by Tony Kushner
(Joe looks away from the paper.)
LOUIS: It’s sort of brilliant, in a satanic sort of way, how you conclude— (Continue below:)
JOE: I don’t believe this.
LOUIS (Continuous from above): —How you concluded that these women had no right to sue under the Air and Water Protection Act because—
JOE: My opinions are being criticized by the guy who changes the coffee filters in the secretaries’ lounge!
LOUIS: Because the Air and Water Protection Act doesn’t protect people, but actually only air and water. That’s like— (Continue below:)
JOE: It’s not your fault that you have no idea what you’re talking about— (Continue below:)
LOUIS (Continuous from above): That’s like fucking creative, or something.
(Under his breath while flipping through the cases) Have you no decency, have you no—
JOE (Continuous from above): —but it’s unbelievable to me how total ignorance is no impediment for you in forming half-baked uninformed snap judgments masquerading as adult opinions, you, you . . . child.
(Joe snatches at the papers. Louis dodges, at the same time locating the case he’s been looking for.)
LOUIS: But my absolute favorite is this:
Stephens versus the United States.
JOE: Of course. I was waiting for that. It’s a complicated case, you don’t—
LOUIS: The army guy who got a dishonorable discharge—for being gay. Now as I understand it, this Stephens had told the army he was gay when he enlisted, but when he got ready to retire they booted him out. Cheat the queer of his pension.
JOE: Right. And he sued. And he won the case. He got the pension back. And then the—
LOUIS: The first judges gave him his pension back, yes, because: they ruled that gay men are members of a legitimate minority, entitled to the special protection of the Fourteenth Amendment of the U.S. Constitution. Equal Protection under the Law.
I can just imagine how that momentary lapse into you know sanity was received! So then all the judges on the Second Circuit were hastily assembled, and—
JOE: And they found for the guy again, they—
LOUIS: But but but!
On an equitable estoppel. I had to look that up, I’m Mr. Coffee, I can’t be expected to know these things. They didn’t change the decision, they just changed the reason for the decision. Right? They gave it to him on a technicality: the army knew Stephens was gay when he enlisted. That’s all, that’s why he won. Not because it’s unconstitutional to discriminate against homosexuals. Because homosexuals, they write, are not entitled to equal protection under the law.
JOE: Not, not insofar as precedence determines the—which is how law works, as opposed to—The definition of a suspect class, which you probably’ve never—
LOUIS: Actually they didn’t write this.
(He goes right up to Joe; speaking softly) You did. They gave this opinion to Wilson to write, which since they know he’s a vegetable incapable of writing do-re-mi, was quite the vote of confidence in his industrious little sidekick. This is an important bit of legal fag-bashing, isn’t it? They trusted you to do it. And you didn’t disappoint.
JOE: It’s law not justice, it’s power, not the merits of its exercise, it’s not an expression of the ideal, it’s—
LOUIS: So who said, “Have you no decency?”
JOE: I didn’t come here to—I’m leaving.
(Joe starts toward the door. Louis gets in his way.)
LOUIS: You moron, how can you not know that?
JOE: I’m leaving, you . . . son of a bitch, get out of my—
LOUIS: It’s only the greatest punchline in American history.
JOE (Very angry, threatening): Out of my way, Louis.
LOUIS: “Have you no decency, at long last, sir, have you no decency at all?”
JOE: I DON’T KNOW WHO SAID IT! Why are you doing this to me?! I love you! Please believe me, please, I love you. Stop hurting me like—
LOUIS: Joseph Welch! The Army/McCarthy hearings!
Ask Roy. He’ll tell you. He knows. He was there.
(Little pause)
Roy Cohn. What I want to know is, did you fuck him?
JOE: Did I what?
LOUIS: How often has the latex-sheathed cock I put in my mouth been previously in the mouth of the most evil, twisted, vicious bastard ever to snort coke at Studio 54, because lips that kissed those lips will never kiss mine.
JOE: Don’t worry about that, just get out of the—
(Joe tries to push Louis aside; Louis pushes back, forcefully.)
LOUIS: Did you fuck him, did he pay you to let him—
JOE: MOVE!
(Louis throws the Xeroxes in Joe’s face. They fly everywhere. Joe pushes Louis, Louis grabs Joe.)
