A CERTAIN SENSE OF CLOSURE

CHARACTERS:

GILBERT BLAKELY, bank manager

CHRISTINE, his ex-wife

A LIBRARIAN

SCENE:

The exchange takes place in a public library.

(An elegant but not extravagant public library. Bookshelves are to either side of stage; a study table with three chairs just right of center stage. A book cart rests half full, downstage left. Upstage wall has an open door to the right and librarian’s counter to the left. Main entrance is just downstage of where counter ends, left wall. Clear spring day, early afternoon.)

GILBERT BLAKELY sits at the study table, wearing spectacles, a stack of books pushed to the side, hunched over an open file of papers and writing away. His jacket is draped over another chair and his back is to the entrance.

The LIBRARIAN disappears and reappears at intervals through the open door, upstage right, working diligently back and forth from behind the counter.

After a few moments, CHRISTINE enters, quietly, two volumes in hand, which she returns to the desk. She is dressed brightly and looks mature and striking. She turns toward the entrance to leave when she is struck by sight of GILBERT. She pretends to browse the bookshelves stage left, looking back with increasing frequency, more conspicuous each time, leaning in her head and focusing her eyes to be sure it is him. She turns her back to him for several moments to compose herself, then slowly crosses to center stage.)

CHRISTINE (with a slight, polite cough): Mr. Blakely, is it? (Straightens her back and lifts her head.)

BLAKELY (looking up, startled, without turning around): Such a voice I knew so well! Could it be? (Removes spectacles.) Would that be my dear Christine, after so much time? (Turns around and stands to face her.)

CHRISTINE: You needn’t stand, sir. I was only passing by, and silly me, I couldn’t resist when I saw you sitting there. I... I simply had to see if it was.

BLAKELY: Christine, my teacher, don’t be absurd. Of course I should greet you. Good heavens! And shouldn’t you like after so long to satisfy any curiosities? Can it be only a chance meeting given to formality, or might we speak plainly, perhaps set a few things to rest?

CHRISTINE (looking nervously down): I should not have addressed you. I put everything to rest a long time ago.

BLAKELY: Yes, dear soul; yes you did. How long is it now? Ten years on, perhaps?

CHRISTINE: Ten years on.

BLAKELY: Yes, that’s right. It was about the time of my promotion. What a mess, that whole sordid affair! (Breaks a smile.) But come now, that was ten years ago. What brings you back here a decade later?

CHRISTINE: Oh, (regaining composure entirely) well I have been paying my respects to the Merriweathers. You surely recall how I settled with Laura for a short while that great many years ago? And I’m sure you heard of her hasty marriage to Mr. Merriweather so quickly after his dismissal from your bank. Why, I rather think you must know how his reputation has changed, and it was all thanks to my dear friend, and their contentment in each other.

BLAKELY (sitting down): You remained friends with her then, in spite of that deplorable blackmailer who caused us so much grief?

CHRISTINE: Oh, I admit it wasn’t easy for me. But you recall my state at just that time. Indeed, how could I hold anyone to blame when all I had were questions?

BLAKELY: Did you not blame me, then?

CHRISTINE: Certainly I did! But no more so than anyone else. Why, I judged even my own self harsher than that, for having enabled such an existence so long.

BLAKELY (visibly upset): Such an existence, you say... our marriage! As if it were so abhorrent! But you even contradict yourself, saying first you blamed no one, and then admitting you held me just as responsible as yourself! Yet you’ve forgiven Merriweather entirely?

CHRISTINE (sitting down delicately): It is not a contradiction to feel differently than one is taught to act out in society. Or rather, it is. The whole world is made up of contradictions. That’s what kept me so confined in my early life. I have forgiven Merriweather. He was a desperate man, driven to such lengths by the hopelessness of his situation. If you recall, I had quite a similar indiscretion as that for which he was dismissed from your service. You might remember that that is why I left. I’m rather indebted to him, in fact, because I don’t know what might otherwise have opened my eyes. But Gilbert, I’ve forgiven you too, for your part.

BLAKELY: My part.... I confess, to this day I don’t know what that was. (Suddenly overcome.) Oh Christine, I need resolution! Providence has brought you here for us to talk. I have spent too many nights of uncertainty to let this opportunity pass. I need to understand.

CHRISTINE (fighting emotion): Alright Gilbert, let’s talk. Perhaps it was God’s will that I might run into you here on such a simple errand as returning books for Mrs. Merriweather. Anyway, how should I know I’ve grown as a person if I never civilly confront my past?

BLAKELY (with a sighing smile): That’s the spirit. Good girl. But first, how is your old friend?

CHRISTINE: Oh, they really are an extraordinary couple. I’ve kept in touch with Laura regularly through letters. She and Grant are quite in love and quite happy. Shortly after their wedding he took a job with a printer, and now makes a comfortable living—nothing luxurious, but they get on without struggle. He’s become quite a reformed man, if you’ll allow me to say so.

BLAKELY: I’ve heard as much. I’ve seen them on occasion at church, for holidays mostly. But they do appear as you say. I’ve never quite released him from his role in driving you away from me.

CHRISTINE: Oh Gilbert! He was not at the root of it. You must forgive him and see him for the changed man that he is. He has done so very much for Christine. Theirs is a remarkable story if you consider it.

BLAKELY (dismissing it): At any rate, I’m happy that they are happy.

CHRISTINE: They are happy. Might I inquire as to how you have been? I would be dishonest to withhold that I have not infrequently wondered in the past ten years how you might have gotten along.

BLAKELY: Oh, I’ve been tremendously busy at the bank; there is no higher office to hold. My obligations keep me quite occupied. But I cannot deny that I am the very best at what I do. I believe anyone you could ask in town would say so. And that is not without its financial reward. No, I am quite comfortable, quite successful.

CHRISTINE: And quite impersonal! Do you suppose I inquire to hear about your financial state? I guess you remember me as being very shallow. But I am not what you recall, or else these ten years would mean nothing. But tell me if you’re happy.

BLAKELY (after some thought): No, Christine. I am not happy. You said that to me once, and now here I am saying it back to you. I have never been happy. I don’t believe I know how to be. Give me some contrast, then, and tell me about yourself. We have a good many things to discuss afterward.

