by Tony Kushner
(Babbo crams the Will inside the tart.)
DR. BROWNE
Oh. Well . . . um, alright, you . . . You’ll, uh . . . remember to take it out before you bake it.
BABBO
A course, Doctah, I bin old but my memory bin sharp as a . . . Sharp as a . . . Uh . . .
DR. BROWNE
Tack?
BABBO
Right! So han’t be worret, Doctah Greene.
DR. BROWNE
Browne.
BABBO
Da tarts come out nicet. Gotta go get da chickens ready fer broasting.
(She goes.
His Soul sits up.)
HIS SOUL
Can’t you release me? Can’t you let me go? You see how I suffer.
DR. BROWNE
(Trying) I can’t . . . unclench.
HIS SOUL
You hoard everything. It’s only justice that you should die of constipation.
DR. BROWNE
Don’t hate me so terribly.
HIS SOUL
I want a divorce.
DR. BROWNE
I fed you well. I read Latin and Greek, philosophy and mathematics, all for you. All food for you.
HIS SOUL
You tried. It never worked. Everything had to pass through you. All that meat. We must divide possessions now, and part company.
DR. BROWNE
I picked wildflowers, I gawped at the moon, I prayed devotedly to God for your redemption—
HIS SOUL
Redeem me then. DIE! I want nothing weighty, no ballast when I ascend. Nothing you’ve touched and polluted. The house, the gold, the quarry, all yours. I only want a small shard of an idea.
DR. BROWNE
I thought . . . I thought I’d want to die today but I’m so . . . afraid. Don’t leave me.
HIS SOUL
You used to be able to close your eyes and see the light of Heaven.
DR. BROWNE
That was very long ago.
HIS SOUL
I know. Now when you close your eyes . . .
DR. BROWNE
A kind of dull brown and red darkness.
HIS SOUL
Mostly that, yes, but—
DR. BROWNE
Daylight diffused through flesh. Nothing else.
HIS SOUL
Liar! There’s one small speck of fire in there, one pure dot of light flickering, imperiled, but there!
DR. BROWNE
Paradise.
HIS SOUL
You try to hide it from me!
DR. BROWNE
Reduced to that pinprick.
HIS SOUL
But paradise even so! Mine!
DR. BROWNE
I’ll have to think about it.
HIS SOUL
Don’t think! Don’t do that! Just give! If you think you’ll extinguish it! Relinquish it to me!
DR. BROWNE
Paradise. (He’s beginning to nod out) What do I think of Paradise? Listen. The machines. Boooomm. Booooom . . .
Parad . . .
(He’s asleep.)
HIS SOUL
Miser! After all I’ve done for you! You have to examine even that, that one atomie of gold; never valued it before, but now that I want it, you can’t resist fingering it till it’s tarnished, cheap brass like all the other goods in your cobwebbed musty little brass shop. Brazen hoarder. I hope you burst.
(As His Soul is railing the ranter women have snuck in and gathered round the bed.)
SARAH
(Looking at His Soul) Bin talket to his soul.
(His Soul sinks from view.)
MARY
What it say?
RUTH
Say liberty. Say justice fer all da fellow creatures, Mary. Say peace ’n’ food ’n’ land, ’n’ whilst it weepet fer da homeless ’n’ afflictet dis windgall here get bored ’n’ fall asleep.
SARAH
Muttering paradise.
RUTH
Be a good time ta rant, ’n’ set up a hoo-hah dat shake da thatch from da roof ’n’ buggle da peeps from out his yead. ’N’ do it now. Da louse be dead before you knowit. ’N’ dat pastor almost took us pinching da silver.
SARAH
I got a lovely big spoon. Verra pretty spoon.
RUTH
(Beginning to rant) By da verra balls a da bleedet Christ, by da withered dugs a Mary, by da stripet socks a Joseph . . .
(All three start to shake in the grip of something powerful. Mary snaps out of it and stops Ruth.)
MARY
Hold it, Ruth, fer Christ sake, caused oncet you get ranting all three of us commencet. ’N’ Sarah ent said ready. ’N’ ’tis fer da memory a her poor mama we come here.
(Browne stirs.)
SARAH
Da puffball squirmet, be waket soon. Him dreamet some foul, sweaty dream, some guilty racket him.
Soon we rant, not yet. I gotta feel da time.
RUTH
(Hissing in Browne’s ear) Earfen clot.
MARY
Hist Ruth, ’n’ come away.
(They exit.)
