MR. UNIVERSE

by Jim Grimsley

  PAUL. You appeared without any warning apart from all your followers and spoke from Blind John’s News and Magazine Emporium; the whole crowd was talking about it. You knew we would learn of your appearance, but you spoke anyway. And now your followers are making music and smashing their stereo components in the streets.

  J. I only wanted to buy an orange and there was a boy with a Walkman in my way.

  PAUL. The Word is spreading but nobody will tell us what it is.

  J. What word?

  PAUL. You told them there is a higher music. We know that much.

  J. I might have told them that.

  PAUL. And everyone threw radios in the streets. Little red and green wires everywhere.

  J. I was short of breath. The pollen in Jerusalem this time of year. I had forgotten.

  PAUL. You told them there is a hiss behind every other sound. Older than every other sound. The voice of eternity. They were all talking about it. (Pause.) I’ve heard that sound more times than I can remember. In fact, I very often contemplate the sound from the beginning of time. Isn’t it strange that we should be so much alike? As if our minds had been working in harmony all this time.

  (Silence.)

  PAUL. What did you tell the people in the market?

  J. I can hear the lizard climbing up the wall outside. Breathless. Can you hear it? Him?

  PAUL. Yes, I can. In fact I saw it—saw him—when I was returning from the Arcade, just now. A beautiful reptile, covered with horns and gray skin, sunning itself on a rock, in perfect agreement with its surroundings. His surroundings. We were aware of each other, the lizard and I.

  J. He needs the shade this time of day.

  PAUL. Of course, you’re right. I must have seen him earlier.

  J. He sits in the sun in the morning. After dawn. It’s hard to move that early. He’s cold, stiff. He’s hungry. There’s not much time. He finds the first patch of sun and drinks it, his blood stirs and he becomes awake. In the morning.

  (Silence.)

  PAUL. Welcome back, by the way.

  J. Thank you.

  PAUL. Is this second visit very different from the first?

  J. The city is very much the same.

  PAUL. I don’t know why that surprises me. (Pause.) We’ve waited a very long time.

  J. Really?

  PAUL. Ages.

  J. Well, you’ve kept yourself up.

  PAUL (after a moment). You do move in mysterious ways, don’t you. That’s why your return has taken us by surprise. Even though we expected it. (Laughs.) I know I’ve done all I could do to be prepared. Founding missions, writing letters, that sort of thing. But I expect you know that.

  J. No, I hadn’t heard.

  (Silence.)

  PAUL. Did I tell you it is better not to marry?

  J. No, you didn’t.

  PAUL. Are you married?

  J. No.

  PAUL. It is better not to. It is better to be as I am. Chaste. Those who cannot be chaste should marry, of course, in recognition of their own weakness. But it is better not to.

  J. Could I have something to eat?

  PAUL. I have a letter about it. I could show it to you.

  J. I’m very hungry.

  PAUL. Man does not live by bread alone. (Pause.) I could have married, of course. If I had wanted to. In Tarsus, I was considered very good looking.

  J. (as if to himself). I wanted an orange. We had been walking all day, my followers and I. Through the crowds. They kept recognizing me and asking for my autograph. (Laughs softly.) I’ve had so many names, I almost forgot which one to use.

  PAUL. Remind me later, we need to get a list of your aliases.

  J. (still to himself). I’ve been thrown to the dogs in so many places. Every two-bit world you can think of. Wherever two or more of you are gathered. That’s a laugh.

  PAUL. I’d like to talk to you about that. I feel as if I may have had similar experiences of martyrdom.

  J. Could I have a cigarette?

  PAUL. I didn’t know you smoked. (Pause.) No. I don’t have any.

  J. Send for one. Send for an orange.

  PAUL. Which do you want? The orange? Or the cigarette?

  J. (lying on the cot again, turning away from him). You won’t bring either one.

  PAUL (opening the file). Do you want to know what happened to all your friends?

  J. What friends?

  PAUL. Your followers. From the last time. I have a lot of the information right here. Do you want to hear it? (No response.) For instance, your mother. She certainly did well for herself over the ages.

