Death and Taxes
Page 16
DR. SCHADENFREUDE
Your eulogy, Doctor, is toast.
DR. DOGWATER
(Triumphantly!) I have cuh-cuh-committed it to muh-memory!
(They square off, preparing to duel. Dogwater begins, in a singsongy ecclesiastical tenor:)
DR. DOGWATER
“Our Huh-Holy Fuh-Father, who does not suh-suffer us that we should know the hour of our d-departing, nuh-no more that we shuh-should know the duh-destination of our suh-soul on its puh-perilous fuh-final fuh-flight . . .”
DR. SCHADENFREUDE
(Reading, fast aggressive and loud) “Honored, esteemed friends and neighbors and fellow citizens of Norfolk, and most especially Your Majesty, before the full auric effulgency and pearline dazzlements of whose presence I am nearly but fortunately not entirely overwhelmed and at a loss of words, confronted with whose Jovian and may I be forgiven for saying it remarkably pleasing and attractive countenance the mere sight of which . . .”
(They are getting louder and louder, trying to outshout one another.)
DR. DOGWATER
(Continues his speech from above) “. . . compared to huh-whose stark and tuh-terrible Ma-ajesty we are as guh-giddy as mayflies, luh-loathsome as eels, wicked and heedless and damnable as vuh-vixen and vultures, lowly and vuh-vomitous as the cah-carrion of the earth; God Almighty in Huh-His infinite muh-mercy has taken fuh-from us our duh-dear Sir Thomas Buh-Browne, and in his puh-parting we should rejoice and make muh-merry, we should cuh-clap our hands and suh-sing hymns of laudation and thuh-thanksgiving, we shuh-should eat ruh-robustly and—”
DR. SCHADENFREUDE
(Continues his speech from above) “. . . inspires, conjures, calls forth in me, an inexpressibly grateful recipient for lo these many years of this most exceedingly delightful serene and salubrious island’s world-renowned grace and hospitality, the tenderest and yet most thrillingly exalted of memories and recollections of my many many many many years of exquisitely intimate acquaintance with our Sir Thomas Browne, whom I was pleased to call friend, patient, confidante, now departed, gone gone gone gone, and yet, with all these memories, we haven’t lost him—No! Allow me to share a few dozen of the most select with you. Ah I remember the day we met, it was—”
(The dueling eulogists are toe to toe, shrieking with rage at one another, ready to come to blows, when Babbo blows a shrill whistle. They stop, everyone turns to her.)
BABBO
I got da Will.
It bin in da tart. Den da tart disappearet. Den I findet da tart, but da Will han’t bin in it. Den I foundet da Will, and I put it back inna tart. And den da missus took it from me, da Will and da tart. And den I foundet da Will. (Little maddening pause) Not da tart. Just da Will. One lastet time—
DAME DOROTHY
Found it? Where?
BABBO
(Almost a whisper) In da doctah’s mouth. Aftah he bin dead.
DR. DOGWATER
Thuh-then huh-whose . . . ?
THE ABBESS OF X
(Over Dogwater’s line above) Whose Will is it?
(From the urn, a great blast of smoke belches forth!
Everyone screams in terror and falls to the floor as, in the doorway leading to the kitchen, Dr. Browne is standing. He is slim, dressed in dark splendid Restoration clothing, which though not mouldering and decayed, look a bit like Death’s costume. Browne is pale but quite elegant.)
DR. BROWNE
This is the Last Will and Testament of Sir Thomas Browne, Doctor of Norfolk, Author.
(He enters the room)
My will is . . . to eat. To greedily engorge without restraint and know not eating death. I wake up, I wake up moments after dying—hungry. My life I spent defeating my hunger, I conquered my hunger by eating the world, and yet my hunger will live, it will live on after me, I will be hunger. Every gift I ever gave I want to retrieve; every cent I ever paid in tax or wage or purchase I want to steal back; every morsel in the mouth of every child ever fed by food procured with the money I spent I long to snatch back and eat and surfeit and die and disassemble and dust and disappear . . .
(He considers his corpse on the bed for an instant, and then) And most of all my name, I want to devour! And most of all, all the words, the words words words! I want to eat my words! Come flooding back to me, my words, unmake the world, the world I made by writing, undo it all, my every word, flood back into my blistered broken mouth and stop it up like clay, forever!
(Pause)
And for all the piddling rest of it, the house, the gold, the quarry . . . Well of course Dorothy I leave it all to you. To whom else, wife? Companion of my life. I leave everything to you.
(To the rest of them) So much fuss and bother . . . I suppose it gave the supporting cast something to do. While waiting for the end.
(The rumble from the fields again.)
DR. BROWNE
The end has come.
And tell the children, tell my friends, my foes, the future—NO. Don’t tell them ANYTHING.
