by David Mamet
BERNIE: Supposedly never, but, actually, in about a year.
They review it.
They told me about it at the A.A. The guys there go up with you.
Their opinion is very respected.
CAROL: I was a teacher for a while.
BERNIE: You were? Where?
CAROL: In Newton. I taught sixth grade.
BERNIE: How about that! Where.
CAROL: At the Horace Mann School.
BERNIE: You were at the Horace Mann School?
CAROL: For a year and a half.
BERNIE: And I was right across the street?
CAROL: Where?
BERNIE: At the Garage.
The Company Garage is right across the street. I was out there all the time.
We used to eat at Mike's. Did you ever go in there?
CAROL: No. I went in for cigarettes once in a while.
BERNIE: I used to go in there all the time. I was there—easily—twice a week.
For years.
Goddamn.
When were you there?
CAROL: 1969.
BERNIE: . . . I haven't worked for the phone company since ‘55.
You want some tea?
CAROL: You have any coffee?
BERNIE: Yeah, sure. Instant.
CAROL: That's fine.
BERNIE: But I bet I saw you around. Boston, Boylston Street . . .
CAROL: We must've seen each other . . . in the Common . . .
A hundred times.
Scene XI
BERNIE: I remember the day you turned twenty-one.
February fourth, 1968.
Your birthday.
I was going to call you up.
You probably don't believe it.
It's not important.
The actions are important.
The present is important.
I spent a couple of days in jail once.
What it taught me, you've gotta be where you are.
. . . While you're there.
Or you're nowhere.
Do you know what I mean?
As it pertains to you and me?
Because I think it's very important. . . .
Does this make any sense to you?
CAROL: I want to get to know you.
BERNIE: And I want to get to know you. But that's not going to magically wipe out twenty years. . . .
In which you were growing up, which you had to do anyway, and I was drunk. . . .
I don't mean to get stupid about it.
But let's get up, go out, do this, go look at the locomotive if they've still got it there, something . . . you know?
Because, all kidding aside, what's between us isn't going nowhere, and the rest of it doesn't exist.
Scene XII
BERNIE: So let me ask you something—you don't mind if I get personal for a second, do you?
CAROL: What? (Pause.)
BERNIE: What I want to know is why all of a sudden you come looking for me. And it's not that I'm criticizing you.
CAROL: Why should I think you were criticizing me? Pause.
BERNIE: I mean, I could of come looking for you after you were twenty-one. Not that I was sure how you'd feel about seeing me . . . but you must of felt the same way? No.
I mean, it must of been . . . I'm guessing . . . some kind of decision to get you to all of a sudden come looking for me.
How did you find me?
CAROL: Through the A.A.
BERNIE: And you just kind of decided and sent Gerry over to meet me?
CAROL: Yes.
BERNIE: And why now?
CAROL: I felt lonely.
BERNIE: . . . Oh. (Pause.)
CAROL: You're my father.
Scene XIII
CAROL: I feel lonely.
Pause.
BERNIE: Who doesn't?
CAROL: Do you?
BERNIE: Sometimes.
CAROL: I feel cheated.
And, do you know what? I never had a father.
BERNIE: Carol . . .
CAROL: And I don't want to be pals and buddies; I want you to be my father.
(Pause.)
And to hear your goddamn war stories and the whole thing.
And that's why now because that's how I feel.
(Pause.)
I'm entitled to it.
Am I?
Am I?
BERNIE: Yes.
CAROL: I am. You're goddamn right.
BERNIE: You know what the important thing is?
CAROL: What?
BERNIE: To be together.
What's past is in the past . . . it's gone.
You're a grown woman . . . I'm on the wagon, your mother's remarried, I got a good job, and there's no reason . . .
I can't make it up to you.
CAROL: Do you have to go to work tonight?
BERNIE: I don't work on Sundays. But Sandy got sick so I was supposed to come in but I called Frank and he told me he'd get someone else to cover so I don't have to go in tonight.
You want to do something?
CAROL: Gerry was . . . he said he'd like it if we went out to dinner.
Would you like that?
BERNIE: Yeah. I'd like that.
CAROL: We could go out by ourselves if you want.
BERNIE: No. It's a good idea I think.
And it's no big thing in any case, right?
CAROL: . . . We could go out, just the two of us.
BERNIE: Whatever you want. What you want, Carol.
That's what we'll do.
Scene XIV
BERNIE: I got you something. Sit down. I'll give it to you.
CAROL: What is it?
BERNIE: I don't know. I found it on the bus.
CAROL: . . . It's beautiful.
BERNIE: Yeah.
CAROL (reading inscription): “To Carol from her Father. March eighth, 1973.”
BERNIE: It's my fault. It's not their fault. My threes look like eights.
It's only five days off.
It's the thought that counts. . . .
Ruth told me that you should never give anyone jewelry because then they'll always think they have to wear it when you're around. . . .
So I never gave her any.
CAROL: It's real gold. . . .
Thank you, Bernie.
BERNIE: I'm not going to tell you you don't have to wear it if you don't like it.
I hope you do like it.
CAROL: I do like it . . .
BERNIE: So what's the weather like out there?
CAROL: It's fine. Just a little chilly.
BERNIE: We should be getting ready, no? Shouldn't you call Gerry?
CAROL: Yes.
BERNIE: So you do that and I'll put away the things and then we'll go.
CAROL: The bracelet's lovely, Bernie.
BERNIE: Thank you.
DARK PONY
This play is dedicated to Lindsay Crouse
Dark Pony opened on October 14,1977, in a Yale Repertory production, New Haven, Connecticut, with the following cast:
THE FATHER Michael Higgins
THE DAUGHTER Lindsay Crouse
This production was directed by Walt Jones; set by Kate Edmunds; lighting by William Connor.
