by Paula Vogel
My writing is indebted to a decade of Brown University playwrights: Eliza Anderson, Doyle Avant, Debbie Baley, Michael Barnwell, Adam Bock, David Bucci, Heidi Carla, Claire Chafee, Bridget Carpenter, Karen Cronacher, Nilo Cruz, Edwidge Danticat, Dennis Davis, Donna DiNovelli, Paja Faudree, Thalia Field, Juliann France, Tony Gerber, Rob Handel, Azande Mangeango, Ruth Margraff, Keith Mayerson, Bonnie Metzgar, Honor Molloy, Rebecca Morris, Gale Nelson, Lynn Nottage, Madeleine Olnek, Jena Osman, Aishah Rahman, Rick Rankin, George Rattner, Sung Rno, Sarah Ruhl, Kate Rushin, John C. Russell, Rachel Sheinkin, Rob Shin, Adam Sobsey, Dominic Taylor, Shay Youngblood. Plus many more talented writers, students and colleagues in Creative Writing and English who have instructed this instructor to dance on the page by their example.
Support for these plays has been generously provided by the MacDowell Colony, Yaddo, the National Endowment for the Arts fellowships, The Bunting Institute, The Bellagio Center of the Rockefeller Foundation, the Fund for New American Plays, The Harold and Mimi Steinberg Charitable Trust and the AT&T OnStage program. I am grateful for this support.
In March of 1994, Gustavo de Leon was commissioned by the Yale Repertory Theatre to design and create the artwork concept for their upcoming production of The Baltimore Waltz. When Gustavo began work on the play, his brother, Antar de Leon, was going through the final stages of AIDS. On the night of April 30, a week before opening night, he died. The artist would like to dedicate the artwork for the Yale production and the cover of this anthology to his memory.
The Baltimore Waltz
PRODUCTION HISTORY
The Baltimore Waltz was workshopped October–November 1990 at the Perseverance Theatre in Douglas, Alaska, under Molly D. Smith, Artistic Director and Deborah B. Baley, Producing Director. The production was directed by Annie Stokes-Hutchinson, with sets by Bill Hudson, costumes by Barbara Casement and Kari Minnick, lights by John E. Miller and sound by Katie Jensen. The cast was as follows:
ANNA
Deborah Holbrook
CARL
Rick Bundy
THE THIRD MAN/DOCTOR
Charles Cardwell
The Baltimore Waltz was produced February 1992 at the Circle Repertory Company in New York City under Tanya Berezin, Artistic Director and Terrence Dwyer, Managing Director with a grant from AT&T OnStage. It was directed by Anne Bogart, with sets by Loy Arcenas, costumes by Walker Hicklin, lights by Dennis Parichy and sound and score by John Gromada. The dramaturg was Ronn Smith. The cast was as follows:
ANNA
Cherry Jones
CARL
Richard Thompson
THE THIRD MAN/DOCTOR
Joe Mantello
TO THE MEMORY OF CARL — BECAUSE I CANNOT SEW.
I always saw myself as a surrogate who, in the absence of anyone else, would stand in for him. And even now, when I’m in front of an audience and I feel good, I hearken back to that feeling, that I’m standing in for them.
—Ron Vawter
(From Breaking the Rules
by David Savran)
PLAYWRIGHT’S NOTE
In 1986, my brother Carl invited me to join him in a joint excursion to Europe. Due to pressures of time and money, I declined, never dreaming that he was HIV positive. This is the letter he wrote me after his first bout with pneumonia at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, Maryland. He died on January 9, 1988.
As executor of his estate, I give permission to all future productions to reprint Carl’s letter in the accompanying program. I would appreciate letting him speak to us in his own words.
The Baltimore Waltz—a journey with Carl to a Europe that exists only in the imagination—was written during the summer of 1989 at the MacDowell Colony, New Hampshire.
—Paula Vogel
March 1987
Dear Paula:
I thought I would jot down some of my thoughts about the (shall we say) production values of my ceremony. Oh God—I can hear you groaning—everybody wants to direct. Well, I want a good show, even though my role has been reduced involuntarily from player to prop.
