THE DIRECTOR

ACT III: CLIMAXES

 

AT RISE: Immediately after ACT II. The ACTOR, READER, REAL READER, and AUTHOR are sitting in chairs, reading from their scripts. REAL READER reads stage directions. The DIRECTOR is sitting in the audience with his script. The REAL AUTHOR is sitting in the audience with his script.

READER (Does NOT read stage directions)
"The Director," a play in three acts by (Author's name). But we have only the third---and last, thank God---

(ACTOR and AUTHOR jerk their heads from their scripts to glare at the READER. READER glances at both of them guiltily)

READER
OK, OK, so that wasn't in the script. Sheeesh!---But we have only the third act here this evening. ACT III: CLIMAXES. At rise, immediately after ACT II. The ACTOR, READER, REAL READER, and AUTHOR are sitting in chairs, reading from their scripts. REAL READER reads stage directions. The DIRECTOR is sitting in the audience with his script. The REAL AUTHOR is sitting in the audience with his script.---God is sitting in the audience with his script.

(ACTOR and AUTHOR jerk their heads from their scripts to glare at the READER. READER glances at both of them with a grin)

READER
No, that's not in the script either.
(Cups his hands around his mouth to address the audience)
But you all know---or you should know---that all this is in the script!

AUTHOR
OK, let it go. Remember, the real audience will have just finished seeing the first two acts.

READER (To the audience)
Doesn't that make you feel special? Knowing you're not even the real audience!

ACTOR (To AUTHOR)
But at some point they will be the real audience. Are you actually going to rewrite all this after these readings here at Village Playwrights?

AUTHOR (To REAL AUTHOR)
(Author's name), why don't you come up here and take over. You probably want to, anyway.

DIRECTOR (Stands up in audience)
Cut the crap. Let's get back to my part!

READER (To DIRECTOR)
Sit down! The author killed you off at the end of the last act.

ACTOR (With enormous pleasure)
Dwindling!

READER (To ACTOR)
You keep saying that. What's it supposed to mean?

ACTOR (To READER)
Don't you remember? When you read us the outline of the play---well, it was months ago---the real author is so lazy---you said that the last scene was entitled "Dwindling." You also said that the real title of this play is "And Then There Were Two." So the sooner we get down to two, the more lines I'll have to read!

AUTHOR (To ACTOR)
Why do you assume you will be one of the two people left?

ACTOR (To AUTHOR)
C'mon, think about it! The READER and you---the AUTHOR---are really just two voices for the real author, so only one of you is actually necessary. You already killed off the DIRECTOR---

DIRECTOR (From audience)
Don't be too sure about that!

ACTOR (To DIRECTOR)
Pipe down! I'm on the stage now, and you're not.
(To AUTHOR)
So I'm the only real character left. Take me away and you just have---I don't know---an essay or something.

AUTHOR
Stop bugging me. Anyway, on with the play---
(Points his forefinger as an imaginary gun at ACTOR)
Bang, you're dead.

ACTOR
You can't do that!
(Addresses REAL AUTHOR)
You can't do this!

DIRECTOR (To REAL AUTHOR)
You're so lazy. That's precisely how you got rid of me in the last act.

READER
Take away an author's ability to repeat himself and you render him powerless.

AUTHOR (To ACTOR)
C'mon, Kevin, leave the stage: you're dead now.

ACTOR (To AUTHOR)
Aren't you supposed to call me by my real name?
(To REAL AUTHOR)
You knew Kevin couldn't be here tonight; why did you put in Kevin's name? But he's right, you know---

READER (To ACTOR)
He? Who, he?

ACTOR (To READER)
Kevin, he!
(To REAL AUTHOR)
What you gave Kevin to say, before, was right. If you take out the actor, who's the only real "character" up here, you have just a bunch of talking heads.

READER (Looking toward AUTHOR's crotch)
Oh, that's not all that's left on the playing field.

AUTHOR (To ACTOR)
I think you should stay, too---but who am I? I'm only the author.

DIRECTOR (To audience)
I bet if we put it to a vote, we'd want me and the READER to take charge of this mess. Obviously, we're the only ones who know what we're talking about.

ACTOR (To DIRECTOR)
It isn't what you know that matters, it's how you say it!

DIRECTOR (To ACTOR)
Which puts you at a disadvantage, doesn't it!

READER (Shocked, to DIRECTOR)
Manners! Please!

DIRECTOR (Moving his chair onto stage)
Fuck manners! This isn't about manners. This is about what you care about enough to devote your attention to it.

AUTHOR (Standing to address REAL AUTHOR)
Shouldn't I have more control here? If I'm supposed to be the author?

DIRECTOR (To AUTHOR)
Sit down, honeybuns---

(AUTHOR sits, glaring at DIRECTOR)

DIRECTOR
Sorry---honey! But it's tough to keep your delicious buns out of my thoughts.

READER (Looking toward AUTHOR's crotch)
Other views are just as intriguing.

