I SHALL DIE AT THE END OF THIS PLAY

 (A One Act Play by Bob Zolnerzak)

 

SCENE: Two folding chairs, about four feet apart, face the audience. A briefcase stage-left of stage-left chair.
Upstage-left is a door and a folding screen. Next to the door is a chair in which C is sitting through the play.

CHARACTERS: A is older and is comparatively unattractive. B is younger and is as attractive as possible.
C should be large, young, and slightly menacing-looking.

A: (Entering from stage-left and reading to the audience from his script): This is going to be a cold reading of a play I wrote. In case you don't know the term "cold reading," it means that the actors are reading the script for the first time. Of course, since I wrote the play, I know how it ends, but it is a fact that I'm READING this script for the first time. The title of the play is "And I Shall Die at the End of This Play." My name is (actor states his name) and I'll be reading the part in the play designated as "A." I'm auditioning actors to read the part of the only other character in the play, designated as "B."
Tonight (he motions across to B, who enters from stage-right) ____________ (A states B's name) is auditioning for the part of B. (To B): We can sit down now. (A hands B a script. They sit, facing the audience.)

A: And I shall die at the end of this play.
B: I don't know what to make of that.
A: Not too big a deal: after all, everyone dies at some time. I shall die at the end of this play.
B: This play.
A: This play.
B: Are you trying to make me feel sorry for you?
A: Like for anyone else who is going to die at some time.
B: Most people don't think about it. Or announce that it will be in about an hour.
A: Look, at the end of a play, that's the last you ever hear from those characters, so what difference could it possibly make if the character dies or not.
B: (relieved): Oh, you mean that your character will die at the end of this play.
A: No, I---me---the person playing this character speaking to you---will die at the end of this play.
B: How could you possibly know that?
A: I've been sick for a long time---don't look surprised, I don't actually like to talk about this. I've been taking medicines that hold my illness at bay. But all the medicines make me feel terrible; not in control. But if I don't take the medicines, I feel terrible. So I stopped taking the medicines; I can feel myself weakening. I shall die at the end of this play.
B: So you've chosen to die!
A: Not exactly: I've chosen not to fight against my dying at the end of this play.
B: You want me to talk you out of it.
A: Quite the opposite---we'll actually be talking me into it.
B: How?
A: I think it's important that certain things be said---made explicit. That's what's in these pages. (He riffles the pages of the script.)
B: You planned all this.
A: Yes.
B: Why was I chosen to play opposite you?
A: It could have been anyone.
B: I'm very uncomfortable.
A: That's OK. I don't feel that great myself.
B: I'm sorry. I didn't mean physically uncomfortable. I feel emotionally----at sea.
A: We're in the same boat.
B: We've had a lot of boats recently.
A: You probably wouldn't remember the play Outward Bound. It was made into a movie in 1930. That play takes place on a boat which turns out to be full of people who have already died.

B: As opposed to this play, in which you say you're going to die.
A: It's been a long time since the 1972 movie The Poseidon Adventure: everything turned upside down.
B: Then there's the 1997 Broadway musical Titanic, which rather sinks in the second act.
A: I once wrote a play called The Director, which not only had a boat but a lifeboat.
B: I guess water often stands for emotional upheaval.
A: Spoken like a true critic.
B: I'm only trying to protect myself.
A: From what?
B: From getting too involved.
A: Just read the script, say the words. You don't have to get emotionally involved at all.
B: But it must be---emotional---for you.
A: Not really. Since it's all written down I can be----somewhat---dispassionate.
B: But----not completely dispassionate.
A: Well, no. After all, I am going to die at the end of this play.
B: This play.
A: This play.
B: If we keep repeating these lines---just keep reading the first few pages---then you wouldn't have to die.
A: But we know for a fact that everyone must die.
B: Not so quickly, not so----directly.
A: It's all relative. Plays and books are good for condensing reality. A play can condense years of real time into a matter of hours.
B: Right. Scenes can change through many years, actors appear to get older----
A: You can even move backward in time---or have impossible events taking place just offstage.
B: Because the audience can't see offstage.
A: Offstage, onstage----sometimes the audience can't see what's happening ON the stage.
B: They can misinterpret what's happening onstage.
A: Ha, it's even easier to misinterpret what's happening OFFstage. I remember reading, somewhere----. Some writer wondered what the audience actually thought certain performers----ballet dancers, for example---were doing when they danced off the stage. Do the swans from "Swan Lake" retire to nice tables and sip tea while the lead dancers perform their solos? Or do they just preen their feathers---and dip their beaks into the lake for a drink. In "The Corsair," each of the two dancers, many times, go rushing off into the wings. Of course, we do know that they probably flop on the floor and try to catch their breath and wipe off some of their sweat and adjust their A: (continued): costumes. But we don't usually think of the performers acting as performers, we think---since they're in costume---that they stay in character, to some extent, even offstage.
B: But, for this play, we have to believe that you are going to die----at the end of this play.
A: It solves the problem of curtain calls.
B: How can you remain so objective about it?
A: What good would it do for me to be any other way? Even in documentaries about the Holocaust, you don't have narrators screaming at the top of their lungs: "Hitler killed millions of Jews!" No, they just dispassionately read the script: "Ten thousand were killed in this ghetto before the survivors were packed into boxcars and shipped east to Poland. Their eyeglasses were added to this haystack of ownerless spectacles, their tattooed skin stretched into these lampshades, and their emaciated bodies filled these acres of mass graves." All perfectly calm.
B: Is all this what you wanted to say---what you wanted us to say---before you died?
A: Partly. I want the audience to know that I thought about them. About the feelings they would have about me. About their reactions to the fact that I'm going to die at the end of this play.
B: Did you want them to feel---any particular emotion?
A: No, just whatever emotion---or lack of emotion---these words would evoke in them.
B: Is there any danger that, maybe, they may dislike you for forcing these words upon them?
A: I suppose that's one of the possibilities.
B: That you're just manipulating them, rather at random?
A: Death is never random.
B: A way of getting their attention?
A: Perhaps.
B: A plea for sympathy?
A: I'd rather think of it as a plea for understanding.
B: Understanding what?
A: That I think about them. That I want to please them. That I want them to feel better after they've heard these words than before they've heard these words.
B: That sounds rather cold. Aren't you afraid of distancing them?
A: I'll have to take that chance. It may depend on the sympathy the audience feels for the readers.
B: But---wait---if this is repeated, after you're dead---well, the audience will KNOW that you're not going to die after each performance.
A: No.