  J. Please stop.

  PAUL. Shrines in every major city, prayer chapels doing a booming business, her face appearing on the sides of water tanks and in obscure Mexican huts. Miracles in lush garden spots. Quite an end for a little girl from the wrong side of Bethlehem.

  J. She had a gift for simple living.

  PAUL. Oh, that’s very droll. Yes. Yes, apparently she did. Not everyone had it so nice. (Lifts a piece of paper, shakes head.) Lots of crosses. Tortures. That kind of thing. But this. Poor John.

  J. John?

  PAUL. Remember? The one who always had his head on your bosom?

  (A crowd is heard for the first time, restless, murmuring, like a hive of insects.

  PAUL lays down the file.)

  PAUL. So now they know which building. Perhaps even which window.

  J. My mother lives in Orange County. California.

  PAUL. What did you say?

  J. You were asking about my mother. She’s given up charitable works at the present. She writes greeting cards.

  PAUL. I hope you find this amusing.

  J. I’m serious. You did want information, didn’t you?

  PAUL. What do you tell people when I’m not listening? What do you say? (Pause; no answer.) I had a woman follow you. With a cassette recorder and three blank tapes. And then you gave your message and the people around her took the cassette recorder and smashed it against a fire hydrant. And they wound the tapes around her and stuffed them in her mouth. And the mob destroyed a camcorder as well. I don’t know who sent that, I hadn’t thought of video. (Pause.) You should write your teachings down.

  J. That’s never a good idea.

  PAUL. But if you don’t write them down, someone will write them down for you. And they always get it wrong, afterward. (Listens to the crowd sound, which has continued all this while, in varying degrees.) Listen to them. Do you think they want to save you this time? Or kill you? Or what?

  J. I suppose that all depends on you, doesn’t it?

  (Silence.)

  PAUL. Did I tell you what happened, to me, after you died? Not the whole story. Just the part about the road to Damascus.

  J. Something wonderful, I suppose.

  PAUL (laughing). But you must know. You were there.

  J. Was I? I can’t remember.

  PAUL. We had just arranged the stoning of Stephen Wiggins. At the old Arcade, not the new one. You remember Stephen, don’t you? We stoned him, for cause. For professing belief in you, of a religious nature. We drew a great crowd. I could tell some of the people there had heard you talk before you died. So I asked them to tell me what you had said. Just that. But they couldn’t. Even the ones who tried. And finally Stephen Wiggins told me, “You will never understand, Saul. Never.” So we stoned him, because he could not explain what he meant.

  J. Stephen was a very nice man.

  PAUL. His wife was a lovely woman. Do you remember her? Ruth Henderson Wiggins. Henderson being her maiden name, of course.

  J. She was always very kind to me.

  PAUL. What always puzzled me about Wiggins. I never for a moment felt he meant any harm. By what he told me. (Laughs.) He was right. As it turns out. He had a way. (Pause.) Anyway, there was a lovely funeral and I went, of course. Everyone went. And then I took a weekend trip somewhere. Damascus. I knew a girl. In those days everybody knew a girl in Damascus. Packed my bags and took off, just en
ough for the weekend. Well, about halfway there, as I was riding along in the desert, I saw this light. This blinding bright light. (To J.) Does any of this sound familiar?

  J. Yes. Somewhat familiar.

  PAUL. I pulled over. I took out my Polaroid but got no picture. Just this kind of cloudy void. Then a voice issued out of the light, and you asked me that famous question. “Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?” You remember?

  J. Something like that.

  PAUL. Then I told you, it’s because when you were alive and walking around with all your followers, I felt alienated from you. I felt a despair and a worthlessness which soon changed to bitter hatred within my soul. Whenever I was around you and your followers, you would never say anything. To other people you said wise things, and you did miracles. But when I was around you never did anything except look at me like I was some kind of creep. The only thing I ever got to see you do was throw the vending machines out of the Temple. And you answered, with this voice out of this blinding light, that you were sorry and that you would now tell me what you had been teaching everybody, right there. Then you did. Then you struck me blind.

  (Silence in the room.

  The crowd continues to murmur outside.)