DIRECTOR (Sitting in his chair onstage)
How about a view of Heaven?

AUTHOR
What do you mean?

DIRECTOR (To AUTHOR)
You should know! You killed me. I had to die. So I went to Heaven.

READER (Pointing at his script)
Heaven with a capital H, yet.

ACTOR (To DIRECTOR)
Are you trying to upstage me with Heaven?

DIRECTOR
You can't get any more upstage than Heaven.

AUTHOR (Petulantly)
There's no such thing as Heaven.

DIRECTOR
Shows how much you know. Have you ever talked to anyone who's been there?

READER
How can you talk to someone who's been there, when there isn't any there to be--- there?

DIRECTOR (To AUTHOR)
You might be able to write a play, but you can't write Heaven. It's just there, it just is.

READER
Puppycock.

DIRECTOR
Speak for yourself. I always knew I'd go to Heaven when I died; so when I died, I did.

ACTOR
So you want us to believe that? That that's all it takes?

DIRECTOR
That's exactly what it takes---believing it. Heaven isn't there unless you create it for yourself.

READER
You must have been lonely, then: all by yourself?

DIRECTOR
I had company. I'm not the only one who knows the truth.

READER
And the truth shall send you to Heaven?

DIRECTOR
If that's what your truth is, yes. If you think you're going to Hell, you'll go to Hell---and one of your very own creation---with all your worst fears.

ACTOR
UGH! Then mine would be drowning. Drowning's awful.

AUTHOR (To ACTOR)
Too bad for you. Remember, you're dead.

ACTOR
No!

AUTHOR
Yes, remember? "Bang, you're dead"?

ACTOR (Genuinely terrified)
No!! Please!!!

AUTHOR (Pointing to ACTOR)
You---are---dead.

ACTOR (Falling from his chair to the floor)
Water! Everywhere! I didn't even have time to take a deep breath!
(Lies on his back and pantomimes swimming upward)
How deep am I? Maybe I can get to the surface! I have to breathe! It hurts!! But I can't inhale water: I'll die. My lungs hurt!! I must breathe! I can't breathe! I can't stand it!
(Inhales a deep breath with a guttural roar)
I must inhale! But it's water!
(Coughs mightily and talks with a strained voice)
Water hurts my lungs. Cough it out! No air left!! Breathe again!
(Breathes in with a throaty, harsh rasp)
No air! Water!

(ACTOR screams and flails arms and legs on the stage. He lies silent for a moment. Then he speaks quietly)

ACTOR
Yet I'm not dead. But I'm still underwater!
(Inhales as if inhaling water, then coughs it out again)
But I'm still drowning. There's no air left. I'm still dying!

(ACTOR screams briefly, then clamps his mouth with his hands. After a moment, the DIRECTOR kneels at the side of the ACTOR)

DIRECTOR (With quiet understanding)
Just let go of it.

(ACTOR stares at the DIRECTOR. After a moment, the DIRECTOR gently pulls the ACTOR'S hands away from his mouth)

DIRECTOR
This is only your Hell. Just let go of it.

(ACTOR convulsively pulls his hands toward his mouth again as he rolls onto his side toward the audience, his eyes tightly closed)

DIRECTOR
You're doing this to yourself. It doesn't have to be this way.

(ACTOR frantically shakes his head back and forth in denial)

DIRECTOR
Breathe in. It doesn't have to be water. It can be air, if you want it.

(ACTOR removes his hand to inhale cautiously with choking sounds. DIRECTOR moves back to sit down in his chair. ACTOR relaxes on stage)

ACTOR
It hurt.

DIRECTOR (Soothingly)
Of course it hurt. You wanted it to hurt.

ACTOR (To DIRECTOR)
Why would I want it to hurt?

DIRECTOR (Shaking his head)
I don't know. Do you know?

ACTOR (Slowing rising from the stage)
I thought---everyone said---

DIRECTOR (Pointing to his lips)
I didn't say.

ACTOR
My father---the nuns---everyone---

DIRECTOR (Pointing to his lips)
I didn't say.

ACTOR
I thought---

DIRECTOR
That's all it takes.

ACTOR
But how did you know---

DIRECTOR
Remember---I died in the act before this one.

ACTOR
But this is just a play---

DIRECTOR
Yes, and the AUTHOR told me that I was dead.

READER
And it took you a long time to listen to him.

DIRECTOR (To READER)
Yes, but in the end I did listen to him.

AUTHOR (To audience)
The better director is the one who can better take directions.

ACTOR (To DIRECTOR)
But this is still just a play---

DIRECTOR
Maybe I throw myself too completely into my parts.

READER
Maybe you're a bit more obsessive than most.

AUTHOR (To READER)
What is there---better than death---to obsess over?

DIRECTOR
Life. I found that out when I went to Heaven.

ACTOR
How can you learn anything from something that---as you said---you made up for yourself?

