From: Dahra Latham Subject: There Is No Avant-Garde Date: 10/23/01 8:20:52 PM 1 EVENING --------------------------------- A bare hillside with stone steps running up it from the left. On a roundish boulder below the steps, SHARYAR and the EXECUTIONER sit Janus-wise back to back, looking at opposite horizons. SHARYAR is in a beautiful martial costume, the EXECUTIONER in hooded black: both wear swords. Enter from downhill SHAHRAZAD and DUNYAZAD. SHARAZAD, leading, carries a long SHROUD of filmy white material, wound into a bundle. DUNYAZAD carries an empty wooden bowl. They walk slowly up the steps and stop near the boulder. SHAHRAZAD, aware of the audience: I have heard, O Auspicious King from my father your chief minister cunning in council the story of your madness, how each evening you take a new bride from among your people each morning this nameless man beheads her on the hilltop. (beginning to forget the audience) Now I, too, have come a maiden of good family with my shroud under my arm, ready to be your bride. SHARYAR: Why should you, beloved daughter of the powerful chief minister lose your life? My kingdom is rich in slaves. SHAHRAZAD: I have heard it said, O Auspicious King that God is pleased best by one who loves a noble death. Also my mother, mistress of many arts, has taught me some grave and holy knowledge concerning madness. SHARYAR: It is well enough, then. Let us be married. SHARYAR rises from his boulder, bows gallantly over SHAHRAZAD?S hand, and offers her his arm. They descend the staircase graciously, leaving DUNYAZAD alone with the EXECUTIONER in the lengthening evening light. ----------------------------------------------------- 2 Rain ___________________________ A public street, running along a river, divided from the water by a row of plane trees. Some flowers; soft rain; soft rainy light; occasional distant thunder. An indefinite number of YOUNG WOMEN NOT AFRAID OF LIGHTENING are walking back and forth through the rain in pale calico dresses. When two meet, they bow to each other with an oriental formality, but as if laughing at themselves. Their lines are spoken so that they overlap, forming the maximum number of meaningful parcels. first WOMAN (surprised) Oh! What wet flowers! second WOMAN Oh! What wet flowers we are. third WOMAN (cajoling) We are young. another WOMAN (matter-of-fact) We are young women another walking somewhere. another (yearning) Somewhere, in the rain. . .. another Passing, we smile. another (gentle) The rain, passing. another (pitying) Passing rain. another We smile at each Other. another Each, other-knowing. another (motherly) Knowing, this another (joyous) This rain lesson: Fear is a strong sentinel, only against the avoidable. another (sorrowful) The avoidable-- little enough. another (humble) Little enough we know. another: We know little. . .enough! another:(serene) Enough we know. another: We know, Oh! what (wet several women: flowers) we all: are. On the last word, all stop walking and bow their heads. Then, one at a time, they turn to the audience and stand still, looking straight before them like Botticelli's Venus. When all are facing front, the curtain drops. ------------------------------------------------------ 3 The Sea ________________________________ A tumbled-rock jetty, stretching out into a very pale sea. Color and light as in the idylls of Fragonard. At the end of the jetty, on a pair of sloping rocks, PIERRE AND MARIE CURIE lie with their heads a few feet apart. They are not looking at one another. Her HAT, which is decorated with a long ribbon, lies upstage of her: she is reading him some verses out of a book with a yellow cover. MARIE, supine: Whatever may fall dark, I call You, fair-- Whatever trembling winter, hot for blood, Dogs the cant footsteps of the frozen hare-- Whatever silver fountains cloud to mud, Whatever may ring false, I sing This, true: Upon the honeyed middle of the night On Jungfrau's milk-and-drowning summit, you Are my Chamois-hunter, clear as mountain light. PIERRE, prone: Marie, Marie-- why do we return to the sea side? She never gives us anything, this sea-- not even ever an answer. Why do we come back? To find, or to lose, our selves in blue indifference? Or to prove that we can touch her, and not be changed? MARIE, turning over and looking out at the water: I couldn't say--- something about it seems so--- elemental. There is a silence as both look out at the water. Then, just as he turns to see if she meant the pun he hears, she turns to see if he, too, knows they are in an avant-garde play. Each mirrors this awareness in the other. Two heartbeats' pause. Lights down. MARIE, PIERRE, and her HAT glow faintly in the dark, like radium. There are also faint bands of phosphorescence out in the waves. Without speaking, they rise and exit left, hand in hand. The HAT remains lying on its rock. A long pause. Lights up. Backdrop of sea and sky up as the GIRL IN GREEN enters, dressed as a stage-hand. Only her earrings reveal her true nature. She walks hastily on from right, picks up the abandoned HAT, and hangs it from a peg on the wall, then jogs off, left. She does not acknowledge the audience. Backstage