EMILY: And he did like my haircut.
HENRI: He’s a big baby, you know; his mother nursed him till he was seven.
EMILY: I hope you don’t expect me to pick up where she left off.
SARAH, closing her phone: I’m pregnant!
EMILY: Oh, Sarah!
She bursts into tears.
SARAH: What’s the matter? Taking her hand as she weeps loudly, uncontrolled. Oh Emily, what is it!
EMILY: I’m so glad for you! I mean you look so happy and I’m all fucked up! Kisses Sarah. Drink milk or something . . .
HENRI: I do admire your irony!
EMILY: Yes, I’m famous for it. Miss Irony Mud. —Okay, I’ll margarine the General.
HENRI: Thank you, my dear.
EMILY: Tell me, Henri, as a truth-loving philosopher—wouldn’t you gladly resign from the human race if only there was another one to belong to?
HENRI: Oh, of course. But are we sure it would be any better?
BLACKOUT
SCENE III
Stanley, an apostle, softly plays a harmonium in Felix’s office. Sneakers, unkempt ponytail, blue denim shirt, backpack.
Felix enters.
FELIX: Thank you for coming.
STANLEY: Well, I was arrested.
FELIX: What’s your name again?
STANLEY: Stanley.
FELIX: You know who I am.
STANLEY: Of course. You’re the head.
FELIX: Tha-a-a-t’s right, I am the head. I’m told you’re very close to him.
STANLEY, cautiously: You could say that.
FELIX: Asshole buddies.
STANLEY: . . . I never put it quite that way.
FELIX: I’m told you did some . . . service for us a while back.
STANLEY: I’ve made some mistakes in my life, that was one of the big ones.
FELIX: We need to know where he is. There’s good money in the information.
STANLEY: Thanks, but I really don’t need money right now.
FELIX: Then tell me gratis—where is he?
STANLEY: I’ve no idea. Honest.
FELIX: A neighbor claims he saw him going into your house in the middle of last night.
STANLEY: How did he know it was him?
FELIX: He’d seen him earlier, standing on the corner staring into space for over an hour like a crazy man.
STANLEY: He only stayed with me a little and left.
FELIX: . . . Tell me, does he think he’s the son of god?
STANLEY: That depends.
FELIX: Really! On what?
STANLEY: Hard to say.
FELIX: Let’s put it this way, Stanley, if you’re going to fuck around with me we’ll be happy to knock your teeth out, starting with the front. This would not be my preference, but we are a military government and I am only one of five officers running things. Now please answer my questions before some really bad personalities get into this. The question is whether he believes he is the son of god.
STANLEY: Some days he’s sure of it and then he . . . suddenly can’t believe it. I mean it’s understandable.
FELIX: Why is it understandable?
STANLEY: Well, a man facing crucifixion’d better be pretty sure what he believes.
FELIX: Why? If he’s the son of god crucifixion shouldn’t bother him too much.
STANLEY: Yeah, but if it turns out he’s not the son of god it’ll bother him a lot.
FELIX: What’s your opinion? Is he?
STANLEY: . . . I better fill you in before I answer that. I’ve ruined my life believing in things; I spent two and a half years in India in an ashram; I’ve been into everything from dope to alcohol to alfalfa therapy to Rolfing to Buddhism to total vegetarianism, which I’m into now. So you ask me do I believe he’s the son of god, I have to be honest—yes, I believe he is . . . kind of.
FELIX: Kind of.
STANLEY: Well, with a background like mine how do I know what I’m going to believe next week?
FELIX, thinks for a moment: What did you talk about with him last night?
STANLEY: Last night? Well, let’s see—women, mainly. They’re a mystery to him. Men also, but not as much.
FELIX: He’s bisexual?
STANLEY: I would say he’s more like . . . tri.
FELIX: Trisexual.
STANLEY: Yes.
FELIX: Well let’s see now—there’s men, and women, and what?
