by John Guare
RON, into MATT’S camera: He might. The kids in the underwear. It’s everywhere. I painted the giant underwear mural in Times Square plus right by the Midtown Tunnel—
MATT: You’re a sign painter?
RON, into MATT’S camera: That’s one way to say it. Thanks to that underwear ad, I got a disability which gives me the time to come here—
DOLO, into MATT’S camera: He fell off the billboard.
RON, into MATT’S camera: I fell off the billboard scaffolding while painting this skinny drug addict guy and girl in a bed wearing no underwear which is funny for an underwear commercial and I backed up to look at what I was painting because I didn’t like the shadows I’m painting. Shadows are one thing. I didn’t get into sign painting to paint actual body parts. I backed up on the scaffold and fell off right over the Queens Midtown Tunnel during five o’clock rush. The underwear people gave me cash and lots of underwear. Do you want some underwear? I brought a lot for Pete, but I got extra—
RON reaches in a plastic bag and takes out a stack of underpants.
RON, into MATT’S camera: Does the Pope wear underwear?
MATT, takes it: This is just the kind he likes.
PETE, to us: At that moment, I loved them.
RON, into MATT’S camera: I got the disability and plus I won the raffle. Now this. Things are going good.
DOLO, into MATT’S camera: I won the raffle.
RON: It’s not like the lottery.
MATT: Excuse me—
RON, to DOLO: Nice guy.
MATT goes behind the screen to PETE.
MATT, whisper: I can’t exploit them. They’re your parents.
SARAH, whisper: I love them.
PETE, whisper: I give them to you. Brother. Sister. Get them. The big one. Sin!
MATT looks at PETE and returns.
MATT: Would you like to go to confession?
DOLO: You’d hear my confession?
RON: Do what he says.
DOLO goes into the chamber. RON looks at SARAH, longingly.
SARAH: Everything’s going to be all right.
RON: I see so many nice cafes serving wine. Are you attached?
SARAH: Are you asking me out?
RON: While the wife is in confession, I thought you and me—a little adventurola while I’m in Europe.
SARAH: I am a nun.
RON: Oh. Look, I didn’t mean—
SARAH: No. I’m flattered.
RON: You are? That’s better than nothing. Thank you.
RON pulls away. They go.
In the confessional, DOLO kneels. PETE behind the screen focuses the video. MATT leans into DOLO, very intimately.
DOLO: Bless me, father, for I have sinned, it’s been just a week since my last confession but I need to do this for I have sinned sins that made Peter leave America. I drove him away. Because of the sin inside of me—
MATT: What is the sin you want to get forgiven?
DOLO: No. I never told anyone—
MATT: You can tell me.
DOLO: All my life I dreamed of coming to Rome. The nuns in school saying, Oh, if you can just get to Rome—this water—is it safe?
As she leans over to get a bottle of water from her bag, PETE slips around the screen and gets in better focus. DOLO sips.
MATT: Are you happy to be here?
DOLO: Yes. This Holy Year is a gift. Just go to four churches and say a few prayers and God forgives all your sins—
MATT: You don’t believe that—do you?
DOLO: Of course I believe it, Father. You think eighty million pilgrims believe a lie? It’s all spelled out in black and white. You go to the four basilicas. You ask for forgiveness and you are forgiven. Except for one thing. There’s some sins that don’t get forgiven.
MATT: There’s only seven sins. Pale Gas.
DOLO: There are secret sins that they don’t give a name to. But we know what they are. That’s why I have to be punished.
PETE leans over MATT.
PETE: Why do you have to be punished?
DOLO: You sound like Pete.
PETE backs away.
MATT: Tell me. Why do you have to be punished?
DOLO: Every time you see in the paper an unsolved murder, I did it.
MATT and PETE and SARAH look at each other and stifle a laugh.
MATT: Why?
DOLO: That’s why I married Ron. Because of my in-laws—Ron’s mom and dad—Ron’s father murdered Ron’s mother in the apartment we live in—
PETE is troubled.