LOUIS: You lied to me, you love me, well fuck you, you cheap piece of—
(Joe shoves Louis aside. Louis stumbles as Joe starts for the door.)
LOUIS: He’s got AIDS!
(Joe stops.)
LOUIS: Did you even know that?
(Joe starts again for the door, but Louis grabs him. They struggle.)
LOUIS: Stupid closeted bigots, you probably never figured out that each other was—
JOE: Shut up.
(Joe slugs Louis in the stomach, hard. Louis goes to his knees. Again Joe tries to leave, but Louis grabs his leg and won’t let go. Louis pulls himself up, using Joe’s leg and jacket, as Joe struggles to free himself.)
LOUIS: Fascist hypocrite lying filthy—
(Joe punches Louis in the face. Louis drops to the floor, clutching his eye. Joe stands over him.)
JOE: Now stop. Now stop. I . . .
LOUIS: Oh jeeesus, aw jeez, oh . . .
JOE: Please. Say you’re OK, please. Please.
LOUIS: That . . . Hurt.
JOE: I never did that before, I never hit anyone before, I—
(Louis sits up. One eye has been cut. Blood’s running down his face.)
JOE: Can you open it? Can you see?
LOUIS: I can see blood.
JOE: Let me get a towel, let me—
LOUIS: I could have you arrested you . . . Creep.
They’d think I put you in jail for beating me up.
JOE: I never hit anyone before, I—
LOUIS: But it’d really be for those decisions.
(Laughing) It was like a sex scene in an Ayn Rand novel, huh?
JOE: I hurt you. I’m sorry, Louis, I never hit anyone before, I . . .
(Joe tries to touch Louis. Louis shoves Joe’s hand away.)
LOUIS: Yeah yeah get lost. Before I really lose my temper and hurt you back.
I just want to lie here and bleed for a while. Do me good.
(Joe stands still, not knowing what to do. He looks at his hand, which he’s hurt in the fight; there’s blood on it.
He looks at Louis, then starts to leave, then stops. He stares at Louis, unable to move.
Then he leaves.)
Scene 11
Later that night. Roy in a very serious hospital bed, monitoring machines and IV drips galore. Ethel appears.
ROY (Very weak, singing to himself):
John Brown’s body lies a-moulderin’ in the grave,
John Brown’s body lies a-moulderin’ in the grave,
John Brown’s body lies a-moulderin’ in the grave,
His truth is marching on . . .
ETHEL: Look at that big smile. What you got to smile about, Roy?
ROY: I’m going, Ethel. Finally, finally done with this world, at long long last. All mine enemies will be standing on the other shore, mouths gaping open like stupid fish, while the Almighty parts the Sea of Death and lets his Royboy cross over to Jordan. On dry land and still a lawyer.
ETHEL: Don’t count your chickens, Roy.
It’s over.
ROY: Over?
ETHEL: I wanted the news should come from me.
The panel ruled against you Roy.
ROY: No, no, they only star
ted meeting two days ago.
ETHEL: They recommended disbarment.
ROY: The Executive still has to rule . . . on the recommendation, it’ll take another week to sort it out and before then—
ETHEL: The Executive was waiting, and they ruled, one two three. They accepted the panel’s recommendation.
ROY (A beat, then): I’m . . .
ETHEL: One of the main guys on the Executive leaned over to his friend and said, “Finally. I’ve hated that little faggot for thirty-six years.”
ROY: I’m . . . They . . .?
ETHEL: They won, Roy. You’re not a lawyer anymore.
ROY: But am I dead?
ETHEL: No. They beat you. You lost.
(Pause)
I decided to come here so I could see could I forgive you. You who I have hated so terribly I have borne my hatred for you up into the heavens and made a needle-sharp little star in the sky out of it. It’s the star of Ethel Rosenberg’s Hatred, and it burns every year for one night only, June Nineteen. It burns acid green.
(Roy has turned his face away from her, looking in the opposite direction.)
ETHEL: I came to forgive but all I can do is take pleasure in your misery. Hoping I’d get to see you die more terrible than I did. And you are, ’cause you’re dying in shit, Roy, defeated. And you could kill me, but you couldn’t ever defeat me. You never won. And when you die all anyone will say is: Better he had never lived at all.
(Pause. Roy slowly turns his head back to stare at Ethel.)
ROY: Ma?
