Gruesome Playground Injuries; Animals Out of Paper; Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo

by Rajiv Joseph

  ANDY: Sometimes they get repeated, but that’s okay, I say.

  (he looks back in the book) Oh, listen to this one.

  Number 5,848: Folding What I Lost by Ilana Andrews.

  ILANA: My book?

  ANDY: Yep!

  ILANA: My book is one of your blessings?

  ANDY: It’s my favorite book. One of them, anyway. My favorite origami book.

  I love that book, oh mister, yes I do. I’ve only read it about two hundred times! I keep extra copies around just to give to people who I like. I say: Just read this. You don’t even have to fold to like this book.

  ILANA: Come on . . . it’s an origami book.

  ANDY: (reads) Number 126: Origami.

  ILANA: Origami.

  ANDY: Number 127: The way I feel when I am folding.

  Ilana knows what he’s talking about for the first time. They look at each other. Then Andy goes back to the book.

  ANDY: Here’s another one about your book.

  Number 5,962: Folding Ilana’s models which are the things she’s lost in her life and reading her little essays about them. They are like little poems. Folding things I never lost and it makes me think about losing things I never even had. And it is sad, but a good sad, like melancholy.

  And then I have the next one.

  Number 5,963: Melancholy.

  (looks up) I think I was thinking that melancholy is kind of a blessing, because it’s not a serious sadness, it’s more like a sweet sadness and it’s nice to have some melancholy and read something nice or listen to music or fold. If I wrote a book, maybe I’d call it “Melancholy Folding” or something. Not that I’d ever write a book, being that I don’t write and I don’t fold well enough to write a book on it, but I guess I sometimes think about it anyhow, sort of like a harmless fantasy. Boy, I’m talking a lot. I’m sorry. Sometimes I talk and I forget to stop. Sorry. I’ll shut up.

  Awkward silence. Andy looks up at the bird.

  ANDY: I can really have that?

  ILANA: If you can get it down.

  Andy looks around the room.

  Andy puts his little book on a table.

  He picks up the ottoman and puts it on the couch.

  ANDY: It’s like making a fort!

  ILANA: Yeah. A fort.

  ANDY: (studying the bird) Let’s see . . . let’s see . . .

  Scissors?

  ILANA: Right over there.

  He gets them.

  ANDY: Will you spot me?

  ILANA: Yeah.

  Andy climbs onto the couch and then onto the ottoman.

  ANDY: Don’t let me fall.

  ILANA: I won’t.

  Andy cuts the string and the bird falls.

  ANDY: Yes! Big-time yes!

  He gets down. He puts the ottoman back. He picks up the bird.

  ANDY: Fan-freaking-tastic.

  He looks at her. He smiles like a kid.

  ANDY: Thank you.

  ILANA: It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s . . .

  ANDY: What?

  ILANA: Nothing, I . . .

  (forcing herself) Thank you for reading my book.

  ANDY: I love your book! Thank you for writing it!

  ILANA: Okay.

  ANDY: Can I ask you something?

  ILANA: Okay.

  ANDY: How did you get the idea for it?

  ILANA: I don’t know. I just did.

  ANDY: You “just did.” Wow. Wow.

  ILANA: I mean . . .

  (beat) When I was thirteen, I had this sort of medallion of a dragonfly, it was made out of pieces of volcanic glass. It hung in my bedroom window and it was like my favorite thing.

  But when my family moved, I lost it. I was so upset.

  I was really . . . so upset.

  I don’t know, it was the first time I realized that things could just vanish from your life.

  And then, I don’t remember why, but one day I just started to fold it. I had a piece of paper, and I made this one single fold in it . . . I stared at it . . . and then I slowly started to . . . I don’t know, I tried to fold my lost dragonfly. I tried to make the paper look like volcanic glass.

  ANDY: Are you going to . . .

  Um . . .

  Are you going to fold your dog?

  ILANA: What?

  ANDY: Something you lost. Are you going to fold your lost dog?

  ILANA: No.

  No, that’s . . .

  You don’t understand.

  I think you should probably go.