DIRECTOR
Since we make up everything about ourselves, how else could you learn about anything?

READER
All those things that just happen to us: that fall into our laps---so to speak.
(Reaches over to squeeze AUTHOR's knee)

AUTHOR
Stop that.

READER (To REAL AUTHOR)
It just doesn't work when the so-called "AUTHOR" tells one of his so-called "characters" to "stop that."

AUTHOR
Some characters are created to be irritating---like the watermelon seeds that make eating a watermelon so much more interesting.

READER (To AUTHOR)
If you created my interest in you, which you find so irritating---does that mean you'll eventually give me a chance to---uh---fulfill my interest?

AUTHOR
Stop bugging me. Anyway, on with the play---
(Points his forefinger as an imaginary gun at READER)
Bang, you're dead.

READER
You can't do that!
(Addresses REAL AUTHOR)
You can't do this!

DIRECTOR (To REAL AUTHOR)
Again!?

AUTHOR (To READER)
I said, you're dead.

(READER gives AUTHOR a cold stare, then he delicately places his script on the floor at his feet, slouches down in his chair, folds his arms across his chest, closes his eyes, and bows his head)

DIRECTOR (To audience)
Now there's a peaceful death.

ACTOR
I don't like this.

AUTHOR
Why not?

ACTOR
It's too---you can't---death isn't something to joke about.

AUTHOR
Who's joking?

ACTOR
Well, you're not exactly joking---but you're trivializing it.

AUTHOR
I don't mean to.

ACTOR
But you are! Death is more important than just going---
(Points his forefinger as an imaginary gun at DIRECTOR)
Bang, you're dead.

DIRECTOR
That doesn't do any good. I'm dead already, remember?

ACTOR
Then me.
(Points his forefinger as an imaginary gun at his own head)
Bang, I'm dead.

DIRECTOR
That doesn't do any good, either. You're already dead, too.

ACTOR (Exasperated)
It doesn't make any difference!

DIRECTOR
It does make a difference. There's a whole world of difference---there's a whole Heaven and Hell of difference---between killing someone who's already dead and killing someone who isn't dead yet.

AUTHOR (To READER)
I guess I'll have to jump in here and tell the READER to pick up his script for his next line.
(Looks expectantly at READER, who doesn't move; louder)
I said, the READER should pick up his script to say his next line!

(READER doesn't move. Long pause. REAL READER reads next line)

REAL READER (To REAL AUTHOR)
Uh, you really mean I should read this line?

DIRECTOR
This would be so much better if we just had a chance to rehearse a bit.

AUTHOR
I don't want to introduce another character; I want the READER to read this.

REAL READER (To AUTHOR)
Then you should have written it that way.

AUTHOR
I did; someone must have changed it.
(Gets up to look at REAL READER's script)
Look, it's all marked up.
(Looks accusingly at other characters, points at REAL READER)
OK, who marked up his script like this?

(READER doesn't obey next direction. READER picks up his script. After
a moment READER opens one eye and peeps at REAL READER, who reads in
a louder tone: READER picks up his script, turns to this page, scans
down page, and reads the first line)

READER (Smugly)
Reader, smugly.

AUTHOR (To READER)
I didn't mean the next line, I meant the next speech!

READER (Offended)
Well, why didn't you say so? OK.
(Clears throat and moves script in and out to focus on it; loudly)
Calling Doctor Kevorkian!

DIRECTOR
What did that have to do with anything?

AUTHOR (Patiently, to DIRECTOR)
That line was supposed to have come a page back, right after you said, "There's a whole world of difference between killing someone who's already dead and killing someone who isn't dead yet." Then the READER was supposed to have said, "Calling Doctor Kevorkian."

ACTOR
I'm completely at sea.

READER
You should be, since you drowned!

ACTOR
No, I mean---what does Doctor Kevorkian---oh, you mean he only kills people who are already dead?

DIRECTOR
Light comes to submarine waters.

READER
More light! Always more light!

AUTHOR
But never quite enough to dispel the darkness totally.

ACTOR (Reaches to touch AUTHOR's shoulder)
Some people see more clearly in half-light.

AUTHOR (Puts his hand on ACTOR's hand)
Only those who know what they're looking for in the first place.

READER (Sadly, at this interaction)
I think I liked it better when I was dead.

DIRECTOR (To READER)
How was that for you, being dead?

READER (To DIRECTOR)
Like nothing at all. Nothing whatsoever. Absolute---nothing. But you had Heaven, with a capital H.

DIRECTOR (Turning from READER to ACTOR)
Yes, while you had total Hell.

ACTOR
Which you pulled me out of, thank God.

READER
No reason to bring her into this!

AUTHOR
Maybe if you got to know "her" better, you would have had a bit more than "nothing" when---may I say it this way?---she took you to her bosom.

READER
Well, I have to admit that if "she" turned out to be one of the "he's" that Bruce Weber is so fond of displaying photo-pornographically, I might form a rosier picture of my possible life-after-life.