B: Yes they will! That's asking too much for the "willing suspension of disbelief."
A: It worked for the play "'Night, Mother."
B: But that was a---a traditional play, with actresses playing characters----characters that had no real relation to the actresses playing the parts.
A: This is a play, with readers reading characters.
B: But with a title---and you have repeated readings of this line----"And I shall die at the end of this play," you have to insist that the audience believe the actual character is going to die at the end of this play.
A: No, of course not.
B: Then I'm just being jerked around.
A: It's only a play; a play isn't real life.
B: But a play has to have a point.
A: The point of this play is to think about the thoughts that arise when a character in a play states "And I shall die at the end of this play."
B: Are they supposed to identify with you?
A: Probably not.
B: Are they supposed to think that they know someone like you?
A: Probably not.
B: Then they might not be interested in anything that you have to say.
A: That's the chance I have to take.
B: (after a long pause): What are they supposed to think about me?
A: (looking for a long time at B): That you're young----attractive----somewhat sympathetic----
B: Sympathetic? How am I supposed to be sympathetic?
A: For one thing, you don't seem to know what's going to happen. You've just been handed this script for a reading, and you don't know how it's going to end.
B: You mean----except for the fact that (pretentiously) "You shall die at the end of this play."
A: (pause) Yes.
B: Why did you pause before you said---yes.
A: Because the script told me to.
B: But you wrote the script; why did you write "pause" before saying "yes."
A: Maybe I wanted to slow down the action.
B: Slow down the action? There isn't any action----at all!
A: Not physical action. I would hope there's a sense of dramatic action.
B: I don't know. What's----"dramatic action"---supposed to mean.
A: Shifting audience sympathies toward the characters?

