The Tidewater Tales

by John Barth

  JUNE: She told us the truth. With full-color illustrations.

  MAY (Baiting her, but watching with admiration): Handsome Mister Right, chugging up the Tube with his gold medal for the long-distance backstroke.

  JUNE: That’s just a way of speaking, too, Lefty. (She tries her crawl stroke.) I never seriously believed there was just one right Swimmer in the Sea for every floater. Some of us did, but I didn’t. (An afterthought, as she floats back) You did call them Swimmers, didn’t you?

  MAY: Rapists is what we called them. Hey, you make swimming look easy! (She joins her, to get closer.)

  JUNE: It is easy. You called all of them rapists?

  MAY: How many does it take?

  KATHERINE: It only takes one, honey. And he can be the Mister Wrong you’re married to.

  PETER (Knows what she’s reading): How come Hank didn’t put out a contract on old Poon?

  (Through the following, MAY lightly pursues JUNE, and JUNE lightly evades her: around, beside, and over the boulder, in and out of the eddy.)

  JUNE: All of you called all of them rapists?

  MAY: Not all of us. I personally call them cantino macho pigs.

  JUNE: That’s disgusting, Lefty!

  MAY: They’re disgusting. Wait till you see them. Millions of them, thrashing and slavering . . .

  JUNE: I refuse to believe that they’re all like that.

  MAY: You’ve never seen them. I have.

  JUNE: Maybe you saw the wrong ones. (She climbs up onto the boulder to wring out her hair and envelope.) A couple of my girlfriends back home were pretty disgusting, as far as that goes. Real slobs. And from what we were told about the Left Ovarium. . . .

  KATHERINE: I don’t know about this June here.

  PETER: Keep reading. I like her.

  MAY (Splashes JUNE from below): I’m sure you think I’m a slob.

  JUNE: Not necessarily.

  MAY (Climbs up beside her): We were told that the Right Ovarium turns out spoiled little pansies with no guts, no brains, and no ambitions except to find Mister Right and settle down with him.

  KATHERINE (To herself): Well. There’s more to Saint Deniston’s than that.

  MAY: My teachers used to say, “Better slobs than snobs.”

  KATHERINE: May is May; no question about it. Does that make me June?

  JUNE (Unprovoked, fixes her hair): So you think I’m a gutless, brainless snob.

  MAY: Not necessarily. (She touches her.) In fact, you’re okay.

  JUNE: You too. (She moves off, climbing around the boulder.) So let’s don’t believe everything we were taught, all right?

  MAY: I’ve learned not to. (She follows her.) But get this: We were taught that Mother Moon is greater than Father Sun, because the Moon gives us light at night, when we need it, whereas the Sun gives us light in the daytime, when there’s plenty of light already. Not bad, huh?

  PETER: There’s a line here about the Moon’s being greater than the Sun that’s not half bad.

  JUNE (Laughs, shakes her head; returns to the water): The fact is, we were taught to look for a good, dependable Swimmer with the right background—

  MAY: I knew it!

  JUNE: Not too much of an egghead, you know, but not one of your macho whipcrackers, either—and then . . . settle down, as you said, after we shoot the Tube together, and . . . (She glances at MAY.) Merge.

  MAY (Frowns): Merge! Merge?

  JUNE (Embarrassed): You know. (She presses her finger-ends together several times, uncertainly.) Merge.

  MAY (Understands): Oh, that. We called it Fusing. So: They told you all to go Merge with Mister Right and make a Baby. (She touches JUNE’s leg.)

  JUNE (Merrily takes MAY’s hand): We didn’t even know what a Baby was!

  MAY: I still don’t. But I know I want none of it. (She touches JUNE’s knee with her free hand.)

  KATHERINE: I’ve heard that Sun-Moon joke before. It’s Number Thirty-nine.

  JUNE (Catches that hand too): I don’t think they knew, either. The same with Merging. They said we’d understand when the time came. Maybe we will, if it’s not too late already.

  MAY: My time isn’t coming, if I can help it. Merging!

  JUNE: It doesn’t sound so terrible to me: Floaters and Swimmers putting their Identities together. I’m going to keep an open mind.

  MAY (Pulls free and pats JUNE’s behind): It’s not your mind they’re after, Right-O.

  JUNE (Moves away): Who knows what they’re after? What are we after? I must say our other option never impressed me.