STANLEY: Well . . . vegetation.
FELIX: He fucks cabbages?
STANLEY: No-no, he loves them.
FELIX: Loves cabbages.
STANLEY: Well they’re alive.
FELIX: I see. What about a girlfriend?
STANLEY: Well, yeah, one. But she jumped out of a window recently.
FELIX: . . . You don’t mean Henri Schultz’s daughter.
STANLEY: Oh, you know him?
FELIX: We’re cousins. —So this son of god is banging Schultz’s daughter?
STANLEY: I don’t think so, frankly. My impression is that it stays kind of—you know—remote. Although I picked him up one morning at her apartment and she looked like a woman who . . . you know . . .
FELIX: Had had it.
STANLEY: But I think it was different. I think he may have just . . . laid down next to her and . . . you know . . . lit up. —Because you know he can just light up and . . .
FELIX: I know, I saw him do it. So you mean if he lights up it makes her . . . ?
STANLEY: Definitely.
FELIX, truly fascinated: Huh! That’s very interesting. That’s one of the most interesting things I’ve heard lately. —And how long can he stay lit up?
STANLEY: Seems like . . . I don’t know . . . a few seconds.
FELIX: Is that all.
STANLEY: Well of course I never actually saw . . .
FELIX: So it could have been longer.
STANLEY: Who knows? I mean . . .
FELIX: Yes. Exhales, blows out air. This is really amazing. Worried but curious. I was wondering why Schultz was so fascinated by him.
STANLEY: Oh but I doubt she’d have mentioned Jack to her father.
FELIX: That’s his name—Jack?
STANLEY: Well one of them. Jack Brown. But he’s got others . . . depending.
FELIX: We believe his name is Juan Manuel Francisco Frederico Ortuga de Oviedo. Although up in the villages some of them call him Ralph.
STANLEY: Possible. He changes names so he won’t turn into like . . . you know . . . some kind of celebrity guru.
FELIX: Well, that’s unusual, isn’t it. Now tell me how he escaped from jail.
STANLEY: I really can’t talk about that.
FELIX: How did he get out, Stanley?
STANLEY: He doesn’t like people talking about it.
FELIX: About what?
STANLEY, conflicted, shifts in his chair: I’m really not comfortable talking about that part of it.
FELIX: I don’t want to have to persuade you, Stan. How did he escape?
STANLEY: Well . . . is this something you’re insisting on?
FELIX: This is something I’m insisting on.
STANLEY: . . . He went through the walls.
Pause.
FELIX: And how did he do that?
STANLEY: You’re asking me so I’m telling you, right? He has terrific mind control, he can see space.
FELIX: Anybody can see space.
STANLEY: No. What you see is the borders, like the walls of a room, or mountains. Pure space is only an idea, so he can think it out of existence. But he doesn’t want it spread around too much.
FELIX: Why’s that?
STANLEY: If he gets known as a magician he thinks it could take away from his main message.
FELIX: Which is wha
t, in a few words?
STANLEY: Well, you know . . . just don’t do bad things. Especially when you know they’re bad. Which you mostly do.
Pause.
FELIX: You like women?
STANLEY: Well I’m . . . yeah, I guess I’m kind of on the horny side.
FELIX: You ever light up with them?
STANLEY: Me? Well there’ve been times when I almost feel I have, but . . . I guess I’ve never blinded any of them.
FELIX, some embarrassment: I want to talk to him, Stanley. For personal reasons.
STANLEY: Well, if he shows up, I’ll tell him.
FELIX, attempting cool: . . . I want you to emphasize the personal. Let him pick a place and I’ll meet him alone.
STANLEY, realizing: . . . Oh!
FELIX: I’m interested in discussing the whole situation. You understand?
STANLEY: —Okay, I’ll tell him. —You want to be any more specific?
FELIX, hesitates: . . . No, that’s . . . that’s about it. Suddenly suspicious, hardens. He didn’t send you to me, did he?
