hear that, Paul. I'm certain you'll come through it all right.
P: - I'll come through what?
M: - There'll have to be an inquiry.
P: - An inquiry?
M: - Those things, the public forgets.
P: - Public?
M: - You've got to clear your name.
M: You cannot allow such vile insinuations against your character to go undenied.
P: So that's it. You're making me the goat. The only completely innocent man in this whole affair. I have only one last thing to say to you, George. The man you stabbed in the back is a soldier.
P Exits
M: Well...it had to be done. France cannot afford to have fools guiding her military destiny. I'm grateful to you for having brought this matter to my attention. Colonel, how would you like General Mireau's job?
D: - His what?
M: - His job.
D: Let me get this straight, sir. You're offering me General Mireau's command?
M: Come, come, Colonel Dax. Don't overdo the surprise. You've been after the job from the start. We all know that, my boy.
D: I may be many things, sir, but I am not your boy.
M: Well, I certainly didn't mean to imply any biological relationship.
D: - I'm not your boy in any sense.
M: - Are you trying to provoke me, Colonel?
D - Why should I want to do that?
M: - Exactly. It would be a pity...to lose your promotion before you get it.
A promotion you have so very carefully planned for.
D: Sir, would you like me to suggest what you can do with that promotion?
M: Colonel, you will apologize at once or you shall be placed under arrest!
D: I apologize for not being entirely honest with you. I apologize for not revealing my true feelings. I apologize for not telling you sooner...that you're a degenerate, sadistic old man. And you can go to hell before I apologize to you now or ever again!
M: Colonel Dax, you're a disappointment to me. You've spoiled the keenness of your mind by wallowing in sentimentality. You really did want to save those men...and you were not angling for Philpes's command. You're an idealist, and I pity you as I would the village idiot. We're fighting a war, a war that we've got to win. Those men didn't fight, so they were shot. You bring charges against General Mireau, so I insist he answer them. Wherein have I done wrong?
D: If you don't know the answer to that question...I pity you.
WHO’S ON FIRST by Bud Abbot and Lou Costello ©
Abbott: Well Costello, I'm going to New York with you. You know Bucky Harris, the Yankee's manager, gave me a job as coach for as long as you're on the team.
Costello: Look Abbott, if you're the coach, you must know all the players.
Abbott: I certainly do.
Costello: Well you know I've never met the guys. So you'll have to tell me their names, and then I'll know who's playing on the team.
Abbott: Oh, I'll tell you their names. Who's on first, What's on second, I Don't Know is on third...
Costello: That's what I want to find out.
Abbott: I say Who's on first, What's on second, I Don't Know's on third.
Costello: Are you the manager?
Abbott: Yes.
Costello: You gonna be the coach too?
Abbott: Yes.
Costello: And you don't know the players' names?
Abbott: Well I should.
Costello: Well then who's on first?
Abbott: Yes.
Costello: I mean the guy’s name.
Abbott: Who.
Costello: The guy on first.
Abbott: Who.
Costello: The first baseman.
Abbott: Who.
Costello: The guy playing...
Abbott: Who is on first!
Costello: I'm asking YOU who's on first.
Abbott: That's the man's name.
Costello: That's who's name?
Abbott: Yes.
Costello: Well go ahead and tell me.
Abbott: That's it.
Costello: That's who?
Abbott: Yes.
PAUSE
Costello: Look, you gotta first baseman?
Abbott: Certainly.
Costello: Who's playing first?
Abbott: That's right.
Costello: When you pay off the first baseman every month, who gets the money?
Abbott: Every dollar of it.
Costello: All I'm trying to find out is the fellow's name on first base.
Abbott: Who.
Costello: The guy that gets...
Abbott: That's it.
Costello: Who gets the money...
Abbott: He does, every dollar. Sometimes his wife comes down and collects it.
Costello: Who's wife?
Abbott: Yes.
PAUSE
Abbott: What's wrong with that?
Costello: Look, all I wanna know is when you sign up the first baseman, how does he sign his name?
Abbott: Who.
Costello: The guy.
Abbott: Who.
Costello: How does he sign...
Abbott: That's how he signs it.
Costello: Who?
Abbott: Yes.
PAUSE
Costello: All I'm trying to find out is what's the guy's name on first base.
Abbott: No. What is on second base.
Costello: I'm not asking you who's on second.
Abbott: Who's on first.
Costello: One base at a time!
Abbott: Well, don't change the players around.
Costello: I'm not changing nobody!
Abbott: Take it easy, buddy.
Costello: I'm only asking you, who's the guy on first base?
Abbott: That's right.
Costello: Ok.
Abbott: All right.
PAUSE
Costello: What's the guy's name on first base?
Abbott: No. What is on second.