CHRISTINE: You haven’t changed so much, you poor thing... let’s brush my feelings aside first so we can return to your world.

BLAKELY: Now I didn’t mean....

CHRISTINE: No, it’s all right. I left you, after all. You are entitled to feel about it however you wish.

BLAKELY: Christine, once my very own, how changed you are!

CHRISTINE: To a degree I could scarcely have imagined when our marriage failed. I’ve had so much time, Gilbert, so much time to think things out, so many years of self discovery and rebuilding. I have been so dedicated to finding out what life is about, and how people are to interact, and what is right and what is wrong.

BLAKELY: I know that’s why you left, but I never understood. I still don’t understand. I’ve tried, Christine, I really have. But there was so much to do that I’ve never been able to slow down long enough to piece anything together. First I had a reputation to salvage. Can you ever know how difficult it was to carry on an appearance without my little starling at my side, supporting me, encouraging me?

CHRISTINE: That’s just it. One should never need to carry on an appearance. Who benefits from it? I got to the point where I just couldn’t accept an appearance with no substance underneath.

BLAKELY: But Christine, we had substance. We had children, for God’s sake!

CHRISTINE: The orphanage is full of children who would tell you there is no substance in their lives. One of my jobs over these years was working in a kitchen in an orphanage. There was so much... emptiness there. There is so much emptiness in the world. But at least they were honest. They confronted their pain in ways that I fear most in society will never allow themselves to. No, Gilbert, there is even more contentment in the orphanage than you and I ever had together. I was so blind not to see it sooner.

BLAKELY: Then you can tell me you made the right decision?

CHRISTINE: I believe I did. Yes, I know I did.

BLAKELY: And you never had a moment’s regret?

CHRISTINE: Oh no, please don’t think that! Of course I had regrets. I lived for years with regrets of every sort. I regretted that I was no mother to my own children. I regretted that our marriage never worked. I was torn to pieces to think about all that I left behind. But I had to do it, don’t you see? Or else the torture of having never known what it was like to be human would have far outweighed regret over these other things.

BLAKELY: You felt yourself inhuman?

CHRISTINE: How could I not? I was your starling, your spendthrift, your dancing partner and secret mistress, your doll-wife! I was a plaything—never once treated as an equal, never entrusted with your true emotions. I was a token wife, a trophy to show off at parties, or an even number at the dinner table. I was just a convenient way to complete you. But completing you wasn’t my job. I may have been your wife, Gilbert, but I was never allowed to be a woman.

BLAKELY: Oh, but you were a fine woman!

CHRISTINE: No, I was an object. I was expected to be complicit when you wanted sex....

BLAKELY (jumping up, looking around): Hush, Christine! How immoral these years have made you! To say such things in a public place. Suppose someone heard you; what would they think! (Turns to address the LIBRARIAN, who has returned just then to the doorway and begun to step toward them.) My apologies for this display! It is an old acquaintance who has caused me to forget my manners. (Turns and leans into Christine, with a reprimanding whisper.) How dare you!

CHRISTINE (quickly standing up and straightening her clothes): I’ll be returning to Mrs. Merriweather now. I see that you have not changed. May we both soon forget this encounter.

BLAKELY: Indeed!

(CHRISTINE begins to cross to the entrance. GILBERT seems to panic, then lunges and grabs her by the arm. They freeze and stare at each other for a tense moment.)

CHRISTINE (breaking away): You have no right!

BLAKELY: It’s true, I haven’t. (Hangs his head and shudders before looking back to her.) Please, Christine. I apologize. Please sit back down. It can’t end like this. It ended too poorly last time.

CHRISTINE: All right, Gilbert. But you must promise to listen. I mean to really hear what I say, because it is lack of communication which causes all of the problems in our society.

BLAKELY: I promise to try.

CHRISTINE: That would be an improvement.

BLAKELY: It’s been ten years.

CHRISTINE: So it has.

(They return to the table. GILBERT arranges his papers and closes the file, then returns most of the books to the book cart before sitting back down. CHRISTINE watches him.)

BLAKELY: I took the afternoon off to settle some business. I’m usually at the bank whenever the sun is out. It’s very strange that I came in here today.

CHRISTINE: And even less likely that I should be in town visiting Laura, and especially that I should have volunteered to stop by here for her. Life can be unpredictable that way.

BLAKELY (content that his area is organized): Now then, I shall try very hard to listen to you. What have you done with these ten years? You mentioned an orphanage.

CHRISTINE: Yes, for a good while back home I felt that I needed to be around children. The orphanage seemed safe enough, because I thought, ‘surely I can’t be such a wretched influence here. All I have to do is help prepare meals, maybe wash some dishes.’ It seemed ironic that I had had a maid and a nurse to raise my own children, but there I was doing real work for children who had no mother. It made me very sad for the time I’d wasted, all the time I’d taken for granted.

BLAKELY: And do you wonder about them, your own children? Our children?

CHRISTINE: Oh yes, I do so! It has plagued me not to be able to hear of them. Of course I hear fragments of local news from Laura in her letters, but there is so much to a mother’s heart for her own flesh and blood, and there has always been a great vacancy where they were concerned. Please do tell me how they are.

BLAKELY: They want for nothing, I have been sure. They are well cared for and have become quite independent. They are wonderful children.

CHRISTINE: Oh, of course they are! I knew they would get on well without me. I had faith in their care, in Helena and Annie. Oh, how often I have remembered them.

BLAKELY: Yes, Helena and Annie have been wonderful. They stayed on after you left. They continued as if you’d never been there at all. They were so indispensable, I had to increase their pay.

CHRISTINE: Oh, but don’t be so cruel to me! Tell me my children miss me. I know I wasn’t needed, but it pains my heart to hear how well they are in spite of me. A mother’s attachment is so fragile; tell me their love has not diminished.

BLAKELY (looking down uncomfortably): No. I don’t think it has. Only... (shifts in his chair) I never told them exactly what happened. When they asked where you were, they were told only that you had to go away for a while, to your hometown, to care for a relative who had fallen ill, and that they should write you letters saying how well they were doing. After a while, they stopped asking. It was easier than it could have been.