B: They're supposed to feel sorry for you and----I asked you before, what are they supposed to feel about me!
A: Well, I suppose they should feel happy for you. After all, you're going to be alive after this play is over.
B: Well, they shouldn't feel very happy about me NOW, because I don't feel very happy about me now.
A: I suppose we can assume you felt pretty good, at the beginning, about being picked to read this part this evening----
B: Oh, so MY "dramatic action" is to start out feeling pretty good; feel pretty bad in the middle of the play; and then feel good at the end of the play when you die and I don't?
A: You could say that.
B: I can say that because you wrote that I would say that. You're in control here.
A: I can control the words that you say, but I can't control what-----the audience thinks about what you say.
B: You can't control what I feel.
A: No, of course not.
B: You can't even control the way I read what I say---what words I choose to emphasize. (Sweetly): I can even ignore your stage direction: "Angrily", when I say "You certainly can't control the way I feel about you."
A: Evidently.
B: What if I just walked out of this scene.
A: Then I'd get someone else to read the part.
B: Right in the middle of the play.
A: It wouldn't make any difference to the audience.
B: Of course it would! You'd have to introduce the new reader to the audience in some way, set up the situation all over again----it could get "old" very quickly!
A: Then you'll just have to stay.
B: Obviously you don't care WHO reads opposite you. I'm just a----a mouth!
A: (Moves his chair a couple of inches closer to B): Of course I care who reads opposite me. There must be a degree of contrast----
B: (Moves his chair a couple of inches away from A): Yeah, you're an old fart and I'm young and reasonably good looking----
A: That's not very nice----
B: But you wrote it. No, it's not nice at all. I'd never say anything like that!
A: (Moves his chair a couple of inches closer to B): No, I'm sure you wouldn't.
B: Then what's the point! What are you doing here! You're not making either of us very sympathetic.
A: You're right. I---want you to stay. I----I did choose you because you're young and attractive.
B: (reluctantly) Well, thank you for that, at least.
A: You're the survivor, the one with his life ahead of him. Mine is behind me.
B: That's not true. You've written this play. You hope there's something good in it. You hope----well----I hope I do a good job reading my part. I do need the work.
A: It must be rough getting started in the business.
B: Harder all the time. More and more competition. Guys out there have already gone to school for years, already have tons of experience. I'm actually late in getting started.
A: I know how it is.
B: I try to get all the experience I can. Anything to make my résumé fatter.
A: As you get older, the problem becomes cutting down.
B: I'd love to get to that point. Some of my credits are so tacky: bit parts in industrials, for Chrissake. But I have to keep everything in so that they'll think I've been around. I'd love to get some real, solid roles---then I could cut out some of the junk.
A: I might be able to help---
B: You've been around a lot. You probably know lots of people----directors? Producers?
A: Some. Usually I produce my own pieces.
B: Yeah, I've heard your name----I think.
A: I had an evening of my pieces at Theater for the New City a couple of years ago.
B: Theater for the New City! I heard about them---upper West Side?
A: Not really.
B: Oh, but I remember hearing the name---real Off-Broadway?
A: More like Off-off.
B: Still---an evening of your pieces. It must have been exciting. How were the reviews?
A: Reviews? There weren't any.
B: I thought everything had to be reviewed. Why would you put it on if you didn't get reviewed. Who'd know to come to see it.
A: (Moves his chair a couple of inches closer to B): You invite everyone you know. You can only hope that someone will tell someone else, who will tell someone else, so that maybe a reviewer will come to see it.
B: Or a producer!
A: I wouldn't hold out too much hope for that. When I get a couple hundred extra dollars I rent a small space, print a few flyers, audition a few actors----
B: Would you audition me again?
A: After tonight?
B: Yeah.
A: But I shall die at the end of this play.
B: No! That's just a----a gimmick. A hook! Everyone knows you're not going to die at the end of this play.
A: No, everyone DOESN'T know that.
B: Oh, you mean I'm not supposed to SAY that. (Pause) I get it now. You ARE testing me as an actor. You want me--you want me to convince the audience that I think you ARE going to die at the end of this play. You want me-----should I cry for you? I can cry onstage, you know. I can do that. Sometimes it takes a little while to get started, but I can do that----
A: No, you don't have to do that---
B: That's right. You wrote this. You know already if I should cry for you or not. You're the boss. OK, I just have to go along with anything you say.
A: (Moves his chair a couple of inches closer to B): You think you can do that?
B: (Looks down at the diminishing floor-space between them, then for a long time at A): We'll see how it goes.
A: (Looks at B. Clears his throat. Continues reading from script): Good. I was reading "Young Man from the Provinces"----Alan Helms's book?
B: I don't know who he is.
A: He was the most sought-after gay man in New York, when New York hosted most of the gay world in the late Fifties and early Sixties. He was called the Universal Type---the golden boyman everyone wanted. But it turns out, he says in his book, that he wasn't very happy. Anyway, in this book he quotes someone as saying "It takes two to make a truth," meaning that nothing is fully real or significant until it's been shared. So I want to make my dying at the end of this play fully real ----or significant.
B: I'm still not---I still don't quite get it.
A: (Moves his chair a couple of inches closer to B): Maybe that's my problem: I don't quite get it myself. Maybe talking about it, with you, will make it more real for me.
B: (Moves his chair an inch away from A): I'd really like to know how this is going to end up for me.
A: Well, at least you're not going to die at the end of this play.
B: In some sense I am---I'm not going to die RIGHT at the moment this play ends, but I am going to die AT SOME TIME after this play ends.