  ANDY: Oh. Okay. Okay, yeah, I should probably get going . . .

  Andy starts to put on his shoes. He has to sit on the floor to do this. His laces are knotted and he has to work hard to untie them.

  ANDY: So . . . Do you ever . . .

  Ha!

  Do you ever . . . tutor people?

  ILANA: What?

  ANDY: Tutor. Origami.

  ILANA: No. I don’t ever do that.

  ANDY: Of course not. But would you? I mean . . . would you?

  ILANA: No. I never would. You seem very nice, but no.

  ANDY: Oh, it’s not for me! Silly Andy! I would never even presume that you’d tutor me! Gosh, sometimes I’m a huge idiot!

  ILANA: Oh . . .

  ANDY: I have this student . . .

  ILANA: Oh. Right.

  ANDY: Great kid! And he’s big into folding, and . . .

  ILANA: Yeah, I don’t do that.

  ANDY: Look, this kid. He was taking calculus as a freshman.

  ILANA: I’m sure he’s very talented.

  ANDY: We have a calculus club. It’s like an after-school activity for anyone who’s into calc.

  ILANA: Sounds wild.

  ANDY: Suresh is his name. He shows up and he’s the hit of the club. It wasn’t just about calculus, it was about winding Suresh up and watching him run his mouth.

  ILANA: He sounds like a great kid.

  ANDY: Trust me. Suresh is tops.

  ILANA: I just don’t tutor. I’m not a people person, and I’m not a good teacher.

  ANDY: You are though. Your class, your book . . . I mean, you kind of really affected me, you know? I don’t say it lightly.

  ILANA: Well, that’s very . . .

  That’s not . . .

  I don’t tutor.

  ANDY: That’s too bad.

  (beat) His mother died last year.

  ILANA: Wow. How sad.

  ANDY: She was crossing the street and she got hit by a car, and the car took off. A hit and run. They never caught the guy.

  ILANA: You know, that’s awful, but you’re not going to guilt me into anything, okay? I don’t feel guilt. I’m immune to guilt. I don’t fucking tutor.

  ANDY: I’m not! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry it came out that way.

  ILANA: Origami doesn’t need tutors. He can read books, he can go on the Internet, he can fold whatever he wants. There’s nothing I could say that would make him any better or any worse.

  ANDY: You won’t tutor him. I get it.

  ILANA: Send him over to MIT. They’ve got that origami club. They’re all hotshots.

  ANDY: I know all about the MIT origami club and you’ll understand if I don’t want to expose my student to that sort of collegiate hedonism.

  Besides, you’re the best there is.

  ILANA: No, I’m not.

  ANDY: Yes, you are.

  ILANA: Is this why you came here today? To try and get me to tutor your student in origami?

  ANDY: That’s not the only reason I came. I just thought I’d try. I’m sorry.

  ILANA: Okay. Fine. Now go.

  Andy, still seated, still can’t untie his shoes. But he grabs his bag and takes out a plastic shoe box. He opens it and slides it over to Ilana.

  ANDY: He’s been doing origami for like three months. And those are some of his models.

  Ilana looks into the box. She starts taking out beautiful origami models of insects and animals.

  ILANA: Your student folded these?

  ANDY: There�
�s a Moroccan hissing cockroach. Actual size. Physiologically accurate. One piece of paper.

  There’s a tarantula. Same thing.

  ILANA: Wait . . . your . . . student folded these? He folded these himself? Did you show him how to do this?

  ANDY: Are you kidding? I can’t fold those.

  Ilana, Suresh sees folds before they happen.

  He looks at a flat piece of paper and sees everything that needs to be done. It’s like he has X-ray vision.

  Ilana pulls out an extremely complex geometric shape.

  ANDY: He did a bunch of animals and then became obsessed with complex polyhedra. Ilana, you’ve never seen someone fold like this kid. He’s like Jimi Hendrix if Jimi Hendrix folded polyhedral origami.

  ILANA: This doesn’t make any sense.

  ANDY: Why not?

  ILANA: Because these . . .

  ANDY: It’s good, right?

  ILANA: (looks at him)

  It’s really good.