CHRISTINE (astonished): Well I don’t know how I feel about the dishonesty... it seems as immoral as anything I’ve done. But, letters? Did they write them? Did my children write to me?

BLAKELY: Yes, but I had nowhere to send them. And you forbade me to write myself. I saved them, though, Christine. I knew I would see you again someday, perhaps under the miracle of miracles, so I saved the letters for you.

CHRISTINE: Are they still in your care? Are they secure? Do you think I could have them? Oh, it would be so lovely! It would mean so very much!

BLAKELY: I can have them delivered. Or I can bring them myself. But I need an address.

CHRISTINE: What if I stopped by to pick them up? Are the children all living at home with you? What if I just stopped by to pick up my letters, and perhaps to take a look at the children?

BLAKELY: I don’t think you ought to stop by so briefly. If they remember you at all, it could only upset them more for you to stop by only to leave again. They haven’t asked about you for some time. To come back now might only confuse them. No, it’s better that you communicate through me.

CHRISTINE: Through you, who lied to them! Saying I was caring for a sick relative, never even telling them their mother had left!

BLAKELY: What was I supposed to tell them? That their parents had never loved each other? That their mother was unfit to raise them? What kind of legacy is that to hand down? Did you even consider that?

CHRISTINE (introspective): I considered everything. I couldn’t have stayed. What kind of legacy would it be if I had remained in a meaningless marriage? I would never want to establish such a pattern for my children. I would rather they learn to think for themselves, to be strong, and never to just accept anything because that’s how it has always been done. (Looks down.) Gilbert, did you ever know anything about my mother?

BLAKELY: No, nothing.

CHRISTINE: Do you know why?

BLAKELY: I have no idea.

CHRISTINE: Because she was weak. She was subservient. I didn’t respect her. Papa treated her like a maid and she accepted it. Oh, I should have been just as angry at him, but there is something between a man and his daughter that blinds her in her youth to his faults. I thought Papa was perfect; everything good and fun and easy in my life was a present from him. But Mama dealt with all of the imperfect things, the ugly things, so that Papa could keep his special relationship with me—keep treating me like his little princess. But it wasn’t real. It wasn’t equal and it wasn’t fair. Mama never stood up to Papa the way she should have, never demanded her right to be more than the disciplinarian, task master and chore worker, never allowed herself to break free of his expectations and let out her own personality. You see, I never really knew my mother, so I discredited her, downplayed her significance in my life. Gilbert, if I hadn’t asserted myself those ten years ago, my children could never have known who I really am, just as you never knew, and then I could never ask them to respect me, because I wouldn’t have been respecting myself. Don’t you see? I would have become just like my mother.

BLAKELY: But how do you think they see you now? How can they know you better since you left them completely?

CHRISTINE: I don’t know. It’s been my daily prayer that my absence might one day be seen as an example of independence. But now you have to tell them the truth for it to work. You have to tell them why I left.

BLAKELY: For that, I need to understand. I still don’t see it. You have to help me see it.

CHRISTINE: Ten years have not helped you?

BLAKELY: I’ve been too busy for personal pursuits. You left me with a good bit of weight on my shoulders.

CHRISTINE: Is that so? I should think you would have been relieved with your little squanderer out of the house. You realize now, of course, that all of that extra money you gave me was going to pay off our trip to Madrid, for which you own me your life?

BLAKELY: But Christine, we could have found another way. If you hadn’t gone around behind my back, if you’d entrusted me, I could have found another way.

CHRISTINE: Entrusted you? When did we ever have an equal partnership? When did you ever entrust me? I only did what I knew, and that was keeping things from you, just as you had always kept things from me.

BLAKELY: I kept nothing so large, Christine. Everything I did was as a service to you, so conscious not to bog you down with things like finances and politics and business matters—men things. I protected you from the ugliness of the world.

CHRISTINE: Just like Papa did. But don’t you see? It didn’t work for Mama and Papa, either. I am convinced now that nothing short of an absolutely equal partnership can function as a marriage. A woman has needs, Gilbert. Not just loose change and allowances to spend; she needs to be needed. She needs to be entrusted. She needs to feel important, not for appearances, but for her insight and personal merit. I never had any of that with you.

BLAKELY: I’m beginning to see. But do you not also see that my intentions were good? Perhaps I got caught up in what was learned, what society expected us to be, but you make me out as the devil in this situation. You must have found something redemptive in me, or else even the appearance shouldn’t have been strong enough for you to say yes when I proposed. Can you remember what it was?

CHRISTINE (breaking down slightly, faltering somewhat): There are too many emotions attached! I never hated you. Please don’t get that impression. But I was angry. I was angry at so many things, and you were right there on top of the trash heap, compacting it. It was more of a personal thing. I didn’t hate you, but I didn’t love you either. How could I even know what love was until I found out who I was, and learned to respect and care for myself? It would have been a cold, stagnating death to live under the roof of someone I was indifferent to at that point.

BLAKELY: Then you weren’t always indifferent? I never thought you were, but the way you left... the things you said.

CHRISTINE: I’m sorry for a lot of what I said. Or, rather, the way in which I said some of it. All I knew at the time was that I was confused. I had just seen the only world I had known shattered, and you were a direct cause of it. It hurt me in a way I’d never been hurt before. I believe I aged thirty years that day.

BLAKELY: It was no wonderful boost to my health, either.

CHRISTINE: I am sorry about that. But don’t you feel now that it did some good? They say that time heals all wounds, and that everything works together for good.

BLAKELY: I don’t always see that. I work very, very hard for just a little bit of good.

CHRISTINE: Don’t you think it would be better if you didn’t work so hard? That was what ruined your health back before Madrid, remember? If you hadn’t taken on so much, perhaps the whole thing would never have happened.

BLAKELY: Are you suggesting that I could have avoided the whole forgery incident by not working so much?

CHRISTINE: Well, it seems reasonable that if you had paced yourself....

BLAKELY: How many ways can you attack me, my former wife? You suggest that I am shallow because I care what people think. You hint that I am a chauvinist because I make business matters personal. And now you suggest that my work ethic was the sole cause of my broken marriage!