The Characters
THE FATHER
THE DAUGHTER
The Scene
An automobile.
The Time
Night.
FATHER: Once upon a time there was an Indian.
(Pause.)
In the days when wild things roamed the land, and long before the White Man came here.
DAUGHTER: When was this?
FATHER: A long, long time ago.
(Pause.)
DAUGHTER (to self): Long ago.
FATHER: He was a Brave, and very handsome.
DAUGHTER: What's a Brave?
FATHER: A man who fights in war.
A young man.
And his body was like Iron.
and he coul
d see like an Eagle.
And he could run like a Deer.
You ever see a deer run?
DAUGHTER: Sure.
FATHER: And swim like a fish.
DAUGHTER: And he ran like a deer?
FATHER: Yes.
DAUGHTER: Hopping?
FATHER: No. Not hopping. But as fast as deer run when they run.
DAUGHTER: And could he hop a fence?
FATHER: He could jump over it. Yes.
DAUGHTER (to self): Good.
FATHER: His name was . . .
FATHER and DAUGHTER (simultaneously): Rain Boy.
FATHER: And he was beloved by all his tribe, because he was both brave and gay.
And he brought happiness to all around him just by smiling.
If the times were bad.
Or singing songs he used to sing.
Or telling stories.
Then he would act out the parts.
He was a renowned fighter.
DAUGHTER: Who did they fight?
FATHER: Other tribes.
DAUGHTER: The Germans?
FATHER: No.
And Rain Boy had a special friend.
DAUGHTER: I know.
FATHER: Who?
DAUGHTER: Dark Pony!
FATHER: Yes, Dark Pony.
When he was in trouble or whenever he found that he needed help, then he would call his friend Dark Pony.
He would say:
“Dark Pony . . .”
FATHER and DAUGHTER (simultaneously): “Dark Pony, your friend Rain Boy calls to you.”
FATHER: Then he'd look up, if they were down in a valley, or around, if they were in a culvert, or a stream; or if they were high on a meadow.
He would see a speck. A dark red speck . . .
DAUGHTER (to self): Like blood.
FATHER: Red. Like a rose—like sunset in the wheat or grass.
Galloping towards him.
(Pause.)
Dark Pony.
Come to help him.
DAUGHTER (to self): “Your friend Rain Boy calls to you.”
FATHER: If he was wounded, pick him up and carry him away upon his back.
If he was thirsty, bring him cool stream water in a hide.
If he was hungry, bring him food.
DAUGHTER (to self): Something to eat.
FATHER: One day he was bound home after many moons of fighting in a foreign province.
He had not seen his wife or baby in a long, long while.
DAUGHTER (to self): He missed them.
FATHER: And he longed to see her.
Up they went.
Up through the mountains.
Climbing home.
Until the snows came.
Falling early on the homebound Braves—It trapped them.
DAUGHTER (to self): In the snow.
FATHER: Up in the mountains.
Cold.
Alone.
Until his enemies all stole away one night; They took his food, and told his friends that he had died, and crept on through the mountain ‘til he was alone.
(Pause.)
In the mountain woods.
(Pause.)
Starved and weak.
As he trudged on alone to see his young wife and his child.
Many days.
Until one night when he had fallen and was set upon by wolves.
DAUGHTER: No!
FATHER: He had built a fire so he could rest, and when it burnt down he would rise and march again.
DAUGHTER (to self): This was in Winter.
FATHER: When he woke, what did he see? The eyes of wolves!
DAUGHTER (to self): No.
FATHER: Glaring at him from the darkness.
Orange eyes and howling.
DAUGHTER: I'm scared.
Pause.
FATHER: And they drew closer.
He cried out with all his strength:
“Dark Pony, Dark Pony, your friend, Rain Boy, calls to you.”
And he looked up.
But he was alone.
The wolves came closer.
He cried:
“Dark Pony, Dark Pony.
Your friend, Rain Boy, calls to you.”
The wolves stopped.
(Pause.)
He lifted up a log from the fire to defend himself, but he knew that he couldn't last long.
He could smell them now.
(Pause.)
They came closer.
“Oh,” he said.
(Pause.)
“Oh, Dark Pony . . .”
(Pause.)
“You have forgotten me.”
Then he heard neighing.
(Pause.)
Hooves beating through the snow.
From the highest cliff.
Down through the mountain.
Crying. And galloping.
Borne like the sleet on the wind.
As he fell back exhausted,
The wolves whined.
They tried to flee.
DAUGHTER (to self): They tried to leave.
FATHER: But he bore down upon them.
(Pause.)
And through their midst.
(Pause.)
Through the dying fire.
The snow grew red with their blood.
(Pause.)
Then all became quiet.
The wind blew.
The snow drifted.
He lay in silence.
He had become cold.
Dark Pony walked over to him, and he nudged him with his nose.
(Pause.)
And he neighed.
(Pause.)
And he licked his face.
(Pause.)
Slowly he opened his eyes.
(Pause.)
He looked up above him.
Dark Pony was standing there.
(Pause.)
“Oh, Dark Pony,” he said . . .
(Pause.)
“I thought you had forgotten me.”
(Pause.)
DAUGHTER: Are we almost home yet?
FATHER: Yes.
(Pause.)
(To self) Down from the mountains.
Down.
Across the hills.
Across the prairies.
DAUGHTER: . . . Because I remember how it sounds.
FATHER: You do?
DAUGHTER: The road.
FATHER: Yes.
We are almost there.
DAUGHTER (to self): ‘Cause I remember how it sounds.
FATHER: . . . Down in the Valleys—he would look above and see his friend there.
DAUGHTER (to self): . . . Just before we get home.
Pause.
FATHER (to self): “Dark Pony, Rain Boy calls to you.”
Pause.
DAUGHTER: We are almost home.