Costello: I'm not asking you who's on second.
Abbott: Who's on first.
Costello: I don't know.
Abbott: He's on third, we're not talking about him.
Costello: Now how did I get on third base?
Abbott: Why you mentioned his name.
Costello: If I mentioned the third baseman's name, who did I say is playing third?
Abbott: No. Who's playing first.
Costello: What's on first?
Abbott: What's on second.
Costello: I don't know.
Abbott: He's on third.
Costello: There I go, back on third again!
PAUSE
Costello: Would you just stay on third base and don't go off it.
Abbott: All right, what do you want to know?
Costello: Now who's playing third base?
Abbott: Why do you insist on putting Who on third base?
Costello: What am I putting on third.
Abbott: No. What is on second.
Costello: You don't want who on second?
Abbott: Who is on first.
Costello: I don't know.
Abbott & Costello Together:Third base!
PAUSE
Costello: Look, you gotta outfield?
Abbott: Sure.
Costello: The left fielder's name?
Abbott: Why.
Costello: I just thought I'd ask you.
Abbott: Well, I just thought I'd tell ya.
Costello: Then tell me who's playing left field.
Abbott: Who's playing first.
Costello: I'm not... stay out of the infield! I want to know what's the guy's name in left field?
Abbott: No, What is on second.
Costello: I'm not asking you who's on second.
Abbott: Who's on first!
Costello: I don't know.
Abbott & Costello Together: Third base!
PAUSE
Costello: The left fielder's name?
Abbott: Why.
Costello: Because!
Abbott: Oh, he's centerfield.
PAUSE
Costello: Look, You gotta pitcher on this team?
Abbott: Sure.
Costello: The pitcher's name?
Abbott: Tomorrow.
Costello: You don't want to tell me today?
Abbott: I'm telling you now.
Costello: Then go ahead.
Abbott: Tomorrow!
Costello: What time?
Abbott: What time what?
Costello: What time tomorrow are you gonna tell me who's pitching?
Abbott: Now listen. Who is not pitching.
Costello: I'll break your arm, you say who's on first! I want to know what's the pitcher's name?
Abbott: What's on second.
Costello: I don't know.
Abbott & Costello Together: Third base!
PAUSE
Costello: Gotta a catcher?
Abbott: Certainly.
Costello: The catcher's name?
Abbott: Today.
Costello: Today, and tomorrow's pitching.
Abbott: Now you've got it.
Costello: All we got is a couple of days on the team.
PAUSE
Costello: You know I'm a catcher too.
Abbott: So they tell me.
Costello: I get behind the plate to do some fancy catching, Tomorrow's pitching on my team and a heavy hitter gets up. Now the heavy hitter bunts the ball. When he bunts the ball, me, being a good catcher, I'm gonna throw the guy out at first base. So I pick up the ball and throw it to who?
Abbott: Now that's the first thing you've said right.
Costello: I don't even know what I'm talking about!
PAUSE
Abbott: That's all you have to do.
Costello: Is to throw the ball to first base.
Abbott: Yes!
Costello: Now who's got it?
Abbott: Naturally.
PAUSE
Costello: Look, if I throw the ball to first base, somebody's gotta get it. Now who has it?
Abbott: Naturally.
Costello: Who?
Abbott: Naturally.
Costello: Naturally?
Abbott: Naturally.
Costello: So I pick up the ball and I throw it to Naturally.
Abbott: No you don't, you throw the ball to Who.
Costello: Naturally.
Abbott: That's different.
Costello: That's what I said.
Abbott: You're not saying it...
Costello: I throw the ball to Naturally.
Abbott: You throw it to Who.
Costello: Naturally.
Abbott: That's it.
Costello: That's what I said!
Abbott: You ask me.
Costello: I throw the ball to who?
Abbott: Naturally.
Costello: Now you ask me.
Abbott: You throw the ball to Who?
Costello: Naturally.
Abbott: That's it.
Costello: Same as you! Same as YOU! I throw the ball to who. Whoever it is drops the ball and the guy runs to second. Who picks up the ball and throws it to What. What throws it to I Don't Know. I Don't Know throws it back to Tomorrow, Triple play. Another guy gets up and hits a long fly ball to Because. Why? I don't know! He's on third and I don't give a darn!
Abbott: What?
Costello: I said I don't give a darn!
Abbott: Oh, that's our shortstop.
THE ARGUMENT SKETCH (By Monty Python) ©
Characters:
MAN/WOMAN
ARGUER
Man knocks on the door.
A: Come in.
M: Ah, Is this the right room for an argument?
A: I told you once.
M: No you haven't.
A: Yes I have.
M: When?
A: Just now.
M: No you didn't.
A: Yes I did.
M: You didn't
A: I did!
M: You didn't!