DIRECTOR
The Dark Angel as a real little devil?

READER
Make that a real big devil, if it's all the same with you.

AUTHOR
As far as I'm concerned, God is already a big red devil. What he needs is a sex change.

ACTOR
God needs a sex change?

AUTHOR
Only God as a "big red devil" would have invented "Nature, red in tooth and claw."

ACTOR
"Nature, red in tooth and claw"? That sounds familiar. Who said that?

AUTHOR
Tennyson.

ACTOR
Jane Tennison, from "Prime Suspect"?

AUTHOR
No! Alfred, Lord Tennyson, from In Memoriam.

ACTOR
His middle name was Lord?

AUTHOR
No! That was his title.

ACTOR
You mean, like Ralph, Sir Richardson?

READER
Can we get back to "Nature, red in tooth and claw" before I lose the connection here?

AUTHOR
If God were a female, we wouldn't have carnivores, which have to kill to feed themselves. We wouldn't have whales, which have to engulf thousands of lives in one gulp to feed themselves. Or cowbirds, which kill songbird chicks by laying cowbird eggs in songbird nests to hatch into cowbird chicks that grab the food away from starving songbird chicks.

READER
You've been watching "Nature" too much.

AUTHOR
I don't have to watch "Nature," I just have to look around. Look at all the flies buzzing everywhere, bothering everyone, just because they're looking for a good piece of rotten meat in which to lay their eggs. Look at the mosquitoes bothering everyone to feed themselves. All we need are protein plants.

ACTOR
Protein plants?

AUTHOR
Sure! Birds and monkeys eat figs and fruit. Cattle and other herbivores eat grass and plants---why can't carnivores, like people, eat carni-plants and protein grasses that don't suffer when you eat them?

READER
Oh, I guess you haven't heard the recordings of roses squeaking when they're cut, or trees screaming when they're being chopped down?

AUTHOR
I think that's a hoax! It's like saying that our cells groan when they die. Well, they might, but it doesn't matter if I can't hear them.

ACTOR
Wouldn't carni-fruit bleed when it was picked?

AUTHOR
Sure; and tomatoes die horrible deaths when you bite into them. If tomatoes were sacks of blood and guts, no one would bite into tomatoes. Carni-fruit blood wouldn't have to look like human blood.

READER
All that lovely red and white fermented grape blood. Yummy!

AUTHOR
Right! Wine! That's the way for carni-fruit to die!

READER
Die, carni-fruit! Or dry up and become blood-raisins.

ACTOR
We do have blood oranges.

DIRECTOR
And Africans enjoy honey-ants: a drop of honey with every wriggly ant-body.

AUTHOR
Our bodies could be engineered differently, too. Monkeys eat the lice that infest them, why can't we eat our own lice?

READER
You don't eat your own lice??

AUTHOR
I'm serious! Why can't we have parasites that taste good? Lice that suck your blood and swell up into gumdrops that taste good?

READER
I love licorice gumdrops.
(Thinks for a moment; grins)
Oh, that's terrible.

AUTHOR
Sure, why not? Cherry gumdrops that are Native American lice! Lemon gumdrops from China! Butterscotch and chocolate and lime---

ACTOR
Lime? Who do you know that's green?

AUTHOR
Maybe your lice would turn green if you over-ate green carni-fruit.

DIRECTOR
There's a small possibility that some might find these ideas offensive.

AUTHOR
Nah! If I really wanted to get offensive, I'd tell you my ideas on excretion!

READER
Oh, but who here would ever want to get offensive?

ACTOR (Looking around in wonder)
I can't imagine who here would ever want to get offensive.

DIRECTOR (To AUTHOR)
But of course you'll tell us anyway.

AUTHOR
OK, since you insist. Why can't our bodies do their own recycling? In primitive cultures so-called "night soil" fertilizes their gardens. Subsistence cultures, with no technology, recycle every waste. Why can't our own bodies recycle?

READER
I have a feeling we're going to get new and tasty chocolate gumdrops.

AUTHOR
No, I'm going in a different direction. Our bodies are great at producing pimples and boils and abscesses---even sweat!---to get rid of waste products. Why shouldn't the pores of our bodies be able to excrete edible or drinkable products?

READER
I can see the tricks with signs on the corners now: "Try me, I sweat root beer!"

DIRECTOR
Yummy: vanilla and chocolate pudding just from squeezing---

ACTOR
Stop it! I'm going to be sick.

AUTHOR
Now you've got the idea!

ACTOR
You want me to be sick?

READER
No, he wants that trick on the corner to barf hot-fudge sundaes.

AUTHOR
It's no secret: you can learn to like unusual tastes. A friend of mine insisted he could tell what drugs his tricks were on from the tastes in their semen.

DIRECTOR
Just a hop, skip, and jump from---ta dah-----Designer Diarrhea!

AUTHOR
It would give new meaning to nose candy!