CHRISTINE: Now, now. I only meant that the body cannot physically keep up with such demands as you place on it. I would gladly have nursed you if you had let me, but it was always back to work, always about the bills. Why, I’m surprised you’re alive at all, always working while the sun is out. Have you ever gone for a walk in the middle of the day?

BLAKELY: That would be unproductive. I walk to and from the office.

CHRISTINE: In the dark.

BLAKELY: Yes, it happens to be dark when I walk. What are you getting at?

CHRISTINE: There was always a scheduling conflict when we were married, that I perhaps didn’t tell you about, but that it might help you to know. I needed time with you.

BLAKELY: Then you shouldn’t have shopped so much. It nearly broke us. All my work was to allow you to keep your way of life, so you wouldn’t have to make any uncomfortable adjustments.

CHRISTINE: If that’s true, why do you still work so many hours?

BLAKELY (searching for an answer): I... I... well, what would be the point cutting back? I have nothing to come home to.

CHRISTINE: You have children.

BLAKELY: Comparatively, I would say they get more from me than from their mother. More time, more money, and more influence.

CHRISTINE: I only ever got the money from you, begrudgingly at that. For anything more, I would have had to make an appointment.

BLAKELY: Look, this is not the sort of conversation I wanted.

CHRISTINE: You’re right. You asked me to help you understand why I left. Maybe the best way is to tell you what I’ve learned.

BLAKELY: I would be very interested.

CHRISTINE (a peace washes over her face): I’ve learned that I am a person. I’ve learned that we are all simply people. And that people are flawed. There are so many things influencing the way people act toward one another that their minds can’t sort through it all properly. That was why I needed time. And now that I’ve had my time, and am happy with who I am, I’m starting to look outward again, starting to see others for who they are, and to be happy with them as well. My greatest liberation was not from convention, but from my own unhappiness. I had been imprisoned by the denial of my emotions, by ignoring those nagging feelings inside me, because that’s what everybody teaches you. But everyone who teaches that is simply afraid of what they might find. I can tell you—I am a witness—that what lies inside the human soul is beautiful and worthy of exploring. What lies inside is grace and peace, waiting to be found, existing there in anticipation of what good it can accomplish. I would never have found such goodness if I hadn’t left you. I would never have been able to speak to you as I do now, free from apprehension and expectation. A whole new world has opened to me in the past ten years, and now everywhere I go I attempt to help people see it. Even you, Gilbert, have access to it, if you truly listen. When I left you, I no longer believed in miracles. But that has been restored; I found my miracle, and it was simply in learning to hear, learning to see things for what they really are, and learning to understand with a full heart the underlying meaning of it all. I finally understand love, because I’ve finally seen people for who they are.

BLAKELY: It must have been some ten years!

CHRISTINE: It was. Perhaps now it wouldn’t be so bad to correspond. I think I’m ready to handle the occasional letter, if you could promise to have my children write to me as well?

BLAKELY (finally smiling easy): I should like nothing more. I know we have that dreadful past, Christine, the one you could not be happy without leaving behind. But let me say this to you now, as I sense that our chance meeting is nearly over. I never understood you, and I am truly sorry for that; I tried to. I’ve had a difficult time without you... so much uncertainty, and damage done to my pride. I’ve had so much to question over the years, and at times I felt that I should not forgive you. I blamed you for a lot of things for which I was just as guilty. Sometimes I accepted my responsibility and sometimes I did not. In some ways you are an inspiration to me; you have such a strength to be able to jump into something new with nothing but questions to land on. Even when it hurt me, I’ve always still admired that ability in you to simplify things to their purest form, and sift truth from them. I may have remained a stranger to you, but I have remained an admirer as well. I may never understand you, Christine, but I still believe I loved you, and that I possibly always will. (Stands and collects his things while he speaks, ending by putting on his jacket. CHRISTINE stares at him, not knowing how to react.) I would like to hear more about your life these past ten years, but I know enough now to see that you made the right decision, even though it is difficult for me to grasp. Perhaps in letters we can be reacquainted; I would be honored if you would allow it to be so. As for the children’s letters... (He removes a tightly bound collection of envelopes from his jacket pocket, lined with a silver bow, and sets them on the table in front of CHRISTINE, who stares in disbelief.) you needn’t wait to have them.

CHRISTINE (overcome by the sight of her children’s handwriting): But, I... how could you...?

BLAKELY: Come now, my ancient treasure, I haven’t done everything so wrong. The night you left me, I begged of you what it would take to not lose you forever. ‘The miracle of miracles’, you said. You may pity me for the fool I am, and I certainly know better now than to think the scenario in my imagination could ever play, but since we both are here now I must surrender my pride and give you your due. I have carried these letters here in my jacket pocket every day since each was written, just on the chance that I might one day run into you as I did today, so that I might satisfy that I have been enough altered to earn back your favor. Now, I know from our arguments earlier that such is not the case, but there is one last thing for me to say. It may be true that I never understood you. Nevertheless, I have spent ten years attempting to better myself, clinging to that phrase ‘the miracle of miracles’, each day praying to be further reformed. My efforts may have failed, since I am not as strong or free from convention as you... (He removes a small item from another jacket pocket and holds it momentarily in one palm.) but, let no one ever claim that you did not these many years provide me with either romantic notions or with hope. (Sets the item down directly on top of the stack of letters, at which CHRISTINE stands.) Good day, miss.

(GILBERT exits. CHRISTINE stands still for a moment, staring after him. She then turns to the table and slowly picks up the item he has left behind. It is her old wedding ring.)

MASTERPIECE FOR MODERN STAGE: AN ECLECTIC ABSURDIST POST-MODERN SATIRE DRAMA

CHARACTERS (In no justifiable order):

Obligatory Female

Obligatory Male

Supporting Male (Played by an Uncooperative Cat)

Unidentified Person

The Author

The Director

A Critic

Another Critic

A Speak & Spell

The Voice of Reason

The Voice of God

The Person with the Smallest Part

A Photograph of Eugene Ionesco

SETTING:

An open stage with several groupings of characters and seats. The Obligatory Female and Male are on stools representative of a bar, sitting fairly close together, somewhere like center stage. The remaining characters can be anywhere, so long as The Author and The Director are near each other, the two Critics are near each other, and the Voices of Reason and God are back to back. The Speak & Spell can either be held by someone or placed on furniture. The Photograph of Eugene Ionesco should be displayed on its own table, preferably in a ridiculous frame. Other set dressings are unnecessary.