MATT: In the apartment where you live?
DOLO: As soon as I learned that Ron’s father murdered Ron’s mother in that apartment, I said I have to live here. I have to die here. This is my fate because all my life I have got these letters accusing me of terrible sins—stealing, cheating, torturing dogs and cats which I wouldn’t do—
PETE: Since when?
DOLO: Oh, you do sound like Peter.
MATT: Please, go on. Since when?
DOLO: From the time I been six or seven, I have received poison pen letters telling me I committed sins I don’t remember. Letters that say the time of your punishment is coming. Ron has to do what his father did. Ron has to murder me. That’s why I want my sins forgiven. So I’ll be ready to die.
MATT: But what are your sins?
DOLO: I got a secret sin so deep even I don’t know what it is.
MATT: What is the sin?
DOLO: The ones we’re punished for over and over.
RON butts into the confessional.
RON: Are you taking all day? She has these delusions of grandeur about sinning. What? Were you a hooker in Times Square? What? Were you a hired killer? Where’s the money from the banks you robbed? What sin is she talking about? She’s like a saint—
DOLO: Get out of my confession!
RON: You talk about these sins? Do you run a drug ring? Are you involved in international white slavery? You don’t go anywhere—you don’t do anything. You have to do something to commit a sin. Forgive me for overhearing, but could I sardine in here a moment? Bless me, Father, it’s been a long time since—but when in Rome—it’s funny being in Rome and saying when in Rome—
MATT: Please. Your turn is coming.
RON, to DOLO: Do nice sins.
RON goes.
DOLO: I know I have sin because this pain inside has to be a sin.
MATT is startled by her. He looks at PETE.
PETE, fierce: Go on.
MATT: Go on.
DOLO: Bless me, Father, for I have—Did I say that? I—keep getting letters that say I have sinned.
PETE, whisper: Who are the letters from?
DOLO, whisper: Pete? Is that you? Pete?
PETE backs off.
MATT: Who are the letters from?
DOLO: What?
MATT: Who are the letters from?
DOLO: My son.
MATT: Pete?
DOLO: No. My other son.
PETE frowns.
Those letters say I had a baby when I was very young and I gave the baby away because I was a child and now that baby is trying to find me and is very angry at me. The baby is a grown man now and has found me and wants to kill me. I don’t answer the letters because I can’t remember having any baby except Pete. But the letters say, “Who is my father?”
MATT: Who was the father?
DOLO: You think I’d remember that, but I can’t remember being with any other man but Ronnie. Another letter said I had another baby at a high school prom and murdered it at the prom and went right back dancing. That letter had a cut-out finger pointing at me. Sinner, sinner. Another letter had proof I blew up the World Trade Center and another letter knows I murdered John Lennon. I think I’d remember killing John Lennon. But how could I kill O. J. Simpson’s wife? I never been to California. How could I shoot down an airliner that crashed? How could I murder a six-year-old beauty queen in Colorado? I didn’t kill Princess Diana. I wouldn’t bring down the plane that killed John John
and his wife. But I did. These letters keep coming saying I have proof and these are all sins. Can you forgive them?
MATT: Does it make you feel better telling me?
RON, pokes in: You been in there long enough.
DOLO: Give me absolution?
MATT: I do.
DOLO: Now give me penance. MATT: What is that?
DOLO: Penance for my sins!
MATT: I don’t know what that is—
DOLO: You can’t do it?
MATT: What do you want me to do?
DOLO: I knew it. You can’t do it. No hard feelings, Father. There are some sins that can’t be forgiven.
DOLO goes.
MATT: Come back. Come back.
Gregorian chant. RON comes in, kneels.
RON: Bless me, Father, blah blah blah—
MATT: Have you seen these letters?
RON: Her letters? I see them before she gets them. She writes herself poison pen letters, then gives them to me to mail. And then gets the idea to come to Rome to get these sins forgiven that she’s invented. I apologize for her—
MATT: You don’t believe anything about this Holy Year?
RON: It’s nice for the tourism.