noises become audible. Enter from the wings a number of STAGE HANDS. They smoke and chat as they carry on furniture and props. Some clown or make faces at the audience. The curtain closes before they have completed the set for Lit de Justice. ------------------------------------------------------ 4 Lit de Justice __________________________ Open on Sharyar's bedroom. Dim light-- decor out of DuLac's Arabian-Nights colorplates. Sharyar lies on a divan at left, smoking a cigarette in cliched & satiate languor. At right, Shahrazad stands in a high window, looking out at the city. She is wearing a 1930's dressing-gown, tied loosely. The SHROUD has come undone and lies spilled across the foreground. SHARYAR: So-- (SHAHRAZAD turns to look at him over her shoulder.) --tell me a story. A pause. She looks out the window again, then crosses left and and sits down on the foot of the divan, hugging her knees. Thinks awhile. SHAHRAZAD, just so: It has reached my ears, O Auspicious King (but Allah is all-knowing!) that once a porter, walking through the market of Bagdad, and the sun upon his head hot. . .. (lights down) -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 5 Tea _______________________ A bare, bright stage, backed by black, backlit shelves. EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY sits on a mirrored cube and addresses the audience directly. Ranked on the shelves are many-colored kettles, teapots, cups, tea-glasses, etc., gathered from all over the world. She wears baggy black pants, and a black T-shirt reading, "THERE IS NO AVANT-GARDE". EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY (pleasant, didactic): If, in China, you are offered tea in the house of some hospitable person, etiquette requires that you refuse it three times before accepting-- however much you may want the tea in question. This is to assure your host that you are an humble and disinterested guest, and haven't come with the arrogant expectation of being fed, or with no interest beyond the refreshments. In Persia, on the other hand, you would be expected to accept the tea immediately, and with a great show of pleasure, and to drink it noisily whether it burned your mouth or not. In neither place would the question, "Do you want some tea?" have much to do with your actual desire, or lack of desire, to drink tea. In many parts of the West, no-one offers you tea. In some parts of the West, people give you tea without asking whether you want it or not. But nearly anywhere in the West, it is acceptable to drink as much tea as you want, and no more. This may be the defining quality of the West. Satisfied with her exposition, she nods, then rises and pads off, right. Enter from between two shelves the GIRL IN GREEN, in her true form. She goes from shelf to shelf and selects a kettle, then a teapot, a tin of tea, and so on. She places these next to the mirrored cube, then removes the top of the cube and folds down the sides to reveal a small butane camp-stove. As the lights slowly go down, she lights the stove and begins to make tea. ------------------------------------------------------- 6 A Tragedy ________________________________________ Bare stage, almost dark. At opposite sides two shadowed figures, one male and one female, stand with their backs to the audience. Although the two cannot see each other, they turn partway toward each other as, in a clear alternation, they speak their lines across the empty center of the stage. FIRST FIGURE: Turn your face to me, O muse SECOND FIGURE: Sometimes, when I am walking late at night FIRST: of weeping, turn SECOND: trying to outstrip my desire FIRST: your eyes to me. The maple fires burn SECOND: for a thing I cannot walk to, an interior light FIRST: brighter than flame against this gasflame sky. SECOND: flutters. I stop to see what it will do FIRST: Heraclitus the tiger (sweet senescent SECOND: and it does nothing. Only, standing there FIRST: Autumnal scents attending him like musk) SECOND: a moment, makes pursuit and flight seem pure FIRST: Arose, and painted bands of bright and dusk SECOND: decorous motions, gentle; like a pair FIRST: Across the evening air. Perfection, present SECOND: of planets that advance to their conjunction FIRST: And past betrayal (woodsmoke scent of apples) SECOND: desiring nothing, and again retreat FIRST: Spoke mutely to our standing in its midst. SECOND: desiring nothing. Quiet, then, and sure FIRST: We bowed our heads and neither spoke nor kissed SECOND: of quietness, I see again the street FIRST: And the still waters threw their scarlet dapples SECOND: with all its thousand hands stretched out to bless FIRST: Back to the sky again. An answering breath SECOND: and we, and our unwilling wish to meet FIRST: Moved on the water. All saints meet in death. SECOND: are stilled into a question. Question. Yes? Both are silent in the intensity of their listening for a reply. After a while they doubt, and bow their heads. Someone in the audience coughs, and they look up again hopefully-- silence-- FIRST FIGURE turns and slowly leaves the stage. SECOND FIGURE turns and slowly leaves the stage. Absolute darkness. An old black woman, bent