He exited the stage, leaving his father standing mute and stripped of his power.
Dominic fell back in the theatre seat as the stage quickly darkened and the figures and props dissolved into the shadows.
In an instant the set was gone. He felt rigid and tense and there was a soft roaring in his ears like the sound of a seashell. He felt as though he had just awakened from a dream. But he knew it had been no dream.
A memory?
Perhaps. But as he sat there in the darkness, he had the feeling he had no memories. That the scene he had just witnessed was a solitary moment, a free-floating, always existing piece of the timestream. A moment out of time.
What is happening to me? The thought ate through him like a furious acid, leaving him with a vague sense of panic. Standing up, he knew that he must leave the place. Dominic walked up the aisle to the lobby, refusing to look back at the dark stage.
The light in the lobby comforted him and he felt better immediately. Already, the fears and crazy thoughts were fading away. It’s all right now. Better get on home. As he moved towards the exit, he heard a sound and stopped. A door slipping its latch.
“Mr. Kazan!” said a familiar voice. “What’re you still doing here?”
Turning, Dominic saw Bob Yeager, the Barclay’s stage manager, standing in the doorway of his office.
“Oh hi, Bob. I was…I was just going over a few things. Just getting ready to leave.”
Yeager rubbed his beard, grinned. “Just getting over those first-night jitters, huh? I can understand that, yes sir.”
Dominic smiled uneasily. “Yeah, the first night’s always the worst…”
“Hey, you did a great job, Mr. Kazan. Just fine.”
“I did?”
Yeager nodded, smiled.
“I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it,” said Dominic. “Well, I guess I’d better be heading home. Good night.”
When he arrived at his townhouse, he found that he couldn’t sleep. He had the nagging sensation that something was wrong, that something in his life was out of whack, out of synch, but he couldn’t pin it down. After making a cup of instant coffee, he wandered into his den where a typewriter and a pile of manuscript pages awaited him on a large messy desk.
Sitting down, he decided to go back to that play he had been trying to write. Every actor thinks he can be a playwright, right? Some ideas started flowing as Dominic began to type, and it was very late before he went to bed.
The next evening’s performance had gone better than opening night, but it was still rough. Dominic was playing the part of Alan in Wilson’s “Lemon Sky,” and although the director was pleased with his characterization, Dominic was not. He had learned long ago that you cannot merely please your audience; you must also please yourself.
He remained in the dressing room, dawdling and taking his time, waiting for everyone else to leave. The rest of the cast planned to meet at their favorite bistro for drinks and food, and he had declined politely. There would be time for such things later. Tonight, Dominic felt compelled to go back into the theatre itself, back into the empty darkness where careers were made or destroyed. He was not really certain why he felt the need to stay behind. But he had feelings, or rather, memories. Or perhaps they were dreams…or memories of dreams. Or…
He was not certain what they were, but he felt convinced that the answers lay in the dark shadows of the auditorium.
Finally, everyone had cleared out and he left the dressing room for the theatre itself. As he entered through the lobby doors, he saw no one, not even Sam. There were no lights, other than the green, glowing letters of the exit lights, and as he moved down the aisle, he had the sensation of entering an abandoned cathedral. The darkness seemed to crowd about him like a thick fog, and he began to feel strangely lightheaded. As he drew himself deeper into the vast sea of empty seats, he could see the dim outlines of the set beyond the open act-curtain—a modern suburban home in El Cajon, California.
Then slowly, the stage lights crackled as they gathered heat, and bathed the stage in light and life. The shapes which took form and color were again the props of a tortured childhood.
The shabby living room, the kitchenette, worn carpets and dingy curtains.
The door at stage center opened and his mother entered, wearing a simple, tailored suit. Her hair was silvering and had been puffed by a beauty shop. She appeared elegant in a simply stated manner. He had never remembered his mother looking like that. She looked about the room as though expecting someone to be home.
MOTHER
Dominic, where are you? Dominic?
She appeared perplexed as she closed the door, calling his name again. Then turning towards the footlights, she looked beyond them to where he stood transfixed.
MOTHER (cont’d)
Oh there you are. Dominic, come up here! Come to me…
The recognition startled him, but he felt himself responding as though wrapped in the web of a dream. There was an unreality about the moment, a sensation which prompted him to question nothing, to merely react.
And he did.
Climbing up and onto the stage as the heat of the lights warmed him, he felt as though he were passing through a barrier.
It was that magic which every actor feels when the curtain rises and he steps forth, but it was also very different this time…
DOMINIC
Where’s Dad? He wasn’t there, was he?
MOTHER
(looking away)
No, Dominic…I’m sorry. I don’t know where he is. He never came home from work.
She paused to straighten a doily on the arm of the sofa, then turned back to him.