Stanley looks away.
Stanley?
No response.
Did he send you?
No response.
Why did he send you?
No response.
Answer me! Did you get yourself arrested?
STANLEY: It’s complicated. —I can’t stand the idea of him being . . . you know . . . hurt. So I thought maybe I could talk to you about it. —See, I think in some part of his mind he thinks it would help the people.
FELIX: If he’s executed.
STANLEY: Crucified.
FELIX: He wants it.
STANLEY: . . . In a way, maybe.
FELIX: How would it help them?
STANLEY: Well, now that the revolution’s practically gone, people are pretty . . . you know . . . cynical about everything.
FELIX: What about it?
STANLEY: To see a man tortured for their sake . . . you know . . . that a man could actually like care that much about anything . . .
FELIX: You’re telling me something . . . what are you telling me? —Does he want it or not?
STANLEY: Oh no! No. It’s just that . . . you see— Rapidly overwhelmed by the vision’s horror. —he gets to where he just can’t like bear it—
FELIX: Bear what!
STANLEY: Well . . . the horror!
FELIX: What horror, what the hell are you talking about!
STANLEY: Well like—excuse the expression—living in this country! Like when he takes a walk and sees some—some guy sending out eight-year-old daughters to work the streets, or those little kids a couple of weeks ago killing that old man for his shoes . . . Or, excuse the expression, the Army opening up on that farmers’ demonstration last spring . . .
FELIX: Those people had no permission to . . . !
STANLEY, more and more stridently: Well you asked me so I’m telling you, right? A massacre like that can start him shivering and he can’t stop crying! I’ve seen him go for . . . like two hours at a time, crying his heart out. Then he stops and he’s cool for a while. We even have fun. Then he sees something and it like hits him again and he begins talking like in . . . Swedish, sounds like, or Russian or German—he once told me in a joke that he’s trying to find out what language god understands. Then he falls asleep, and wakes up sounding like anybody else—and that’s when he doesn’t know.
FELIX: Doesn’t know what?
STANLEY: Well . . . whether maybe he really is supposed to die, and . . . like cause everything to change. —I mean, for your own sake, sir, I would definitely think about just letting him go, you know? I mean this can be dangerous!
FELIX: I think you know where he is, Stanley. I asked you in a nice way, now we’ll try something else.
Goes to the door, grasps the knob.
STANLEY: You going to hurt me?
FELIX: I’m stashing you away until you make up your mind to lead us to him. And incidentally, there’s some hungry livestock in there that I don’t think you’re going to enjoy. Get in!
Felix opens the door and the blinding white light flies out; he raises his hands to shield his eyes.
My god, he’s back!
Stanley falls to his knees facing the open door. Felix steps to his desk, presses a button, loud alarm bells go off as he shouts into his intercom . . .
Captain! Come quick, he’s back, he’s back!
Captain and two soldiers come in on the run.
Captain and soldiers rush out through the door. Felix yanks Stanley to his feet.
FELIX: Why did he come back? What’s this all about, Stanley?
STANLEY, scared, elevated: God knows!
FELIX, grabs Stanley, shakes him: Answer me! Answer me!
STANLEY, almost lifted off the floor by the throat: —I think he just can’t make up his mind, that’s all—whether he really wants to—like die. I mean it’s understandable, right?—
Felix releases him.
. . . with this great kind of weather we’re having?
Captain and two soldiers back out of the cell doorway; they are trembling, trailing their rifles, staring in at the cell.
FELIX: What’s this now!
He rushes to the cell, looks in. Then turns to the soldiers.
How’d he get out!
They are speechless. Whirls about to Stanley.
Talk to me! Why’d he come back! Why’d he escape?
STANLEY: I don’t know! . . . Maybe to get your mind off me? I mean . . . it’s possible, right?—for a friend?
BLACKOUT
SCENE IV
Café table. Henri seated with a bottle of water and glass. Skip enters, looking about.
