by Tony Kushner
(Little pause)
I am going to be the owner of the quarry, Leonard, when Thomas dies. Of the Walsingham fields, of the quarry, of this house and estate—
PUMPKIN
’N’ a gross heapet horde inna bank.
DAME DOROTHY
Yes. I was looking for the Will, to make sure everything’s in order, because . . . I have plans, Leonard.
When Thomas is dead, and a proper amount of time has passed, I want to marry you, Mr. Pumpkin.
PUMPKIN
Be Dorfy Pumpkin den, ’n’ not a Dame ’r nuffin. But ef we growet rich enough dey might knight me someday.
DAME DOROTHY
And after we marry . . .
And then I intend to make Walsingham Fields common land again. Open to cottagers, smallholders.
PUMPKIN
For rent.
DAME DOROTHY
No rent. Free, common lands. Close down the quarry, let the grass grow over it, water fill it, cover the machines, the scars. In ten years time it will be as though it had never existed.
(Pause.)
PUMPKIN
Dorfy—
DAME DOROTHY
And you and I will have a cottage there, and live poor but happy existences growing what we need and praying to God for forgiveness. Oh, Leonard, I know you wanted wealth but believe me, I know what wealth is and—
PUMPKIN
You know what, Dorfy? You ent actually know nuffin. What dis about, huh? Bin a test ta see ef I lovet, ta see ef I be true without da money, bin dat?
DAME DOROTHY
No, Leonard, it’s my . . . it’s what I want, Leonard.
PUMPKIN
Well, den fuck whatchoo want, cause dat be da knackiest ’n’ stupidest shit I ever sat ’n’ listet to.
DAME DOROTHY
Leonard—
PUMPKIN
Common lands. Whatchoo know about dat? I bin a boy onna commons—I watchet teef fall out ’n’ hair turn gray onna heads a da young. I seen da men ’n’ wimmin actet like beasten, act like da dumb ox ’n’ da beatet dog, crushet by da heavy hand a no idea what dere be in dis world, dat dere bin more ta hexistence dan birth ’n’ grief ’n’ bitter death. ’N’ I see da rich go by in deir silk ’n’ gold ’n’ jewelet, like high dark angels dat inhabitet another earf, where you han’t no hope cause you bin stucket inna common lands by Gawd. But I left. ’N’ thanks fer da invitation, Dame Dor-o-fy, but I han’t going back.
DAME DOROTHY
We could share. Make common cause with the other cottagers, like the ranters say.
PUMPKIN
Dere bin no more ranters, Dorfy. Dey bin squashet by da bishops years ago, ’n’ dem three hoors ya taket in bin eiver deludet,’r lying, ’r both. Oncet dere bin thousands rantet. ’N’ shaket ’n’ quaket ’n’ level ’n’ dig. Say no rent, say food from da heavens,’n’ even though I bin a boy den I knew it bin crap, bin fairy stories’n’ farts inna wind. ’N’ now dem voicet ent heard from no more. We gotta get on with da bloodet business a making do. I digget graves fer da rich ’n’ poor. Da rich pay better but I han’t say which I enjoy da most ta dig. ’N’ before dey dig a grave fer me, I gonna be rich. ’N’ dat be with you, Dorfy, ’r not. You throw out what most folks never had.
(Pause.)
DAME DOROTHY
Ten miles from here there is the highway. People sleep on the open road at night. On cold mornings there’s some who don’t wake up. You see them, ice-crusted . . . I want a thicker skin but it won’t grow. At night I hear those machines in the quarry pounding and I think: it’s flesh those hammers pound, it’s bone. We’re immensely rich but we live without luxury. He can’t bear to part with anything, even remorse, and I can’t bear the accumulation.
Thomas is lucky to die. I must live on here for a while yet, and I hate this life. In me there is a bleeding wound, and it never heals, and it’s full of blood, and full of light, and there’s paradise in there, besieged and unreachable but always beckoning. And the more foul and ugly the world becomes the more it beckons. The more it aches.
I can’t live like this, Leonard, I have to do something.
PUMPKIN
When da doctah bin dead, Dorfy, ’n’ I dug his grave . . . we talket summore. Do nuffin till den. Alright?
I love you, Dorfy.
DAME DOROTHY
Promise me, Leonard: tell my plans to no one. Promise.
PUMPKIN
Ah, yup. Come to da woods. I wanna soothe yer yeart.
DAME DOROTHY
My heart needs that.
Are you with me, Leonard?
PUMPKIN
Right now I be.
(They look at each other, then exit silently. Maccabbee sticks his head up, then Babbo.)
MACCABBEE
How about dat?
BABBO
Da missus bin swoggling da gravedigger.
MACCABBEE
Him dying maket her hotter ’n him living ever did.
BABBO
I wanna leavet. I gotta find dat tart . . .
(Hearing something) Hisst!
(They throw the covers over themselves again, as Dogwater enters. He looks about, making sure he’s alone, then removes from an inner pocket a fake Will. He skim-reads.)