A: In that sense you can sympathize with me, except it makes a real difference to know, to understand, to GRASP the understanding that it's only an hour away.
B: Less than an hour, now.
A: (Moves his chair a couple of inches closer to B): And I've chosen you to help me out, here.
B: Thanks----I think.
A: Do you find me unattractive?
B: Uh---no---not UNattractive.
A: But not attractive.
B: Uh----well-----
A: Never mind. Forget I asked.
B: OK.
A: The world will probably be better off after I'm dead.
B: No, no---it's not that at all.
A: But you wouldn't help me to NOT die.
B: (Angry) Wait a minute! This isn't one of those "Oh, make-my-life-complete-by-going-to-bed-with-me ploys-----plays!-----no, I had it right the first time: PLOYS!
A: (Moves his chair a foot farther away from B): No, not at all. That's not it at all. No way.
B: No way!
A: No way. (Pause) Though it did pass through my mind.
B: NO----WAY.
A: I hear you. I hear you. You----DO know you're attractive (B reacts angrily; A placates) and I'm sure you have guys hitting on you all the time. Believe it or not, I used to get that----some years ago, I admit. It can be awful, I know.
B: The casting couch.
A: Well, I don't know about that, because I wasn't an actor.
B: (To himself): What was your first clue!
A: Don't get nasty. I never wanted to be an actor, but I did want to write plays. (B looks at him.) So I wrote plays; I didn't act. But being young and attractive helps in ANYTHING in New York. No doubt about it.
B: (Pointedly): One can only hope that it's possible to rise above it.
A: It must be awful to be quite attractive and then grow older and lose all those wonderful advantages.
B: Some men can relate to other men without being affected by their attractiveness.
A: (Pause): I suppose so.
B: But not you.
A: What do you mean?
B: You're always affected by the attractiveness of other men.
A: That's not true. Most of my lovers weren't---conventionally---attractive. But I still had them as lovers.
B: Oh, you condescended to accept them as lovers even though they didn't turn every head when they entered a room: "WHO is THAT?" So good of you----noble, I suppose.
A: You can't say you're unaware of the effect you have on other men. You've been acting-out for ME most of the time.
B: That's why I'm here! I'm auditioning for a part in a play! Of course I have to make you like me or I wouldn't get the part! But I won't go to bed with you to get the part---I mean---I didn't mean that I wouldn't never ever categorically NEVER go to bed with you AT ALL, I just meant that I wouldn't accept that as the CONDITION for my getting the part. If I got the part, we'd have to work together----and heaven knows what might happen if we worked together----not that it would NECESSARILY happen if we worked together----that we'd go to bed, I mean----but you never can tell what MIGHT happen between two people, alone together on a stage for a long time-------I mean it might NEVER happen, you understand, but------
A: Calm down. No, going to bed with me isn't a condition of your getting the part.
B: Wait a minute----something just occurred to me. If, SUPPOSEDLY, you're going to die when this play is over, how would anyone even KNOW whether you thought I was good enough for the part or not! This gimmick just isn't going to work!
A: Well, in the first place, this whole thing is being recorded----
B: Recorded?!
A: Yes, there's a hidden video-camera----
B: Video? Aren't you supposed to get my permission before filming me? Or anyone?
A: Not really---look at all those video cameras in banks, and supermarkets---you don't give THEM your permission to film you.
B: But I'm not robbing a bank! I'm not buying raisins at the supermarket. I'm giving what I thought was a private audition----
A: Would you have acted any differently had you known you were being filmed?
B: Well, no----but it would just be more FAIR if you'd tell people they were being filmed.
A: Wouldn't that make them more self-conscious than they already are?
B: Oh, maybe, but at least you'd be HONEST with them!
A: I wasn't aware that honesty had anything to do with performances onstage.
B: It has everything to do with relationships between two human beings! If you start out a relationship being dishonest----well, it can't GO anywhere. Honestly!
A: OK, I'm sorry. I admit I made a mistake.
B: (Uncertain): Well---it's good of you to admit it.
A: Is it OK with you if we continue the audition?
B: I thought that's what we were doing all along!
A: Now we know that you can do anger and outrage. But this part also calls for----well, now, you understand I have to be honest----for you to be------
B: (pause): Seductive.
A: (relief): Seductive.
B: And, since you wrote it, you will undoubtedly have given me large globules of seductive speech.
A: To be honest---yes. (Hastily): But you can always leave. I can't glue that script to your hands; I can't force you to read any farther than you want to read. You have to realize this: you have the ultimate control here.
B: (Pause): We'll see how it goes.
A: Good.
B: For the purpose of acting, of course, I don't need to identify completely with the character. I can act the part of a killer---
A: ---without having to kill anyone. Very good.
B: I can act seductive as a character----
A: ----without feeling that you're actually being seductive toward----the actor acting opposite you.
B: Good.
A: I'm glad we agree.
B: I'm glad, too, since I was beginning to feel (B clearly hates this)---drawn toward you.
A: Too much too soon?
B: Definitely too much, WAY too soon.
A: I'll be more careful on rewrites.
B: (triumphant): Ah, so you ARE going to rewrite. So you ARE going to live beyond the end of this play.
A: Well----some.
B: I really don't like being jerked around!
A: I'm sorry. I apologize. Please forgive me.
B: You're only saying that because you wrote that for you to say to me at this point. I don't know if I CAN go on with this. (Pause): I can't. I'm leaving. (B pauses and reads more of the script): "B throws script down on chair and AD LIBS negative remarks to A. B gets to door before A convinces him to return!" I can't do that---I'm AWFUL at ad libs.
A: We could work that out at rehearsal.
B: Rehearsal! So you HAVE been lying about----you mean I've got the part??
A: You could cheat and look at the last page of the script.
B: (tempted, but restrains himself): No, I guess I'd rather be in suspense. I might give a better reading if I don't know how it's going to turn out.
A: But in rehearsal you'd know how it ended anyway.