  MAY (Shakes her head): We called it the Big Wash-Out; but we were supposed to choose it over Fusing with Them. Coach Lefkowith said that to Fuse our Identity is to lose our Identity. I used to ask her what good our Identity was, after the Wash-Out. There we’d float, all by our lonesome on the Flat Sea, still clutching tight to our precious Identities. . . .

  JUNE (Coming in closer, now that MAY isn’t pressing): You asked your coach that?

  MAY: I was a troublemaker. I used to pester Coach Lefkowith to tell me why there were just shes and hes. Why not three sexes, or five?

  JUNE (Joins her, genuinely puzzled): What would the spare one do?

  MAY: I’ll demonstrate, (JUNE stops her quickly, but not rudely, MAY does not insist.) The Coach demonstrated. Then I asked her seriously: Why couldn’t there be just Us? Who needs Them? She said she’d spent her life wondering the same thing.

  KATHERINE: All Floaters and no Swimmers? That would be boring.

  JUNE: But that would be boring! It would be just like the Ovarium, right?

  MAY (Points): Left. And that’s exactly where I’m headed.

  JUNE: You can’t! Once you’re launched, there’s no going back. Is there?

  MAY (Gestures at herself, JUNE, their surroundings): There’s no precedent for this, either, Right-O, but here I am. Seems to me all I have to do is bear left at the Confluence and keep on upstream.

  JUNE (Points): You mean bear right.

  MAY (Considers): Right. It was left at the Confluence coming down.

  JUNE: It was right at the Confluence coming down. . . . (She understands.) No, you’re right. We both are.

  MAY: So to get back left I have to keep right. Who’d have believed it?

  JUNE: Do you actually want to go back, Lefty, if you can? (She smiles and corrects herself.) I mean May?

  MAY: No, you mean can. (She sees her misunderstanding; is pleased.) Oh: You mean me. May.

  (JUNE nods and smiles.)

  PETER (Frowns and shakes his head): A lesbian feminist undergraduate grammarian menstrual television comedy.

  MAY (Seriously): Well, sure. Why not? I’ll be the first coach in history who’s ever really been down here and knows what she’s talking about. Maybe I should bear left and drop in on your old Ms. R: I could fix her head about Merging and straighten out your little sisters. (She does not say this disagreeably.) They’d have to believe me, because I’ve been there! I’ve dealt with Them! (She has been looking thoughtfully downstream. Now she turns to JUNE.) Wouldn’t you rather be back in the Ovarium than here?

  JUNE (She has listened attentively. She considers, looks around, shakes her head.): No. It was fine, May; I loved it. But it was School. School’s over now. I guess I’m going to float on down.

  MAY: No! (Urgently) It’s terrible down there, June. And lonesome! You don’t realize. You’re not out of danger just because you’ve reached the Confluence. Those Swimmers will scramble you!

  JUNE: I’m no Baby. (They look at each other in sudden wonder, both apparently realizing for the first time what that word might mean, JUNE smiles; MAY frowns.)

  JUNE & MAY (More or less simultaneously): You’re really going back? / You really want to go down?

  (They embrace affectionately, both nodding yes.)

  JUNE (Climbs down into the eddy): It’s a very strong current up there in the Branches, May. They say that even most Swimmers can’t ma
nage it.

  MAY (Following her): What’s down there is worse than current.

  JUNE: Well. So. (She smiles.) Good-bye, Lefty; you’ve taught me a lot. (She eases herself gingerly into the Mainstream, holding her position with a light backstroke, at which she is now adept.) Say hello to Coach Lefkowith from all us little snobs in the Right Ovarium.

  MAY (With some emotion): Sure. (She enters the Mainstream too, almost crossly, and begins to kick her way upstream with her earlier vigorous backstroke. She calls back to JUNE.) Tell Mister Right he doesn’t deserve you!

  (JUNE smiles, waves, steers off downstream out of sight behind yet another large boulder, less craggy than its predecessors, MAY watches her go, sniffs, turns furiously over into the crawl position invented earlier by JUNE, and thrashes off upstream, grunting “Onward! Upward!” at each stroke. Her voice fades into the sound of flowing water as she moves out of sight.)

  PETER: There’s still a third scene. Shall we take a break and talk about this thing?

  KATHERINE: No! I’m only up to the swimming-back-home business; don’t interrupt me.

  P: This June here sure does remind me of present company in some ways.

  K: She doesn’t remind me of present company. Read on ahead; I’ll catch up.