Muddy? Is it . . .?
Ma?
ETHEL (Uncertain, then): It’s Ethel, Roy.
ROY: Muddy? I feel bad.
ETHEL (Looking around): Who are you talking to, Roy, it’s—
ROY: Good to see you, Ma, it’s been years.
I feel bad. Sing to me.
ETHEL: I’m not your mother, Roy.
ROY: It’s cold in here, I’m up so late, past my time.
Don’t be mad, Ma, but I’m scared . . .? A little.
Don’t be mad. Sing me a song. Please.
ETHEL: I don’t want to Roy, I’m not your—
ROY: Please, it’s scary out here. (He starts to cry)
(He sinks back) Oh God. Oh God, I’m so sorry . . .
(Little pause.)
ETHEL (Singing softly):
Shteyt a bocher
Un er tracht,
Tracht un tracht
A gantze nacht:
Vemen tzu nemen
Um nit farshemen
Vemen tsu nemen,
Um nit farshem.
Tum-ba-la, tum-ba-la, tum-balalaike,
Tum-ba-la, tum-ba-la, tum-balalaike,
Tum-balalaike, shpil balalaike—
(Roy is completely still, his eyes closed. He’s not breathing. Ethel watches him; then, quietly:)
ETHEL: Roy . . .? Are you . . .?
(She crosses to the bed, looks at him. Goes back to her chair.)
ETHEL: That’s it.
(Belize enters, goes to the bed.)
BELIZE: Wake up, it’s time to—
Oh.
Oh, you’re—
(Roy’s eyes pop open and he sits bolt upright!)
ROY: No I’m NOT!
(Shaking with some terrible, jubilant, hateful joy) I fooled you, Ethel! I knew who you were all along! I can’t believe you fell for that Ma stuff!! I just wanted to see if I could finally, finally make Ethel Rosenberg sing! I WIN!
(Something very bad happens in his head—he’s thrown a pulmonary clot, and it strikes his brain—and he falls back on the bed)
Oh fuck, oh fuck me I—
(In a faraway voice, to Belize) Next time around: I don’t want to be a man. I wanna be an octopus. Remember that, OK? A fucking— (Punching an imaginary button with his finger) Hold.
(Roy dies.)
ACT FIVE:
Heaven, I’m in Heaven
January 1986
Scene 1
Very late, same night. Prior has been moved to a proper hospital room. He’s standing on his bed, a pillow covering his crotch. There’s an eerie light on him. Hannah is sleeping in a chair, a flimsy hospital blanket covering her lap and legs. She stirs, moans a little, wakes up suddenly, sees Prior.
PRIOR: She’s approaching.
HANNAH: What are you . . .?
She is?
PRIOR: Modesty forbids me explaining exactly how I know, but . . . I have an infallible barometer of Her proximity. And it’s rising.
HANNAH: Oh, nonsense, that’s—
PRIOR: She’s on Her way.
(The lights drain to black.)
HANNAH: Turn the lights back on, turn the lights—
(There is the sound of a silvery trumpet in the dark, and a tattoo of faraway drums. Silence. Thunder. Then all over the walls, Hebrew letters appear, writhing in flames. The scene is lit by their light. The Angel is there, suddenly. She is dressed in black and looks terrifying. Hannah screams and buries her face in her hands.)
ANGEL: I I I I Have Returned, Prophet,
(Thunder!)
And not according to Plan.
PRIOR: Take it back.
(Big thunderclap)
The Book, whatever you left in me, I won’t be its repository, I reject it.
(Thunder. To Hannah:)
Help me out here. HELP ME!
HANNAH (Closing her eyes tight, trying to shut it all out): I don’t, I don’t— (Pulling the blanket over her head) This is a dream it’s a dream it’s a—
PRIOR: I don’t think that’s really the point right at this particular—
HANNAH (Under the blanket): I don’t know what to—
PRIOR: Well it was your idea, reject the vision you said and—(Continue below:)
HANNAH: Yes but I thought it was more a . . . metaphorical . . . I—
PRIOR (Continuous from above): You said scriptural precedent, you said—
(Prior tries to yank the blanket away from Hannah, who hangs on to it.)
PRIOR: WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO—
HANNAH: You, you wrestle her.
PRIOR: SAY WHAT?