  ANDY: Listen: it’s the middle of Suresh’s junior year last year and his mother is killed by this hit and run. I mean, it’s just awful. And poor Suresh, once he comes back to school, he’s just . . . he’s just a shell of the kid we knew. Which is understandable, but it was so hard to see him like that.

  And then that summer he and his sister and his dad went to India. And when he came back to start his senior year, I mean, he just stopped caring or something.

  He dropped out of Calc Club, which, you know, that hurt. Of course, he’s still pulling straight As with his eyes closed. He had his pick of colleges and then he up and decides to go to Brown. He got in to Yale and MIT and he’s going to Brown. I mean, this kid is acting up every which way.

  He’s in my advanced calc class and just sleeping through it. He’s way ahead of everyone in there. This kid knows way more than me.

  So I think to myself: I love this kid. I feel bad for him. Why waste that mind of his? So I gave him a book of basic folds.

  Andy looks in the box and pulls out an origami toad.

  ANDY: Look at this. Look at this frog. He did this after about two weeks of folding in his whole life.

  ILANA: He did this after two weeks?

  ANDY: Two weeks. Most people start by folding a boat or a flower. He folds an Amazonian toad.

  Ilana studies the model.

  ANDY: I want to help him. And I thought . . .

  He’s just too smart for everyone else.

  But he’s not too smart for you.

  ILANA: I don’t know, I have to think. I’m sorry. I have to think about this.

  ANDY: I totally understand!

  (the models) Look, keep those. Hold on to them. I put my card in there. Call me. Think about it. And thanks for this bird.

  Boy, I hope it stopped raining!

  ILANA: Either way, you have to take that with you.

  Andy puts out his hand to shake hers.

  ANDY: Ilana, as always, it’s been a pleasure.

  They shake hands.

  ILANA: Bye.

  ANDY: So long!

  He picks up the bird and plays with it, making hawk sounds.

  ANDY: Caw! Caw!

  He “flies” it out of the room, exiting.

  ANDY: (off stage) Caw! Caw!

  Ilana closes the door behind him. She goes to her couch. She looks at Suresh’s models, marveling at them, touching them as if they were precious and delicate. She looks up to where the hawk had hung, and is now conscious of its absence.

  She looks on her coffee table and sees that Andy forgot his little book.

  ILANA: Great.

  She looks at it. She flips through it.

  She begins to read it. She becomes absorbed by it. Lights fade as hip-hop music fills the space . . .

  Scene 2.

  Ilana’s studio. A few days later. The place is still a mess. Ilana is out of her robe, but still disheveled. She’s still reading Andy’s book. She’s engrossed in it. She flips through it, finding other pages, as if trying to piece a story together.

  The buzzer buzzes. Ilana, once again, is startled. She goes to the intercom.

  ILANA: Hello?

  SURESH: (intercom) Yo.

  ILANA: Hello? Who is it?

  SURESH: Yo.

  ILANA: Suresh? Andy’s student?

  SURESH: What up?

  ILANA: I thought you weren’t supposed to come until noon.

  SURESH: It’s noon.

  ILANA: It is?

  SURESH: Yup. High noon.

  Ilana takes her hand off the intercom.

  ILANA: Shit.

  She buzzes him in.

  She puts Andy’s book on the table and tries to straighten herself up.

  She opens the door. A few seconds later, Suresh enters.

  He’s got his iPod earphones in his ears.

  ILANA: Hi. Sorry. I lost track of time. Suresh?

  SURESH: Hey.

  ILANA: I’m Ilana. Andy told me all about you.

  SURESH: Who’s Andy?

  ILANA: Mr. Froling.

  SURESH: Fro Dog.

  ILANA: Yes, “Fro Dog.” How are you?

  SURESH: I’m cool.

  What happened in here?

  ILANA: What do you mean?

  SURESH: I mean, what happened in here?

  Ilana looks around.

  ILANA: Nothing.

  SURESH: Something . . .

  Beat.

  ILANA: Well come on in.

  SURESH: You like some organic hip-hop?

  ILANA: What?

  SURESH: These some smooth cuts. Check it . . .