A: I'm telling you I did!
M: You did not!!
A: Oh, I'm sorry, just one moment. Is this a five minute argument or the full half hour?
M: Oh, just the five minutes.
A: Ah, thank you. Anyway, I did.
M: You most certainly did not.
A: Look, let's get this thing clear; I quite definitely told you.
M: No you did not.
A: Yes I did.
M: No you didn't.
A: Yes I did.
M: No you didn't.
A: Yes I did.
M: No you didn't.
A: Yes I did.
M: You didn't.
A: Did.
M: Oh look, this isn't an argument.
A: Yes it is.
M: No it isn't. It's just contradiction.
A: No it isn't.
M: It is!
A: It is not.
M: Look, you just contradicted me.
A: I did not.
M: Oh you did!!
A: No, no, no.
M: You did just then.
A: Nonsense!
M: Oh, this is futile!
A: No it isn't.
M: I came here for a good argument.
A: No you didn't; no, you came here for an argument.
M: An argument isn't just contradiction.
A: It can be.
M: No it can't. An argument is a connected series of statements intended to establish a proposition.
A: No it isn't.
M: Yes it is! It's not just contradiction.
A: Look, if I argue with you, I must take up a contrary position.
M: Yes, but that's not just saying 'No it isn't.'
A: Yes it is!
M: No it isn't!
A: Yes it is!
M: Argument is an intellectual process. Contradiction is just the automatic gainsaying of any statement the other person makes.
(short pause)
A: No it isn't.
M: It is.
A: Not at all.
M: Now look.
A: (Rings bell) Good Morning.
M: What?
A: That's it. Good morning.
M: I was just getting interested.
A: Sorry, the five minutes is up.
M: That was never five minutes!
A: I'm afraid it was.
M: It wasn't.
Pause
A: I'm sorry, but I'm not allowed to argue anymore.
M: What?!
A: If you want me to go on arguing, you'll have to pay for another five minutes.
M: Yes, but that was never five minutes, just now. Oh come on!
A: (Hums)
M: Look, this is ridiculous.
A: I'm sorry, but I'm not allowed to argue unless you've paid!
M: Oh, all right.
(pays money)
A: Thank you.
short pause
M: Well?
A: Well what?
M: That wasn't really five minutes, just now.
A: I told you, I'm not allowed to argue unless you've paid.
M: I just paid!
A: No you didn't.
M: I DID!
A: No you didn't.
M: Look, I don't want to argue about that.
A: Well, you didn't pay.
M: Aha. If I didn't pay, why are you arguing? I Got you!
A: No you haven't.
M: Yes I have. If you're arguing, I must have paid.
A: Not necessarily. I could be arguing in my spare time.
M: Oh I've had enough of this.
A: No you haven't.
M: Oh Shut up.
BRIEF ENCOUNTER by Noel Coward ©
Laura and Alec sit quietly in the cafe of a train station. Laura’s Subjective Memory up-stage watches them.
Laura Subjective Memory: Today was our last day together. Our very last together in all our lives. I met him outside the hospital as I had promised at 12:30. At 12:30 this morning. That was only this morning. We drove into the country again, but this time he hired a car. I lit cigarettes for him now and then as we went along. We didn't talk much. I felt numbed and hardly alive at all. We had lunch in a village pub. Afterwards, we went to the same bridge over the stream, the bridge that we'd been to before. Those last few hours went by so quickly. As we walked through the station, I remembered thinking: 'This is the last time with Alec. I shall see all this again, but without Alec.' I tried not to think of it, not to let it spoil our last moments together.
They stare at their tea cups.
Alec: Are you all right, darling?
Laura: Yes, I'm all right.
Alec: I wish I could think of something to say.
Laura: It doesn't matter, not saying anything, I mean.
Alec: I'll miss my train and wait and see you into yours.
Laura: No, please don't. I'll come over with you to your platform. I'd rather...Do you think we shall ever see each other again?
Alec: I don't know. Not for years, anyway.
Laura: The children will all be grown up. I wonder if they never meet and know each other.
Alec: Couldn't I write you, just once in a while?
Laura: No, Alec please. You know we promised.
Alec (confessing): Oh, my dear. I do love you so very much. I love you with all my heart and soul.
Laura: I want to die. If only I could die.
Alec: If you die, you'd forget me. I want to be remembered.
Laura: Yes, I know, I do too.
Alec: We've still got a few minutes.
Enter Dolly in a bluster, sits at the table.
Dolly: Laura! What a lovely surprise! My Dear I’ve been shopping till I’ve been dropping. My feet are ready to fall off. My throat’s parched. I was thinking of having tea and Spindles. But I thought I might miss the train. Oh dear.
Laura: Oh. And this is Doctor Harvey
Alec: How do you do?