ACTOR
I thought nose candy was cocaine that you sniffed, with your nose.

READER
It was, until Sicko, Lord Author here, redesigned the body so that the nose produces nose candy. Instead of carrying a handkerchief, my trick on the corner now wears a sign that says "Get your sarsaparilla here!" when he has a cold.

AUTHOR
It's not that far-fetched. You know how much "that certain person's" sweat-smell can turn you on.

DIRECTOR
And lives there a man, with soul so dead, who's never savored---the flavor---of his farts?

ACTOR
This is disgusting!

AUTHOR
But it doesn't need to be disgusting. An old science-fiction story has little vacuum-cleaner mice running around cleaning houses. Our bodies should have scavenger infestations designed for cleaning us. We take showers to get rid of old sweat, dead skin cells, environmental dirt, ear wax---all that stuff. What if we had little critters feasting on our body surfaces---that were good to eat?!

READER
My trick on the corner won't have enough room for all the signs! "The suckers on my left leg are Beef Wellington; the cleaners of my right elbow taste like veal scaloppini; and my groin-scrapers---ah, my groin-scrapers decant into Mouton-Rothschild 1982!"

AUTHOR
They could even do more than taste good.

ACTOR
Who's asking for more?

AUTHOR
They could feel good, too! They could be shaped like little Brillo pads if you felt like having your back scratched. Or moist towelettes for a nice alcohol rub.

READER
Collect a few into a condom---no---of course---they would make their own condoms. Would you prefer fur, feathers, or---French fries.

DIRECTOR
French fries?

READER
I couldn't think of anything else, right off, that started with F.

AUTHOR
You'd select a lover as much by how he excretes as by how he looks.

ACTOR
It gives a whole rainbow of meaning to the phrase "good taste."

AUTHOR
And the scavengers could come in a rainbow of colors!

READER
Not to mention that the scavengers could cum in a rainbow of colors.

AUTHOR
Yes! Scavenger orgasms!

DIRECTOR
Porno stars would be selected on the basis of the color-coordination of their body-feeders.

ACTOR
They'd have to be pretty strong. What happens when you roll over on them?

AUTHOR
That would depend on what you wanted. They could be tough little marbles if you wanted to step on them for a foot massage. Or they could squish easily if you wanted to rub them in like a lotion. Or anything between.

READER
Like self-operating bi-directional tit-clamps. Oh, I am so clever!

AUTHOR
Whole new worlds of S and M orgies would open up: self-organizing beds of nails, form-fitting crowns of thorns.

DIRECTOR
Teeny-tiny whip-crickets for localized flagellation. Hordes of pinch beetles. The mind boggles.

ACTOR
Apprentice saints could minutely orchestrate their own tortures.

READER
Amnesty International would have a fit: how can you urge prosecution on individual self-propelled bullets?

AUTHOR
A female god wouldn't allow these scavengers the capability of forming bullets. But they'd be able to form huggers, caressers, touchers and feelers. Lovers could exchange scavengers---

DIRECTOR
And orgies would allow the scavengers to mate! Mutant scavengers! Conservatives would pass laws prohibiting suckers with more than three mouths. And you'd never, never, never be allowed to have huggers and pinchers on the same body!

READER
No, you've got that backward: you can have huggers and pinchers, but you can't have a body that has only huggers, or only pinchers. Homobuggaphobia!

ACTOR (To AUTHOR)
What else would your Wonder Woman god do?

AUTHOR
I'm glad you asked that.

READER (Snidely)
"I'm glad you asked that." You only wrote it!

AUTHOR
We could have done much better if we'd skipped being nations on the way toward being civilized. In my opinion, nations are only war, tax, and passport machines. Can anyone tell me anything good that nations have done?

DIRECTOR
You wanna put the United Nations out of a job?

AUTHOR
The only organization that would do any good now is a United Corporations. Corporations rule the world, not nations.

ACTOR
So you want to put corporations, as well as nations, out of business?

AUTHOR
I didn't say that. Probably a United Corporations would have a hell of a lot more influence than a United Nations. Corporations don't wage war, or levy taxes, or require passports to go from one corporation to another.

READER
And you wouldn't have to change Ford-dollars into Volkswagen-marks, either.

DIRECTOR
You really don't think that arms and munitions manufacturers "sell" wars so that their products will be purchased?

AUTHOR
At least Volvo dealers don't bomb Ford plants because they're from a different ethnic group.

READER
But how do you know that wouldn't happen if corporations did have the political power?

AUTHOR
They couldn't do any worse than certain African, or Asian, or even European countries I could name.

ACTOR
Or even American countries.

DIRECTOR
Let's not think about that. What I'd like to have your Earth Mother god do is change literary conventions.

ACTOR
Which literary conventions?