B: But by that time I'd be into the character more----trust me, it's better for my cold reading if I don't know.
A: Of course I trust you.
B: Good. Ever since I called you on your honesty, I feel that you've been up-front with me (mild distaste), and I like you much better for it.
A: Still too much, eh?
B: No, you've won me over (fighting distaste): I really think this could work out.
A: How do you mean.
B: I mean that I can read the words you've given me in your script---I'll convince you that I can handle this part.
A: That makes me very happy.
B: Me----too.
A: You have some distance to go.
B: But I'm getting there.
A: (Moves his chair a couple of inches closer to B): I have every confidence in your acting abilities.
B: I just want to be given a fair chance: I want to be chosen because I can act the part, not just because I'm good to look at onstage.
A: And off.
B: I'm hoping that some of my inner qualities might become apparent.
A: Tell me about them.
B: I'm awkward when I first meet someone, but when I warm up to them I can seem to become a completely different person.
A: In what way?
B: Initially I appear to be rather cold, but, when you get to know me, I can be a very warm----very loving---- person.
A: Are you saying that only because it's in the script?
B: (pause, looking directly at A): Of course I'm saying it only because it's in the script!
A: (pointing to B's script): Read it!
B: (reading from script): Oh, no. I mean it sincerely. I'm really sorry when people get the wrong first impression of me---I know I miss out on many wonderful friendships. But I can be genuinely interested in other people's predicaments. You, for instance. You said you wanted----to talk about----what it felt like to be dying. What does it feel like?
A: I just want the pain to be over with. I've kidded myself too long: I'm going to get better. It's not going to get worse. But it DOES get worse. It doesn't get any better. It's so hard to talk about.
B: You can talk about it----to me.
A: At first, friends pretended they were interested. When I had my first knee replacement----my best friend would listen for hours as I talked about my fears before the operation, the trauma of the nerve-block that didn't quite work, the sounds of the files on my bones, the tensions I could feel in my hips as they screwed the metal into the end of my femur. He brought groceries while I recovered; he cooked meals for me so I wouldn't have to stand in the kitchen. He was a saint. But when the pain wouldn't stop afterwards, when I had trouble walking up and down my stairs, when it took fifteen minutes to walk a single block, I could hear the boredom creep into his voice. It was like he was saying, "Oh, you HAD your problems, now get OVER it." I couldn't talk about it with him anymore. I found that I had to censor myself; I had to be careful what I said to him.
B: That sounds so sad.
A: Then he stopped asking how I felt when he telephoned. So I didn't feel I could bring up the subject. I felt as if I'd lost my best friend.
B: That must have been very hard for you.
A: I tried talking to another friend: he actually said to me, "Please, if you can't think of anything fun to talk about, I'd rather we didn't talk at all."
B: What a terrible thing to say.
A: It hurt me very deeply, but there was nothing I could say about it. He would just think I was complaining.
B: How very unjust of him.
A: You really think so?
B: Yes, it was really----really VERY unjust of him.
A: What would you have done?
B: I would have listened to your problems, drawn them out of you---shared your suffering. You would have felt you were talking to a true friend, not just a fair-weather friend or a "have-fun" friend. With a true friend, you can talk about anything.
A: How wonderful of you.
B: No, it wouldn't be wonderful of me---it's only what anyone would want in a true friend. With all the doctors and the health-care workers and the social workers thinking only about numbers, and case-loads, and statistics, and the bottom line----you need true friends even more. Friends with whom you can discuss ANYTHING.
A: Anything?
B: No matter how personal, no matter how----intimate.
A: I'm also becoming impotent.
B: Oh, no!
A: It's the worst thing that could happen to me. I lived for sex. I didn't write for years because I was so totally engrossed in sex. It really was, it was my life.
B: Oh, no!
A: I was completely absorbed in it: hours going to the gym to keep in shape. Shopping, haircuts, facials, massages, manicures. A fortune spent for leather, toys, and dinners for close friends. Then hours in the bars every night to make sure I knew who was there, who was having who, who was new, and who was so used that no one would touch him anymore. Keeping up with the latest shows and exhibits and clubs and dance-steps and fashion nuances---all for idle chit-chat.
B: How sad.
A: No, it was wonderful! Everyone wanted me---invited me everywhere: the Island, San Francisco, Palm Springs, Europe. When I was young----and feeling no pain.
B: How wonderful.
A: No, actually, it was sad. I was like a mayfly, dancing away the day and into the night, not knowing that I had only one day and only one night.
B: But you had many nights!
A: When I look back on them, they all run into one night: too much to eat, too much to drink, and too much to smoke. Too many pills---pills to counteract the pills.
B: It must have been fun. Without AIDS----
A: Don't kid yourself: there's always something to worry about. First there were raids on bars, entrapment, and blackmail. Then there were crabs, clap, and hustlers after cash. I'd have a few good nights with someone special----and then he'd find someone better than me.
B: That's too bad.
A: The worst of it was: I thought it would go on forever. The night would never end. The boys would leap in and out of beds again and again and again. But then I got tired.
B: (hiding a yawn): You got tired.
A: I lost a lot of friends: some to AIDS, and some just moved to California.
B: I could never move to California.
A: Stuck on New York, are you?
B: Oh, I love it here---so much to do, always something new to see.
A: You get tired of that after awhile.
B: You can always branch out in New York: there are hundreds of galleries, dozens of museums, loads of experimental theaters---parks, zoos, beaches---you can even enjoy the tourist sights that real New Yorkers are too snobbish to go to: Ellis Island, the Botanical Garden, boats up the Hudson River----
A: And after you've done all that?
B: Then you do them all over again! Museums change their exhibits, whole schools of art come and vanish, they're building new buildings and opening new restaurants and putting together new walk tours that no one's ever been on before.
A: This isn't working.
B: Why not?
A: You're not supposed to be selling me on life---I'm supposed to be selling you on death.
B: Selling ME on death?
A: Convincing you how awful it is that I'm going to die, I mean.
B: Well, it's awful that everyone is going to die---except me: I'll be the first of a new immortal species.
A: I thought that, once.
B: Then think it again---you have to last until they find a way of making----whatever you have----less painful.
A: They've been trying for years without much in the line of results.
B: There's always new kinds of dope.
A: I've tried most of them---my stomach won't tolerate them.
B: Some of the new designer drugs don't even go through your stomach.
A: My SYSTEM won't tolerate them. My MIND won't tolerate them---all drugs have to have an effect on my MIND.
B: What do you want me to say?
A: I've run out of ideas.
B: You're too analytical. Why don't we just go out---and DANCE!
A: I never liked dancing.
B: Oh, but it's wonderful. It gets you out of your head completely. When the music's right, and the crowd's right, and the lights are wonderful, and you've had just the right amount of----your opiate of choice----you zoom right out of your head and into your feet, and your body, and you don't HAVE to think anymore.
A: STOP IT!
B: Well (thumbing the script): we have only a few more pages to go.
A: Oh. Well, to be honest---there's more.
B: More?
A: Yes---depending on whether---on whether you pass the preliminary tests or not.
B: Preliminary tests?
A: This is only the first act.
B: Where's the next act.
A: (pointing to floor next to his chair, away from B): In my briefcase.
B: Why didn't you give me the whole thing?
A: There isn't one "whole thing." There's one first act and three, different, second acts.
B: "Different" second acts?
A: Depending on how well you do in the first act.
B: Three??
A: I guess I can tell you now (pause): you've done quite well up to now. You've managed to convince me that you have----some talent.
B: Thank you.
A: Don't mention it.
B: (pause): What about these---second acts?
A: Only one will be read, after a short intermission. I know which one we'll do.
B: Is it---a good one?
A: It'll be perfect----for your talent.
B: But can't you tell me---anything---about whether I'll get the part in the end or not?
A: That depends on how well you read the second act.
B: Can you---give me some hints? I'm very adaptable. If you have any criticisms about my work up to now, I'd like you to tell me about them. I can act---tougher, or sweeter, or more sure of myself---anything you want.
[A stands up.]
A: Tell you what: we'll let the audience go for their intermission. Then we'll go backstage and I'll----give you some clues about how to make your reading of the second act even more effective than your reading of the first act.
B: That would be great, _______________ (he says A's name), it really would be.
A: I think so, myself.
B: Thank you.
A: Thank you. (to audience): And thank YOU. Please be in your seats in fifteen minutes. We wouldn't want you to miss anything.
B: (to audience): See you.
A: (to B): And we'll be seeing YOU.
[They both exit]