Dolly: How do you do would you mind getting m a cup of tea. I really don’t think I can drag my poor bones over to the counter.
Alex No please.
Alex exits. Dolly prattles on with no words coming out for 20 seconds as Laura’s Subjective Memory speaks.
Laura’s Subjective Memory: It was cruel of fate to be against us right up to the very last minute. Dolly Messiter. Poor, well-meaning, irritating Dolly Messiter crashing into those last few precious minutes we had together. She chattered and fussed but I didn't hear what she said.
Alex returns with the tea.
Laura’s Subjective Memory. I felt dazed and bewildered. Alec behaved so beautifully, with such perfect politeness. No one could have guessed what he was really feeling. And then…the departure bell rang for Alec's train.
Laura: Here's your train.
Alec: Yes, I know.
Dolly: Oh, aren't you coming with us?
Alec: No, I go in the opposite direction. My practice is in Churley.
Dolly: Oh, I see.
Alec: I'm a general practitioner at the moment.
Laura: Dr. Harvey's going out to Africa next week.
Dolly: Oh, how thrilling.
Train Announcer: The train now arriving at platform four is the 5:40 for Churley...
Alec: I must go. Goodbye.
He rises and shakes hands with Dolly who then occupies herself stirring her tea. He rests his hand lightly on Laura's right shoulder for a moment.
Laura’s Subjective Memory: I felt the touch of his hand on my shoulder for a moment. And then he walked away, away out of my life forever. Dolly still went on talking, but I wasn't listening to her. I was listening to the sound of his train starting. And it did.
Laura listens to the sound of his departing train.
Laura’s Subjective Memory: I said to myself: 'He didn't go. At the last minute his courage failed him; he couldn't have gone. Any minute now, he'll come back into the refreshment room pretending he's forgotten something.' I prayed for him to do that, just so that I could see him again, for an instant. (Pause) But the minutes went by...and then…and then departure bell for the express train rang.
Laura jumps up abruptly from the table and rushes outside the tea room to the rail platform. She appears ready to jump. But doesn’t.
Laura Subjective Memory: I meant to do it, Fred, I really meant to do it. I stood there trembling right on the edge, but I couldn't. I wasn't brave enough. I should like to be able to say that it was the thought of you and the children that prevented me but it wasn't. I had no thoughts at all, only an overwhelming desire not to feel anything ever again. Not to be unhappy anymore.
|
From Troilus and Cressida
Scene: The Grecian Tent
Ulysses . I wonder now how yonder city stands,
|
From Cymbeline Guiderius & Arviragus G: Fear no more the heat o' the sun, Nor the furious winter's rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art done, and ta'en thy wages: Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
A: Fear no more the frown o' the great; Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; Care no more to clothe and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak: The Sceptre, Learning, Physic, must All follow this, and come to dust.
G: Fear no more the lightning-flash, A: Nor the'all-dreaded thunder-stone; G: Fear not slander, censure rash; A: Thou hast finished joy and moan: G & A: All lovers young, all lovers must Consign to thee, and come to dust. G: No exorciser harm thee! A: Nor no witchcraft charm thee! G: Ghost unlaid forbear thee! A: Nothing ill come near thee! G & A Quiet consummation have, And renownèd by thy grave! |
|
From King Richard II / Scene Westminster Hall King Richard II: A brittle glory shineth in this face: Henry IV: The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy'd |
From Julius Caesar Scene: The Forum
Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones; So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus Hath told you Caesar was ambitious: If it were so, it was a grievous fault, And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it. Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest - For Brutus is an honourable man; So are they all, all honourable men - Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. He was my friend, faithful and just to me: But Brutus says he was ambitious; And Brutus is an honourable man
|
JULIA & LUCETTA from Two Gentlemen of Verona
|
[Enter JULlA and LUCETTA] § Julia. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone, Lucetta Ay, madam, so you stumble not unheedfully. § Julia. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen § Lucetta. Please you repeat their names, I'll show my mind § Julia. What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour? § Lucetta. As of a knight well-spoken, neat and fine; 160 § Julia. What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio? § Lucetta. Well of his wealth; but of himself, so so. § Julia. What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus? § Lucetta. Lord, Lord! to see what folly reigns in us! 165 § Julia. How now! what means this passion at his name? § Lucetta. Pardon, dear madam: 'tis a passing shame § Julia. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest? 170 § Lucetta. Then thus: of many good I think him best. § Julia. Your reason? § Lucetta. I have no other, but a woman's reason; § Julia. And wouldst thou have me cast my love on him? 175 § Lucetta. Ay, if you thought your love not cast away. § Julia. Why he, of all the rest, hath never moved me. § Lucetta. Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best loves ye. § Julia. His little speaking shows his love but small. § Lucetta. Fire that's closest kept burns most of all. 180 § Julia. They do not love that do not show their love. § Lucetta. O, they love least that let men know their love. § Julia. I would I knew his mind. § Lucetta. Peruse this paper, madam. § Julia. 'To Julia.' Say, from whom? 185 § Lucetta. That the contents will show. § Julia. Say, say, who gave it thee? § Lucetta. Valentine's page; and sent, I think, from Proteus. § Julia. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker! § Lucetta. To plead for love deserves more fee than hate. § Julia. Will ye be gone? § Lucetta. That you may ruminate. |
THE MURDER OF CLARENCE from Richard III
SCENE: London. The Tower.