DR. DOGWATER
“I Sir Thomas B-B-Browne, being of sound mind and buh-body . . . do by this instrument deed all my shuh-shares in the Walsingham Quarry to Luh-Luh-Leviticus Duh-Dogwater, D. Duh-D. . . . In ah-appreciation of . . .” buh-buh-blah and so forth. We promise You, uh-Almighty God, we will cuh-continue to search every nuh-nook and cranny for the ruh-real Will, but . . . Fuh-forgive us our fuh-forgeries as we forgive those who fuh-fuh-forge against us.
(He puts the Will in the Bible, when suddenly he hears someone coming and runs to the bed. He almost dives under the bedclothes, then at the last minute he sniffs the linens and changes his mind, hiding instead behind the drapes.
The Weaver enters and begins to search through the papers on the desk. Dogwater jumps out and surprises her.)
DR. DOGWATER
It’s a fuh-fuh-flogging offense at the very least, burglary.
THE WEAVER/THE ABBESS OF X
AH! Oh, oh please, Pastah, han’t callet da authorities, I was only . . . uh . . . looking fer my needles. I lost dem in dis pile a papah.
DR. DOGWATER
Do you think I’m a fuh-fool? Your story is tuh-transparently false. You’re a cuh-common thief and you nuh-need a good fuh-fuh-flogging. This way, please.
(He grabs her roughly by the arm. She executes a perfect karate flip and drops him to the floor.)
THE WEAVER/THE ABBESS OF X
Oops. Sorry, Pastah, dat was a hinvoluntary reflex.
DR. DOGWATER
(Scrambling to his feet) How duh-duh-dare you?
THE WEAVER/THE ABBESS OF X
(Dropping into a fighting stance) Ah, Pastah, han’t be wise ta fight wif me, I bin verra dangerous.
DR. DOGWATER
(Circling in) Dangerous! The duh-day I’m unable to best an old crone in a test of phuh-physical prowess is the day I . . .
(She lunges, jabs him sharply in the guts, spins, chops him in the neck, and kicks him in the ass. He goes sprawling.)
THE WEAVER/THE ABBESS OF X
I warnet you.
DR. DOGWATER
You’re nuh-no shuh-shroud weaver.
(Pause.)
THE WEAVER/THE ABBESS OF X
No.
DR. DOGWATER
In the nuh-name of God, who are you?
THE WEAVER/THE ABBESS OF X
I bin someone you knew verra well, oncet.
DR. DOGWATER
I thought you were familiar. Who . . .
(She removes her disguise.)
THE ABBESS OF X
Hello, Leviticus.
DR. DOGWATER
Ah, nuh-no, it cuh-cuh-can’t be y . . .
Ah-ah-ah-ah—
THE ABBESS OF X
Alice.
Then where have you buh-been, oh Alice, where have—
THE ABBESS OF X
I was almost your bride once, Leviticus. A long time ago.
Now you see me, a bride of Christ.
DR. DOGWATER
A wh . . . ? A nah-nah-nah-NUN?!
THE ABBESS OF X
An abbess.
DR. DOGWATER
A cah-cah-Catholic nah-nah-nah—
THE ABBESS OF X
Ave Maria, Leviticus, et pax vobiscum.
DR. DOGWATER
When you d . . . d . . . Alice, when the shipwreck, when I huh-heard, I was inconsolable, Alice. I foreswore puh-pleasure and my thoughts turned Heavenward, for suh-suh-suh—
THE ABBESS OF X
For succor.
DR. DOGWATER
In your memory I dedicated my life to His service. And in God I found suh-sweetness surpassing, but only by a luh-little, the sweetness I’d known with you.
And now God torments me by returning you to me, a muh-minion of the antichrist in ruh-Rome, a rag of the buh-buh-beast.
THE ABBESS OF X
The One True Church. And you, Leviticus, a lieutenant schismatic.
DR. DOGWATER
It’s a good thing I’m not disposed to despair. I assume, Alice, that as a nah-nun, you now subscribe to the uh-unnatural puh-practice of celibacy?
THE ABBESS OF X
I must request that you cease to address me by my former name. Alice Browne perished in that shipwreck. In Christ’s Church she was reborn, and by His vicar on earth she was rebaptised.
DR. DOGWATER
And to what name does she cuh-currently answer?
THE ABBESS OF X
Mother Magdalena Vindicta, of the Abbey of X.
DR. DOGWATER
Aix-en-Provence? Puh-pretty town, I vuh-visited it once in my travels.
THE ABBESS OF X
No, not Aix. X. The Abbey of X.
DR. DOGWATER
I suh-said Aix.
THE ABBESS OF X
Not A-I-X. Just X.
DR. DOGWATER
X.
THE ABBESS OF X
Just . . . X.
DR. DOGWATER
And where, pray tell, is that?
THE ABBESS OF X
I’m not at liberty to say.