DR. BROWNE
(Waking slowly) There’s a ship on a dark river, fed by frozen streams, feeding an arctic ocean; my coffin ship. It’s creaking. (He calls to His Soul) Are you there? Can we . . . negotiate? Leave me then. Losing you is less than losing nothing, you incorporeal nonentity.
Maccabbee! MACCABBEE!
I mustn’t shout, it—
(Maccabbee enters.)
MACCABBEE
Whatchoo want?
DR. BROWNE
A final experiment. Fetch three live chickens and—
MACCABBEE
You oughta rest, converse yer strength, Dr. Browne, keep da experiments fer later—
DR. BROWNE
My later is gone. I have to know . . . something. Fetch three live chickens.
MACCABBEE
Three live chickens.
DR. BROWNE
Weigh each one.
MACCABBEE
Weigh each one.
DR. BROWNE
Then strangle them.
MACCABBEE
A course.
DR. BROWNE
Wait a few minutes after they die, and then weigh them again. Bring me the results.
MACCABBEE
Da strangled chickens?
DR. BROWNE
No, cretin. The weights. Pre- and postmortem weights.
MACCABBEE
No need ta call names.
DR. BROWNE
Chicken A weighs . . . six pounds. Alive.
Does it weigh less when it’s dead?
If it does, then something . . . has been lost.
If it weighs the same dead as alive then it has lost . . . nothing at all. Nothing of substance.
MACCABBEE
What could it lose?
DR. BROWNE
It could lose . . . its soul.
MACCABBEE
Awww, Dr. Browne, dat’s nuts. Chickens han’t got souls.
DR. BROWNE
It has some vital spirit, some ether that impells its heart to beat, some shock or force; call it what you will, but there’s nothing living without that . . . And I must know its weight, the awful weight of the soul, before . . .
MACCABBEE
Before what, Dr. Browne?
DR. BROWNE
Nothing. You’re right. It is . . . nuts. I . . .
Why is there no one here to comfort me?
I’m swelling. Leave me. But . . . Maccabbee.
MACCABBEE
What, Dr. Browne?
DR. BROWNE
Keep your eyes on the ground. Watch for little holes.
MACCABBEE
???
DR. BROWNE
Mole holes. Tunnel mouths. A mixture of cyanide and boiling lye . . .
Get out of here.
The chicken experiment. Do it. I’m . . . already underway, and I have to know . . .
The ropes on the dock
are slipping from the moorings, and I’m . . . off . . .
(He’s off, unconscious.)
MACCABBEE
Fetch da rottet birds, pickle dis gamey fish, count da ribs a dat poison snake, strangle three chickens. Maybe when he’s dead I’ll go help da German cut up his cadavers. Science bin slavery.’N’ ent one a dem knows how ta cure my clap.
(Dr. Browne begins to rattle.)
MACCABBEE
Doctah?
(Rattle.)
MACCABBEE
Doctah?
(A really alarming gasp, then a huge expulsion of breath, and the lights begin to change slowly and the death music is heard.)
MACCABBEE
Dat soundet like da terminal hexpiration ta me. Before noon, like I prognosticated. Funny dere were no last words, he was always so talkative.
(Death enters, growling, with his carving knife at the ready. His Soul sits up as the ladder to heaven appears.
Maccabbee senses something creepy afoot and slinks out, frightened. Death approaches the bed and His Soul reaches up toward the ladder. A hooded figure—The Abbess of X—enters stealthily.)
HIS SOUL
I begin to climb; I have far to go; with every rung the weight of your contamination will fall from me, like a moulting bird I lessen and lighten and loose these chains . . .
DEATH
Thomas . . . my child, the bitter hour, the wasting hour has come. I come for you, I ache for you, lamentable, lamentable, I . . . your flesh, sweet heart, to rend at last . . .
THE ABBESS OF X
(She is aware of neither Death nor His Soul) Thomas?
HIS SOUL
To Paradise!
THE ABBESS OF X
THOMAS!
DEATH
Mine, flower, mine . . .
THE ABBESS OF X
God in Heaven, I’ve come too late.
(She takes out a breviary, a rosary, a vial of holy water, and begins to murmur the Extreme Unction, in Latin.)
DR. BROWNE
Father . . .
DEATH
(Raising his knife) Thomas . . .
DR. BROWNE
Father . . .
HIS SOUL
Good-bye!
DR. BROWNE
Fa . . . ther . . . in to your hands . . .
HIS SOUL
Say it!
DR. BROWNE
Into your hands I . . .
THE ABBESS OF X
Thomas. Thomas, can you hear me? Where’s the Will, Thomas? Who did you name in The Will!?