Enter the two Murderers
First Murderer
Ho! who's here?
BRAKENBURY
In God's name what are you, and how came you hither?
First Murderer
I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither on my legs.
BRAKENBURY
Yea, are you so brief?
Second Murderer
O sir, it is better to be brief than tedious. Show
him our commission; talk no more.
BRAKENBURY reads it
BRAKENBURY
I am, in this, commanded to deliver
The noble Duke of Clarence to your hands:
I will not reason what is meant hereby,
Because I will be guiltless of the meaning.
Here are the keys, there sits the duke asleep:
I'll to the king; and signify to him
That thus I have resign'd my charge to you.
First Murderer
Do so, it is a point of wisdom: fare you well.
Exit BRAKENBURY
Second Murderer
What, shall we stab him as he sleeps?
First Murderer
No; then he will say 'twas done cowardly, when he wakes.
Second Murderer
When he wakes! why, fool, he shall never wake till
the judgment-day.
First Murderer
Why, then he will say we stabbed him sleeping.
Second Murderer
The urging of that word 'judgment' hath bred a kind
of remorse in me
First Murderer
What, art thou afraid?
Second Murderer
Not to kill him, having a warrant for it; but to be
damned for killing him, from which no warrant can defend us.
First Murderer
I thought thou hadst been resolute.
Second Murderer
So I am, to let him live.
First Murderer
Back to the Duke of Gloucester, tell him so.
Second Murderer
I pray thee, stay a while: I hope my holy humour
will change; 'twas wont to hold me but while one
would tell twenty.
First Murderer
How dost thou feel thyself now?
Second Murderer
'Faith, some certain dregs of conscience are yet
within me.
First Murderer
Remember our reward, when the deed is done.
Second Murderer
'Zounds, he dies: I had forgot the reward.
First Murderer
Where is thy conscience now?
Second Murderer
In the Duke of Gloucester's purse.
First Murderer
So when he opens his purse to give us our reward,
thy conscience flies out.
Second Murderer
Let it go; there's few or none will entertain it.
First Murderer
How if it come to thee again?
Second Murderer
I'll not meddle with it: it is a dangerous thing: it
makes a man a coward: a man cannot steal, but it
accuseth him; he cannot swear, but it cheques him;
he cannot lie with his neighbour's wife, but it
detects him: 'tis a blushing shamefast spirit that
mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills one full of
obstacles: it made me once restore a purse of gold
that I found; it beggars any man that keeps it: it
is turned out of all towns and cities for a
dangerous thing; and every man that means to live
well endeavours to trust to himself and to live
without it.
First Murderer
'Zounds, it is even now at my elbow, persuading me
not to kill the duke.
Second Murderer
Take the devil in thy mind, and relieve him not: he
would insinuate with thee but to make thee sigh.
First Murderer
Tut, I am strong-framed, he cannot prevail with me,
I warrant thee.
Second Murderer
Spoke like a tail fellow that respects his
reputation. Come, shall we to this gear?
First Murderer
Take him over the costard with the hilts of thy
sword, and then we will chop him in the malmsey-butt
in the next room.
Second Murderer
O excellent devise! make a sop of him.
First Murderer
Hark! he stirs: shall I strike?
Second Murderer
No, first let's reason with him.
CLARENCE
Where art thou, keeper? give me a cup of wine.
Second murderer
You shall have wine enough, my lord, anon.
CLARENCE
In God's name, what art thou?
Second Murderer
A man, as you are.
CLARENCE
But not, as I am, royal.
Second Murderer
Nor you, as we are, loyal.
CLARENCE
Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble.
Second Murderer
My voice is now the king's, my looks mine own.
CLARENCE
How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak!
Your eyes do menace me: why look you pale?
Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come?
Both
To, to, to--
CLARENCE
To murder me?
Both
Ay, ay.
CLARENCE
You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so,
And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it.
Wherein, my friends, have I offended you?
First Murderer
Offended us you have not, but the king.
CLARENCE
I shall be reconciled to him again.
Second Murderer
Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die
CLARENCE
Are you call'd forth from out a world of men
To slay the innocent? What is my offence?