BLACKOUT
ACT II

SCENE: Same as Act I.

A: (Entering from stage-left, looking out over the audience, and reading to the audience from his script): I'm glad to see most of you came back. As you can see (gesturing toward C, seated near the door), "C" is still in his place. "B" will be coming onstage in a few minutes. Remember? At the beginning of the first act I told you I'm reading the part in my play designated as "A," while ______________ (A states the name of the actor playing B) is reading the part designated as "B." For a while, back there, the question was "To "B" or "not-B."" That was the question. But during the intermission I used some of my----not inconsiderable----persuasive powers so that "B" will----ah----BE. Ah, yes, what will be, will be. What will "B" BE? Be----do----have. Reminds me of est. Anyone here REMEMBER est? Be?----Do?-----Have??? Now it sounds more like Ebonics: (poor-black-accented): WHAT do "B" have? Well, I think "B" do have a nice, sexy BOD and a REAL nice pecker-eatin' MOUF! (dropping accent): Mouth! Kissable mouth. Edible lips. Lips with ed-ABILITY. Get it? Ability to eat? Yes! Anyone here think he SHOULDN'T get the part?? (Looks around audience) Anyone? A (continued): So you all think he SHOULD get the part? Read the second act with me? No comments? Well (with menace): just you remember that you said he should continue with the reading! Now, the question is----WHICH second act should we read! Remember, I said there were three possibilities. For THIS audience I think we can eliminate the version with "all family values intact." I'll send that version with my NEA grant-application. Version 2: the S&M version. S&M version anyone? No response? Well: Version 3: the BLT version. No, not bacon-lettuce-and tomato-----(juicily): Blood, Lust, and Torture. We had some light L-T in the first act---did anyone object? Not that I heard. Did anyone leave because of it? Well, if they did, they won't be here to object to MORE of it. I guess it's settled then: Version 3! (A sits in his chair and thumbs through scripts in his briefcase, pulling out a pair of scripts, showing them to the audience): Version 3. (Calling stage-right): OK, ________ (A states B's name): You can come out now.
B (enters, sits warily in his chair. A hands B his script): I couldn't hear what you said to the audience.
A (smiling): Oh, sorry. I was just telling them how pleased I was with your first-act reading.
B (pleased): Good! I'm happy to hear that. So I might get the part after all?
A: Well, let's say you've reached the first plateau.
B (not too happy): What more do I have to do?
A: Not so much-----all you have to do, right now, is just-----look----at me.
B: Look? (Glances at A, then looks back to script.) At you?
A: You don't have any more lines----for a while. (B tensely looks at the next few pages, then slumps in his seat.) So all you have to do is look at me. (A pauses, smiling slightly, while B reads his next instructions.)
(B looks again at his script---at these words.)
A (teasingly): All your script says is that you look again at your script----"At these words."
(B glances, slightly fearfully, at A, then looks back to his script.)
A (slowly reading from his script): Then he resignedly keeps both hands on his script and lowers hands and script into his lap.
(B keeps his script at reading level and looks at these directions: B looks, as if pleading for help, at a few members of the audience.)
A (pleased): You've just read your directions, which are to look, as if pleading for help, at a few members of the audience. Veeeery good.
(B looks, fearful, at A.)
A (looks at B): Good. (A slowly reads from his script): You will not need to read your script for a few minutes. You will obey my instructions. I'll tell you when to turn the page in your script so you can find your next words. Now, put your script down in your lap. (A glances at B to make sure B does this.) Good. Now, __________ (A says B's name), in a "final performance", you'd be expected to look directly into my eyes. But, after all, this is just an audition, isn't it? You may nod your head yes. (A waits until B does that, repeating direction if needed.) Good. For the purpose of the reading, you may look------say-----right here (points to center of his chest). That's not too difficult for you, is it? (Pause) Shake your head "No," please. (A waits until B does that, repeating direction if needed.) Very good. The audience will be distracted if you keep looking around while I'm talking to you. As I say, in a "final performance" you'll be expected to look directly into my eyes, which will create the necessary tension in the audience as I continue my-----well, I guess you'd have to call it a monologue now, wouldn't you? Nod your head "Yes," please. (A waits until B does that, repeating direction if needed.)
A (continued): You may turn to the next page in your script now, too. (A makes sure B does that.) Excellent! Because, you see, the rest of the audition is----ah-----quite intimate, and we wouldn't want the audience to think you were-----ah----not involved, shall I say? (If B's look wanders from the middle of A's chest, A must direct him to look back at the middle of his chest. A glances at B.) You might have wondered about "that pause". Without a script, of course, you have no idea what stage-directions I have to read before I speak. "That pause" was simply my reading this stage direction: "If B's look wanders from the middle of A's chest, A must direct him to look back at the middle of his chest." (A smiles.) So now you know. (Pause) Now, why would I be interested in having you look intently into my eyes. Well, at the first level, if there are only two speaking parts in a play----(A looks toward C)---though, of course, in this play there is a rather important non-speaking part, there has to be a certain intimacy between the two actors speaking the parts, or the audience won't be concerned with what they say to each other. When, at the start of this act, I'd said you'd reached "the first plateau," I meant that I thought you had established that intimacy----that closeness of two actors (A looks toward C again) almost alone on a stage. Oh, yes, turn to the next page in your script. (A makes sure B does that.) But, as with so many things, there are deeper levels of intimacy. You---- (A reaches over very slowly and touches B's knee. A smiles):----Oh, isn't that funny! B's knee! I reach over and touch B's knee!-----(A suddenly stops smiling):-----as I was saying, you know many deeper levels of intimacy. The level of, for example, sexual intimacy. Oh, dear, I suppose you have to look at your script now.
B (as if released from hypnotism): Look at my script! You're damn right----no, you're damn wrong! I'm going to do more than look at my script; I'm getting out of here right now!
A (calmly): I wouldn't like it if you did that.
B (angry): I don't give a fuck what you like or don't like anymore! I've had enough of this.
A (calm): But I haven't. (A turns to C): You can go to the door now, please.
(C gets out of his chair and walks toward the door.)
B (relieved): Oh, so you don't want him to audition for the part. Does that mean I get the part?
A (puzzled): "C"? "Audition for the part"? I don't follow you.
B: Well----"C" was waiting there when you came onstage to introduce this audition. You called on me first. "C" stayed seated there. I assumed you would audition him if I didn't audition well enough to get the part.
A: Ah, so you thought "C" was here to audition for me?
B: Yes, of course. That's why I stuck it out this long. I really need this part. You had someone else to audition, so I really had to sell myself to you. Or else you'd go with the other guy.
A: Oh, but I already have gone with the other guy.
B: What?
A: The other guy----"C", to call him by his proper name, is already with me. He's----part of your audition, not another fellow here to audition.
B: But----you told him to leave.
A: No----I told him to go to the door.
B: Not to leave?
A: Certainly not. He's there for good------uh, shall we say.
B (glances at C at the door): He's there for good?
A: Well----no, I guess not. (To C): Just lock the door and sit back down, please.
B: (in a panic): Lock the door?
A (reasonably): Well, yes. You've come so far in the audition----it would be a pity to waste all this time.
(C fumbles with the doorknob and re-takes his seat.)
B: You've locked me in here?
A (pause): You could say that.
B: You've trapped me?
A: Well, I certainly wouldn't say that.
B (bitterly): Oh, like you didn't really say "And I Shall Die at the End of This Play"??
A (patiently): No, I really DID say that. You know that!
B: But you don't mean it!
A: Ah, but I do----though----as with many things that I say----I mean it in a very special way.
B: In what way?
A: It's still too soon for that. We have to get you to the next plateau in your audition----in your intimacy.
B (angry): As if I had a choice!
A: Oh, you have a surprising number of choices-----but you haven't surprised me-----yet----