MOTHER (cont’d)
But Dominic, it was wonderful! So beautiful a play, I never seen! And you were wonderful! I am so proud of you, my son!
Dominic smiled and walked over to her and hugged her. It was the first time he could remember doing such a thing in a long, long time. Overt affection in his home had been a rarity, something shunned and almost feared.
DOMINIC
Thanks, Mom.
MOTHER
I always knew you were a good boy. I always knew you would make me proud some day.
DOMINIC
Did you?
He pulled away from her, looked at her intently.
DOMINIC (cont’d)
Then why didn’t you ever tell me when I was a kid? Back when I really needed it.
His mother turned away, stared into the sink.
MOTHER
You wouldn’t understand, Dominic. You don’t know how many times I wanted to say something, but…
DOMINIC
But it was him, wasn’t it? Christ, Mom, were you that much afraid of him that you could just stand by and watch him destroy your only son?
MOTHER
Don’t talk like that, Dominic. I prayed for you Dominic…I prayed into the night that you would be stronger than me, that you would stand up to him. I did what I could Dominic…
DOMINIC
I think I needed more than prayers, Mom…but that’s okay. I understand. I’m sorry I jumped on you like that.
Then came the sound of a key fumbling in a lock. The click of the doorknob sounded loud and ominous. The door swung open slowly to reveal his father, obviously drunk, leaning against the threshold. Joseph Kazan shambled onto the set, seemingly unaware of anyone else’s presence. He collapsed in his usual chair and stared out into empty space.
DOMINIC
Where have you been?
His father looked at him with a hardness, unaffected by the glaze in his eyes.
FATHER
What the fuck you care?
DOMINIC
You’re my father. I care. Sons are supposed to care about their fathers…or haven’t you heard?
FATHER
(coughing)
Don’t get wise with me! I can still get out of this chair and whomp you one!
DOMINIC
(smiling sadly)
> Is that the only form of communication you know?—“Whomping” people?
FATHER
(laughing)
Ah, it’s not even worth it! You and your fancy words…What do you know about bein’ a man?
DOMINIC
Dad, I wanted you to be there tonight. You knew I wanted you there…didn’t you?
His father looked at him and the hardness in his eyes seemed to soften a bit. Looking away, Joseph Kazan spoke in a low voice.
FATHER
Yeah…yeah, I knew.
DOMINIC
So why weren’t you there? Did it really feel better to crawl into one of those sewers you call a bar and get filthy drunk? Did you think that getting juiced would make it all go away?! What do—
FATHER
Shut up! Shut up before I whomp ya!
His father had put his hands over his ears, trying to shut out the offending words.
DOMINIC
No, I don’t think so. I don’t think you’ll be “whomping” anybody. Ever again.
FATHER
That’s brave words from a wimp like you.
DOMINIC
Don’t talk to me about “brave.” Why didn’t you come to the play tonight? My play! Your son’s play!
FATHER
What’re you talkin’ about?
DOMINIC
What were you afraid of, Dad? That maybe some of your buddies might see you? Might catch you going to see a bunch of “faggots?”
FATHER
Hah! See, you even admit it yourself!
Dominic’s mother moved in between the two men.
MOTHER
Oh God, look at you two! So much anger…so much hate. Please, stop it…!
DOMINIC
Hate? No, Mom, that’s not right. A lack of love, maybe…but not really hate. There’s a difference.
FATHER
(looking at his son)
What the hell do you know?
DOMINIC
I think that’s the heart of the problem around here—not enough love in this house. There isn’t any love here. No warmth…no love.
FATHER
Shit, I’ll tell y’about love! I worked for yer Mom for thirty-five years. Worked hard! Did she ever have to go out’n take a job like other guys’ wives? Shit, no!
His father was trembling as he spoke, his florid face puffy and shining with sweat.
DOMINIC
There’s more to love than that, Dad. Like the love between you and me…When I was a kid, did you ever just sit down and play with me? Did you ever tell me stories, or try to make me laugh? How about going fishing together, or flying a kite? Did we ever do any things like that?
FATHER
A man has to work!
DOMINIC
Did you really love your work that much?
FATHER
What do y’mean?
DOMINIC
Did you love your work more than me?
FATHER
(confused, angry)
Don’t talk no bullshit to me!
DOMINIC
It’s not bullshit, Dad. Listen, when I was little—no brothers or sisters—I spent a lot of time alone. Sometimes I needed someone to guide me, to teach me.
FATHER
I never ran out and never came home late at night…ask your mother! I was always there, every night!
DOMINIC
(smiling sadly)
Oh yeah, you were there physically. But never emotionally, can’t you see that? I can remember seeing other kids out doing things with their fathers, and I can remember really hating them—because they had something I never did. That kind of stuff hurt me a lot more than your belt ever did.
His father did not respond, but looked down at his lap where he had unconsciously knotted his hands together.