Where are the evidence that do accuse me?
What lawful quest have given their verdict up
Unto the frowning judge? or who pronounced
The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death?
Before I be convict by course of law,
To threaten me with death is most unlawful.
I charge you, as you hope to have redemption
By Christ's dear blood shed for our grievous sins,
That you depart and lay no hands on me
The deed you undertake is damnable.
First Murderer
What we will do, we do upon command.
Second Murderer
And he that hath commanded is the king.
CLARENCE
Erroneous vassal! the great King of kings
Hath in the tables of his law commanded
That thou shalt do no murder: and wilt thou, then,
Spurn at his edict and fulfil a man's?
Take heed; for he holds vengeance in his hands,
To hurl upon their heads that break his law.
Second Murderer
And that same vengeance doth he hurl on thee,
For false forswearing and for murder too:
Thou didst receive the holy sacrament,
To fight in quarrel of the house of Lancaster.
First Murderer
And, like a traitor to the name of God,
Didst break that vow; and with thy treacherous blade
Unrip'dst the bowels of thy sovereign's son.
Second Murderer
Whom thou wert sworn to cherish and defend
First Murderer
How canst thou urge God's dreadful law to us,
When thou hast broke it in so dear degree?
CLARENCE
Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deed?
For Edward, for my brother, for his sake: Why, sirs,
He sends ye not to murder me for this
For in this sin he is as deep as I.
If God will be revenged for this deed.
O, know you yet, he doth it publicly,
Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm;
He needs no indirect nor lawless course
To cut off those that have offended him.
First Murderer
Who made thee, then, a bloody minister,
When gallant-springing brave Plantagenet,
That princely novice, was struck dead by thee?
CLARENCE
My brother's love, the devil, and my rage.
First Murderer
Thy brother's love, our duty, and thy fault,
Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee.
CLARENCE
Oh, if you love my brother, hate not me;
I am his brother, and I love him well.
If you be hired for meed, go back again,
And I will send you to my brother Gloucester,
Who shall reward you better for my life
Than Edward will for tidings of my death.
Second Murderer
You are deceived, your brother Gloucester hates you.
CLARENCE
O, no, he loves me, and he holds me dear:
Go you to him from me.
Both
Ay, so we will
CLARENCE
Tell him, when that our princely father York
Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm,
And charged us from his soul to love each other,
He little thought of this divided friendship:
Bid Gloucester think of this, and he will weep.
First Murderer
Ay, millstones; as be lesson'd us to weep.
CLARENCE
O, do not slander him, for he is kind.
First Murderer
Right,
As snow in harvest. Thou deceivest thyself:
'Tis he that sent us hither now to slaughter thee.
CLARENCE
It cannot be; for when I parted with him,
He hugg'd me in his arms, and swore, with sobs,
That he would labour my delivery.
Second Murderer
Why, so he doth, now he delivers thee
From this world's thraldom to the joys of heaven.
First Murderer
Make peace with God, for you must die, my lord.
CLARENCE
Hast thou that holy feeling in thy soul,
To counsel me to make my peace with God,
And art thou yet to thy own soul so blind,
That thou wilt war with God by murdering me?
Ah, sirs, consider, he that set you on
To do this deed will hate you for the deed.
Second Murderer
What shall we do?
CLARENCE
Relent, and save your souls.
First Murderer
Relent! 'tis cowardly and womanish.
CLARENCE
Not to relent is beastly, savage, devilish.
Which of you, if you were a prince's son,
Being pent from liberty, as I am now,
if two such murderers as yourselves came to you,
Would not entreat for life?
My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks:
O, if thine eye be not a flatterer,
Come thou on my side, and entreat fo
As you would beg, were you in my distress
A begging prince what beggar pities not?
Second Murderer
Look behind you, my lord.
First Murderer
Take that, and that: if all this will not do,
Stabs him
I'll drown you in the malmsey-butt within.
Exit, with the body
Second Murderer
A bloody deed, and desperately dispatch'd!
How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands
Of this most grievous guilty murder done!
Re-enter First Murderer
First Murderer
How now! what mean'st thou, that thou help'st me not?
By heavens, the duke shall know how slack thou art!
Second Murderer
I would he knew that I had saved his brother!
Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say;
For I repent me that the duke is slain.
Exit
First Murderer
So do not I: go, coward as thou art.