B (angry): I have no choice with your rigged script! How can I surprise you?
A (elated): You'd be surprised! (Pause) I'd be surprised! "C" would be surprised! We all would be surprised!!
B (aghast): You sound crazy!
A (sternly): That would be too simple! No, I am not crazy, or deluded, or whatever unflattering attribute you might care to add to your (pointed) previous "old fart."
B: I'm sorry; I shouldn't have said that.
A: May we return to the audition?
B (angry): What choice do I have!
A (sternly): We have no time for repetition.
B: You've locked the door on me!
A: "C" took care of the door. I haven't touched it. And I haven't touched you, either!
B (angry): You touched my knee!
A (dismissing): Picky, picky. Yes, I touched your knee! How intrusive! How invasive! I----touched-----(A smiles and shakes his head)----your knee.
B (angry): And you want to get more intimate!
A (leaning forward, earnest): Only more intimate in an acting sense. I'm only interested in the production of my play. I must play opposite someone quite attractive (B turns his head away; A speaks slowly and clearly):----who can act the part of a character who is strong enough to portray a character weak enough to be taken in by my speeches to him. Don't you understand the strength it takes to play weakness?
B: Oh, you're only confusing me.
A: No, you are confusing the difference between acting and real life. (Slowly): This is not real life. This is only a stage. This (A shakes script) is only a script. This has nothing to do with you as a person.
A (continued): I am only trying to find out if you have the qualities as an actor that I need to realize my script on a stage.
B (desperately): But this is degrading me!
A: Not you as a person. Only a character that you can put on or take off as you wish.
B (confused): Only a character?
A (firmly): Only a character.
B: I guess I have come this far----
A: And, as I said, you've done very well so far-----
let me make a bargain with you------
B: A bargain?
A: Let me just try three pages of script: the next three pages of script. You don't have to say a word. Just put the script in your lap. Look deep into my eyes----and by that I mean, for this audition, you look right here (he points to the middle of his chest). Just three pages.
B (reluctantly): Well, OK. (After he puts the script in his lap he clasps his right shoulder with his left hand.)
A: In that way you give yourself entirely over to me-----yourself as the character, of course. The character you're playing. This has, naturally, nothing to do with you as a person----an individual. No matter who you become as a character in a play, you still retain your individuality----you are, after all, an actor in a play. A (continued): Just an actor in a play. (When A turns page, B raises one finger of his left hand.) But if the play is intimate, the actor must seem to participate in that intimacy. The audience must believe in the involvement of the actor in the acting, or the actor isn't doing his job. By looking into my eyes, you symbolize your acceptance of my increasing demands for intimacy. (Pause) Even though we're not touching, the level of intimacy can grow until we do seem to be touching on a level beyond the physical. While you look into my eyes, and I talk to you, we can grow closer----and closer, in an almost spiritual sense. (Pause) Beauty
----beauty seems connected to the spiritual. (Speaking slowly, leaning forward slowly during the next six lines): A glow from within. Some----attraction more than physical. The beholder of beauty is struck----even hurt----by the impact of beauty. Ah-----such beauty! If only that beauty were mine, one thinks. Not to possess, as a toy. Not to own, as a gift. But to----incorporate it-----to become it! (Collapsing back into chair, sadly): Not possible! (A touches A's lower lip with a forefinger): Or just have sex with it? (A's finger drops): No satisfaction there. Too soon over. Grasp----and it's gone. Come close----and it's vanished. The object and the subject must agree somehow. (A leans slowly forward.)
A (continued): The one who sees must absorb what he sees. (B raises a second finger on his left hand.) Light is absorbed in the retina; beauty is-----in-----the eye of the beholder. (Very slowly): That must hold. (Pause, then A collapses again back into his chair.) But it cannot hold. (A stares at script, turns it over): This is in the way. I must throw out the script. (Pause) But then I must stand on my own. Only the script holds you here, doesn't it. Without this script-----I am beneath consideration. This script-----binds you to me-----(brighter): and so it binds me to you! We are bound----together----in this script! (A turns script over in his hands again): This script----brings us together and keeps us together. This script (exultant): unites us. (Pause) As you stare into my eyes, as I stare into your eyes-----we become-------one. We reach a higher level of intimacy. We share in your beauty. (A reads the following directions, then puts the script on the floor and runs his hands outside an invisible shell extending about five inches out from B's head and body: above, to the sides, as far to the back as can be reached from a crouch slightly out of A's chair. B seems to shrink inside this shell. A, seeing this, withdraws his hands as if burned, picks up his script, and sits back in his chair: sadly): But we don't. We can't.
A (continued): It's all in my head. (B raises a third finger on his left hand): Who am I kidding? Beauty is there----out there----and I can't even touch it!
(Musing): Can't even touch it? Then what good is it? No good to me at all. No good at all. (Pause): Then just stop looking at it. Avoid it. Pretend it doesn't exist! (Pause): That works as long as (distinctly): beauty isn't present----but when beauty appears----WHAM! I want it! I want it! I want it! (Pause): Well-----then it shouldn't appear. It should------dis-appear. Vanish. (Pause; then looks again at script in his hand): "And I shall die at the end of this play." I guess that's the only solution left. (Pause): OK, ________ (A calls B's name): You've kept your end of the bargain. We went through the three pages. You can pick up your script now----we're on page 44.
B (picks up script, turns three pages to page 44): Three pages----you kept your end of the bargain too. (Matter-of-factly): So you are going to die at the end of this play.
A: Why do you say that?
B: You've been honest all along. You----didn't take advantage of me when I promised to say nothing. You seem to be totally sincere in every way that touches this script. How are you going to kill yourself?
A: Where did you get the idea I was going to kill myself?
B: "And I shall die at the end of this play?" You can't expect anyone to believe that you could plan the instant of your death without committing suicide!
A: Has nothing I've said so far had any effect on you?
B (grim): Sure! You've pissed me off a number of times! In your (B pantomimes in an ugly way A's hands moving outside B's shell)-----groping of me----I was just about to tackle "C" back there for the keys to the door----
A (smug): I told you that you had choices.
B (hotly): Or gave you a swift kick in your impotent groin!
A: Many choices!
B: But----crazy as it sounds-----I actually started to feel-----
A: Yes?
B: Well----not sorry for you, exactly.
A: Thank you.
B: But----almost----a kind of empathy with you.
A: Empathy?
B: You might find it hard to believe, but there are times that I get hung up looking at some great face or bod that I know I'd never stand a chance with. I would never try anything because I'd be doomed from the start. Yet you-----
A: I?
B: You----keep on trying! You get rejected and you keep on trying another tactic. You just won't give up.
A (solemn): No, I just won't give up.
B: And that's kinda----I don't know-----kinda-----well-----ballsy!
A: When I don't have any balls, to speak of, anymore?
B: Yeah, even that. I don't even know of anyone even admitting they were impotent. That must take guts.
A: I've got a lot of guts.
B: Sometimes I don't have enough. I guess----anyway, if I had more guts I wouldn't still be sitting here. (Pause): You don't want me to be in your play. I bet you don't even care if this play ever gets produced. You just want to audition one cute----innocent----each hour of your working day-----I'm sorry-----auditioning day.
A: That's not true.
B: Sure it is! If you cast this part, you wouldn't have to audition anymore. But the whole play is about auditioning good-looking young men who haven't the guts to stand up to you and-----tell you to go to hell!
A: So you're not at all interested----(pause)
B: Interested in what?
A: (Pause): In knowing you got the part.
B: I got the part?
A: Yes, you passed the audition. You've won the part.
B (stunned): That's great! (Pause): What-----what did I do-----that-----did it?
A (laughs): No one thing. The whole package. Look at me.