First, concerning the choice between a religious ceremony and a memorial service. I know the family considers my Anglican observances as irrelevant as Shinto. However, I wish prayers in some recognizably traditional form to be said, prayers that give thanks to the Creator for the gift of life and the hope of reunion. For reasons, which you appreciate, I prefer a woman cleric, if possible, to lead the prayers. Here are two names: Phebe Coe, Epiphany Church; the Rev. Doris Mote, Holy Evangelists. Be sure to make a generous contribution from the estate for the cleric.
As for the piece of me I leave behind, here are your options:
1.Open casket, full drag.
2.Open casket, bum up. (You’ll know where to place the calla lilies, won’t you?)
3.Closed casket, interment with the grandparents.
4.Cremation and burial of my ashes.
5.Cremation and dispersion of my ashes in some sylvan spot.
I would really like good music. My tastes in these matters run to the highbrow: Fauré’s “Pie Jesu” from his Requiem, Gluck’s “Dance of the Blessed Spirits” from Orfeo, “La Vergine degli Angeli” from Verdi’s Forza. But my favorite song is “I Dream of Jeannie,” and I wouldn’t mind a spiritual like “Steal Away.” Also, perhaps, “Nearer My God to Thee.” Didn’t Jeanette MacDonald sing that di-vinely in San Francisco?
Finally, would you read or have read A. E. Housman’s “Loveliest of Trees”?
Well, my dear, that’s that. Should I be lain with Grandma and Papa Ben, do stop by for a visit from year to year. And feel free to chat. You’ll find me a good listener.
Love,
Brother
CHARACTERS
ANNA
CARL: Her Brother.
THE THIRD MAN/DOCTOR, who also plays:
HARRY LIME
MUNICH VIRGIN
AIRPORT SECURITY GUARD
RADICAL STUDENT ACTIVIST
PUBLIC HEALTH OFFICIAL
CONCIERGE
GARÇON
DR. TODESROCHELN
CUSTOMS OFFICIAL
and all other parts
THE LITTLE DUTCH BOY AT AGE 50
The Baltimore Waltz takes place in a hospital lounge in Baltimore, Maryland.
PRODUCTION NOTES
The lighting should be highly stylized, lush, dark and imaginative, in contrast to the hospital white silence of the last scene. Wherever possible, prior to the last scene, the director is encouraged to score the production with music—every cliché of the European experience as imagined by Hollywood.
Anna might be dressed in a full slip/negligee and a trench coat. Carl is dressed in flannel pajamas and a blazer or jacket. The stuffed rabbit should be in every scene with Carl after Scene VI. The Third Man should wear latex gloves throughout the entire play.
I.
Three distinct areas on stage: Anna, stage right, in her trench coat, clutching the Berlitz Pocket Guide to Europe; Carl, stage left, wearing pajamas and blazer; The Third Man/Doctor, in his lab coat, with stethoscope, is center.
Anna reads from her book. Her accents are execrable.
ANNA: “Help me please.” (Recites from memory) Dutch: “Kunt U mij helpen, alstublieft?” “There’s nothing I can do.” French: (Searches in vain) I have no memory. (Reads from the Berlitz,) “Il n’y a rien à faire.” “Where are the toilets?” “Wo sind die Toiletten?”
I’ve never been abroad. It’s not that I don’t want to—but the language terrifies me. I was traumatized by a junior high school French teacher, and after that, it was a lost cause. I think that’s the reason I went into elementary education. Words like brioche, bidet, bildungsroman raise a sweat.
Oh, I want to go. Carl—he’s my brother, you’ll meet him shortly—he desperately wants to go. But then, he can speak six languages. He’s the head librarian of literature and languages at the San Francisco Public. It’s a very important position.
The thought of eight-hundre
d-year-old houses perched on the sides of mountains and rivers whose names you’ve only seen in the Sunday Times crossword puzzles—all of that is exciting. But I’m not going without him. He’s read so much. I couldn’t possibly go without him. You see, I’ve never been abroad—unless you count Baltimore, Maryland.