  Suresh takes one of his earphones out of his ears and puts it into Ilana’s ear. They’re connected by his earphones. They stand very close to each other and he plays music that fills the space. He sways along with it, almost as if he’s dancing with her.

  After a while, he removes the earphone from his ear and puts it in Ilana’s other ear. The music swells. He sways off. He looks around her studio at origami models while Ilana stands there listening to music. She’s taken aback by the whole thing.

  Suresh picks up Andy’s book and starts flipping through it. Ilana rips the earphones out, the music stops.

  ILANA: Put that down!

  SURESH: What’s this?

  ILANA: Put it down!

  He does.

  ILANA: That’s none of your business!

  She picks up the book and holds it.

  SURESH: Okay. Sorry.

  ILANA: Here.

  She hands him back his iPod.

  SURESH: (the music) Dope, right?

  ILANA: Fascinating. Thank you.

  SURESH: What is that, your diary or something?

  ILANA: No.

  SURESH: What is it?

  ILANA: Nothing. Just something I’ve been reading. Look, why don’t we sit down and, you know, you can fold me something.

  SURESH: Protective.

  ILANA: What?

  SURESH: Protective.

  ILANA: What’s protective?

  SURESH: You are. Of your reading material.

  This place is crazy.

  ILANA: Yeah. It’s crazy.

  SURESH: Fro Dog said you were like a professional origami person.

  ILANA: Yeah, I am.

  SURESH: Could I get something to drink?

  ILANA: Sure, I’ve got water, tea, and milk.

  SURESH: What kind of milk?

  ILANA: I don’t know. Skim milk.

  SURESH: Skim? Hell no. I don’t drink no skim milk.

  Why you got all these hearts?

  ILANA: I’m studying it.

  SURESH: The heart?

  ILANA: Yeah.

  SURESH: Why?

  ILANA: It’s a job.

  SURESH: Origami?

  ILANA: Yeah.

  SURESH: Someone paying you money to fold a heart?

  ILANA: No.

  SURESH: So why you folding a heart?

  ILANA: It’s a project.

  I’m trying to fold a mesh heart sleeve.

/>   SURESH: A mesh what?

  ILANA: Heart. Sleeve.

  It’s a project commissioned by a medical research team. It’s complicated.

  SURESH: What, too complicated for a dumb kid like me?

  ILANA: No.

  SURESH: So?

  ILANA: Okay, so in treating congestive heart failure, usually you need open heart surgery. It’s invasive. You have to crack open a person’s sternum.

  Here: show me your fist.

  Suresh holds out his fist.

  As she speaks, Ilana uses her own hand as the mesh heart and pantomimes it slowly unwrapping around Suresh’s fist.

  ILANA: Okay, so your heart is about the size of your fist, right? So these doctors have developed a way to insert a small tube into a person’s chest and, through that tube, pump in a mesh netting which, when it exits the tube, unfolds in such a way that it can surround the heart, providing pressure.

  Her hand is wrapped around Suresh’s fist.

  ILANA: It’s a new treatment.

  SURESH: That’s tight.

  ILANA: My job is to devise a crease pattern for this mesh netting so that it unfolds precisely around the heart.

  SURESH: You gonna account for the heartbeat?

  ILANA: Let’s hope so.

  SURESH: I mean, the heart is always pumping.

  Suresh squeezes his fist and twists it in a hard rhythm, as if it were a beating heart.

  ILANA: Yes, the heart is always beating, and so we’re talking about some serious crease patterns.

  It’s a matter of predictability.

  SURESH: Predictability how?

  ILANA: (she gets a piece of paper) Well, for example, if I’m going to fold this . . .

  She almost folds the paper, but then stops.

  SURESH: Yeah? What?

  ILANA: Nothing, look, why don’t you fold something?

  SURESH: No, but show me what you were going to show me.

  ILANA: Later. I want to see you fold something.

  SURESH: But how are you gonna do it?

  ILANA: I’m going to figure it out.

  SURESH: How?

  ILANA: I just will.

  SURESH: Word.

  He holds his fist out for a fist bump.

  ILANA: What?