DIRECTOR
The ones that demand literature to deal with societal demands and tragic outcomes. The convention that all fiction has to be phrased in terms of "Must, and Shit Happens." I must do this, but I cannot. I must save my life, but they're trying to kill me. I must protect my honor, but my beautiful sister wants to marry my ratty enemy, so I gotta kill my ratty enemy before he marries my beautiful sister. My father was killed by the shits next door, so I gotta beat the crap out of the shits.

READER
A neat trick if I ever heard one.

DIRECTOR
My daughter was raped by the Whozits, so I gotta rape the young Whozit's son. You slap my face, so I have to spit on your mother's grave, so you have to castrate my brother, so I have to barbecue your children, so you have to sell my grandchildren into slavery.

AUTHOR
It's a wonder anyone lives to have grandchildren. But I think you just described every book, movie, opera, and folksong ever written.

DIRECTOR
Opera! That does nothing but sell negative emotions. Incest, rape, revenge, dishonor, power, slaughter, disgrace, curses---

READER
And bad skin from all that makeup!

ACTOR
But some operas end happily. I always liked the heavenly choruses at the end of Boito's "Mefistofele." And "Faust" has a happy ending, too.

AUTHOR
For every dozen gloomy Tchaikovsky and Schubert and Schumann and Mahler symphonies you only get one "Resurrection" or "Ode to Joy."

READER
So we need lots of different gods and goddesses again. Maybe the Greeks had it right: every passion needs a deity of its own.

ACTOR
Still, one good god should be able to handle the whole thing.

DIRECTOR
Why not? Who says that "he" can only appear in only one way: let him look like the latest Tarzan for those who like that, or some blue-skinned child as others would prefer, or, if you like, merely a roaring voice of thunder out of the swirling clouds of the hurricane.

AUTHOR
Speaking of the swirling clouds of the hurricane, I think I'd like to get my original climax out of my system.

READER
Original climax? Is that anything like Original Sin?

AUTHOR
My climax is never sinful.

ACTOR
Just so it's not prematurely sinful.

AUTHOR
I'm having cast problems, though.

READER
I can see why: you've killed off everyone but yourself---and the REAL AUTHOR---
(Shades his eyes to peer into the audience)
---who I think has fallen asleep in the back, there.

AUTHOR (To READER)
You, pal---

READER (Crushed)
Pal! I try, and I try, and I try---and the best I can get is to be a pal!

AUTHOR
You will, for the moment, be reduced to reading only the stage directions---- and those from a distance.

(He points to one extreme side of the stage-area. The READER gloomily moves his chair to sit where AUTHOR has indicated)

ACTOR
Dwindling!

AUTHOR (To DIRECTOR)
And will you, please, as first-dead---

DIRECTOR (Rising and bowing to AUTHOR)
Whatever your direction, it will be an honor.

AUTHOR
Observe the interactions, picture the settings, and let me know if I've left anything necessary out.

DIRECTOR (Bowing again to AUTHOR)
Only myself.

(The AUTHOR smiles and points to the other extreme side of the stage-area. The DIRECTOR dutifully moves his chair and sits. The AUTHOR turns the ACTOR's chair to face center, moving it back slightly, and motions for the ACTOR to sit on the floor in front of the chair, facing center. The AUTHOR turns his own chair to face center, moving it back slightly, and sits on the floor in front of his chair, facing center. The ACTOR and AUTHOR are three feet apart)

READER
And Then There Were Two. Setting: a dense forest. It is early morning, and there are sounds of many songbirds in the near and far distance. The lighting is sunlight filtered dimly through a canopy of trees. Two men enter, walking, from stage right to stage left. They wear backpacks and hiking boots, carry walking sticks in their hands and canteens at their belts, and are dressed in casual hiking clothes. Lighting effects give the impression that they continue walking in the forest throughout the scene. The man in front speaks first.

AUTHOR
Yes, I've been here before, but I haven't yet followed this particular trail to the end.

ACTOR
I hope we're not going too far; I don't get much exercise at my desk job.

AUTHOR
I think you'll do all right. We can rest when you feel like it; just let me know.

READER
They walk in silence for a few minutes. As they walk, the lighting becomes slowly more bright, as if the trees are thinning. The sounds of songbirds become fainter.

ACTOR (Remaining seated, facing AUTHOR)
Let's stop for some water.

AUTHOR (Remaining seated, facing ACTOR)
I remember an overlook ahead; that's as far as I got before.

READER
They reach a clearing on the side of a grassy hill. In the distance, smoke rises from a small rustic hotel.

ACTOR
That's the Lodge! I didn't know you could see that from here. I was there once before, with---with---

AUTHOR
With your friend.

ACTOR (Smiling gratefully at AUTHOR)
With my friend. Right before we broke up. We didn't---we didn't seem to be comfortable with the same kinds of vacation activities.

AUTHOR (Cheerfully)
Smith likes the beach, while Jones prefers the mountains. Abernathy wants to visit the city, while Franklin chooses to get away from it all in the country.

ACTOR
Something like that.
(Pause)
What a view! I hadn't realized we'd been climbing.