CARL: Good morning, boys and girls. It’s Monday morning, and it’s time for “Reading Hour with Uncle Carl” once again, here at the North Branch of the San Francisco Public Library. This is going to be a special reading hour. It’s my very last reading hour with you. Friday will be my very last day with the San Francisco Public as children’s librarian. Why? Do any of you know what a pink slip is? (Holds up a rectangle of pink) It means I’m going on a paid leave of absence for two weeks. Shelley Bizio, the branch supervisor, has given me my very own pink slip. I got a pink slip because I wear this. (He points to a pink triangle on his lapel) A pink triangle. Now, I want you all to take the pink construction paper in front of you, and take your scissors, and cut out pink triangles. There’s tape at every table, so you can wear them too! Make some for Mom and Dad, and your brothers and sisters. Very good. Very good, Fabio. Oh, that’s a beautiful pink triangle, Tse Heng.
Now before we read our last story together, I thought we might have a sing-along. Your parents can join in, if they’d like to. Oh, don’t be shy. Let’s do “Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush.” Remember that one? (He begins to sing. He also demonstrates) “Here we go round the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush / Here we go round the mulberry bush, so early in the morning.
“This is the way we pick our nose, pick our nose, pick our nose / This is the way we pick our nose, so early in the morning.”
Third verse! (He makes a rude gesture with his middle finger) “This is the way we go on strike, go on strike, go on strike / This is the way we go on strike, so early in the—”
What, Mrs. Bizio? I may leave immediately? I do not have to wait until Friday to collect unemployment? Why, thank you, Mrs. Bizio.
Well, boys and girls, Mrs. Bizio will take over now. Bear with her, she’s personality-impaired. I want you to be very good and remember me. I’m leaving for an immediate vacation with my sister on the East Coast, and I’ll think of you as I travel. Remember to wear those pink triangles.
(To his supervisor) I’m going. I’m going. You don’t have to be rude. They enjoyed it. We’ll take it up with the union. (Shouting) In a language you might understand: Up-pay ours-yay!
ANNA: It’s the language that terrifies me.
CARL: Lesson Number One: Subject Position. I. Je. Ich. Ik. I’m sorry. Je regrette. Es tut mir leid.
ANNA: But we decided to go when the doctor gave us his verdict.
DOCTOR: I’m sorry.
CARL: I’m sorry.
DOCTOR: There’s nothing we can do.
ANNA: But what?
CARL: How long?
ANNA: Explain it to me. Very slowly. So I can understand. Excuse me, could you tell me again?
DOCTOR: There are exudative and proliferative inflammatory alterations of the endocardium, consisting of necrotic debris, fibrinoid material and disintegrating fibroblastic cells.
CARL: Oh, sweet Jesus.
DOCTOR: It may be acute or subacute, caused by various bacteria: streptococci, staphylococci, enterococci, gonococci, gram-negative bacilli, etc. It may be due to other microorganisms, of course, but there is a high mortality rate with or without treatment. And there is usually rapid destruction and metastases.
CARL: Anna—
ANNA: I’m right here, darling. Right here.
CARL: Could you explain it very slowly?
DOCTOR: Also known as Löffler’s Syndrome, i.e., eosinophilia, resulting in fibroblastic thickening, persistent tachycardia, hepatomegaly, splenomegaly, serious effusions into the pleural cavity with edema. It may be Brugia malayi or Wuchereria bancofti—also known as Weingarten’s Syndrome. Often seen with effusions, either exudate or transudate.
ANNA: Carl—
CARL: I’m here, darling. Right here.
ANNA: It’s the language that terrifies me.
II.
CARL: Medical Straight Talk: Part One.
ANNA: So you’re telling me that you really don’t know?
DOCTOR: I’m afraid that medical science has only a small foothold in this area. But of course, it would be of great benefit to our knowledge if you would consent to observation here at Johns Hopkins—
CARL: Why? Running out of laboratory rats?!
ANNA: Oh, no. I’m sorry. I can’t do that. Can you tell me at least how it was…contracted?
DOCTOR: Well—we’re not sure, yet. It’s only a theory at this stage, but one that seems in great favor at the World Health Organization. We think it comes from the old cultus ornatus—
CARL: Toilet seats?
ANNA: Toilet seats! My God. Mother was right. She always said—
CARL: And never, ever, in any circumstances, in bus stations…
ANNA: Toilet seats? Cut down in the prime of youth by a toilet seat?
DOCTOR: Anna—I may call you Anna? You teach school, I believe?