  J. Was anybody with you when all this happened?

  PAUL. No, of course not. I was alone. As you were alone in your own days of desert temptation. Splendid isolation. Merciless sun beating down. The whole desolation scenario. Later there were others involved: Sam Jennings and Bert Bryant, who found me standing next to the car, blind, tears streaming down my face. Singing along with the car radio. Me. I had never sung in public before in my life.

  J. How did you know I was talking to you?

  PAUL. You called my name. You did.

  (J. scratches his head as if he cannot remember.)

  PAUL. There wasn’t anybody else there for you to talk to.

  J. So Sam and Bert took care of you.

  PAUL. They took me to a Days Inn in Damascus. Bert drove my car. (Pause.) If I asked you. Would you consider giving a deposition? About the events of that day, just as I have described them?

  J. You mean, formally.

  PAUL. Yes. (Pause.) There have been certain challenges. To my authority. Of late. (Pause.) My attorneys will arrange the whole process. If you agree.

  J. I’m not sure how much I can remember.

  PAUL. But I just told you the whole story. Just repeat that.

  J. But won’t they want my point of view?

  (Enter SOL HEIFFER, dragging a large Bible on a chain that is fastened around her waist, like a belt.

  She hands a file to PAUL.

  Exit SOL HEIFFER. She should move with some difficulty.

  PAUL scans the file.

  He is disturbed by what he reads, closes the file.)

  PAUL. Remove your outer garment.

  J. Pardon?

  PAUL. Take off your shirt.

  (J. removes outer garment.

  Beneath, J. wears a thin shirt, the back of which is blood soaked.)

  J. This is very uncivilized.

  PAUL. Please. Do as I ask.

  (J. removes shirt, facing audience.

  PAUL inspects J.’s back, grimacing at the sight.)

  PAUL. Who did this?

  J. My followers.

  (Suddenly the crowd noise swells.)

  PAUL. Someone is passing out leaflets. In the market and at the New Arcade. Pictures of you. Of this. (Gestures to J.’s back.) Listen to that mob. You’re responsible for this. You. Inflammatory. Barbaric. (PAUL holds up one of the flyers and shakes it.) Filth. Inflammatory filth. As if we would have you beaten. When we’ve waited all these years. Seven bridesmaids with our lamps full.

  J. They were able to afford color.

  PAUL. What?

  J. We had wanted to use color. On the flyer. But we were low on budget.

  (Enter SOL HEIFFER, with a tray of first-aid supplies.

  PAUL takes the tray; exit SOL HEIFFER.)

  PAUL. Sit down.

  (J. sits.

  PAUL sits behind J. on the narrow bed and begins to wash his back.

  After a moment, in perfect silence, he produces an orange from his robe and hands it to J.)

  J. Thank you.

  (J. peels the orange slowly.)

  PAUL. Of course you felt no pain. When you were beaten.

  J. None. (Pause.) Or rather, I felt a great deal.

  PAUL (laughing softly, as if in perfect understanding). Both at once.

  I understand perfectly.

  J. Are you angry?

  PAUL. Only that you would cause this yourself. That you would allow this to happen to you. (Is overcome by empathy.) So much depends on you. On your well-being. And you’re so careless of your health.

  J. One cannot think of such things.

  PAUL. Of course not. But still. (Reaches sensitive fingertips toward the wounds, withdraws before touch is completed.) Still. Such things. As these raw wounds on your poor back. Such transcendent suffering. (Pause.) Like my poor servant. The wretched creature who brought this tray into the room. What a miserable story. Lost her tongue in a horrible. Horrible. (Pause.) But I was telling you about John.

  J. Were you?

  PAUL. I’m sure he would like to see you.

  J. Is he still in town?

  PAUL. Yes. Very close by.

  J. Do you really think I might see him? Or are you playing a game?

  PAUL. I’d be very glad for you to see him. Very glad to arrange it. (Pause.) He’s not the same man, these days.

  J. He would be a good deal older.

  PAUL. He was crazy without you.

  J. We were very close.

  (PAUL rises slowly behind J., looking down at his back.

  He speaks as he rises.)