Now must I hide his body in some hole,
Until the duke take order for his burial:
And when I have my meed, I must away;
For this will out, and here I must not stay
MONOLOGUE LIST FOR SEMESTER ONE 2012-2013
Here are the numbers of the monologues we’ll be working on this semester. Take a look and then pick two. The numbers that begin with 1 are primarily for females and the numbers that begin with 2 are primarily male, but it seems to me that more than half of these could be played by either a male or a female. So…explore. NOTE: Everyone will work on Hamlet.
|
106 109 110 112 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124
|
203 204 205 206 207 206 212 214 215 216 217 218 HAMLET |
From TRUE and FALSE by DAVID MAMET
Acting is not a genteel profession. Actors used to be buried at a crossroads with a stake through the heart. Those people's performances so troubled the onlookers that they feared their ghosts. An awesome compliment.
Those players moved the audience not such that they were admitted to a graduate school, or received a complimentary review, but such that the audience feared for their soul. Now that seems to me something to aim for.
*
Move out of your own state and focus on obtaining your objective.
*
Great drama is not the performance of deeds with great emotion, but the performance of great deeds with no emotion.
*
Emotion is the byproduct of the performance of the action.
*
In the moment an actor requires immediacy and courage.
*
Give up control, give yourself up to the play.
*
In life there is not emotional preparation for loss, surprise, betrayal, discovery. And not on stage.
*
Invent nothing, deny nothing.
*
We should please the audience and the audience only. Yet we are trying to please panels, directors, agents, critics.
*
What do you want? Untutored exuberance or a lifeless and a baseless confidence.
*
What you learn now, use next time. Don’t say, “I’m a fraud, I’m not good.” They are a plea to an outside or internalized authority. A performance means to communicate the play to the audience.
If you’ve got something to say, say it, and think well of yourself while you’re learning to say it better.
*
You craft is not practiced during the audition, but on stage, in front of an audience.
*
When authority is absent, we beat ourselves. “I was horrible.”
*
There are 1,000 more where you come from.
*
Silence builds a fence for wisdom.
*
The audience comes to be pleased by the honest, straightforward, unusual, intuitive.
*
You are performing to please an audience.
*
Learn to deal thru the uncertainty and being comfortable being uncomfortable.
*
The person one is is 1,000 times more interesting than the best actor can become.
*
James Cagney: “Find your mark, look the other fella in the eye and tell the truth.”
*
Acting become the refuge for the energy and time of the privileged classes.
*
While and actor is hitting his marks, his is losing his intimacy ----- if the unforeseen
*
Find a simple action for each scene and then go out and do your best to accomplish that action.
*
It doesn’t matter how you say the lines What matters is what you mean. What comes from the heart goes to the heart.
*
Politicians trot out the reverent part of the speech reverently, the emotional parts feelingly. They are frauds. How do we know we can’t trust them? We know because they are lying to you. They’re very delivery is a lie. They have lied about what they feel in order to manipulate you.
*
We want to give the audience something they couldn’t have learned or imagined from reading it in the library. The audience is looking for spontaneity, for individuality, for strength.
*
“becoming” a character is believing the ability to self-induce a delusional state is harmful (see the actors gone mad Ronald Colman A Double Life. Marathon Man Dustin Hoffman “Try acting.” said Olvier.)
*
We’re here to perform. Not trick ourselves.
*
Acceptance is one of the greatest tools and actor can have, To wish things to happen as they do
*
Two things happen in the rehearsal process.
*
Respect for the audience is the foundation of all legitimate actor training.
*
“I want to know everything about this character and the times I which he lives.” “I want to know about Denmark.” “I want to know the history of boxing before I get into the ring to box.” (possible short comedy piece?) A waste of time.
*
Your true creative powers lie in your imagination, which is eternally fertile but cannot be forced and you will discover your true character, which cannot be developed through exercises.
*
To bring to the stage a mature man or woman capable of decision based on will, is to make acting not only an art but a noble art.
*
The audience wants to know what happens next. And what happens next is what you (the actor) do.
*
We lost the war I Vietnam because we didn’t have an objective.
*
We know what we want and we know if we’re getting close or not, and we alter our plans accordingly. This is what makes a person alive. They have taken the tension off themselves and put it on the person they want something from. (Hamlet is trying to restore order.)
*
The correct unit of study is not the play, it is the scene. Carve the big tasks into small tasks and perform the small tasks.
*
There is no arc of the play, there is no arc of the character.
*
Don’t drag your knowledge of the play into each scene.
*
The greatest performance are seldom noticed. They are simple, unassuming, like any real heroism.
*
Worrying about belief, feeling, emotion, characterization, substitution, become irrelevant when we think solely in terms of the objective.
*
Stay intent on your objective.
*
These acting schools want to cure anxiety, guilt, nervousness, self-consciousness, ambivalence. But this is the human condition and the stuff of art… These things won’t be cured in acting school.
*
If the actor goes to rehearsal with a mind and spirit dedicated to discover and perform the actions simple and truthfully, she will take this spirit on stage, along with the discoveries. Don’t while away the time looking for magic character or magic emotion.