  Scene 3: Onward and Downward

  (The same eddy, a few moments later, MAY’s voice-off still grunts faintly “Onward! Upward!” JUNE reappears from downstream, sidestroking easily and pensively; she has evidently circled the boulder, either to watch MAY’s departure or to reconsider her own next move. Drawing into the eddy, she listens bemused as MAY’s voice and splashing vanish in the general sound of flowing water, JUNE turns her eyes uncertainly downstream and splashes idly, humming “Some Day My Prince Will Come.” She recognizes the tune and breaks off, smiling and shaking her head. Now she turns sharply back upstream, from where come sounds of MAY in distress. At first concerned, JUNE smiles as MAY is swept back onto the scene, spent, JUNE catches her as before and pulls her into the eddy, MAY resists groggily for a moment.)

  JUNE: It’s me, May. Don’t worry: It’s not Mister Right.

  MAY (Out of breath): It’s I . . . Predicate nominative.

  JUNE: What happened? (Teasing) Wouldn’t the Coach let you back in?

  MAY (Recovering, wipes water from her eyes and rolls them at JUNE’s remark): I came back because you’re going to need help fending off the Swimmers.

  JUNE: Me need help! Did I call for help?

  MAY: In that current I’d never have heard you. How come you’re still here?

  JUNE: I’m in no hurry. Ms. R said “Enjoy each stage before you move on.”

  KATHERINE: Ms. R is right.

  MAY: You had moved on, and you came back. Admit it: You’re a little chicken.

  PETER: Oy gevalt and sacré bleu.

  JUNE: I am not! And no wonder if I am, after listening to you. I wasn’t before.

  MAY: Hmp.

  JUNE (Her feelings still hurt): If you can manage by yourself now, I’ll float on down.

  MAY: Wait, June! (Determinedly) You’re not going without me.

  JUNE: I’m not?

  MAY: Okay: Please don’t go without me.

  JUNE: You’re scared, too.

  MAY: I’m scared for your sake. . . .

  JUNE (Moves away): Bye-bye, May.

  MAY: For both our sakes! Both, both, (JUNE pauses, mollified.) Look, Right-O . . . June . . .

  JUNE (Accents the first syllable): Call me Jay-Gee.

  MAY: I like you. You’re a good Floater. (She grins.) Always sunny side up.

  JUNE (Accepts the compliment with a quick nod): You too, May: I like you, too. Bye.

  MAY (Grabs JUNE’s foot): I’ve been down there, Jay-Gee! Part of the way, anyhow. Why shouldn’t you have a guide?

  JUNE: No, thanks. (She frees her foot and pushes out into the Mainstream as before, but holds her position against the boulder.) I don’t want a guide. (She smiles and extends her hand.) But I’ve no objection to a friend.

  (As MAY laughs and splashes over to her, a sudden new distant sound comes from downstream: faint, echoing male shouts, curses, splashes, whistles. The two FLOATERS hold each other in alarm.)

  KATHERINE: Here it comes.

  MAY: What is it?

  PETER: We know what it is.

  JUNE (Equally alarmed, but surprised at MAY’s question): I guess it’s . . . Them. They? The Swimmers.

  (MAY closes her eyes, bites her lips, beats her free hand against her knee, almost weeps with anger and fright. The sound fades.)

  JUNE: How did I know right away it was them, and you didn’t, when I’ve never seen them and you’ve already dealt with them once?

  PETER: My very question.

  MAY (Miserable): Oh, Jay-Gee . . . there weren’t any Swimmers before!

  JUNE (Astonished): You had a Dry Lunation! (MAY nods, shamefaced.) You lied to me!

  KATHERINE and PETER (Separately, as each reaches this line): A Dry Lunation.

  MAY (Defensively now. JUNE still holds her place in the stream; MAY has retreated to the eddy, still clutching JUNE’s hand tightly.): Dry Lunation or not, I damn near drowned down there!

  JUNE: And you want to teach my sisters how to escape the Swimmers, which they’re not even supposed to do!

  MAY (A bit desperately): There’s plenty to deal with besides Swimmers, Jay-Gee. Whirlpools! Cataracts!

  PETER: Diaphragms and dildos.

  KATHERINE (Minutes later): Forest-green Crayola crayons.

  JUNE (Unimpressed, pulls her hand free): Good-bye, May.

  MAY: Look, damn it: I survived! I’m the only Floater in history who ever came back to tell the tale, and I know the next leg of the stream. I can help you!