HANNAH: It’s an angel, you just . . . grab hold and say . . . oh what was it, wait, wait, umm . . . OH! Grab her, say, “I will not let thee go except thou bless me!”
PRIOR: And then what?
HANNAH: Then wrestle with her till she gives in.
PRIOR (A beat, then): YOU wrestle Her, I don’t know how to wrestle, I—
(Prior faces the Angel, who has been waiting for him, blazing with menace. She opens her arms, challenging, terrifying. Prior draws as deep a breath as he can; then, to his and her and Hannah’s surprise, he charges at the Angel. He throws his arms around her waist. She emits a terrible, impossibly loud, shuddering eagle-screech.)
PRIOR: I . . . will not let thee go except thou bless me.
(She tries to pry him off, but he hangs on. Prior and the Angel begin to wrestle. It is a life-and-death struggle, fierce, violent and deadly serious. The Angel at first is far stronger and has a clear upper hand. But she cannot pry Prior loose. As they struggle:)
PRIOR: Take back . . . your Book. Anti-Migration, that’s . . . so . . .feeble, I can’t believe . . . you couldn’t do better than that!
(Prior’s tenacity begins to tire and panic her. She screeches again, then unable to shake him off, she opens her wings wide and begins to beat them, battering Prior. He loses his grip for an instant; she rises immediately into the air. Prior leaps up, grabs her right leg and pulls down with all his might and weight. She beats her wings more furiously, rising higher, lifting him up off the ground, but he won’t let go.)
PRIOR: Free me! Unfetter me! Bless me or whatever . . . but I will be let go.
(The Angel is straining Heavenward but can’t ascend higher; Prior’s weight causes her to lose altitude.)
ANGEL (Her voice a whole chorus of voices): I I I I Am the CONTINENTAL PRINCIPALITY OF AMERICA, I I I I AM THE BIRD OF PREY I Will NOT BE COMPELLED, I—
> (They descend. Prior’s feet touch earth first, and he redoubles his grasp, first on her leg and then her torso, wrapping himself tightly around her. Helpless, she stretches her wings to their utmost, screams the eagle-screech again, and stops fighting.
Instantly there is a great blast of music. The fiery letters fade and the room is sunk in blue murk. A second blast of music, even louder, and, from above, a column of incredibly bright white light stabs through the blue. Within the column of light, a ladder of even brighter, purer light appears, reaching up into infinity. At the conjunctions of each rung there are flaming Alephs.)
ANGEL: Entrance has been gained. Return the Text to Heaven.
PRIOR (Terrified): Can I come back? I don’t want to go unless—
ANGEL (Very angry): You have prevailed, Prophet. You . . . Choose!
Now release me.
I have torn a muscle in my thigh.
PRIOR: Big deal, my leg’s been hurting for months.
(He releases the Angel. He hesitates. He looks at Hannah, asking her: “Should I go?” Frightened as she is, she manages to hold her hand out, bidding him to stay.
Prior, suddenly very sad, shakes his head no, and turns to the ladder. After one last look at the Angel, he puts his hands on the rungs, then one foot, then the other, and begins climbing. The column of bright light intensifies as he ascends, till Prior and the ladder are entirely subsumed within its blinding radiance and can no longer be seen.
Then abruptly the column of light disappears, and the room is drowned in semi-darkness. The ladder and Prior are gone.
The Angel turns to Hannah.)
HANNAH: What? What? You’ve got no business with me, I didn’t call you, you’re his fever dream not mine, and he’s gone now and you should go, too, I’m waking up right . . . NOW!
(Nothing happens. The Angel spreads her wings. The room becomes red hot. The Angel extends her hands toward Hannah. Hannah walks toward her, torn between immense unfamiliar desire and fear. Hannah kneels. The Angel kisses her on the forehead and then the lips—a long, hot kiss.)
ANGEL: The Body is the Garden of the Soul.
(Hannah has an enormous orgasm, as the Angel flies away to the accompanying glissando of a baroque piccolo trumpet.)
Scene 2
Prior Walter is in Heaven. He wears new prophet robes, red, dark brown and white stripes, reminiscent of Charlton Heston’s Moses-parting-the-Red-Sea drag in The Ten Commandments. Beneath the robe, Prior’s wearing his flimsy white hospital gown. He’s carrying the Book of the Anti-Migratory Epistle.