MATT: But still you came to Rome—
RON: We won the raffle. And we want to find Pete.
MATT: Have you always dreamt of being here?
RON: I was stationed here in the sixties, but I never went off base. Rome was never on any dream list. Yellowstone was. Bears. Old Faithful. That’s a trip. I’m a city boy raised in Sunnyside who always wondered how he—myself—would fare should I find myself lost in the wilderness. I’d like to find that out about myself. I wouldn’t get very lost—just lost enough.
MATT: But you came to find Pete?
RON: Not entirely. I also came for the sin part.
MATT: I thought you didn’t believe.
RON: Not my sin—
PETE, taping, leans in over MATT.
PETE: Whose sin?
RON: Pete?
MATT: Whose sin?
RON: I’m getting like the wife. Hearing Pete every—
MATT: What sin?
RON: My father’s—Is this off the record? I don’t want the Pope hearing this. This is just confession, right?
MATT: Right.
RON: In the apartment where I live—where I grew up—where Pete grew up—my father—when I was a kid—murdered my mother. It’s funny being here because my father killed my—killed her—on the day another Pope came to New York to pray for peace—nineteen sixty-five—I was eighteen —I keep having these dreams that I tried to kill the Pope, but why would I do that? My father killed my mother. Why? I don’t know—she was crazy—he made her crazy the way I made my wife crazy—the way Pete will when he gets married—that’s the way we Shaughnessy men do it. We drive our wives crazy. And then we kill them because we can’t stand to see what we’ve done to them …
PETE: What do you do to them?
RON: I would like to have my father’s sin forgiven because I feel his sin inside me and I do not want to do the same thing to my wife—although you can see that is where we are headed and can you blame me?
MATT looks at PETE, who drops the camera. MATT signals SARAH to take the camera. PETE looks at her. She backs away.
MATT: Does Pete know this?
RON: The murder? He must know it. We never brought it up.
MATT signals SARAH to pick up the camera and continue.
MATT: You never mentioned it?
SARAH takes over the video. PETE listens.
RON: That murder is like the facts of life. Would you teach sex to a kid? Kids learn sex on the streets. That’s what the streets are for. To learn the brutal—if I may call them that—realities of life. Kids are cruel. I’m sure kids told him about the murder which happened the day the Pope came to New York back in nineteen sixty-five to pray for peace. Lot of good that did. Pope Paul was the Pope then. That’s thirty-five years ago. Does Pete know? Sure. He must know. But he never heard it from me. If he does remember it, he’s forgotten it. I don’t even remember it. It’s the good part of being a kid. You forget …
I visited my father in the prison farm where they put him. I brought Pete out. My father sat at the prison piano and played “Deep in the Heart of Texas.” “Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” The men who wrote those songs only wrote that one song and they lived like rajahs in the Taj Mahal forever. My father asked me who I was. “I’m your son.” My father said, “You can’t be my son. You’re an old man. This is my son.” And he kissed Pete over and over. This little boy—my son—Pete started crying. “Don’t cry, boy. I’m writing you songs that’ll make you rich.” My father looked at me. “Are you an agent?” I said, “No, Dad, I’m not an agent.” He turned away. “Thank you for coming.” He kissed Pete, who he thought was me over and over. “I’m going to write you one hit song that’ll make you immortal and rich.” And I pulled Pete away and we went back home to our apartment.
RON is quiet. Behind the screen, SARAH whispers to PETE.
SARAH: Do you want me to stop him?
MATT: No.
PETE: No no—go on.
RON: I look at that spot in the apartment where my father killed my mother. And I look at my wife who I hate and there is an undertow in Sunnyside and pretty soon I know I will do the same to her as my father did to my mother. Which is why I would like to have her sins forgiven before I do it because it’s in my bloodstream—like me being an artist. My father wrote songs. I’m a painter—even if it’s just signs. Pete—well, he’ll be an artist. I know he’s got it in him. It’s in the genes. Like killing my wife. I need to know how my father felt. I know one day I’m going to put my feet in his footprints and do it.