Unidentified Person: To begin with, ladies and... women and... girls and... emancipated... dear... heavens! To start with, look here (Holds hands together for a moment.), you are about to see a play. Indeed, you are already seeing a play, in a way, beginning with me, because what I say is scripted, and therefore part of the overall theater going experience. I am supposed to tell you, or ask you, rather, to please turn on your cell phones, and if they ring while the show is going on—now, for instance (Pauses to listen for any.)—to either act cute and embarrassed like you didn’t know it was on, or to sit and pretend you don’t know whose it is. (Clears throat, sips a rum and coke.) Now, in the event of an emergency—for the sake of our production, a fire—it is in our and your best interest to sit perfectly still and not react at all; should you leave before the emergency is over, we cannot guarantee reimbursement. (Pause.) Before we continue, I should mention a few things. You will notice that the part of The Supporting Male Actor is played by a cat. This is a highly recommended, well experienced cat who is impervious to illness, and therefore the ideal replacement for who was originally cast. His not being here is a personal issue, and we therefore no longer consider him a suitable actor. As we are certain you know that once you know the rules, you can break them, we ask that you not disrupt the cat’s brilliant technique. (Takes a liberal gulp of rum and coke.) I should note that for tonight’s performance, much of the original wording has been changed, since translators had a hard time going from English to English; many prepositions, conjunctions, and several inappropriate adverbs have been either removed or displaced—rearranged, if you will—to coherently reflect what the author was attempting to say. Also, times being what they are, any controversial material—in particular the pivotal rape and final murder scenes—has been cut. So have most expletives and references to race, gender, politics or religion, except as needed for casting purposes or to run cues. (Now a bit nervous.) What we have, then, tonight, is... most of a... somewhat revealing play... about... somewhere around the middle part of a story that may or may not have an ending. Since most of the first, some of the middle, and all of the final acts have been removed, and since the remaining material may or may not be performed in sequence, there will be a fifteen minute intermission after the show, after which we will release held tickets and hand out programs, which you may notice indicate show times for last week. Since our schedule was unexpectedly rearranged, we are holding tonight only a dress rehearsal, and since you have already missed the performance, we do not have costumes. However, this play makes a point not to call for costumes, so you must imagine for this rehearsal that these fine actors, with the possible exception of the cat, are wearing exactly what they are in fact wearing. (Points randomly into the air.) If there is any more, I don’t remember it. (Sits down where he is and refills and drinks rum and coke throughout the play.)

Voice of Reason: (Jumping up.) This is an outrage! (Sits back down.)

Another Critic: They’ve been sitting still. Let them speak. This has nothing to do with you.

(A long, uncomfortable pause.)

Obligatory Male: Hey.

Obligatory Female: Hay.

Another Critic: Habeas Corpus! Brilliant allusion!

Critic: Notice how they’re already sitting... no telling how long they’ve been there. Could be forever, could be four minutes.

Voice of God: I’m uncomfortable with this.

Critic: It’s so telling of our day to day encounters with fellow human beings, so gripping in its complexity. Did she cut him off? Has she completed her thought?

(Person with the Smallest Part enters.)

Person with Smallest Part: If you’re expecting the photograph of Ionesco to talk, you’re fooling yourselves. But at least he gets stage time.

(Person with the Smallest Part exits.)

Obligatory Male: I was, um, noticing you have a clothespin in your hair.

Speak & Spell: Close spin in your hare.

Director: Stop that... you’re going to ruin the mood.

Obligatory Female: Too.

Critic: Did you catch that? She said “too” instead of “two”, implying that someone else also wears close spins in their hare. This could mean that she is already firmly established in a relationship and has no interest in these desperate advances. (Thinks for a moment.) On the other hand, why would she be here if she were happy in her relationship? She is probably unhappy, maybe she hates her lover, and that is why she is sitting here, acting aloof. Such desperation! So sad!

Author: Maybe it’s autobiographical. But about someone else.

Another Critic: Incredible!

Obligatory Male: Could I... ask why?

Critic: Oh, it rhymes!

Voice of God: Superfluous use of exclamation marks. I don’t use words at all.

Voice of Reason: (Jumping up.) Nonsense! This is an outrage!

Another Critic: I don’t know, but I think one of them is gay.

Obligatory Female: No, do you use them for something different?

Another Critic: They’re not even listening. Does she mean the close spins?

Speak & Spell: Clothespins.

Obligatory Male: I don’t use them.

Another Critic: Girls? Which one is gay?

Photograph of Eugene Ionesco: (Says nothing.)

Person with Smallest Part: (Yelling from offstage.) I told you!

Voice of Reason: This is all I can take!

Author: All you can take? They’ve only made it through seven lines together.

Critic: Are you the author?

Author: That’s right.

Critic: And you said “together”. What are you implying? Have they met before? Indeed, are they in fact lovers already? That’s it! From these seven lines we can see the isolation that grows between man and wife...

Another Critic: (Interrupting.) ...or man and man, or woman and woman—quite an agenda you have, you perve...

Critic: (Continuing.) ...by acknowledging that they really know nothing about one another, their quirks and mannerisms....

Voice of God: (Interrupting.) I should like to watch the show.

Author: Maybe it’s a satire. Maybe they’re not married. Maybe they aren’t even meeting now.

Obligatory Female: Well, somebody ought to. There’s a whole industry for them. They’re very handy. Just not for clothes.

Another Critic: “Hand-y”... “clothes”... she’s very sexual. And come on, “somebody ought to”? This is so transparent. I know where this is going.

Voice of Reason: It’s sickening.

Voice of God: It’s innocent.

Author: It’s neither one.

Director: For our purposes, it’s both. Would anyone like some refreshment?