(The notes of the Dies Irae sound, faintly. From the kitchen, a warm red glow, drifts of smoke.
Sarah sniffs. Browne, looking at her briefly, also sniffs. Then he sniffs again.)
DR. BROWNE
I wonder . . . what’s cooking . . . in the kitchen?
(He exits through the door from which he entered. Before he disappears from view, he raises his arms. Immediately, a big fiery explosion from the kitchen. A hot red glow in the windows. A very serious fire.)
DAME DOROTHY
A fire, fire in the kitchen!
(She runs out. Schadenfreude and Doña Estrelita look at each other.)
DOÑA ESTRELITA
Perhaps we put the wrong corpse in the oven.
DR. SCHADENFREUDE
Uh oh!
(Schadenfreude and Doña Estrelita run out.)
DR. DOGWATER
(Looking out the window) Oh duh-dear, the thatch is catching. The whole west wing is gah-going up.
THE ABBESS OF X
What’s that noise?
(The rumbling again, very deep, very low, very loud, and the sounds of mighty whirling winds, and a far-off sound of shouts and screams.)
DR. DOGWATER
The ruh-roof caving in, puh-probably.
THE ABBESS OF X
No, another noise, from outside . . .
(The sounds outside increase, the room grows darker.)
RUTH
Mary, what be dat soundet?
MARY
Soundet like it come from da general direction a da quarry.
DR. DOGWATER
The quarry?
(The sound suddenly gets much worse, a terrible, appalling, bone-rattling, theater-shaking, crashing, roaring, imploding sound—the worst sound ever heard, the sound of the world ending. Under it, or over it, the Dies Irae again. The lights in the candles flicker out as the room grows terribly dark. In the windows a sick green light.)
DR. DOGWATER
Oh my Guh-God!
(The Abbess, Pumpkin and Dogwater rush out. Ruth and Mary follow them. The terrible roaring and imploding continues, on and on. Bits of plaster fall from the ceiling. Babbo and Maccabbee cower together. Sarah stands, thrilled by the pandemonium, and bows. The sound begins to die, the lights restore.)
BABBO
Dis han’t a atmospheret conducive ta grief.
(There is a moist explosion, like something big and wet popping.)
MACCABBEE
Wonder what dat be?
BABBO
It comet from da pantry.
MACCABBEE
Da chicken! Da chicken explodet!
(He runs off. His Soul enters from the kitchen, soot-blackened, smoking a cigarette, carrying a goblet.)
HIS SOUL
(Ear to the ground) I hear something. Underground. Tunneling, scurrying, it’s . . . Moles.
I feel awful.
(Doña Estrelita enters, Schadenfreude close behind her. She flings herself on the body of Browne.)
DOÑA ESTRELITA
Thomas, good-bye, I have failed in my mission!
DR. SCHADENFREUDE
Doña!
DOÑA ESTRELITA
What?
DR. SCHADENFREUDE
I assume you have connections at court.
DOÑA ESTRELITA
When I am in London the queen and I visit cemeteries together.
We make tombstone rubbings.
DR. SCHADENFREUDE
The office of king’s physician.
DOÑA ESTRELITA
I know a brilliant Norfolk doctor of German extraction who simply must be appointed!
DR. SCHADENFREUDE
And you, great lady, will receive the ashes of your love, in a small box, by parcel post!
DOÑA ESTRELITA
But how—
DR. SCHADENFREUDE
They’ll put him in the ground, I’ll dig him up. Child’s play! I too have an oven . . .
(She kisses him, a long hot kiss on the mouth.)
DOÑA ESTRELITA
I must go. My ship departs Brighton at sunrise.
(She starts out.)
DR. SCHADENFREUDE
Wait!
(He lifts the urn, hands it to her)
A souvenir . . .
(She accepts it and bows. They exit.
Dorothy enters, sooty and disheveled and numbed.)
DAME DOROTHY
Oh. Let it burn, there are far too many rooms in this house anyway. The west wing was where the children lived. It won’t be missed.
(She sits on the bed next to Browne’s body.
The Abbess enters in a big hurry. She says a very fast prayer over the corpse, and then heads out the door.)
BABBO
Where ya headet, Alice?
THE ABBESS OF X
It’s a sign from God! Back to France! (Exits)
BABBO
(Calling after) Have a good swim, Alice.
(Dogwater, Pumpkin, Ruth and Mary enter from outside.)
DR. DOGWATER
Bah-bah-bah-
PUMPKIN
Da quarry, bin gone!
RUTH
Congratulations, Sarah, bin some curse.
PUMPKIN
Da machines . . . drillet, hit a giant cavern underneaf, ’n’ . . . da ground split, ’n’ da whole works just fall right in. Gone. From da rim you han’t see da bottom. ’Tis a verra abyss.