*
All the Stanislavsky stuff is like taking shower. Jump into the pool. (mine)
*
To attempt to manipulate another’s feelings is blackmail. It is misguided, abusive and useless.
*
A good wait-person will heed an anticipate the needs on the diner and not extort compliments with, “is everything okay?”
*
Be simple, try to accomplish the goal like that delineated by the author. Then both our successes and our failure can have dignity.
*
Choose a good objective which is fun: choose war, marriage, lost in the wood. (mine) Two men in a trench. One is dying.
*
Get rid of absurd and improbable directions: Feel the music with your arms and legs, put yourself in the state you were when you puppy died. Create a 4th wall between you self and the audience.
*
You went into the theater to get an explanation. That is why everyone goes to the theater.
*
When you accept that you don’t know what you are doing, you put yourself in the same state as the protagonist in the play. Just like him, you’re faced with a task whose solution is hidden from you. Just like the protagonist you are confused, frightened, anxious. Just like him, your certainly will prove false, and humble you; you will be led down long paths and have to turn back; your rewards will come from unexpected quarters. This is the course of a play, a career, a performance, a life in the theater.
*
The beginning of wisdom is the phrase “I don’t understand.”
*
Acting has nothing to do with the ability to concentrate. It has to do with the ability to imagine. For concentration, like emotion, like belief, cannot be forced. It cannot be controlled.
*
The more a person’s concentration is outward, the more naturally interesting that person becomes (unlike bores) As Brecht said: Nothing I life is more interesting as a man trying to get a knot out of his shoelace.
*
Why not direct yourself toward the actions of the play. If they are concrete, provocative, and fun, it will be no task at all to do them; and to do them is more interesting than to concentrate on them.
*
Acting finally had nothing whatever to do with the ability to concentrate. The ability to concentrate flows naturally from the ability to choose something interesting.
*
The audience should go out front and you should go on stage as if to a hot date, not as if to give blood. No one w ants to see you be responsible. They want to see you being exciting.
Learn to ask: What?
*
Show up 15 minutes early, know you lines cold. Chose a gun fun physical objective.
THE METHOD
Affective memory, is an element of Stanislavski?s „system? and of Method acting, two related approaches to acting. Affective memory requires actors to call on the memory of details from a situation similar (or more recently a situation with similar emotional import) to those of their characters. Stanislavski believed actors needed to take emotion and personality to the stage and call upon it when playing their character. He also explored the use of objectives, actioning, and empathizing with the character. “Emotional recall” is the basis for Lee Strasberg„s Method Acting. “Sense memory” is used to refer to the recall of physical sensations surrounding emotional events (instead of the emotions themselves). The use of affective memory remains a controversial topic in acting theory
In theatre, substitution refers to the method of understanding elements in the life of one's character by comparing them to elements in one's own life. For example, if an actor is portraying a character who is being blackmailed, he or she could think back to some embarrassing or private fact about his or her own life, and mentally superimpose that onto the character's secret. This is associated with the realism-driven representational acting approach.
Substitution can be emotionally challenging, but supporters argue it produces a better and more sincere performance than trying to understand a character's motivations without reference to one's own life
The fourth wall is the imaginary "wall" at the front of the stage in a traditional three-walled box set in a proscenium theatre, through which the audience sees the action in the world of the play.[1][2] The concept is usually attributed to the philosopher, critic and dramatist Denis Diderot.[3] The term itself was used by Molière.[4] The fourth wall illusion is often associated with naturalist theatre of the mid 19th-century, and especially with the innovations of the French director André Antoine.[4]
The restrictions of the fourth wall were challenged in 20th-century theatre.[3] Speaking directly to, otherwise acknowledging or doing something to the audience through this imaginary wall – or, in film and television, through a camera – is known as "breaking the fourth wall". As it is a penetration of a boundary normally set up or assumed by works of fiction, this is considered a metafictionaltechnique.[1][5] In literature and video games, it occurs when a character acknowledges the reader or player.[6]
Breaking the fourth wall should not be confused with the aside or the soliloquy, dramatic devices often used by playwrights where the character on stage is delivering an inner monologue, giving the audience insight into their thoughts.[7]
Jewish Religious Leader. HILLEL: "If I am not for myself who is for me? And being for my own self, what am 'I'? And if not now, when?"[4] and (2) the expression of the ethic of reciprocity, or "Golden Rule": "That which is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow. That is the whole Torah; the rest is the explanation; go and learn."[5]
"As Hillel the Elder had stated, whosoever destroys a soul, it is considered as if he destroyed an entire world. And whosoever that saves a life, it is considered as if he saved an entire world."[6]
http://www.qcc.cuny.edu/assessment/docs/ai-docs/fall2013/TH-120-121-Fall2013.pdf