over and leaning on a cane, enters through a door at center back, which she closes behind her. She is wearing a canary-yellow dress. A hazy spot follows her as she walks to the middle of the stage. OLD WOMAN,singing, in the style of Billie Holiday: I am as old as the stars up in the sky: I remember love like a picture bible, bright and clear-- and even when they die the good guys win. Curtain down. ------------------------------------------------------- 7 Innundation _____________________________________________________ A pleasantly reedy green pond, dozing in the murmur of its dragonflies. Lounging in the water is the ageing WALT WHITMAN. As he floats around, spouts water, and chases frogs, the WOMEN POETS enter one by one, remove their clothes, and stand around on the bank or in the shallows, decorating themselves with flowers. WHITMAN cannot see them. When all have arrived, they enter the water completely, forming an uneven ring around the oblivious WHITMAN. They splash back and forth merrily, singing their songs in various languages, until a group of FRESCO ANGELS descend from the ceiling on wires to carry them away. WHITMAN, meanwhile, has fallen asleep with his head and shoulders on the bank, and his legs in the water. >From the heart downward he is changing into a fish. ------------------------------------------------------- 8 Morning _____________________________________ The hillside from Evening. The light, very dim at first, gradually increases from the east, as before sunrise. SHAHRAZAD and SHARYAR rest on a sloping rock at left, in their positions from Lit de Justice. SHAHRAZAD: . . .and so the second lady, finishing her tale, wept bitterly, and said, "These very deer you see before you, grazing in the garden-- They are our husbands. We can find no charm to give them once again their proper forms and break the djinn's enchantment. So I fear. . ." SHARYAR, looking at her to see why she has stopped: Yes? SHAHRAZAD: Look-- the sun is rising. SHARYAR: Now the tale must end. Poor porter! And poor ladies, caught forever in the middle of their story! But most, poor princes, never to regain their proper forms. . .. They stand, and watch the sun rise. ------------------------------------------------------- 9 Recovery ___________________________________________________ Bare stage representing a SINGLE FIELD, with TREE at right. Hanging from a peg on the tree, Mme. Curie's HAT. Standing in the middle of the field, facing the audience, WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. WORDSWORTH, passionately: -But there's a Tree, of many, one, A single Field which I have looked upon, Both of them speak of something that is gone-- Enter from left MME. CURIE, looking around: Pardon me, but I seem to have misplaced my hat-- (seeing the hat) --Oh, there it is! Thank you! (She takes the hat from its peg and looks at it happily, then puts it on and arranges the pin. Exit left.) WORDSWORTH stares after her in bewilderment. ------------------------------------------------------- 10 Well ___________________________________ Shortly after sunset, in the courtyard of an inn. Plays were once performed here, but now a well has been dug in the middle of the yard, and roses have grown up the walls and over the well-housing. About twenty FRIENDS, male and female, are seated in the courtyard at long tables, laughing and talking. A cast-party atmosphere: weariness, triumph, the dregs of adrenaline; egoes taking over new territory; high erotic tension. Two PEOPLE ABOUT TO FALL IN LOVE are seated across from each other near the well. There are paper lanterns in the trees, and waiters move around the tables, serving a harsh red wine. The MAN ABOUT TO FALL IN LOVE has picked a red rose and put it behind his ear. He is holding a wineglass. WAITER (drawing a pail of water up from the well) The water from this well is always cold and pure as formalism. Who will drink? WOMAN ABOUT TO FALL IN LOVE I will. WAITER Here, take the bucket. It is full and all the others seem to want red wine. WOMAN dips her glass into the bucket and prepares to drink. MAN ABOUT TO FALL IN LOVE (interrupting a chat with his neighbor) Wait. This red wine is harsh and sweet as courage, more dizzying than anger, bright as blood-- a fitter drink for such a mouth as yours than any scentless water. Will you drink? (This interchange attracts the attention of a few people sitting nearby, who are distracted from their own conversations.) WOMAN I can't drink wine. It makes me fall asleep. But, really, I don't mind it. When it's pure water is an intoxicant as sweet, as harsh and bright as wine or-- anything. And here I have the company of friends who know me well. How could I ask for more? MAN Well, if you think so. I'll drink water, too and test the theory. Someone take this cup. (looking around for someone who wants wine) Doesn't anyone want it? FRIENDS (cautious; bound by narrow ideas of conviviality) Oh, do please have some wine! You must, it's very good. What? I hate to see you drinking that-- It thins the blood. Watermelon, watermelon. Do try one glass! Butter and eggwhites, Butter and eggwhites. You canna drink water all night! etc. The