HENRI: Mr. Cheeseboro!
SKIP: Hi. Sitting. I don’t have much time. What can you tell me?
HENRI: Can I order something?
SKIP: I’ll have to leave in a few minutes.
HENRI: No news, I take it.
SKIP: Nothing. And you?
HENRI, a shake of the head: I thought an exchange of ideas could be useful—the two of us, quietly . . .
SKIP, slaps his own cheeks then lets his head hang: I’m beginning to smell the dead-dog stink of disaster. Straightens up. Tell me—why’d the General let this man escape?
HENRI: It was a complete surprise to him. I spoke to him shortly after it happened; he was absolutely shocked . . .
SKIP: But he had him locked in a cell. —We’ve made a large down-payment, you know. . . . Or may one appeal to logic in this country?
HENRI: This is why I thought you and I ought to talk.
SKIP: About what?
HENRI: Have you any interest in history? Or philosophy? Where did you go to school?
SKIP: Princeton. But my interest was business, frankly. No philosophy, no culture, mainly the market.
HENRI: Oh, but poetry and the stock market have a lot in common, you know.
SKIP: Poetry and the market!
HENRI: Oh yes. They are both based on rules that the successful never obey. —A few years ago I spent some time in Egypt . . . you’ve probably been there?
SKIP: Egypt?—I’ve shot commercials all over Egypt . . . Chrysler, Bayer Aspirin, Viagra . . .
HENRI: . . . Then you know some of the wall paintings and sculpture.
SKIP: Of course. —What’s this about?
HENRI: I want to tell you about a surprising discovery I made there. I am far from expert on the subject, but . . .
SKIP: What are you, a businessman or an academic?
HENRI: I retired from the pharmaceuticals business some years ago. I still breed fighting bulls but I’m getting out of that too; I’m basically a scholar now. In Egypt . . .
SKIP, takes out a cell phone and punches numbers from no
tebook: Excuse me.
HENRI: If you’re making a local call . . .
SKIP: The General’s office. To tell him I’m here.
HENRI: Doubt that’ll work . . . Glances at watch. . . . this close to lunch.
SKIP: Good god, why don’t they fix it?
HENRI: They? There is no “they” here; hasn’t been in most of the world since the fall of Rome.
SKIP, snaps his phone shut: What can you tell me about this guy’s escape?
HENRI: —I know how absurd this is going to sound, but I ask you to hear me out. Slight pause. I had a very distinct feeling at the time they found him gone, that he had never been in that cell.
SKIP: But they had him, they’d captured him.
HENRI: They believed that, yes.
SKIP: What are you talking about?
HENRI, considers: . . . It struck me one day in Egypt . . .
SKIP, starting to rise: Look, I have no interest in Egypt . . .
HENRI, voice hardly raised: This may save your neck, Mr. Cheeseboro! Do sit; please.—
Skip goes still.
It struck me one day; that there were lots of images of the peoples the Egyptians had conquered, but none showing Jewish captives. I am far from expert in the subject but I couldn’t find more than one or two menorah—candelabra—a vague star of David . . . almost nothing, really. Which is terribly strange when the Jews are supposed to have drowned the whole Egyptian army, don’t you think? And Joseph was the Pharaoh’s chief adviser and so on? It would be, let’s say, like writing the history of Japan with no mention of the atomic bomb.—
SKIP: But what is the connection with . . . ?
HENRI: One day the thought hit me—could the whole story of the Jews in Egypt have simply been a poem? More or less like Homer describing magical cattle, and ravenous women and so on? Ancient peoples saw no difference between a vivid description of marvels and what we call reality—for them the description itself was the reality. In short, the Jews may never have been literally enslaved in Egypt; or perhaps some had been, but the story as we know it may have been largely fictional, an overwhelmingly powerful act of the imagination.
The Penguin Arthur Miller Page 137