Unidentified Person: (Standing up, a little drunk.) I realize we are only just after seven lines into the first (Adds something in his head.)... or second act, but if anyone would like (Looks at Director for prompting.)... some... refreshment... we have rum and coke here for two dollars a cup. Except that in this case the rum and coke is actually cherry juice, and that in turn is played by lemonade. But it is still two dollars.

(The Unidentified Person actually sells lemonade, for two dollars a cup, to any audience member who might respond. If they speak, he is only allowed to reply, “I am not authorized to reply, only to sell. I am not even authorized to drink, and anyway, you should be suspending disbelief. Drink up.”)

Voice of God: (After a good while.) What happens when you run out of lemonade?

Unidentified Person: Rum and coke. I go and buy more.

Voice of God: What is your cost and yield?

Unidentified Person: Twenty-five dollars for ten cups.

Voice of God: Then you’re out five dollars.

Critic: (Bursting into tears and sobbing.) It’s so true!

Unidentified Person: Only yours is acting. Mine is actually rum and coke. (Sits back down.)

Obligatory Male: You’re a little off, aren’t you?

Obligatory Female: Because I care about people’s families? Stuff yourself.

Speak & Spell: Stuff yourself.

Critic: Calling to mind teddy bears and childhood defenses—good! Excellent! Deep issues with family. Did her father leave? Or was it her mother? Were those the original images we were supposed to equate upon introduction? Oh, this is exciting! Incredible! I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.

Photograph of Eugene Ionesco: (Says nothing.)

Person with Smallest Part: (Yelling from offstage.) It’s unfair!

Another Critic: The tension here is a sexual tension. Otherwise she wouldn’t have prefaced getting stuffed with caring about family. She’s tender, but wants to be bad.

Critic: Oh God, how horrific! Was she raped? Is that the missing scene? (Stands up and points to the Unidentified Person.) You did this!

Unidentified Person: I’m not really even off book yet.... Line!

Director: We’re past that now. You say, “Blame this genius here”, and point to me.

Author: This will never work like this.

Unidentified Person: (Pointing to the Director.) Blame this genius here.

Director: Well look, I can’t speak for the author. It was different in English. I had a season to plan.

Speak & Spell: A season is a long time.

Critic: Wait, wait, I see! This whole cast is part of it, isn’t that right? (Begins laughing.) Oh my heavens! Oh my stars!

Voice of God: Really, the punctuation here....

Obligatory Male: You’re pretty hot, though. You wanna dance?

Speak & Spell: If she’s hot, she’ll want a drink.

Voice of Reason: That’s the first sensible thing anyone’s said.

Obligatory Female: No. I came here specifically not to dance.

Another Critic: Vixen! I know what that means. That’s so typical.

Obligatory Male: Oh. You wanna drink?

Speak & Spell: You want to drink... you want a drink....

Obligatory Female: I’ve got one. But go ahead and get me something else. Two if you like, one for me and one for you. And get something for yourself too.

Critic: She reiterated the “too” from earlier... amazing!

Author: Maybe she meant “two”. Or maybe “to...” and just didn’t finish.

Critic: No, no... there’s too much going on here. Notice that she now speaks four sentences, where she began with only one word—assuming that was the beginning, which it couldn’t have been.

Another Critic: She must have spoken even fewer words before that.

Critic: Or maybe we missed everything before that. It’s absolutely possible.

Author: It isn’t.

Critic: But look, she’s already got a drink—a drink! She means a relationship! It’s so clear, and he’s so clueless, and it’s so indicative of how men never notice rings on a woman’s finger. This is so feminist.

Another Critic: But what about the rest? “Get me something else”? She’s screaming for an affair. “Two if you like”? She’s bi. This isn’t art at all. It’s nothing but politics. It’s shameless.

Voice of Reason: Politics?! This is an outrage! Who said yes to this?

Author: Can’t politics be artful? Can’t art be political?

Speak & Spell: Art is impolite.

Voice of God: That’s a matter of opinion, machine!

Voice of Reason: He has no opinions, only programming! Just like all of us—scripted!

Voice of God: What about the audience?

Voice of Reason: The worst of all!

(The Obligatory Male orders a pint, quietly, from apparently no one. The Unidentified Person supplies a pitcher of lemonade. Music starts in loudly.)

Director: Not now!

(Music stops.)

Obligatory Male: You’re talkative tonight. I’ve seen you here before. You always look mean.

Another Critic: Are you kidding me?

(Obligatory Female gestures with her eyes. Author glances discreetly at The Voice of Reason.)

Obligatory Male: Do you live around here?

Another Critic: Oh, for heavens sake!

Voice of Reason: (Jumping up.) This is an outrage!

Obligatory Female: Right here. Exactly here. (Laughs.)

Speak & Spell: And everywhere surrounding.

Critic: I get it now! Everything I said before is now the opposite. She represents all of us. This is autobiographical. How cunning!

Speak & Spell: Cun—

Author: (Interrupting.) Don’t you dare!

Speak & Spell: I have know free will.

Director: Director’s prerogative!

Voice of God: Can we get on with it?

Obligatory Male: What’s your name?

Another Critic: He wouldn’t have asked that.

Obligatory Female: Let’s wait on that. I’m not sure I’ll come back here.

Critic: Aha!

Obligatory Female: Don’t tell me yours either. I don’t want to forget something just to retain a name I might never use.

Another Critic: I think I’m in love. Minx.

Photograph of Eugene Ionesco: (Says nothing.)

Person with Smallest Part: (Yelling from offstage.) Unbelievable!

Critic: But did you notice the desperation in her phrasing? It’s as if she’s forgotten something very meaningful, like one of those random memories that resurfaces after so many years, sparked by a piece of workshop equipment.

Author: Workshop equipment?! And you call me autobiographical?! I have to write something else now. (Pulls out a small pad of paper and a pencil and begins writing contemplatively.)

Speak & Spell: Sparking workshop equipment is not to be trusted.

Another Critic: Unless it’s a metal shop. Supposing it’s supposed to spark somewhat?

Critic: Nice alliteration!

Another Critic: Thank you. I thought it was lacking.

Author: This isn’t a poem!

Another Critic: That’s for certain!

Voice of God: If you continue, I’ll take away all of your punctuation.

Voice of Reason: Take it! We don’t want it! It means nothing!