  JUNE (Less annoyed; MAY’s accomplishment is undeniable.): You’re the one who needs help: “Cantino macho pigs,” and you’ve never even seen one!

  MAY: Okay: We can help each other. I’ll help you navigate the tricky stretches, and you can help me keep an open mind about rapists.

  KATHERINE: Now she’s talking.

  JUNE: Now you’re talking. (She begins an old Ovarium song.) “Sisters to-ge-ther . . .” (MAY waves off the song, but gratefully takes her hand.)

  JUNE (Teases): We’ll double date with Mister Right and Mister Left!

  MAY: Yech.

  JUNE: Ready?

  MAY: Sure.

  JUNE: A one. And a two . . .

  (Another sound from THEM, MAY and JUNE clutch each other again, until the sound fades.)

  JUNE (Dryly): You can let go now, May.

  MAY (Sighs and releases her, but holds onto her hand. Seriously): I don’t want them, Jay-Gee.

  JUNE: I noticed.

  MAY: I hate them!

  JUNE: You’re afraid of them.

  MAY: I hate them and I’m afraid of them too!

  JUNE: Sight unseen.

  MAY: But not sound unheard. I don’t want to Wash Out alone, though, either. (Pauses) I think I want you, Jay-Gee.

  JUNE (Admonishingly): Lef-ty . . .

  MAY: I really like you.

  JUNE (Draws away): Bye-bye, Lefty.

  MAY: I’m coming with you!

  JUNE: Come on, then.

  MAY: What’s your rush? “Enjoy each stage . . .”

  (JUNE smiles lightly, MAY makes a desperate pass, which JUNE easily parries.)

  JUNE: That’s enough of that.

  MAY (Not very derisively): Saving it for Mister Right?

  JUNE: We’ll see. Come on, if you’re coming.

  (But a third wave of cries comes up from THEM, distinctly closer.)

  MAY (Makes an obscene gesture downstream): You want Them?

  JUNE (More brightly): Certainly not all of them. Let’s look them over: Maybe they’re as different from one another as we are. Maybe some of them are nice! (She positively disengages herself from MAY and sets off slowly downstream.)

  MAY: Jay-Gee!
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  JUNE (As she passes down behind the boulder): I think I like this part! Come on, May!

  MAY (Dives in from the eddy): I’m coming, damn it! Hold on!

  JUNE (Out of sight now, sings excitedly): “On-ward and Downward!” Whoo! Come on, May!

  MAY: I’m coming! I’m coming!

  (The scene dissolves quickly in the persistent rush of water and the rising sound of THEM.)

  Groans Katherine I’m barely past the Dry Lunation, and you’re finished already! How can it end so fast, when the plot’s just begun to thicken? Don’t tell me. Replies Peter I hate to be the one to break the news, but all we have is Act One.

  No!

  You like it that much?

  Katherine declares it to be the queerest mix of sophomoric and serious she’s seen in a while, but her main questions about it aren’t literary. Leave her alone now, till she’s done. Peter goes upstairs for a walk, but circumambulating Story’s deck takes about one minute. He stows the empty orange canister beside Story’s full one, never used, and considers dinghying around Dun Cove for the exercise. Decides to wait for Kate. Those responses of hers we’ve included in the script are only samples; in fact she reacts aloud to nearly every line she reads. Wash Out! Cantino macho! Forest-green Crayola.

  Professional Peter ponders the subject of Improbable Coincidence, which Aristotle allows may begin a story but must not be rung in to end one. The problem is not only, Q.E.D., that life is not a story, but that even if it were, we characters in it wouldn’t normally know at any particular moment where in its plot we are. Will the birth of our children end a drama, begin one, or close some act and open another? In literal fact, none of the above; in fiction, any or all. And the coincidence of our finding, in the pregnant month of June, at a sort of confluence, the floating script of a play about “Floaters,” one named June and the other May and gay, about to encounter at another sort of confluence what clearly will be a school of spermatozoa. . . .

  Katherine claps her hat and wails Where’s my Act Two? Who do we know that knows about me and May and writes Woody Allen comedies and floats them off in canisters with their old clothes? She hauls upstairs and covers her husband’s face with kisses. Jesus, I’m glad we’re straight and I’ve got you.

  Well, likewise, for sure. It is Peter Sagamore’s fear that there is not only an Act Two, but an Act Three as well: if not in this world, then in the heaven of dramaturgical obviosities.