SARAH
Gone ta hell.
(The ranters embrace one another.)
RUTH AND MARY
Yisroel ’n’ Judah!
(The ranters rush outside again.)
DR. DOGWATER
The expense, the overhead, it’s the end of the wuh-world.
PUMPKIN
’Tis unfair! My shares bin swallowet! I worket hard fer dem.
DAME DOROTHY
Poor Pumpkin, you always wind up with a pit, in a rut, with a hole in the ground. God beshrew my heart, but I pity you.
PUMPKIN
(Looking at her hard for a moment, then) You han’t gotta do dat. Dis hurt me sumpin harful but I bin a descendant a a sturdy race. Fuck da countryside. I go to London.
(To Dorothy again, with cold hatred) I han’t feel nuffin. (He exits)
DR. DOGWATER
Y-yes. Not to dah-despair. I’ve luh-lost everything. (To Dorothy) But then again so have yuh-you. Thuh-that’s some cuh-comfort.
Guh-God moves in mah-mysterious and sometimes ruh-rather malicious ways. To spur us on. And we go on. We duh-dare not do otherwise.
(Dogwater exits as the ranters return.)
SARAH
Dorothy.
DAME DOROTHY
I can’t rise, I’ve taken root.
SARAH
Listet, babbie. In ten days dere be a ship sailet from Portsmouth.’N’ me ’n’ Mary ’n’ Ruth be on It. It sail fer da new world.
MARY
Sail fer America.
RUTH
Dere bin endless land dere, belonget ta no one. Only savages.
MARY
We maket a community dere, a fellow creatures.
SARAH
Da new world, Dorothy. Bin you comet?
(Dorothy stands slowly.)
DAME DOROTHY
First I have to bury my husband.
SARAH
Portsmouth. Da ship bin callet Circe. Circe bin a Greek witch.
(The ranters go.)
HIS SOUL
(Sings:)
Happily I turn the earth,
tunneling for all I’m worth.
Who needs Heaven, who needs souls?
Below is Paradise for moles . . .
DAME DOROTHY
Good-bye, husband. We’ve populated the earth. We’ll have our grandchildren, never fear, the children were only waiting for you to go. And generations will descend, down through the centuries, cursed by our gold, Browne upon Browne.
I’ll go my solitary way to America, and maybe I’ll marry again. I’ll bring only one possession:
(She holds up a slender, elegant book, reads from the title page)
“Hydriotaphia or Urne-Buriall,” by Sir Thomas Browne. I’ll read it to children to help them fall asleep at night. Your words. To turn into pure music in their heads as they dream.
(She kisses the corpse’s forehead and leaves.)
HIS SOUL
(Sings:)
Heaven’s bright and full of fluff,
And never is there dirt enough,
So Heaven’s not where moles are found
But digging deeper
Deeper deeper
Always deeper underground . . .
(Speaking, looking over the audience, the room, the theater with great wonder and awe and joy) My goodness. So this is what the earth is like. So this is what a body is. So this is what people are. It’s been quite an experience.
(Holding up goblet) And this concoction is delicious! And these cigarettes, well, yum yum, I recommend cigarettes to every
—Um. Urk. (A violent spasm of the gut) Uh oh.
(Another spasm)
This is anticlimactic, don’t you think? Oh, well.
(His Soul dies, collapsing in the pile of soiled laundry. A faint, distant, solemn single church bell chimes.)
MACCABBEE
(Entering) My nose! Lookit! Lookit at my nose! Tell me I han’t been dreamet!
BABBO
It han’t bronzet no more!
MACCABBEE
Resurrectet! A fleshly proboscis as in days a yore!
BABBO
Praise Gawd! It been a mackerel!
MACCABBEE
Verra! Chicken C! It burstet! ’N’ inside dere bin maggots! ’N’ da maggots sproutet wings, ’n’ dey bin flies! ’N’ da flies growet black ’n’gold, ’n’ turnet inta bees! ’N’ da bees maket honey, clover honey, ’n’ honey cover da walls, run on da floor, sweet honey, smella clover, fields in flower, ’n’ I accosted myself, “Maccabbee,” I says, “draw a long deep breath a dis miracleous perfume!” ’N’ I drawet, ’n’ den . . . Outta dat dead metal comet dis livet protuberance! Alive, alive, ’tis verra nice indeed.
(He inhales. She inhales.)
BABBO
Dat laundry reeket. Tomorrow we burnet.
MACCABBEE
Dere bin good smells ’n’ bad, ’n’ eiver one gets me going.
(They look at each other.)
BABBO
You wanna?
MACCABBEE
(Looking at His Soul) Poor babbie.
Poor Dr. Browne. God bless his soul.