(All lights go out. Director disappears.)

Voice of Reason: Okay, I’m sorry!

Voice of God: That wasn’t me. You weren’t listening.

Voice of Reason: (Snapping.) I’m The Voice of Reason, not Understanding. Understanding is silent.

(Lights come back on. Director reappears and takes his seat. An additional stool has been placed near The Obligatory Actors for The Supporting Male, but it remains empty and well lit.)

Obligatory Male: Drink up then. What kind of girl are you?

Author: This is taking too long.

Critic: Don’t you get it? That’s the point. The whole thing is about the worlds of thought and emotion that run between every line of a conversation—all the underlying tensions and years of reinforcement to disposition. It may seem like a simple conversation, but you hit on every aspect of mundane life in its simplicity. It’s so intricate, so telltale and tragic.

Another Critic: It reminds me of my own personal Obligatory Female and makes me want to cry. (He does so.)

Speak & Spell: The word is.

Obligatory Female: Depends on my mood.

Speak & Spell: The word is mood.

Director: Is that thing malfunctioning?

Critic: Oh, how true! Such vision!

Speak & Spell: The word is moot.

Obligatory Male: Okay, what kind of girl are you tonight?

Another Critic: I told you it was sexual! But now that’s two obvious. The whole thing is discredited. Where is this going?

Obligatory Female: Try right now. I might switch.

Another Critic: Oh. Oh yeah, she’s bi.

Obligatory Male: Okay... what kind of... no, I don’t care about right now. I care about later on tonight. What kind of girl do you think you’ll be then?

Critic: That picked up quick!

Voice of God: Did you think I was kidding? What did I say about punctuation?

Another Critic: Well, this is typical of this playwright’s preoccupation with sex. See how he’s always coming back to it.

Critic: I think it’s deeper than that. I think he means that he wants to know what she’ll be like years down the road if they marry. It’s an illustration of life in the so called “Golden Years”, the unsettling reality that you may spend your whole life with someone—reading cereal boxes and discussing what channel to watch, recounting word for word conversations that weren’t interesting when they actually occurred, and are so much less so in the retelling—that you may spend your whole life saying nothing at all, and one day wake up and realize the whole lifetime of companionship, and what was supposed to be communication, is nothing but an accumulation of summaries to things that didn’t matter. It’s brilliant, but it makes me want to stop talking altogether and bury my head forever. It’s so futile, so emotionally draining. I don’t think I care to ever see another play.

Author: (Looking up.) Are you serious? (Stops writing. Puts pad and pencil away. Looks somber and contemplative, then looks to Another Critic.) What’s all this sex stuff?

Obligatory Female: Prick!

Another Critic: Where did that come from?

Supporting Male: (Is nowhere to be found. Light brightens on stool whenever he has lines. Somebody meows. This happens whenever the stool lights up, and it is a different cast member every time.)

Another Critic: Is that “hit on” as in abuse?

Critic: I believe it is both. The word play is tremendous.

Obligatory Male: She might switch.

Supporting Male: (Is nowhere to be found. Stool lights up. Somebody meows.)

Critic: The technique is compelling, perfectly suited to this type of avant-garde theater. It’s interesting that the lights went out entirely before The Supporting Male showed up. I interpret his introduction here as being kind of the best friend-type character who has always secretly loved The Obligatory Female, and who always seems to come to her rescue despite his passions being unrequited.

Another Critic: We all have someone. This is autobiographical for sure.

Obligatory Male: Do you know why she keeps a clothespin in her hair?

Speak & Spell: Inner hair. Inner hare. Is this rhetorical? It is a trap.

Obligatory Female: I am right here!

Another Critic: Calling out for attention.

Supporting Male: (Is nowhere to be found. Stool lights up. Somebody meows.)

Obligatory Male: Like the one you’ve been after for eight years?

Obligatory Female: I am right here!

Supporting Male: (Is nowhere to be found. Stool lights up. Somebody meows.)

Obligatory Female: I am right here!

Speak & Spell: She is right here.

Another Critic: Picking up the pace... the action is building... I sense a climax. Who is this Supporting Male really? Who is anyone? Is the Speak & Spell broken?

Author: Broken? He’s not even in this. Programming, that’s all. (Turning to The Director.) This is your fault! It can’t work without the words.

Critic: That’s a matter of opinion. It has quite depressed me. I won’t drink chocolate milk for a week.

Director: Director’s prerogative! See, it’s worked just fine. He won’t drink chocolate milk for a week.

Speak & Spell: Chocolate, milk is for the weak.

Author: It isn’t about chocolate milk!

Supporting Male: (Is nowhere to be found. Stool lights up. Somebody meows.)

Obligatory Female: Dammit! Now I forgot....

Supporting Male: (Is nowhere to be found. Stool lights up. Somebody meows.)

Author: I’m telling you it’s not working!

Obligatory Female: I won’t even think about him tomorrow. It’s too late.

Supporting Male: (Is nowhere to be found. Stool lights up. Somebody meows.)

Voice of Reason: (Jumping up.) This is an outrage! Have you thought about the ending?

Voice of God: This is an outrage. Have you thought how you’re going to end it?

Author: End it?! It hasn’t even begun! It can’t work without words!

Voice of God: It can’t work without punctuation. I work without words.

Speak & Spell: It can’t work without words. It can work within words.

Voice of Reason: Don’t get philosophical. I want a resolution.

Critic: Don’t be absurd. It’s a complete, succinct work—minus, obviously, the missing scenes and words; and taking into account, of course, the limitations of an English translation from the original English.

Author: There is no original English!

Critic: Moreover, it’s ingenious in how it didn’t end—or really ever begin. It’s so perfect in its simplicity. Think about it... two people talking, and then another person talks. It’s brilliant. It’s perfect. It blows my mind. That’s three people talking! What could be more to the point?

Another Critic: But what about the failure to communicate?

Critic: Exactly! That is exactly the point of the three people talking! It’s incredible! I see it every day. I’ve never seen anything like it!

Voice of God: All right, that’s it. I’m taking away your punctuation for the remainder of the play. I warned you not to provoke me.