In the first flush of my newfound faith I joined the Discalced Carmelites, but I found them too French, not strict enough. Then over the years I learned of other British nuns, expatriates, and we banded together—the sole survivors of our fatherland’s spiritual collapse.
DR. DOGWATER
I object to that.
THE ABBESS OF X
We laughed and wept as God smote your Apostasy with pestilence worse than the Egyptian plagues. And finally we decided to take a hand . . .
DR. DOGWATER
A hand in what?
THE ABBESS OF X
We trained for years in Sicily. The bloody arts, unfit, some might say, for women: violence, poison and war. And we became adepts. Of great precision and skill.
DR. DOGWATER
Wh-what are you tuh-talking about?
THE ABBESS OF X
The death of Cromwell, for example.
DR. DOGWATER
A nuh-natural death.
THE ABBESS OF X
If you call belladonna natural, yes.
DR. DOGWATER
Are you suh-saying that you ah-assassinated Cuh-Cromwell?
THE ABBESS OF X
My predecessor did. And the last two archbishops of Canterbury. We have their hats hanging on the wall of our refectory.
DR. DOGWATER
Thuh-this is monstrous. I don’t believe you.
THE ABBESS OF X
We will not rest until we’ve driven the last vestiges of the False Creed out of England.
DR. DOGWATER
And you ruh-really expect to do that? One little cuh-convent full of addled nuns?
THE ABBESS OF X
It’s a beginning.
DR. DOGWATER
Y-you’re completely insane, Alice. The Church of England is the Church of the fuh-fuh-future. No one wants Cah-Catholicism back. We duh-don’t sell indulgences now, we sell cuh-cuh-commodities! The tide of history—
THE ABBESS OF X
God’s truth knows no history! The Mysteries of the Faith aren’t subservient to market fluctuations! A true servant of Christ is not shaken by surface changes in worldly affairs. We are entering a time of great tribulation when men strive to have pierced the Cloud of Unknowing, to have stripped the veil from the face of God. And what horrors will that not unleash? But the Church, Leviticus, is built on a rock and will withstand the firestorm, while your wretched and compromised adaptation stands only on a shifting pile of cash—and the winds will scatter it, the whole ragbag scrapheap.
DR. DOGWATER
God will dispose of us as He sees fit, and adaptability is His wuh-way. With a buh-breath of his nostrils He suh-swept away your cloud, and let me tell you suh-something, Alice, nuh-no one misses it. We want light, not dah-dah-darkness. Plain words, not Luh-Latin blather. Your priests are fuh-fat. I’m not fuh-fat. I don’t buh-bathe my flesh in wine and milk, I suh-swim in fuh-freezing ponds. Harsh, but solid! My faith has an industrial vitality. Work for Christ! Accumulate! Accumulate! That’s my cuh-credo!
THE ABBESS OF X
They should never have translated the Bible. You are the crippled progeny of that labor.
DR. DOGWATER
Why did you come back?
THE ABBESS OF X
My brother will die a Catholic.
DR. DOGWATER
Over my d . . . over my d . . . my d . . . like Hell he will. He’s a puh-professed Protestant.
THE ABBESS OF X
A mere technicality.
DR. DOGWATER
If his soul is all you’re concerned about, why are you ruh-rifling through his thuh-things? Luh-looking for something? Puh-perhaps the luh-last Will and Testament. Perhaps not so unconcerned with muh-money after all.
THE ABBESS OF X
Our abbey needs funds, Leviticus. An endowment would be a blessing, spare us from soliciting contributions through . . . other methods.
DR. DOGWATER
I shall reveal this to Thomas when he returns.
THE ABBESS OF X
You loved me once.
DR. DOGWATER
Wuh-once I did. But the woman I loved is d . . .
THE ABBESS OF X
Dead. Then we are enemies.
DR. DOGWATER
Unalterably and uh-irrevocably. Your buh-brother will suh-spurn you, you won’t get a cent.
THE ABBESS OF X
We’ll see.
He was never one of you. He’s not so well scrubbed. His books are very strange.
DR. DOGWATER
I nuh-never liked them. But at heart, Thomas is suh-suh-solid. A buh-business-minded man. A suh-scientist.
THE ABBESS OF X
A scientist. When we were children, he tried to learn to track and plot the stars. Maps, charts, astronomy, a new science. But night after night he would sit in the grass and gaze up at the sky, mouth and eyes wide open, and shiver at the immensity, the immeasurability, the profound depth of Heaven. The charts lay idle, soaking up the night dew gathering in the grass. He was never a scientist. He’ll help his sister. I shall pray for it.
DR. DOGWATER
Puh-pray all you like! God’s fuh-forgotten Latin! He won’t understand a wuh-word!
(She begins to exit, then suddenly performs another spectacular martial arts maneuver, knocking Dogwater flat. She pulls a fake Will from her wimple, stuffs it under the pillow on the bed, gathers up her disguise and exits.)