Or maybe I’ll write a hit song like “Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”
MATT: If you could see your son, what would you say?
RON: Keep the apartment, Pete. No matter what happens in it. Don’t give it up. Rent controlled. You’re not going to find a better deal in New York—close to Manhattan—fourteen minutes on the number seven. The name of the stop is Bliss Street. Stand on the roof you can see the skyline. The city is yours, Pete. That’s what I’d say to him. We got everything in New York. When he’s old, he’s not going to have any place to visit. Why is he wasting time in Rome? … It’s getting to be four o’clock—we can get into our room.
MATT: Is there any more you—
RON: No. It’s been nice talking—Can we leave the picture of Pete here in case you run into someone who knows him?
MATT: Yes.
RON: Lets go, Dolo. Thank you. You’ll let us know if the Pope picks us to wash our feet? We got the room from four p.m. to midnight—which is nice. We can wander around all night. Nothing will be open but, hell, it won’t be crowded. The nuns don’t change the sheets but, hey—we’re all pilgrims.
DOLO: This is the name of our hotel.
DOLO hands SARAH a folder. RON picks up their bags.
RON: Make the news quick. We got here today. Our tour is up the day after tomorrow.
DOLO: And you’ll send me back the rosaries blessed?
SARAH: It’s already done.
DOLO: This is wonderful—to be in Rome. I feel light already.
RON: Nice to meet you. We’ll say a prayer for you—
DOLO: Is that the fountain you throw the money in to come back?
SARAH: Why not?
DOLO: Oh dear. Will they take a dollar bill?
RON: Hey—we’re not made of money. Come on.
DOLO: Gracias.
MATT watches them go. SARAH runs back and shakes PETE, MATT pulls the blankets from the window. Light flows in. SARAH kisses PETE.
SARAH: Now go get them! Now we tape the reunion! Don’t let them go! Quick! Before they get in a cab!
MATT in a fever clears the dividing screen.
PETE, to MATT: Give me that tape.
SARAH: The happy ending—hurry—before they go—
PETE: Give m
e the tape.
MATT, laughing: “Keep the apartment.”
PETE: Give it to me.
MATT, hilarity!: “There is an undertow in Sunnyside.”
PETE: Give me the tape.
MATT: No! You win the bet. You did it. Purification? Pollution. Purification? Pollution. Sin is interior pollution. Your parents are my tubes of paint—toxic with sin. Chaotic, malevolent. Set up my confessional. I have found my medium.
SARAH: Matt is risen from the dead.
MATT: Airscapes? Landscapes? Inscapes? Soulscapes! Yes, thank you, Pete.
PETE: Give me the tape.
MATT: No.
PETE: You can’t show it. Give me the tape. Give me—
PETE starts swinging. MATT and SARAH at first laugh and toss the tape back and forth. PETE slams MATT hard and keeps pushing him. MATT and SARAH push PETE outside the studio. PETE bangs on the door.
PETE, off: Give me the tape! Give me the tape!
SARAH, to us: He stayed there a long time. We did not open the door.
MATT and SARAH are still, listening. The banging stops.
SARAH, to us: And then it was quiet. We opened the door. Pete was gone.
MATT, to us: We went to St. Peter’s Square with my video x-ray and began confessing pilgrims.
Music. PILGRIMS start crossing the Vatican Square. PILGRIMS bow to the priestly MATT, bless themselves, defer to him.
SARAH: People treated Matt so differently dressed as a priest. And me! I was a new person treated with reverence!
SARAH dresses herself as a modern nun in black raincoat and veil.
MATT: We hung out at four of the pre-ordained basilicas.
SARAH: St. Peter’s.
MATT: St. John.
SARAH: St. Paul Outside the Walls.
MATT: Maria Maggiore. Long lines waiting to get into overworked confessionals.
SARAH: We found back alleys.
MATT: I set up my temporary confessional.
SARAH: I was a shy person, but I went up to everybody.
MATT: Sarah steered in impatient pilgrims.