MOTHER
Dominic, leave him alone now. Let’s all have some coffee, and we can—
DOMINIC
No, Mom. Let’s finish it. Let’s get it all out. It’s been a long time coming.
(to his father)
Hey, Dad…do you know I have no memories of you ever encouraging me to do anything? Except all that macho shit.
FATHER
What kind of shit?
DOMINIC
Remember when I saved my paper route money and bought that cheap guitar?
FATHER
Yeah, so…?
DOMINIC
But I guess you’ve forgotten how you screamed and yelled that you couldn’t afford music lessons, and music was only for “fairies” anyhow?
FATHER
I ain’t sure…
DOMINIC
Well, I’m sure. And when I told you I’d teach myself how to play it, you laughed, remember?
FATHER
Did I?
DOMINIC
Yes, and I don’t have to strain to recall how that felt. It’s carved right into my heart. The whole goddamned scene.
FATHER
So who ever heard of anybody teachin’ themselves to play music? It’s crazy!
DOMINIC
Yeah, maybe…but I did teach myself, didn’t I? And I played in a band until that night I came home late from a dance and you were waiting for me behind the door—Remember that, Dad? The night you smashed my guitar over the sink?
His father looked away from him. He seemed truly embarrassed now.
DOMINIC (cont’d)
That’s what my life’s been like, Dad; me doing interesting things despite what I got from you. Or maybe I should say what I didn’t get from you!
FATHER
That’s horseshit.
DOMINIC
(shaking his head)
I wish it was. I really do. But it’s all true, Dad. All true.
FATHER
Why don’t you just shut up!
DOMINIC
Because I’m not finished yet. What’s the matter, am I threatening you? I think that’s what the problem has always been—you never liked the way your wide-eyed kid had some natural curiosity about the world, did you?
FATHER
(sounding tired now)
You’re not making any sense.
DOMINIC
Well try this one: you weren’t only threatened by your son, but just about everybody. Anybody you thought was more intelligent than you, or more educated, or had more money…you always had something shitty to say about all of them, didn’t you?
FATHER
Now, it ain’t like that!
DOMINIC
Wait! Let me finish. So then you wake up one morning and you realize that your own weirdo kid was not going to grow up to be a beer-drinking macho man, you just gave up, didn’t you?
FATHER
What do you mean?
DOMINIC
I mean that when you saw that your own kid was turning out to be a hell of a lot different from you—but very much like all those kinds of people you feared and therefore despised—then you stopped being a father to that strange son.
FATHER
I what?
DOMINIC
Didn’t you know that all I wanted was a little approval? A little love?
FATHER
You talk like you got it all figured out…what do you think you are—a doctor or something?
DOMINIC
(grinning)
No. No “doctor”…just a son. And if I haven’t “figured it all out,” at least I’m trying. You never even tried!
His father stared at him and tried to speak, but no words would come. His lower lip trembled slightly from the effort.
DOMINIC
Don’t you understand why I’m telling you all this? Don’t you understand what I’ve been trying to say?
His father shook his head quickly, uttered a single word.
FATHER
No…
DOMINIC
I can’t think of anything else to say. No other way to make you understand…except to just tell you, Dad. I don’t know why, but after all the years
, and after all the pain, I know that I still love you, that I have to love you.
He walked closer to his father and stared into his eyes, searching for some glimmer of understanding.
DOMINIC (cont’d)
I love you, Dad.
(pause)
And I need to hear the same thing from you.
There was a long silence as father and son regarded each other. Dominic could feel the presence of some great force gathering over the stage. Then he saw the tears forming in his father’s eyes.
FATHER
(stepping forward)
Oh, Dominic…
His father grabbed him up in his arms and pulled him close. For an instant, Dominic resisted, but then relaxed, falling into the embrace with his father.
FATHER
My son…what happened to us?
(pause)
I…love you! I do love you!
Dominic felt the barrel-chest of his father close against his own and he was very conscious of how strange a sensation it was. Suddenly there was a great roaring in his ears and he was instantly terrified, disoriented. His father had relaxed his emotional embrace and Dominic pulled back and looked into the man’s face.
He was only vaguely aware of the stage lights quickly fading to black, but in the last instant of illumination he saw that his father no longer stood before him. He now stared into the face of a stranger.
An actor.
The roaring sound had coalesced into something recognizable, and Dominic turned to look out into the brimming audience—a sea of people who were on their feet, clamoring, applauding wildly.
Then the curtain closed, sealing him off from them, from the torrent of appreciation.
He was only half aware of his two fellow actors—the ones who had portrayed his father and mother—as they moved to each side of him, joining their hands in his.
The lights came up as the curtain reopened. The audience renewed its furious applause, and suddenly he understood.
Fearful Symmetries Page 43