AUTHOR
Only gradually. But soon we'll be above all the roads. All the hotels.

READER
They resume their hike. Forest leaves in autumn colors have been replaced with the duller green of pine. The light is brighter; the sun is almost overhead. Birdsong has been replaced by sounds of gentle breezes through pine branches.

ACTOR (Cheerfully)
This backpack is getting heavy. Isn't it about time we lightened our loads?

AUTHOR
Listen! I can hear the bell for lunch. I've been getting hungry myself.

ACTOR
I don't hear your lunch bell, but doesn't that sound like a little waterfall ahead? I'd love to soak my feet for a bit.

READER
They lunch by a series of cascades in the narrow stream. The water is too cold for even the hottest foot for more than a few minutes. Once, over the sound of the rushing water, pierces the distant cry of a hawk.

AUTHOR
Since there's nothing left in the knapsacks, why don't we leave them here? We can pick them up on our way back. I don't think there's anyone else on this trail.

ACTOR
With so many people at the Lodge, how did we manage to find a trail all to ourselves?

AUTHOR
Stick with me. I might not know very much, but I've always been lucky in finding my way in the woods.

READER
Even the pine trees have thinned out. Some of the smaller ones are bent away from the wind, the sound of which increases in volume, although the climbers appear unruffled by any breezes. Snowy peaks can be seen between breaks in the trees. They are walking in full sunlight.

ACTOR (Sits now in his chair, facing AUTHOR)
Let's sit for awhile. Oh, I'm afraid I've emptied my canteen already.

AUTHOR (Sits now in his chair, facing ACTOR)
Here, take mine. I left some for you.

ACTOR (Drinks, speech impediment ends)
Thank you, that was delicious.

AUTHOR
Now that they're empty, we can leave them here for now. We can get them on our way back.

ACTOR
On our way back.

READER
The ground is covered with rocks; the grass has disappeared. A panorama of snowy peaks surrounds them. The sunlight is almost blinding, mixed with a bright haze.

ACTOR (Looking down in surprise)
We forgot to put our boots on back at the stream!

AUTHOR (Smiling)
We were both doing so well, it seemed to be easier to wear only these light slippers.

ACTOR (Looking around, somewhat dazed)
Is that where we left our walking sticks?

AUTHOR
No, that was at a later time. Wow, look at that view over there!
(Stands and points out over the heads of the audience)

ACTOR (Standing beside AUTHOR)
Fantastic! Those mountains look like they go on forever!

AUTHOR (Looking at ACTOR)
Yes. They do.

READER
The rocks are now covered with snow. The only sound is the howling of a strong wind, although the fog that has been building around them remains perfectly still. The light, even in the fog, has become very---very---bright.

ACTOR (Puzzled)
I never thought the snow would be---warm.

AUTHOR (Puts his arm around ACTOR)
That's why we took our jackets off, back there.

ACTOR (Quietly)
I can't even see where we've just been.

AUTHOR
We've left all that behind.

ACTOR (Puts his arm around AUTHOR)
That sounds right.

READER
The light is so bright there is no longer any demarcation between earth and sky. Gradually, the sound of the wind has vanished. There is silence---and light.

AUTHOR
Two more steps to the top.

ACTOR (Taking a step forward)
One more step to the top.

AUTHOR (Taking a step forward)
At the top.

READER
They stand, side by side, at the top of the hill. As fog swirls about their feet they begin to walk upward, slowly at first, then faster and faster, until they vanish from view.

(ACTOR and AUTHOR quietly move their chairs to face the audience and sit down. Long pause)

DIRECTOR
Holy shit!

READER
I hope that was the end of my readings from the Michelin green guide.

ACTOR (To AUTHOR, speech impediment back)
Did you really want to end the play like that?

AUTHOR
Yeah, I did. But now I'm not sure. I'm not sure about anything anymore.
(Looks at the DIRECTOR and the READER)
Oh, I guess the two of you can move back in again. Sorry to have kept you out.

(DIRECTOR and READER move their chairs next to AUTHOR and ACTOR)

READER
That's OK; that scene was definitely a duet for one person!

DIRECTOR (Miming masturbation)
Yeah, one person with one hand.

ACTOR (To DIRECTOR)
That's not fair. Just because you didn't like it doesn't mean it's no good at all!

DIRECTOR
Well, just don't ask me to direct it. Let someone else have that "honor."

AUTHOR
I think if something is written well enough, it practically directs itself.

DIRECTOR
Spoken like a true master. Please contact me when Master Author grows up into Mister Author.

ACTOR
It's still not fair. I like it. There are some great parts in it.

DIRECTOR
That's true, and some of the great parts even have little bitty good parts mixed in---very well mixed in. It's like---a play on the Internet. That's it: this is the first Internet-surfing play: bouncing from place to place, unrelated item to unrelated item, until you get tired and log off.

ACTOR
I don't know anything about the Internet. I don't know what you mean.