  PAUL. One could see that you were. (Pause.) He held himself together pretty well, without you. I only knew him after you were gone, of course. In his decline. But even then. Such a dreamy man. Eyes to drown in. (Pause.) He spoke of himself as the one whom you loved. I often wondered what he meant by that. (Pause.) I tried not to resent him, of course. I only saw you together once. You and John. At the Arcade, the old one. You were drinking a root beer, and John had a cherry cola. You were impeccable. He had flaked ice on his chin, a thin red line running down his neck. The way he watched you. I’ll never forget it. One wouldn’t have thought either of you was about to die for the sins of the world.

  J. You say he’s not himself.

  PAUL. Oh no. Hasn’t been for some time. Ever since he finished that last book, I forget the title. He’s in West End Mental Health Center.

  (J. is visibly disturbed for the first time.

  He moves restlessly in the cell.)

  PAUL. He has good days. Perfectly lucid. You wouldn’t know what he’d been through, the shipwreck, the days on the island, the Four Horsemen, the visions. He can’t control them, poor fellow. You’re sitting there having a nice cup of coffee with him and the next thing you know he’s off in the belly of the Beast. (Pause; PAUL lifts J.’s bloody shirt from wherever it has fallen.) I always thought it was the strain of losing you.

  (Enter SOL HEIFFER, with a clean shirt.

  She hands the clean shirt to PAUL, takes the bloody one; exit SOL HEIFFER.

  PAUL helps J. with the shirt.)

  PAUL. What did you tell the people in the market?

  J. Did I thank you for the orange?

  PAUL. Yes.

  J. Do you have a cigarette?

  PAUL. I have asthma. I would prefer that you don’t smoke.

  (Silence.)

  PAUL. You should understand by now. It’s mine anyway. The message. If you don’t give me the Word, I’ll get it somewhere. Someone will tell.

  J. Do you hear music? Now?

  PAUL (listening). No. Nothing I can make out above the crowd.

  J. Listen again. (Listens.) It’s him. In the shade. The lizard.

  PAUL. I don’t hear anything.

  J. He’s so hot he�
��s humming. Drowsing. Dreaming of flies.

  PAUL. You can’t possibly hear anything so faint. Through these walls.

  J. I don’t need to hear him. I know he’s there. Waiting patiently.

  PAUL. I wonder if I will ever be so sublime. (Pause.) Why don’t you teach the mob to sing, if you want music.

  (Silence.)

  J. Tell me what you have planned.

  PAUL. For what? For you?

  J. Yes.

  PAUL. Well of course that’s all very complicated. We will go through several stages of you. I’m afraid I can’t share many of the details. (Pause.) But we will allow you to plead your cause sufficiently. Justice to be served and all that. We are well aware of your position.

  J. So you will let me out of here soon.

  PAUL. Well I didn’t say that. Exactly. Your present detention is a matter of policy and I, of course, am merely one voice. Among equal apostolic voices.

  J. You said you would let me speak.

  PAUL. I believe I used the phrase “plead your cause sufficiently.” We are suggesting that you make some use of pamphlets and other religious tracts of the sort that we always have to invent later anyway. We thought perhaps you could compose them from here.

  J. From my cell.

  PAUL. I think it’s a very romantic image. The preacher from the wild, fresh from his triumphant Second Coming, writing from the fiery depths of his soul. Imprisoned but bravely carrying on with his ministry. In the last moments of his. Well. You see, I almost gave it away. (Pause.) That’s a later stage, of course.

  J. What is?

  PAUL. These are the last days of your life. Naturally.

  J. This is too early. You know it perfectly well. I haven’t done everything I’m supposed to do. (No response.) You should set me free. A few more days at least.

  PAUL. I’m afraid you’ve spoilt any chance of that. With your jaunt into the market to buy an orange. You’ve upset a lot of people with that. A lot of my colleagues.

  J. You know I don’t upset people deliberately. My end of this is not very pleasant, either.

  PAUL. Oh don’t look at me. I’m perfectly happy with the whole arrangement.

  (Silence.)

  J. I can’t make do with pamphlets and tracts. I’m sorry.

  PAUL. You’re really not in any position to be stubborn.

  J. There’s no life in pamphlets. Writing down a parable isn’t the same thing as telling it.