Author: What am I supposed to do now

Supporting Male: (Is nowhere to be found. Stool lights up. Somebody meows.)

Author: (To The Supporting Male.) This has nothing to do with you

Speak & Spell: Turns to God

Author: Do you think anyone can enjoy this now

this is ridiculous

Director: Am I supposed to have all my actors switch to upper case

this is ridiculous and no one appreciates it

Voice of God: All right, I’ll take away your words too.

Speak & Spell: Two words

Obligatory Male: (Sits expressionless, saying nothing.)

Obligatory Female: (Sits expressionless, saying nothing.)

Supporting Male: (Is nowhere to be found. Stool lights up. Somebody meows. Everyone looks immediately confused, but it quickly passes.)

Person with Smallest Part: (From offstage. Silence.)

Author: (Gets up and walks out.)

Director: (Taps his foot.)

Critic: (Sits expressionless, saying nothing.)

Another Critic: (Sits expressionless, saying nothing.)

Speak & Spell: All of you misunderstand

he only took away two words and all punctuation

after all it is a matter of faith

not communication

Voice of Reason: (Sits expressionless, saying nothing.)

Unidentified Person: (Finishes off rum and coke.)

Photograph of Eugene Ionesco: (Says nothing.)

(Curtain.)

MONOLOGUES FOR WOMEN

I.

You think you can take the high road with me? Are you kidding me? How dare you. How dare you! “Compromising position”, you say. You can’t even begin to know what that means. Look, I know what you think of people like me, but have you ever stepped off your high horse long enough to wonder what we think of you? Do you think you’re unique? Do you think I don’t see twenty guys a week just like you? You’re everywhere. I can’t adjust my skirt without you adjusting your car mirror. (Shudders slightly, increasingly agitated.) God, do you think we don’t see that? I feel your eyes. They penetrate me with every layer you strip away. Oh, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said “penetrate”, not after that. I wouldn’t want to get you all riled up again. You have your normal, blue-collar life to get back to. You want to know what we think of you? No, of course you don’t. (Mocking, almost to herself.) We don’t have feelings; we’re professional. We don’t have lives like yours. (Confrontational.) Let me tell you something, we aren’t the ones to be pitied. We’re honest. We look after each other. We care about human contact and intimacy and emotion. To you it’s a joke. It’s a photo album to break out when company comes for dinner. It’s a nice illusion to print on Christmas cards. You think I must have problems, that what you have is better. But you know what? I’m in control of my life. You can’t possibly tell me you’re in control of yours. You think I’m wrong? Why don’t you go home and tell your wife what you did today, and tell me what she thinks. I’d be very interested to know.

II.

(Warming up.) Do you think I enjoy this? Do you think this is what I set out to become? I hate this! You can’t even imagine what goes on in my head. I consider this discipline. Life isn’t about what anyone else tells you it is. Everyone is wrong about everything. All you can do is shut your eyes and try to make out the voice of God in the middle of it all. Yes, it’s terrible, I know that. Yes, it’s hard. But come on, did you really think you could plan life? Did you think you’d be able to predict it? There are too many possibilities. There are too many people influencing what happens. We can’t be responsible for them. (To the point.) You want to kill yourself. You know what? So do I. That’s exactly what you want to hear, isn’t it? You don’t want to kill yourself, you just want somebody to tell you not to. Well I can’t. I’m not the right person. You think I’ve got it down because I’m able to hold my head up and smile while a customer spits in my face. I must have something you don’t because I handle myself well. Has it ever occurred to you that I might already be dead? Isn’t it possible that my stoicism is because I can’t feel anymore? Whose fate is worse, if you actually end it? Mine, because I never will. You have problems, no fucking joke. I’ve been your friend for twenty fucking years, I know this about you. You’re delusional, you have a martyr complex, you’re a fatalist, and you’re a bad cook. You want a contest? Whose life is worse? Whose life should end first? You think you’re such a misunderstood, unappreciated genius that the world just can’t contain you. That’s so goddamn pretentious! You want to understand true suffering? You want a real bitch of an epitaph? See how long nature can put up with you. I know your masochism. I know the mindset. Don’t be so fucking weak. See how long you can live as a walking corpse. God knows that’s why I’m still here.

III.

I did believe in it once. That kind of love, I mean. And the whole dream with it. I was a girl once. I dressed up just like all the other little girls, with the pearls and makeup and high heels. I had the same storybook ending as everyone else, the big elegant ball where every eye turned in on me. It never occurred to me at the time there was any hint of unreality in it. You know what’s funny is that in those dreams every man was single and only interested in me. And every other woman was either jealous or supportive. There was no room for indifference in those dreams. Everything was extreme. It was one way or the other. I was sure I would always be beautiful and cherished and live in a great big castle-type mansion and never have to do anything that didn’t please me. And my handsome prince-type would only say romantic things, and his head would always tilt down into that amorous glance, and he would scoop me into his perfectly sculpted body with his strong arms, and we would always dance until that first incredible kiss. In the vision I don’t think he ever worked either. He was just rich for some reason. But that’s not real, not for anybody. So what is love, really?

It has to be something else. No dream ever, ever comes true. If anything comes close, it just shows you all the holes in it. The elegant ball turns out to be a party where everyone’s been drinking, the only eyes are staring at your chest or trying to look up your skirt. The good men are all taken, and even they’re not what their girls dreamt of since childhood. They all settle. We all settle. Everyone lives. Everyone gets so caught up in chasing that one single illusion that the reality slowly crushes them until they finally reevaluate and give up. So why even bother? Love has to exist, but it can’t be that dream, so what is it? Maybe it’s the resolution of settling. Maybe it’s the conscious decision to tie yourself to someone no matter what. So maybe the guy’s a jerk sometimes, maybe he doesn’t understand you or support you. Maybe he’s nothing like the dream. Maybe he even does something really awful. But isn’t love unconditional? Now everyone says that love takes effort, so if I’m doing it right, it can’t matter if I’m happy or not. All that matters is that I stay, no matter what he does. That’s love. Isn’t it?

(Breaks down.)

No... it can’t be. (Almost losing it.) I know I can’t have the dream. I don’t even want it. But is it too much to ask for someone who thinks I’m worthy of it?