DIRECTOR
It's like this.
(Throws the pages of the script that he's already read into the air)
You start with any random page---
(Picks up any page and reads a few speeches from it)
Then you jump to the next random page---
(Picks up another page and reads a few speeches from it)
And you keep on like that, until you get tired---and then you just stop.

ACTOR (Not really convinced)
Oh.

AUTHOR
I guess you'll have to convince me that there's something wrong with that.

DIRECTOR (Thinks a bit)
No, I can't convince you it's wrong, there just might be better ways of doing it. You asked me to watch your last "little scene" for any suggestions I might have. We'll have to go out for coffee after this. I'll tell you what I thought.

AUTHOR
Are you sure you're not confusing me with the REAL AUTHOR, out there?

DIRECTOR
Him? I'm sure he's sleeping through all this. After all: he wrote it. It's not even new for him.

AUTHOR
So you don't think much of the whole thing?

DIRECTOR
Like any grab-bag Internet-play would be: bad philosophy, questionable psychology, one-dimensional characters, some four-letter words, tedious conventional sexuality, two minor miracles, four kumquats, and a lemon.

AUTHOR
Isn't that just about what you get with most plays?

DIRECTOR
Maybe, but I'm really not interested in most plays. Good plays are harder to write than most plays, because most plays aren't any good.

AUTHOR
I thought there were some good new ideas in it.

DIRECTOR
That's about all the charm this has: some of it is sorta new, sorta nice. I had a couple of reasonably decent speeches.

READER (Sulking)
It's pretty clear that I didn't get much of the good stuff.

AUTHOR
You seemed pretty pleased after reading the first act. You got a lot of good laughs.

READER
Laughs! We do not live by laughs alone. We would like to end up with certain cute authors, like certain grabby actors did.

AUTHOR
How can you say that? If anyone was grabby, it was me.

DIRECTOR (Wearily)
It was I.

READER (To DIRECTOR)
Oh, who did you grab? I didn't think there was anyone left to grab.

REAL READER (Shyly)
Well, there's always me, way over on the side here.

READER (Peering toward REAL READER)
I can't tell from here; is there anything to grab over there?

REAL READER (Even more shyly)
Well, mah Daddy told me I never had anything to brag about. Well, uh, shucks, it is only eleven inches---

READER (Practically falls off his seat)
What?

REAL READER (Apologetic)
But it grows when it gets harder---really it does!

READER
(Scoots his chair toward REAL READER)
Excuse me, fellas, this merits some---uh---detailed investigation.

(READER and REAL READER turn their chair-backs to the audience and begin to whisper, using various size-determining hand-motions. ACTOR winks at AUTHOR and moves his chair toward the duo to listen)

DIRECTOR
True love, however it's measured.

AUTHOR (To DIRECTOR)
I'm sorry if you feel left out now---but it does seem that you've---uh---been on intimate terms with most of the cast, before.

DIRECTOR (Airily)
Fuck buddies? Sure, I've had lots of them in the past. But, hey, don't feel bad because---
(Looks over to the trio to make sure they won't hear him)
---I wouldn't want this to get around---it would ruin my reputation---but, you know, I do have this "permanent arrangement" over in Jersey. This is strictly confidential, I must insist. Like I say, my reputation would be ruined.

AUTHOR
Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me.
(Glances worriedly over toward the trio)
But do you think my---uh---new friend is safe with them?

DIRECTOR
I think he'll be OK. Frankly, I saw you two as an item from the very beginning. You seemed to share the same interests.

AUTHOR (Still studying trio)
Those two sure seem to share the same interests.

DIRECTOR
Love at first size---sight! Sight! Love at first sight!

AUTHOR
Yeah. I heard you---the first time.
(Looks toward ACTOR)

(ACTOR notices, pulls his chair toward AUTHOR)

AUTHOR (To DIRECTOR)
Uh---pardon me, OK?

DIRECTOR
Sure, no problem.

(ACTOR whispers into AUTHOR's ear. AUTHOR smiles)

DIRECTOR (To audience)
I have no problems with someone who'd believe I have a "steady"---waiting for me?---in New Jersey?? No problems at all.

(AUTHOR moves from ACTOR to DIRECTOR)

AUTHOR
We---uh---we figure we don't have much more to do here---this is our last page, after all--- Would you mind if we skipped out?---

DIRECTOR
Wait a minute, that's not for me to say. Look, wake up the REAL AUTHOR, back there somewhere, and check with him.

REAL AUTHOR
I'm awake. That's OK. You can go.

ACTOR AND AUTHOR (Together)
Both of us?

REAL AUTHOR
Sure. Thanks. Good night.

(ACTOR and AUTHOR exit)

DIRECTOR (To REAL AUTHOR)
Do you want me to be the MODERATOR, so we can get feedback?

REAL AUTHOR
Nah. I think I'm gonna chuck the whole thing. Wanna go for coffee?

(BLACKOUT)

END OF PLAY