HIS SOUL
(Prompting) COMMEND . . . MY . . .
DR. BROWNE
MY . . . I COMMEND MY . . .
(Hearing what His Soul is prompting him toward) NO! I . . . CONDEMN MY . . . SPIR—
HIS SOUL
NO!
DR. BROWNE
(Forcing himself awake) NO!
(Dr. Browne sits up violently. He sees the Abbess—HE SCREAMS! He turns to see Death with his raised knife—HE REALLY SCREAMS! Death screams and with a growl runs away. The music scratches off with the sound of a needle swept off a phonograph record. The lights bump back and the Abbess rolls under the bed seconds before Dame Dorothy, Dr. Dogwater and Babbo run in. His Soul is stunned at the sudden reversal.)
HIS SOUL
HOW!? HOW!? YOU WERE DEAD, YOU HAD DIED, YOU’D TURNED TO CLAY, WHAT RESUSCITATED YOU?
(His Soul slips behind the bed. The ladder disappears.)
DAME DOROTHY
Thomas, can you hear me? Are you alright?
DR. BROWNE
I . . . am . . . not . . . sure . . .
BABBO
Praise be, praise be, bin snatchet from da grinning yawp a doom!
DR. BROWNE
My sister was here.
DAME DOROTHY
No, Thomas, your sister is dead.
DR. BROWNE
But she was here. She spoke Latin and sprinkled water, and look, the pillow is wet.
DR. DOGWATER
Tuh-Thomas, y-your suh-sister d-d . . . perished in a shuh-shuh-shuh-shuh-shipwreck. Y-years ago. Duh-drowned.
DR. BROWNE
But she was here. Resurrected. With . . . him.
DAME DOROTHY
There’s no one here, Thomas.
DR. BROWNE
And he’s been dead longer than she. He had the knife, I remember that knife. Old monster.
DAME DOROTHY
Dr. Dogwater, what’s he talking about?
DR. DOGWATER
Bah-bah-bah . . . I duh-duh-don’t . . .
DR. BROWNE
(After a little pause, listening, then) Another ship . . . from warmer seas . . . is sailing here . . . for me.
And listen, the machines. Hard at work. Moving earth. Boooom. Boooom. Boooom. Boooom.
To beat
the little
gentle man
who comes
to undo.
(He’s out)
DR. DOGWATER
I-is he . . . ?
(Dr. Dogwater tiptoes up to Browne, and gently pinches Browne’s nostrils shut; Browne starts snoring through his mouth.)
DAME DOROTHY
The engines give me nightmares and headaches. But they tranquilize him.
DR. DOGWATER
Wuh-once, he b-bade me listen to the sound. The puh-pounding sound they make. Buh-boom. Buh-booom. Luh-listen, Dogwater, he s-said. Guh-God’s timpani. Buh-booom.
I thought I’d use that ah-anecdote in the eu-eu-eulogy. Buh-booom.
Cuh-call me if he wuh-wakes. Wh-when he does. We’ve guh-got to find out about that wuh-wuh-wuh-Will.
(Dogwater leaves. Babbo and Dame Dorothy sit, watching Dr. Browne sleep.
The three ranter women enter, sit quietly around the bed. They look at Dame Dorothy and she looks at them, and everyone looks at the dying man.
His Soul sits up and begins to sing softly.)
HIS SOUL
(Singing:)
There is a little house in Heaven
Built of brick and wood,
In a shady and restricted
Crime-free neighborhood.
The shutters and the doors are painted
Bright cerulean blue;
And vines of morning glories climb,
Bloom-eternal in their prime,
Free of gravity and time,
Purple-white and fresh with dew,
Flower-mouth of Very-God
The Day does not divide in two.
And here in Heaven
I will never die.
I can say that
And not feel
I’m telling
A lie.
In Heaven I will never die.
Never
Never
Never
Die.
Act Two
IN WHAT TORNE SHIP SOEVER I EMBARKE
The Hard Light of Later Morning, the Glare of Noon
Dame Dorothy, the three ranter women, and Babbo watch Dr. Browne, who is asleep.
MARY
(With glowing gentleness) Da kingdom a God be da kingdom a da earf. Dere bin no Heaven and no Hell, but only dis: da doings a da fellow creatures as dey dwell in dis world. Dat’s what da ranters say. When Christ come again he come inta da flesh a wimmin ’n’ da flesh a men, ’n’ den all dat walk be good’n’ golden creatures ’n’ kind. Dat’s what da ranters say.