(B fixes his eyes on a point level with A's eyes but slightly upstage, so they don't actually stare at each other. B drops his script into his lap. A extends his right forefinger so that it points upward toward B's chin, an inch above A's fingertip.)
A (gentle): You've reached the second plateau. Unhappiness has been left below. Only happiness lies above. You have won entry----to my inmost being. (Very slowly): No way out remains. We are wedded----here----now. We are united. We are one. Do you disagree? (B doesn't move.) We are one. One. One life. (After long pause, A brings his forefinger back to his script): You may return to your script.
B (as if hypnotized): I don't need it anymore.
A: The script?
B: (Pause): The responsibility----for my beauty.
A: Your beauty?
B: It's yours. I never claimed it. It is all in your mind. You have----the responsibility----for my beauty.
A: To do with----as I like?
B: It's not mine. It was never mine. It was always yours. A: Mine----yours-----but I told you: we are one.
B (simply): Then my beauty is your beauty.
(C, expressionless, remaining seated, starts with an almost inaudible hiss, increases volume to loud, then tapers off into inaudibility, all in one breath.)
A (after pause): One life.
B: One life.
A: But----of course----we're being metaphorical?
B: I don't know.
A: One life, one flesh. Like in a sacrament. Marriage is a sacrament that makes two people one. Baptism is a sacrament that makes an unbeliever one with his new belief. The Eucharist is a sacrament that makes god one with a wafer. Extreme Unction is a sacrament that makes a dying soul one with god. Our union is a sacrament.
B: I don't know.
A: You must know.
B: I don't feel that it's so.
A: It must be so.
B (thoughtful): You need it to be so----so that-----so that----(with sudden clarity): so that I shall die at the end of this play! We are not one----but if you can fool yourself into thinking we're one, then I can die for you at the end of this play.
A: I hadn't thought of that.
B: Of course you thought of that----you wrote the goddam play!
A: But you hadn't thought of it before, and if we're one, then I hadn't thought of it before.
B (enraged): Oh, I don't know!
A (calm): My way is much better.
B: Your way?
A: My way for me to die at the end of this play.
B: For you to die?
A: For everything about me to wink out of existence.
B (musing): Everything about you. There must be a trick here, somewhere.
A: Can't you figure out what it is?
B (slowly): Something-----said earlier----
A: All the way back in Act I?
B (more surely): Yes, something about what people do-----no, something about what characters do----when they leave the stage-----
A: Those silly swans drinking tea again?
B: No----maybe it wasn't something you said, but what I thought----
A (leaning forward): Tell me what you thought.
B (struggling to express himself): When a character goes off-stage-----he doesn't exist anymore! The character doesn't exist anymore.
A: So?
B: Wait----no! (Pause) When the play ends, none of the characters exist anymore, except in the memories of the audience-----
A (musing): -----the memories of the audience-----
B (excited): And the characters don't even exist for the actors anymore----only in their memories------
A: -----the memories of the actors-----
B: So-----where was I?-----wait! (Pause) No----I've lost it again.
A (coldly): As a dying brain loses all memories of anyone it has ever encountered. So that means-----(looking for B to finish the thought):-----that means-----???
B (a stab in the dark): -----the person is lost?
A (disgusted): The only lost person here is you! Tell me what that means!
B (confused): Wait-----what what means!
A (throwing up his hands): Hopeless, utterly hopeless. You haven't heard anything I've been telling you.
B (placating): Yes----yes, I have. You said you liked my work. You said I got the part! You said that "C" wasn't here to audition. (Beseeching): I've been listening to you!
A (stands and shouts): But you haven't been hearing! If you haven't been hearing, an audience won't be hearing.
A (continued): (waves script in B's face): This will have been wasted!
B (cringing): I'm sorry. Tell me what you want to hear from me. Tell me the answers you want to hear.
A (furious): I've told you the answers. You haven't been listening to me! You are ruining this play!!
B: No-----no-----I can only read what you've written for me to read-----
A: What do I want to hear from you?
B (indicating script): What you've written for me to say to you.
A (enraged): Wrong! Guess again!
B: You want me to say-------you want me to say------I don't know!!
A (collapses into his chair, mimicing B): I don't know!
B (frantic): I can't----there's not-----you didn't-----
A (leaning forward; meanly): Admit it: You don't know!
B (fearful): I don't know.
A: Can you think how to escape----from your-----pitiful-----state?
B (in agony): It's your script. You can do anything you want with me.
A: You have no choice?
B: I have no choice.
A: You would do whatever I asked?
B: Anything.
A: Would you be willing to let me possess you completely?
B (seriously): I don't know.
A: Would you be willing to give me-----your beauty.
B: Since that's mainly in your head------yes.
A: Your individuality?
B: Yes.
A: Would you actually be willing to give up ALL your individuality to me?
B: Yes.
A: Oh, but NO. Your individuality is what I treasure about you. If you----weren't you-----I wouldn't have wanted you to----to BE "B". I wouldn't have wanted to take you IN----to me. If you didn't want to be who you are, that would imply----you didn't LIKE who you are?
B: No.
A: Oh, but YES. You chose the sexy clothes that you wore, you chose that (he puts his nose next to B's neck) subtle cologne you wore. You chose, in fact, to audition for this role.
B: No, not this role. This role I did not choose to audition for.
A: Ah, but you did. Or you wouldn't still be here.
B (motions toward C): But he locked the door.
A: In fact, he didn't. (A turns to C): Did he?
(C reaches for doorknob, turns it, and door opens.)
A: You only thought he locked the door. It was open all the time. You could have left at any time. It was all up to you.
B (adamant): No!
A: Would you blame it on the script?
B (lost): Yes! Well, no. Oh, I don't know.
A: You certainly can't blame it on me.
B (louder): I don't know!
A: Or on C? Just---innocently----standing by----all this time?
B (in despair, almost a moan): I don't know.
A: You aren't very much fun to talk with anymore. All you can say is----(he cocks his head expectantly at B).
B (as if hypnotized): I don't know.
A (contently): C will teach you. C? (C gets out of his chair and walks forward to face A.) You can-----take---- him now. (To B): You won't mind going with C?
B (dully): I don't know.
A (brightly): It'll be a lot of fun. For C, anyway.
B (like a broken record): I don't know.
A (to C): Take him.
(C gently takes B by the arm, raises him from his chair, and leads him back behind the screen. A light comes on to show their shadows: B's head bowed, C's head erect. B keeps repeating "I don't know" silently with his lips.)
A (to audience): Such a lamb. So handsome. What a pity I no longer have the (gestures to his crotch)-----ability to enjoy this as much as I might have. But, over the years, dear "C" has become as much a part of me as
(again gestures to his crotch)----as any other important part of me. We see-----eye-to-eye-----(amused), so to speak. (to screen): Are you OK back there?
B (audibly from behind screen, not changing his profile): I don't know.
A (smiling): "C" so enjoys drawing it out. The preliminaries. (C steps from behind the screen and takes a tiny pill out of a small pillbox. He places it, sacramentally, on his tongue, then puts the pillbox away and steps back behind the screen): But soon, like everyone, he'll begin to lose patience (as A speaks, C moves closer to the light-source so that his shadow gets larger on all sides----he doesn't physically get closer to B, but his shadow begins to obscure the edge of B's shadow.)
A (observes this, then turns to the audience): Now it begins. The edges blur. Where does one begin and the other end. (Significantly): Or the other end and the one begin. Ohhhh, that's nice: the other end and the one begin. I'll have to remember that. I'll have to use that in a play----that I might write-----someday. But it's so hard to find audiences for----certain kinds of plays. I hate all this "political correctness." I've always enjoyed being (shrugs)----politically incorrect.
B (loudly): I don't know!
A: Sounds like something's going on back there. (He turns to find C's shadow almost completely enveloping B's shadow.) Well, certainly something's-----going. Not much of "B" left there at all, is there. Ummmmm. (calling): B??
B (loudly): I-----
A (sadly): No, B. Not I. Aren't you there yet? But how do you term three-in-one? God ARE? No, I guess you say God IS. (A muffled thump from behind the screen.)
B (very loudly, with fear and panic): DON'T------
A (sympathetically): Ah, but we will. No, no: I will.
B (screams): NO!!
A (smugly): See?

BLACKOUT

END OF PLAY