MAN and WOMAN look at each other for confirmation. Then, smiling as if at a secret, she leans across the table and takes the rose from behind his ear. WOMAN (holding the rose at arms' length like a ham actor about to address Yorick) Rose, thou art well. The invisible storm That tumbles the night, like A humbling worm Has found out thy bed, of Crimson pain And his dark secret love Washed you clean as rain. (She immerses the rose in the bucket of water, then dips out two glasses and hands one to him.) WOMAN (to FRIENDS) See, now? It _is_ red wine! There is a moment of silence while everyone looks blankly at the water, which has not changed color. Then the FRIENDS, realising that matters have gone beyond their control, decide as one not to argue. Everyone turns away and resumes his former conversation. The WOMAN sits back down. The MAN fishes his rose out of the bucket and puts it back behind his ear. Sipping at their glasses of water, they reach across the table for each others' hands. ------------------------------------------------------ 11 Strange Loup ______________________________________ Open on Sharyar's bedroom. Night; pearls scattered on the floor. SHARYAR and SHARAZAD lie spoon-fashion on the divan, facing the audience. Sharazad is in front, with Dunyazad's wooden bowl, which now holds three dark plums, resting in the curve of her body. A thin crescent moon hangs in the window. The shroud has been adapted as bedding, and both are whitely wound in it; one end trails off the divan across the floor. Sharazad is asleep, but Sharyar is looking at the ceiling. Enter from right the EXECUTIONER. EXECUTIONER: I come again, my lord, to know your will. SHARYAR: Again. . . my will is tangled in the snare of narrative. Perhaps I will be free Tomorrow. . .. EXECUTIONER: Lord, I fear it is not so. These three years you have heard, from night to night the histories this spider spins for you while I have waited-- always patiently-- for work. And in the morning when I come to ask if you will need me here today you always answer me, "Tomorrow: come again tomorrow, when the tale is wound onto the spindle; you shall have her blood." I think, now, that our brotherhood is past. The children she has borne you will not wake today to find their mother's tale is done, nor yet tomorrow. And no other neck bows to my sword--- in bidding and forbidding you've grown so just and gentle with your folk that by your pattern they forgive each other, and will not call for me. Lord, if you mean to grant me some employment for my strength, then grant. If not, I'll take my road again. SHARYAR (agitated, rising and pacing across the room) Brother, or lord, or slave, you tell my mind the truth that I dare not reveal to you nor even to myself. There is no more for you to do here. Yet, before you go, you having served me well and faithfully, I beg you, ask of me some parting gift. I would give any treasure that I own even to half my kingdom, to escape the shame of living always in your debt. EXECUTIONER: Now, my lord Seeing you have regained your proper form I'll go my way. . . (removes hood, revealing that she is DUNYAZAD. They look at each other.) . . .but for the promised boon-- (She crosses to the divan, and, careful not to wake her sister, climbs into Sharyar's place. She is enjoying his startlement.) Tell me a story. SHARYAR (staring) Once upon a time. . . (He is breathing hard, restraining his impulse to act, without knowing what he would do if he gave in to it. Slowly he composes himself. He walks to the window and looks out at the moon.) Once upon a time. . . There was a porter, walking through the market of Baghdad, and the sun upon his head hot. . .. (As Sharyar, looking out the window, continues with his story, Dunyazad begins to fade from the scene, becoming luminous, then transparent, then invisible. She reappears as a bright star within the curve of the moon, and he falls silent, looking at her. Long pause. Curtain.) ------------------------------------------------------- 12 GALLERY\EXIT _________________________________________________ Open on the interior of a stylish art gallery. Sharyar, the window, and the moon and star are in their former positions, only now Sharyar is dressed in contemporary formal clothes, and the window and sky are painted on a long scroll which hangs on the wall among other, less striking, pieces. Above the painted window, the scroll quotes Blake's proverb- "Eternity is in Love with the productions of Time." As Sharyar stands looking "out", he begins to hum quietly to himself. The other characters (in modern costume) enter, singly or paired, and take up his melody. When everyone is standing together, looking at the sky, Mme. Curie begins to sing in a clear, light soprano. Gradually the others join her. Mme. Curie, then All: Deh! vieni alla finestra, O mio tesoro Deh, vieni a consolar il pianto mio. Se neghi a me di dar qualche ristoro Davanti ogli occi tuo morir vogl'io. Tu ch'hai la bocca dolche piu che il miele, Tu che il zuccero porti in mezzo il core-- Non esser, gioia mia, Con me crudele! Lasciati almen veder, Mio bell'amore. Lights down: the moon and star glow. Curtain.