ANNA: Yes, first grade. What does that have—
DOCTOR: Ah, yes. We’re beginning to see a lot of this in elementary schools.
Anna—I may call you Anna? With assurances of complete confidentiality, we need to ask you very specific questions about the body, body fluids and body functions. As mature adults, as scientists and educators. To speak frankly…when you needed to relieve yourself…where did you make wa-wa?
ANNA: There’s a faculty room. But why—how—?
DOCTOR: You never, ever used the johnny in your classroom?
ANNA: Well, maybe once or twice. There’s no lock, and Robbie Matthews always tries to barge in. Sometimes I just can’t get the time to—surely you’re not suggesting that—
DOCTOR: You did use the facilities in your classroom? (The Doctor makes notes from this)
CARL: Is that a crime? When you’ve got to go, you’ve got to—
ANNA: I can’t believe that my students would transmit something like this—
DOCTOR: You have no idea. Five year olds can be deadly. It seems to be an affliction, so far, of single schoolteachers. Schoolteachers with children of their own develop an immunity to ATD—Acquired Toilet Disease.
ANNA: I see. Why hasn’t anybody heard of this disease?
DOCTOR: Well, first of all, the Center for Disease Control doesn’t wish to inspire an all-out panic in communities. Secondly, we think education on this topic is the responsibility of the NEA, not the government. And if word of this pestilence gets out inappropriately, the PTA is going to be all over the school system demanding mandatory testing of every toilet seat in every lavatory. It’s kindling for a political disaster.
ANNA (Taking the Doctor aside): I want to ask you something confidentially. Something that my brother doesn’t need to hear. What’s the danger of transmission?
DOCTOR: There’s really no danger to anyone in the immediate family. You must use precautions.
ANNA: Because what I want to know is…can you transmit this thing by…by doing—what exactly do you mean by precautions?
DOCTOR: Well, I guess you should do what your mother always told you. You know, wash your hands before and after going to the bathroom. And never lick paper money or coins in any currency.
ANNA: So there’s no danger to anyone by…what I mean, Doctor, is that I can’t infect anyone by—
DOCTOR: Just use precautions.
ANNA: Because, in whatever time this schoolteacher has left, I intend to fuck my brains out.
DOCTOR: Which means, in whatever time is left, she can fuck her brains out.
III. Carl and the Doctor.
CARL (Agitated): I’ll tell you what. If Sandra Day O’Connor sat on just one infected potty, the media would be clamoring to do articles on ATD. If just one grandchild of George Bush caught this thing during toilet training, that would be the last we’d hea
r about the space program. Why isn’t someone doing something?!
I’m sorry. I know you’re one of the converted. You’re doing…well, everything you can. I’d like to ask you something in confidence, something my sister doesn’t need to hear. Is there any hope at all?
DOCTOR: Well, I suppose there’s…always hope.
CARL: Any experimental drugs? Treatments?
DOCTOR: Well, they’re trying all sorts of things abroad. Our hands are tied here by the NIH and the FDA, you understand. There is a long-shot avenue to explore, nothing, you understand, that I personally endorse, but there is an eighty-year-old urologist overseas who’s been working in this field for some time—
CARL: We’ll try anything.
DOCTOR: His name is Dr. Todesrocheln. He’s somewhat unorthodox, outside the medical community in Vienna. It’s gonna cost you. Mind you, this is not an endorsement.
ANNA: You hear the doctor through a long-distance corridor. Your ears are functioning, but the mind is numb. You try to listen as you swim toward his sentences in the florescent light in his office. But you don’t believe it at first.
This is how I’d like to die: with dignity. No body secretions—like Merle Oberon in Wuthering Heights. With a somewhat becoming flush, and a transcendental gaze. Luminous eyes piercing the veil of mortal existence. The windows are open to the fresh breeze blowing off the moors.
Oh. And violins in the background would be nice, too.
(Music: Violins playing Strauss swell in the background.)
IV. The Phone Call.
THE THIRD MAN: Lesson Number Two: Basic Dialogue. The phone call. Hello. I would like to speak to Mr. Lime, please.
CARL: Entschuldigen Sie, bitte—operator? Operator? Hello? Guten Tag? Kann ich bitte mit Herr Lime sprechen?
